Chapter 17
17
We haven’t seen anything of Sam or Robin since her sudden appearance at the pool yesterday afternoon. They didn’t come to the Marco Polo social, which was a shame as they missed Barry pretty much dissolving into a puddle of ecstasy when Brad and Gail went red. They also missed out on Barry’s latest game, worryingly entitled Pass the Partner.
Our fears that it was going to prove to be some horrifying variation of strip poker, where the singles each had to remove a layer of clothing when the music stopped, thankfully proved to be unfounded. Instead, Barry had made up a number of parcels, in the centre of which were either names or an activity. The ladies had to pass round the blue parcels containing the names, while the gentlemen passed round the red ones, which had the activities. The logistics were impressive, as everyone ended up peeling off the final layer at the same time, thus revealing who they were to be paired with the next day, and an activity they had to complete.
‘You’ve got to give the guy credit,’ Cameron had observed as the couples had peeled off, with varying degrees of enthusiasm, to make plans. ‘I don’t know what they pay him, but he’s earning every penny.’
‘What have you two got planned for tomorrow?’ I’d asked Brad and Gail as we’d made our way towards the main dining room for dinner.
‘I’m giving Brad a Spanish lesson,’ Gail had told me. ‘He’s got to order our lunch and ask directions without using any made-up words.’
‘I don’t know why she thinks it’s necessary,’ Brad had said to Cameron. ‘I’ve already told her I’m fluent in Spanish.’
‘And we both know that’s total mierda ,’ Gail had countered with a laugh. ‘That’s bullshit to you, honey. Your first proper Spanish word.’
I did knock on the door of Sam’s cabin before we left to get the bus up into Barcelona this morning, but there was no response. I’ve decided to take the optimistic view that she’s somewhere with Robin, rather than worrying that she’s thrown herself overboard. I know she goes all-in when she falls for someone, but I truly don’t believe she’d ever resort to self-harm if a relationship didn’t work out. At least, she’s never shown any signs of it in the past.
‘I know everywhere we’ve visited so far has been amazing,’ I say to Cameron as the bus trundles towards the city centre, ‘but Barcelona is one of the places I’ve been looking forward to the most.’
‘Me too,’ he agrees. ‘Although I think we’ll find a day is nowhere near long enough to see everything.’
‘I’ve got tickets for Parc Güell and the Sagrada Família,’ I tell him. ‘I reckon those two should satisfy even the most ardent Gaudí fan. If we find we haven’t had enough, we could probably just about get a peek at Casa Batlló, but I don’t have tickets for that and we might be needing ice cream by then.’
Cameron smiles. ‘I do like the way your mind works. Just the right blend of culture and snacking.’
‘Absolutely. If I don’t have a churro at some point today, Barcelona will be ruined forever.’
‘I reckon we’ll be able to cross that one off with our morning coffee.’
* * *
As the bus drops us closest to Casa Batlló, we decide to take a quick look at that before the half-hour journey on the public bus up to the park. The heat is already starting to build, and the city is busy, so watching the world go by from the relative comfort of an air conditioned seat proves to be a welcome oasis.
‘Is there anything in this city that wasn’t designed by Gaudí?’ Cameron asks as we pass Casa Milà, another world heritage site.
‘He does seem to have been given free rein,’ I agree, consulting the guidebook. ‘According to this, it all stems from the Modernisme movement at the end of the nineteenth century which, along with bringing back the Catalan language, was one of Catalonia’s attempts to distance itself from Castillian Spain. It’s based on the Art Nouveau school, although I think we can agree they went a bit mad with it.’
‘Public transport is such a good way to see a city, don’t you think?’ he remarks a little while later as we pass through tightly packed shops and apartment blocks. ‘I mean, we could have done the official tour, but this is giving us a real flavour of the place.’
‘Yes. It’s always a bit daunting to try to figure out how it works, but as long as you do your research in advance, it’s usually manageable. I got the idea from this guy my business partner, Jono, was keen on for a while. He works in IT and travels a lot with his job.’
‘Like Brad,’ Cameron interjects with a smile.
‘I’m not sure anyone travels quite like Brad,’ I reply. ‘Anyway, he was explaining how he always tried to use public transport when he went to new places, because you saw much more of the location and people than you did from taxis. I think a lot of his trips were basically airport to office to hotel to airport, and he found that frustrating because, although he’d technically been to Stockholm or wherever, he hadn’t actually seen any of it. So using buses, trains and trams gave him that missing part of the jigsaw, and I thought it was a brilliant idea.’
