Page 52 of Hook, Line and Single

‘Oh, I don’t think we could impose on you that much,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve already done more than enough.’

‘Nonsense,’ he says robustly. ‘If I go home and say to my wife that some English friends had a misfortune in Barcelona and missed their ship, but I left them alone in a hotel, what do you think she will say to me? She will say, “Alejandro, I am ashamed of you.” I am sure it is the same in your country, yes?’

I glance at Cameron, and I can see from his guilty expression that his thought process is exactly the same as mine. If our situations were reversed, I’m sure neither of us would have had any qualms about sticking Alejandro in a hotel. Spanish hospitality is obviously rather more impressive than British.

Alejandro has evidently taken our silence as consent, as he’s engaged in another quickfire conversation on his phone. The voice on the other end is female and, to her credit, seems to be giving Alejandro as good as she gets.

‘That’s settled,’ he says when he finishes the call. ‘My wife is expecting you. Come, let’s go.’

‘I’m really not sure this is necessary, Alejandro,’ Cameron says carefully as we follow him towards the back door of the police station. ‘We’ve put you to enough trouble.’

Alejandro grins. ‘It’s nothing compared to the trouble I will have if I arrive home without you. If I left you in a hotel now, my wife would come and fetch you herself. We have been married very happily for eight years. Do you know why? Because I learned very early not to say no to her. She is expecting visitors. Let us give her what she wants, hmm?’

Even though it’s early evening, it feels like we’ve been hit by a wall of heat as we step out of the air-conditioned building into the car park behind. Alejandro leads us over to his car, a dusty SEAT estate. I’ll admit I was expecting Cameron to do the patriarchal thing and get into the front of the car next to Alejandro, but he surprises me by climbing in the back with me.

‘Even by Barcelona standards, it is hot,’ Alejandro observes as he starts the engine and turns the aircon up to max. ‘It will be better when we get to my home. I live in the hills above the city, and it’s cooler there.’

As the car noses out into the Barcelona traffic, Cameron takes my hand again and gives it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Are you OK?’ he murmurs into my ear.

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper back. ‘Alejandro’s nice, but this all feels a bit intense.’

‘Look at it this way,’ he offers. ‘We’re going to experience proper Spanish-slash-Catalan culture, away from the tourist trail. And he’s the chief of police, so we couldn’t really be in safer hands. Let’s enjoy this, and then tomorrow we’ll catch our flight and rejoin the cruise. We’ll have stories to tell that even Brad won’t be able to equal.’

The thought makes me smile, and I squeeze Cameron’s hand tightly as we start to leave the city behind and climb into the hills.

* * *

Alejandro is right. Although it’s still warm when we step out of the car nearly an hour later, there’s a pleasant breeze taking the edge off the heat, and I turn my face towards it, enjoying the sensation. Alejandro barely gets the front door of the house open before he’s rugby tackled by two of the cutest children I think I’ve ever seen.

‘Cameron, Ruby, this is my daughter Sofia,’ he tells us as he gently disentangles himself from a raven-haired girl that I’d estimate to be around six. ‘And this is my son Pedro.’ Even without introductions, the family resemblance between the two children is strong enough to mark them out as brother and sister. Although he can’t be more than four, Pedro is nearly as tall as his older sister already. As soon as the two children spot us, their eyes widen in curiosity.

‘Sofia, Pedro, aquests són en Cameron i la Ruby. Són amics d’Anglaterra que es quedaran amb nosaltres aquesta nit,’ Alejandro tells them.

‘Sí, pare, ho sabem. La mare ja ens ho va explicar,’ Sofia replies. I may not be able to understand what she’s saying, but the tone is clearly recognisable as one that every little girl worldwide would use when explaining something to a particularly dim parent. It makes me smile. Pedro still says nothing, staring at us as if we were exotic creatures from another world.

‘Are they speaking Catalan?’ Cameron asks Alejandro.

‘That’s right. Most people in Barcelona speak both Spanish and Catalan. At work, I tend to speak Spanish, but we use Catalan at home.’

As we step into the cool hallway, the two children scamper ahead of us. The air is thick with the most delicious aromas and I breathe them in appreciatively. It seems ages ago that Cameron and I were enjoying lunch, and I realise that I’m ravenously hungry. Alejandro leads us straight through the house and out onto a terrace at the back, where a woman with a baby clamped to her hip is laying a table.

‘El meu amor,’ Alejandro says as he leans in to kiss her, before unexpectedly switching to English. ‘This is Ruby and Cameron, who I told you about. Ruby, Cameron, this is my wife Gabriela.’

‘I am very pleased to meet you,’ Gabriela tells us, holding out her free hand. ‘You are very welcome to our home.’

‘Gabriela lived in the UK for a few years after finishing her studies,’ Alejandro explains proudly, evidently clocking the look of surprise on our faces. ‘She speaks better English than anyone I know.’

‘That wouldn’t be hard,’ she retorts. ‘Most of the people who come through your police station struggle to make themselves understood in our native tongues, let alone any other languages. Now, please relax. Dinner will be in an hour or so. Alejandro tells me you’ve had a difficult day, but I find this terrace is a good place just to sit and unwind.’ She switches back to Catalan for what seems like a lively exchange with Alejandro, who is easing the cork out of a bottle of sparkling wine.

‘Cava,’ he says as he offers us each a glass. ‘It’s made locally and is among the best you’ll taste anywhere.’ He guides us to a couple of chairs that are positioned to take full advantage of the view over the valley beneath us.

‘This place is incredible, Alejandro,’ I tell him as I take a sip and enjoy the sensation of the bubbles dancing on my tongue.

‘It is. Gabriela and I had a small flat in the city when we were first married, but our dream was always to move up here. When her grandfather died last year, he left us some money and we were able to buy this. It is so much better for the children; the air is clean up here and they have space to use their energy. Talking of children, I need to supervise their bath time. Are you OK here for a little while? If you need anything, just call.’

‘We’ll be more than OK, thank you, Alejandro,’ I tell him.

‘I love my flat in Margate, but this is next level,’ I murmur to Cameron a while later as we sip our drinks. Every so often, Gabriela appears with a small plate of something and places it on the table between us. So far, we’ve had deliciously tender calamaris, patatas bravas, and spicy chorizo. Our protests that she doesn’t need to spoil us have fallen on completely deaf ears. I have managed to prise the baby, who I’ve learned is called Felipe, off her, and he’s currently sitting on my lap, staring at me in wonder with his enormous dark brown eyes.

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