Chapter 2
Chapter Two
JOEY
Joey Lewis was woken by the sun pouring through the gaps in the shutters of her studio apartment. She sighed. It was Sunday. Her day off. She didn’t need to be awake yet. But she’d always been an early riser. It suited her work.
She ran a hand through her messy short blonde locks and sat up, exposing a vest top and shorts.
It was going to be a hot day in Barcelona.
Not for the first time, she felt grateful she’d chosen to live in the gothic quarter of the Spanish city.
The narrow streets and multi-floor buildings meant there was plenty of shade, whatever the time of day.
Her bare feet padded over to the kitchen where she made herself an espresso, before heading to her tiny balcony. Her quarters were basic, but almost every apartment in this part of Barcelona had a balcony. She pulled open the shutters and took her solitary seat by the bistro table.
On the fourth floor, Joey could see all the way down Carrer de Petritxol; Chocolate Street, famous for its chocolatiers, patisseries and bakeries. It was too early for the tourists, and the street remained quiet, aside from the ringing of church bells from all directions.
She could smell the burnt tobacco from across the street.
When the old man who lived there was on his balcony, too, they were almost within touching distance.
His doors were still closed this morning, but she could smell the remains of last night’s cigar, left in the ashtray on his balcony.
On those occasions when they were both on their balconies, they had perfected the art of nodding briefly to one another and then ignoring each other, so as to preserve their personal space.
Joey smiled. It was an unspoken gesture of respect, and one of the reasons she loved living here so much. There was no one to answer to but herself.
Well, perhaps she was answerable to Carmen, but not on a Sunday, and not on the fourth floor. On the ground floor, Monday to Saturday, it was a different story.
She took a sip from her blue-and-yellow espresso cup, and savoured the bitterness and sweetness of the coffee as it coated the inside of her mouth. There was an art to the perfect cup of coffee, and while Joey was no barista, this wasn’t bad.
She popped back into the kitchen and turned on her small oven, placing a couple of yesterday’s churros inside to warm and freshen up, before returning to her seat.
Joey drank her coffee slowly, allowing the day to start peacefully around her.
Slowly, people began to emerge into the street, and she could hear the occasional distant car engine.
She made a second coffee to go with her breakfast of churros.
She took a bite out of the sugar sprinkled delicacy and nodded.
They might have been a day old, but yesterday’s batch had come out well.
It was too early for chocolate, but she dipped them into her coffee for added flavour.
She decided to shower, so she could head out before it got too hot. As she walked into her small bathroom she heard her phone ping, and picked it up to find Carmen had sent her the contact details of her niece, Gloria. Joey rolled her eyes, and put down her phone without replying.
The shower washed away the remnants of sleep, and Joey enjoyed the sense of a day completely to herself.
That was something Carmen, her boss, would never understand.
Joey’s life was perfect as it was. Why would she change it?
Inviting someone into her life would only bring chaos, and almost certainly heartbreak.
She didn’t need that. She imagined the stress of having to converse over breakfast with someone who didn’t appreciate the quiet of the early morning balcony.
And apart from everything else, she only had one chair out there.
Dried and dressed in shorts and a shirt, Joey applied some product to her hair to clear it out of her face, put on her boots, and grabbed the messenger bag she took everywhere with her. She locked the wooden door to her flat and headed down several flights of rickety steps to street level.
The bakery in which she worked was closed, but generations of sweet treats being prepared there had imbued the woodwork of the shop with the smell of yeast and sugar. Joey thought briefly of what she would be baking on Monday, then made her way down the street.
It really was a beautiful day, so she decided to head for Barceloneta.
It was a long walk, but she relished the prospect of stretching her legs as she made her way towards the sea.
The city streets were dusty and beginning to heat up, and already she could see the tourists making their appearances.
She sighed. The city’s economy was completely reliant on them, but they got everywhere.
And the English ones were the worst. They never seemed to make any effort to speak the language.
The sea sparkled in the sunshine as Joey made her way to one of the bars along the sea front.
She needed a cold drink after her walk, so she sat down at a small table looking out to sea.
A waiter approached her, smiling broadly and addressing her in English.
She replied in Spanish, and he apologised immediately.
She grimaced and ordered herself a lemonade. It was the blonde hair, she supposed.
Her mood improved with the citrussy refreshment, and once it was finished and paid for, she kicked off her boots, picked them up in one hand, and walked onto the sand.
It was warm on the soles of her feet. She found a spot near where the waves lapped the shore, pulled a cotton throw from her bag and spread it out.
She sat down, picked up the book she had packed, and began to read.
There was a gentle bustle to the beach in the background that appealed to Joey. She enjoyed the sensation of being anonymous, but not quite alone.