‘I’m certainly going to be copying it from now on,’ Cameron agrees. ‘Although I’ll have to up my research game.’
‘The internet is your friend,’ I tell him smugly as the bus pulls into our destination. ‘Shall we?’
* * *
By mid-afternoon, the heat is oppressive, but Cameron and I are doggedly plugging on. Having covered a good chunk of the park, we’ve ridden the bus back down into the city centre and, after the obligatory ice cream stop, we’re now heading for the Sagrada Família, our final tourist attraction before we return to the ship and the promise of a long, cold drink by the pool. The pavements around the cathedral are packed, and Cameron takes my hand as we make our way through the crowds. Despite the heat, his hand is dry and his grip is firm, but I’m unable to enjoy the sensation as much as I’d like because we’re jostled several times as we try to get to the entrance and I’m having to concentrate on not losing my footing. Once inside, although it’s still busy, we savour the relative cool as we take in the extraordinary architecture. For the first time on this trip, I’m starting to wish I’d invested in a proper camera, as my elderly iPhone is struggling to do justice to it. Eventually, having seen pretty much all we can, we make our way back to the entrance and step out into the dazzling sunlight.
‘I want to get one decent shot of the exterior,’ I say to Cameron as I let go of his hand, shielding my eyes from the sun with one arm and raising my phone over my head with the other so it’s above the crowds and hopefully has a clear view of the cathedral. I’m just about to press the button to take the picture when I’m almost knocked from my feet as someone cannons into me.
‘Oof, sorry,’ I say automatically as the iPhone slips from my grasp. I glance downwards, hoping it hasn’t smashed as it hit the pavement but, to my surprise, there’s no sign of it.
‘Is everything all right?’ Cameron asks.
‘No. My phone’s disappeared,’ I tell him. ‘I was taking the photo and then this guy bumped into me and I dropped it, but I can’t see it anywhere.’
‘Let me help you look,’ he says, trying to clear some space so we can search, but I already know it’s too late.
‘I think I’ve been robbed,’ I tell him. ‘I bet that guy jostled me on purpose and stole it while I was distracted. Fuck.’
‘OK, don’t panic,’ Cameron says, suddenly sounding every inch the policeman. ‘Does it have tracking?’
‘Yes, I’ve got “find my iPhone”, but you need another device to log into and he’s probably long gone already. I’ve read about these gangs that use scooters to get in and out before you even know what’s happened. What a bloody idiot I am, waving my phone around like a ditzy tourist without thinking of the consequences. Everyone knows what it’s like round here.’
‘You are not to blame,’ Cameron says firmly. ‘Right, let’s find a police station and report it.’
‘What’s the point? They won’t get it back.’
‘They may well not do, but you’ll need a crime number to claim on your insurance for starters, and I hate to be all boring and procedural, but the police will only have accurate statistics for the crime rate around here if people report them. There’s a tourist information kiosk over there. I bet they’ll know where the nearest police station is. Come on.’
I’m feeling decidedly shaky as I start to follow Cameron towards the tourist information kiosk, and he obviously notices because he takes my hand in his again. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he assures me. ‘They didn’t take anything else, did they?’
I do a quick inventory check and, although my bum bag is where it should be, I realise that my shoulder bag is also gone.
‘What was in it?’ Cameron asks when I tell him.
‘Nothing of any value. Sun cream, lip balm, stuff like that. Bastards!’
The assistant at the tourist information centre is more than helpful but explains that the nearest police station is a subway ride away and my mood only darkens when we arrive to find a large queue of people waiting to be seen.
‘Let’s leave it,’ I say to Cameron. ‘It was an old iPhone anyway and we haven’t got that long before we have to get back to the ship.’
‘I’m tempted to agree,’ he replies. ‘Let me try one thing first though.’ He pulls a small leather folder out of his pocket and approaches the desk, pulling me by the hand behind him.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ he says to the harassed-looking policewoman behind it and earning irritated looks from some of the people in the queue. ‘I’m a policeman from the UK and I wondered whether there was a quick way to report a crime. I know you’re probably swamped, but if there are some forms or something we need to fill in, I can just take them and do them for you now.’
She stares at him for a moment but, just when I’m convinced she’s going to give him an earful, she smiles.
‘ ?Policía Ingles? ’ she asks.
‘Yes, umm, sí .’
