pounds of cheese and some spreadable margarine.
“I couldn’t get butter,” Heather explained. “It was margarine or nothing.”
“When did you go shopping?”
“I knew you were going to have to eat something, so I left you with Johan and went to the minimarket in Orgiva.”
Alison had a vague recollection of sitting at a café table with a tall man with grey hair who kept trying to feed her sardines, or maybe it was anchovies.
“Didn’t we eat at the bar?” she mumbled.
“I did. And Johan did. But you refused to eat anything. They were really nice tapas too.” She smiled reflectively. “And they were free here, too. I thought you said it was only in Granada.”
“Granada Province ,” Alison said, thickly. “Not just the city.”
“Oh, right,” Heather said, cutting herself a generous chunk of bread, lathering it with margarine and adding a healthy portion of cheese. “Brilliant.”
****
When she woke up the first thing she saw were pink mountains. Not an alcohol-induced hallucination, she decided, but the dawn light.
“Oh my God!” she cried, sitting up in bed. “I must have slept right through. I’ve wasted a whole day.”
The door opened a crack and Heather’s face appeared. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s only seven o’clock. In the evening, ” she added. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some?”
The smell of real coffee came floating up the stairs. “Oh yes, please,” Alison cried, leaping out of bed, surprised to find she was still wearing the clothes she had travelled in.
On reflection, she was also surprised to find she felt neither drunk nor hung-over.
“I feel all right,” she said, over a mug of steaming coffee.
“Hangover preventative,” Heather said. “One of the many benefits of living with an alcoholic. You learn how to deal with its effects.”
“You live with an alcoholic?” Alison suddenly realised she knew nothing about Heather’s private life.
“Used to. He’s dead now. Alcoholic liver.” Heather smiled. “He died happy, though.”
“How awful for you,” Alison said.
“Awful that he was an alcoholic, or awful that he died?”
“Well, I meant the alcoholic bit really, but of course, both things are awful.”
“Yeah,” Heather said, taking a sip of her coffee and following it up with some sort of cake. “It was hard work while it lasted, but it didn’t last very long, and when he died I was devastated.” A slow tear trickled down her cheek.
“I’m so sorry:” Alison leaned over and gave her friend an impulsive hug.
“I didn’t used to be this fat.” Heather looked down at her enormous tummy, hardly disguised at all by the loose top she was wearing. “Comfort eating. Only, after a while it doesn’t feel very comfortable.”
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and picked up another cake. “I just can’t seem to get out of the habit somehow.”
“Come on,” Alison said, draining her coffee cup and standing up from the table. “Let’s put our glad rags on and hit the town.”
Heather gave her a wan smile.
****
It was cold outside now the sun had gone down and they wrapped themselves in fleeces before tottering down the uneven cobbled street to the plaza. The door to the bar stood wide open, despite the chill of the evening and what few customers there were were wearing heavy overcoats and clustered round a wood burning stove in the corner, playing dominoes.
There was a huge man behind the bar. He would have been tall for an Englishman. For a Spaniard he was a giant. He turned, with the beginning of a smile on his face, and then his expression changed as he saw who was coming in. The people gathered round the stove all turned at once and stared at the two girls. A feeling of hostility fairly radiated off them. Alison understood completely Johan’s Wild West analogy. She felt Heather stiffen beside her. Then she plastered a smile on her face and marched up to the bar.
“Hello,” she
“I couldn’t get butter,” Heather explained. “It was margarine or nothing.”
“When did you go shopping?”
“I knew you were going to have to eat something, so I left you with Johan and went to the minimarket in Orgiva.”
Alison had a vague recollection of sitting at a café table with a tall man with grey hair who kept trying to feed her sardines, or maybe it was anchovies.
“Didn’t we eat at the bar?” she mumbled.
“I did. And Johan did. But you refused to eat anything. They were really nice tapas too.” She smiled reflectively. “And they were free here, too. I thought you said it was only in Granada.”
“Granada Province ,” Alison said, thickly. “Not just the city.”
“Oh, right,” Heather said, cutting herself a generous chunk of bread, lathering it with margarine and adding a healthy portion of cheese. “Brilliant.”
****
When she woke up the first thing she saw were pink mountains. Not an alcohol-induced hallucination, she decided, but the dawn light.
“Oh my God!” she cried, sitting up in bed. “I must have slept right through. I’ve wasted a whole day.”
The door opened a crack and Heather’s face appeared. “It’s all right,” she said. “It’s only seven o’clock. In the evening, ” she added. “I’m making coffee. Do you want some?”
The smell of real coffee came floating up the stairs. “Oh yes, please,” Alison cried, leaping out of bed, surprised to find she was still wearing the clothes she had travelled in.
On reflection, she was also surprised to find she felt neither drunk nor hung-over.
“I feel all right,” she said, over a mug of steaming coffee.
“Hangover preventative,” Heather said. “One of the many benefits of living with an alcoholic. You learn how to deal with its effects.”
“You live with an alcoholic?” Alison suddenly realised she knew nothing about Heather’s private life.
“Used to. He’s dead now. Alcoholic liver.” Heather smiled. “He died happy, though.”
“How awful for you,” Alison said.
“Awful that he was an alcoholic, or awful that he died?”
“Well, I meant the alcoholic bit really, but of course, both things are awful.”
“Yeah,” Heather said, taking a sip of her coffee and following it up with some sort of cake. “It was hard work while it lasted, but it didn’t last very long, and when he died I was devastated.” A slow tear trickled down her cheek.
“I’m so sorry:” Alison leaned over and gave her friend an impulsive hug.
“I didn’t used to be this fat.” Heather looked down at her enormous tummy, hardly disguised at all by the loose top she was wearing. “Comfort eating. Only, after a while it doesn’t feel very comfortable.”
She wiped her eyes on the back of her hand and picked up another cake. “I just can’t seem to get out of the habit somehow.”
“Come on,” Alison said, draining her coffee cup and standing up from the table. “Let’s put our glad rags on and hit the town.”
Heather gave her a wan smile.
****
It was cold outside now the sun had gone down and they wrapped themselves in fleeces before tottering down the uneven cobbled street to the plaza. The door to the bar stood wide open, despite the chill of the evening and what few customers there were were wearing heavy overcoats and clustered round a wood burning stove in the corner, playing dominoes.
There was a huge man behind the bar. He would have been tall for an Englishman. For a Spaniard he was a giant. He turned, with the beginning of a smile on his face, and then his expression changed as he saw who was coming in. The people gathered round the stove all turned at once and stared at the two girls. A feeling of hostility fairly radiated off them. Alison understood completely Johan’s Wild West analogy. She felt Heather stiffen beside her. Then she plastered a smile on her face and marched up to the bar.
“Hello,” she
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