into town. A couple of blocks away he got out and crossed the street and caught another taxi going in the opposite direction, not relaxing until he was back in Walter’s house.
He spent the afternoon watching television and declined Walter’s offer of a trip to the Willows for a pint.
‘No thanks, I think I’ll stay in tonight if you don’t mind.’
‘Keeping the head down?’
‘I just don’t want to risk being seen. You never know.’
It was great to have such good friends at a time like this. Walter was a good mate, somebody who was there for you when you were in trouble, no questions asked. He had been very good, had given up his golf to help him pack his stuff into boxes and move it to his garage.
‘It’ll be fine there, son, no hurry about moving it, get back when you can. We never use the garage anyway, don’t worry about it.’
Walter’s wife Pamela was very kind too, making up a bed for him in the spare room, and taking a morning off to drive him to the airport.
‘Imagine, Kevin being a crook, who would have thought? Look after yourself, young Tom, and keep in touch. Ring when you get there and let us know you arrived ok.’
‘Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing.’
Tom woke from his nap, his head against the window. The Airbus was side slipping, dropping over the Sierra Nevada and heading out to sea to make a turn and face the runway at Malaga airport. It flew low over the Mediterranean and crossed the beach, skimming the vegetable plots and the highway and bumping lightly on to the tarmac. The engines roared in reverse thrust and it slowed and turned off quickly on to the taxiway.
They were all on their feet before the plane had even stopped, grabbing at bags in overhead bins and switching on mobile phones, anxious to be on their way and to get the most of their week on the beach. Tom let the tide of people pass by and got slowly to his feet, strolling down the steps to the blast of heat from the still strong afternoon sun.
The bus to the terminal was packed with holidaymakers, excited about being in Spain, and remarking on the heat. The runway shimmered and the sun glared back from the white façade of the airport buildings. He was first out of the bus and through passport control; the policeman took a cursory look at his passport and waved him on. Tom felt relieved that he had not scanned the document; you never knew who might be looking for you. He put the thought out of his head, he hadn’t really done anything wrong, not really, it would be Kevin they were looking for and not him. They would really only have wanted to question him about Kevin’s whereabouts. Willie didn’t know anything about him either, not that Willie would talk anyway. No, there was nothing to worry about, just relax and enjoy a few weeks in the sun.
The car hire agent that Walter had recommended was waiting at the barrier with Tom’s name in big letters on a sheet of paper.
‘Senor Murphy, I am Juan, come with me please.’ He led the way to the car park where the small Seat was parked, two wheels on the pavement. The formalities were completed on the bonnet of the car, rubbing the credit card docket with the cap of a pen to make the imprint, no fancy zip-zap machine here. Tom felt like he was on familiar ground, this operation reminded him of City Auto.
Juan went to the pay machine and paid the parking ticket, wished him a buen viaje, and he was on his way. Walter had written out the directions, and he glanced at the sheet on the passenger seat. Through the roundabout, ok, then pass the brewery, that must be it on the right, you could smell the hops, then join the highway. So far so good.
Hard to go wrong with these directions, right at the BMW dealership and join the motorway, then stay on it all the way. ‘Keep the sea on your left’ Walter had said, ‘and you can’t get lost.’
Tom had never seen such a clear sky; not a single cloud marked the perfect expanse of dark blue. The Mediterranean
He spent the afternoon watching television and declined Walter’s offer of a trip to the Willows for a pint.
‘No thanks, I think I’ll stay in tonight if you don’t mind.’
‘Keeping the head down?’
‘I just don’t want to risk being seen. You never know.’
It was great to have such good friends at a time like this. Walter was a good mate, somebody who was there for you when you were in trouble, no questions asked. He had been very good, had given up his golf to help him pack his stuff into boxes and move it to his garage.
‘It’ll be fine there, son, no hurry about moving it, get back when you can. We never use the garage anyway, don’t worry about it.’
Walter’s wife Pamela was very kind too, making up a bed for him in the spare room, and taking a morning off to drive him to the airport.
‘Imagine, Kevin being a crook, who would have thought? Look after yourself, young Tom, and keep in touch. Ring when you get there and let us know you arrived ok.’
‘Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing.’
Tom woke from his nap, his head against the window. The Airbus was side slipping, dropping over the Sierra Nevada and heading out to sea to make a turn and face the runway at Malaga airport. It flew low over the Mediterranean and crossed the beach, skimming the vegetable plots and the highway and bumping lightly on to the tarmac. The engines roared in reverse thrust and it slowed and turned off quickly on to the taxiway.
They were all on their feet before the plane had even stopped, grabbing at bags in overhead bins and switching on mobile phones, anxious to be on their way and to get the most of their week on the beach. Tom let the tide of people pass by and got slowly to his feet, strolling down the steps to the blast of heat from the still strong afternoon sun.
The bus to the terminal was packed with holidaymakers, excited about being in Spain, and remarking on the heat. The runway shimmered and the sun glared back from the white façade of the airport buildings. He was first out of the bus and through passport control; the policeman took a cursory look at his passport and waved him on. Tom felt relieved that he had not scanned the document; you never knew who might be looking for you. He put the thought out of his head, he hadn’t really done anything wrong, not really, it would be Kevin they were looking for and not him. They would really only have wanted to question him about Kevin’s whereabouts. Willie didn’t know anything about him either, not that Willie would talk anyway. No, there was nothing to worry about, just relax and enjoy a few weeks in the sun.
The car hire agent that Walter had recommended was waiting at the barrier with Tom’s name in big letters on a sheet of paper.
‘Senor Murphy, I am Juan, come with me please.’ He led the way to the car park where the small Seat was parked, two wheels on the pavement. The formalities were completed on the bonnet of the car, rubbing the credit card docket with the cap of a pen to make the imprint, no fancy zip-zap machine here. Tom felt like he was on familiar ground, this operation reminded him of City Auto.
Juan went to the pay machine and paid the parking ticket, wished him a buen viaje, and he was on his way. Walter had written out the directions, and he glanced at the sheet on the passenger seat. Through the roundabout, ok, then pass the brewery, that must be it on the right, you could smell the hops, then join the highway. So far so good.
Hard to go wrong with these directions, right at the BMW dealership and join the motorway, then stay on it all the way. ‘Keep the sea on your left’ Walter had said, ‘and you can’t get lost.’
Tom had never seen such a clear sky; not a single cloud marked the perfect expanse of dark blue. The Mediterranean
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