‘ Un momento .’ To the obvious consternation of the person sitting in front of her, she pushes back her chair and disappears through a door behind her. Cameron turns to me with a quizzical expression, and I’m rather glad neither of us speaks Spanish as I suspect that whatever the poor guy the policewoman has just abandoned is muttering is not complimentary about us.
A few moments later, she reappears with a man in tow. She indicates Cameron and the man approaches him with a smile.
‘Welcome to Barcelona, Policía Ingles ,’ he says, holding out his hand. ‘I am Alejandro Martinez, the chief of police here. Let us go through to my office, where we will be more comfortable. Please.’
He opens the door and Cameron and I follow him through, down a wood-panelled corridor until we reach his office. He holds the door open for us and ushers us inside.
‘Please sit down,’ he says, indicating the chairs in front of his desk before walking round and sitting behind it. ‘How can I be of help?’
‘It’s only a small thing,’ Cameron tells him. ‘My companion here has just had her phone and bag stolen outside the Sagrada Família, and we felt we ought to report it. Unfortunately, time is short because we have to rejoin our cruise ship. I hope you don’t mind me cutting the line.’
‘Of course not.’ He turns to me. ‘Your phone, it is an iPhone, I think?’
‘That’s right. How did you know?’
‘They are the most popular for the thieves. Was it new?’
‘No. About five years old.’
‘Hm.’
‘What?’ Cameron asks him.
‘There are two types of people who steal phones around that area. If your phone had been new, I would have told you that it had almost certainly been stolen by an organised gang, and there would be no chance of getting it back. I would give you a reference number and send you on your way with an apology. But the gangs have no interest in a phone as old as yours, which means it’s probably been taken by an opportunist, and many of them are not very clever. Do you have the tracking feature?’
‘I do.’
‘Let us try it, shall we?’ He beckons me round to his side of the desk and, between us, we launch the website and I enter the login details. After a moment, a map shows my iPhone in a suburb towards the north-east of the city. Alejandro sighs expressively.
‘I think we can solve this for you,’ he says before picking up his own phone, dialling a number, and barking a stream of Spanish into it.
‘You know who has it?’ I ask incredulously when he disconnects the call.
‘I’m pretty certain, yes,’ he replies. ‘That address is where Jose lives. He is not a bad boy, but he is also not clever. He hangs around with a nasty crowd and tries to impress them with stupid things like this. I’ve told him many times, “Jose, this is not the direction you want to go in your life,” but he doesn’t listen. At the moment, he is too young for prison, but if he doesn’t change soon, that is where he will go. His poor mother is, what is the English phrase?’
‘At her wits’ end?’ I offer.
He smiles. ‘Yes. She is a good woman, a devout Catholic who goes to mass every Sunday to pray for Jose. Sadly, I do not think God is listening to her.’
We’re interrupted by Alejandro’s phone ringing. ‘ Sí ,’ he barks into the handset, and I can hear a babble of Spanish from the other end.
‘Your phone, it is white, with a pink rubber case?’ he asks me after a few moments.
‘That’s right.’
‘My officers have it. They will be here in around forty minutes. Can I get you something while you wait? Coffee?’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you. I’m sorry for causing you so much trouble.’
Alejandro laughs. ‘It is nothing. If I come to your country and suffer misfortune, maybe you will extend the same courtesy, hmm?’
* * *
While we wait for the officers to return with my phone, Cameron and Alejandro have been swapping stories and are getting on so well I’m starting to wonder if they’re going to become lifelong friends. I’m not able to track the passage of time as there isn’t a clock in here, so I’m hoping that Cameron is keeping an eye; much as I want my phone back, I don’t want to miss the boat.
Eventually, Alejandro’s phone rings again and, after a brief conversation, he ducks out and returns holding my phone, handing it to me as if it’s some kind of trophy.
‘I am sorry about your bag,’ he tells me. ‘My officers asked, but Jose dumped it as soon as he realised there was nothing of value inside.’
‘You’ve already done more than we could have asked for,’ Cameron assures him. ‘Thank you so much. If I could just ask one more favour, which is a taxi to take us back to our ship?’
‘Your ship,’ Alejandro repeats, staring at his watch in horror. ‘ Joder , I completely forgot. Give me the name, maybe I can get the port authorities to delay departure for long enough so you can get there.’
‘It’s the Spirit of Malmo ,’ Cameron tells him as he grabs his phone once more and starts barking Spanish into it. However, the expression on his face tells me everything I need to know before he speaks.
‘I am so sorry,’ he tells us. ‘Your ship has already departed.’