Page 76 of Hot to Go

We continue walking past the trees lining this path, past early-morning joggers and a few tourists with big cameras until the buildings start to come into view. She stops and stands therefor a moment taking it in. ‘Plaza de España,’ she says, under her breath.

I used to come here a lot because it was so regal and magnificent, and one of those places where you can remind yourself the world is bigger than that small suburb of London you grew up in. It’s the way the ornate stone building sweeps around the plaza, the cavernous arches, the patterns on the stone courtyard before it, the way a canal sits in front of it, still and dotted with Venetian style bridges, adorned with mosaic and glazed ceramic features. She walks up to a parapet, placing her hands on the stone as I watch her. I like seeing her reaction in her eyes, the wonder and shock. ‘We’re supposed to be coming here later,’ she says.

‘I know, I just thought it would be nicer to see it without fifty kids in tow.’ I look down at my watch as the sky starts to lighten, the streetlamps surrounding the canals turn off and, just like magic, the sun peeks through over the top of the buildings. It casts the whole place in an amber glow. I turn to look at Suzie. Is that a tear in her eye? She reaches down for my hand, our fingers grazing past each other, the softest of touches until she turns to me, facing me, her eyes scanning the outline of my face. Our faces are barely touching but she closes her eyes, breathing gently. Yes, this was planned. Waking her up early, walking her over here, looking up the sunrise times so we’d be here at just the right moment. I wanted us to have some time to talk, to understand each other, to not let the heat consume us. Our lips finally meet and the feel of them pressed against me is surprisingly soft. She tastes like icing sugar.

I cup her face with two hands, the energy building as she presses herself against me, my hands moving down to her waist, and, with the light of the sun behind us, it feels like electricity.

She stops to catch her breath, her eyes closed. Then she looks over her shoulder. The plaza is still relatively quiet, a few tourists milling around. I know what she’s thinking. She looksout to the park, taking my hand, and leads me down a sandy pathway, until we’re hidden away by bushes and a stone gazebo draped in greenery. We smile at each other. We can’t do this back at the hostel, not in the way we want. But this might work. She goes to kiss me again and I move my hands to her lower back, taking her shirt in my clenched fists. I remember this feeling so well, so intimately. I back her into one of the pillars and move my kisses lower across her neck and stomach, reaching down to her skirt until I’m on my knees, my hands reaching around to her butt, reaching to press her against my face, moving her knickers to one side, to taste her.

‘THAT IS A SUCH A LOVELY TREE!’ she suddenly shouts. At first, I wonder if she’s talking about my erection but then she leapfrogs over me, leaving me on my knees. ‘I think it might be a…what tree is that?’

I look around swiftly and then turn again, pretending to tie a shoelace that I don’t have. Shit. I need to stand up. ‘It looks like an oak, darling? Maybe a…beech?’ I don’t know anything about bloody Spanish trees but I do know a group of very curious Korean tourists stand in front of us. They wear broad-rimmed hats and carry selfie sticks. A tour guide looks at us and shakes her head, smirking. ‘Y pensabais que la temperatura solo iba a subir más tarde.’ I shake my head at her, chuckling, as the group walk past us, one lady taking a picture of me. I’m hoping she didn’t take that at an angle that lit up my semi.

Suzie turns around, her face in her hands. ‘Oh my god, oh my god,’ she says, resting her head against me. ‘What did she say?’

I put an arm around her. ‘And you thought it was going to get hot later in the day…’

And she laughs, this full-bellied loud laugh that rings around the park and makes a few pigeons fly away, and I laugh back, holding her next to me as the sun starts to make its ascent and the sky shines bright blue around us.

SEVENTEEN

Suzie

‘Miss, Miss…this fish ain’t looking at us?’

‘It’s because he’s Spanish, innit? He don’t understand us.’

We need to get these kids out of London more or at least develop the curriculum to teach them fish don’t have a language. I think. They just speak Fish, don’t they? I look over at them, their little faces all backlit by the aquarium lighting, marvelling at getting up close and personal with these strange creatures in the Acuario de Sevilla.

‘Look at that big bastard shark!’ one of them yells.

‘Language!’ I yell back, trying to herd them in the right direction. I look around the tunnels of this place and see Charlie up ahead with his group, a pale blue neon light over his face, laughing with his teens and talking about how something is ‘muy grande’.

After the Plaza de España this morning and being caught out by a group of Korean tourists, we headed back to the hostel drenched in some sort of halcyon radiance, walking down cobbled streets of quaint shops and cafés, hand-in-hand, myhead rested on his shoulder. It was a silent walk of knowing looks, stolen kisses and an understanding that we’d shared a moment, we knew each other a bit more intimately and the seeds of something were planted, growing. Before it felt so frenetic, and it felt good to have seen him more clearly for a while, to have heard him talk so affectionately about his family life and how he cared for his siblings. I wondered how much to share in return. When do I bring up Paul? But I think I was almost scared to – afraid of polluting the intimacy we were creating, the love he expressed for his family, with the complications of my messy life. Maybe that would come in time. It felt right to protect that moment of calm. Until we got back to the hostel that is, and all the students started getting up for breakfast.

‘And this is the Estrella de Mar Roja,’ Jorge our guide, tells us. I like Jorge’s calm. You sense he’s been around lots of these school groups before and little seems to faze him. He’s an older man with a rucksack, sandals, socks and a sunhat with a strap. ‘In your native English, I believe it’s called a red-knobbed starfish.’

Naturally, this results in quite a few sniggers among the group as we proceed to the next tank.

‘Señora, why do the children always laugh when I say this?’ Jorge asks me. ‘It is confusing to me. Are they laughing at me?’

‘Oh no…’ I tell him. ‘It’s just, in English, knob can be a word for…’ My limited Spanish means I don’t know the word so I point down.

‘Vagina?’ he says in shock.

‘Oh no,’ I say. ‘What you have?’

‘Pene?’ I will assume he’s not talking about the pasta. I nod.

‘Oh,’ he says, horrified. ‘Well, hopefully, it is just that fish.’ He smiles, walking up to the children again. ‘And you all know our good friend Nemo here but this blue fish is called adoncella rayada – in English, a slippery dick.’ I walk away again, trying to hold in my laughter.

We did the Plaza de España with the students this morning, a different place under the throng of tourists with their tour flags and desperation to record everything, but many a picture was taken and sent home so worried parents can at least believe we’re trying to introduce their kids to some culture on their time abroad. Bocadillos in the glorious leafy park for lunch followed but now, the peace and cool of the aquarium is a welcome break from the sun and all the kids telling us constantly that they’re too hot.

‘Do you happen to know the name of that fish, señora?’ I recognise his voice immediately and smile in that dark room, as I feel his arm graze against mine. That feeling that soars through me when he’s near is like being recharged.

‘I’m not au fait with fish, I’m afraid,’ I inform him.

‘Well, this silver one is usually found in the shallows of the North Atlantic, in reefs. He’s called Swim Shady.’ I laugh a little too loudly at that. ‘I can’t take credit for that joke; that was some kid called Jack over there.’

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