More Ketchup Than Salsa - Confessions of a Tenerife Barman (24 page)

‘Thanks, Barry. That’s great. We now know when the apartment’s unoccupied,’ said Joy.

‘Unless they break the routine tomorrow,’ I added. We exchanged glances.

‘We’ll just have to hope they don’t then,’ said Joy.

In addition to dealing with our squatters, we had a bar to run and tonight we were trying out a new act that had arrived on the island. We were in no mood for comic capers, but a friend of Supermarket Patricia’s had agreed to try out his new show on us at no charge. It was a chance to draw in a few more people and earn a little extra, now we were down to thirty meals a night.

‘Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him well… but not that well,’ cried the fake Tommy Cooper.

He tossed a plastic skull into his audience on the outside terrace. Unfortunately, the throw went astray and instead of the skull landing in the man’s lap, it bowled over a full pint of lager.

The customer shot up, drenched. The rest of the audience assumed this was part of the gag and continued to laugh, but the victim couldn’t see the funny side.

‘You stupid git, you’ve soaked me,’ he shouted. His three companions slid lower in their seats as if they knew what was coming.

‘Ever so sorry,’ continued Tommy, keeping in character. ‘Get that man a nappy.’

Joy was taking drinks to another table at the time and could see what had happened. She whipped two bar towels off the bar top and went to wipe up the mess.

‘Joe, can you get this man another pint,’ she shouted from amidst the melee, but the soggy customer wasn’t satisfied.

‘That stupid sod spilled my mate’s drink as well. I want another one for him.’

Joy could see that the other pint was still full but she shouted for two pints. Still the man refused to be appeased.

‘In fact, I want a whole round. Get us another round.’

Joy stopped wiping the table and straightened up. ‘Listen, it was an accident. I apologise that you got wet but I’m bringing a pint for you and a pint for your friend, even though he’s still got a full one in front of him. There’s nothing more I can do, so I suggest you sit down and watch the end of the show.’

‘That’s not good enough. I’m wet through. I want a full round,’ continued the man.

‘Well, I think you’re taking the rip. You’re not getting a full round.’ Joy came to the bar to collect the two pints. I was just pouring the second when the man walked into the bar and stood behind Joy.

‘If I have to be wet, so do you,’ he said and tipped his friend’s pint over Joy’s head.

Tommy’s voice came through the speakers, ‘I bet that was cold.’

I hurled the beer I was in the middle of pouring. The man leapt back, wiping his face as I scrambled to get round to the other side of the bar. The man couldn’t have picked a worse night to pick a fight as the majority of drinkers sat at the bar were residents. Des, the bouncer from Bolton was one of them and I struggled to get round him. He’d already lifted the man off his feet. As he swung his arm back to launch a punch, his elbow caught me in the eye, sending me scuttling backwards.

‘Ooh. That’ll smart,’ said Tommy dryly, continuing his running commentary.

Wayne had also fought his way through the crowd and was clamouring to grab hold of the man. Des was holding him aloft, out of reach of the baying crowd. As he carried him through the crowd, each of the residents added to his sodden misery with the dregs of whatever they were drinking. Danny was following Des, jumping up to whip the man with a wet bar towel.

‘Rawhide!’ yelped Tommy, watching the melee through the window.

The man must have thought his time had come and was now squealing for his life. Wayne managed to wrest one shoe from the man in a tug of war with Des and was using it as a cosh.

‘Get off, get off me. Put me down. Help. Help.’ His cries could barely be heard above the rioting crowd.

I was back on my feet, nursing a swelling eye. Dissatisfied with my part in the retribution, I followed the throng outside to where Des had finally put the man down, drowned in beer, limping on one foot and striped with red welts on his arms.

‘I think you’d better leave, son,’ said Des menacingly. The man was close to tears.

‘And don’t ever come back, you’re barred,’ I shouted.

‘Bard. D’ya get it. Bard,’ said Tommy, holding up his reclaimed Yorick.

As the man turned to climb the steps a shoe sailed over the crowd and caught him on the back of the head, quickening his retreat.

‘Juss like that,’ barked Tommy through the microphone.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

At 9.30 the following morning, Siobhan, Terry, Wayne, Frank and Joy and I were sitting in Roger’s apartment, waiting for Barry to inform us that the squatters had left. An hour later, there was still no word.

I sneaked out of the apartment, careful not to be seen from Siobhan’s balcony, which looked down on Roger’s front door. Having taken a wide detour around the swimming pool to avoid any danger of being spotted, I knocked quietly at Barry’s lookout post. After a few seconds Mrs Tanner opened the door. She tilted her head and beamed radiantly.

‘Tea?’ she enquired, holding aloft a small brown teapot.

‘Ah, no, no thanks. Is Barry here?’

‘Yes, come in, he’s just finishing his breakfast.’ I followed Mrs Tanner inside. Barry was sat at a table in the bay window, finishing off the last remnants of a full fry-up. Three grey-haired ladies sat with him, watching his every mouthful. On seeing me he started to choke on a piece of bacon rind. Mrs Tanner strode over and gave him a hearty whack between the shoulder blades.

‘I… er… I was just coming to tell you,’ he spluttered. ‘They’ve left.’

‘When?’

‘About half an hour ago. Elsie here was kind enough to make me breakfast while I was on stakeout. It would have been rude to refuse.’ He looked at me apologetically. I rolled my eyes. Mrs Tanner gazed at Barry lovingly, then turned back to me.

‘It’s very exciting, isn’t it? Would you like some breakfast before you… how did you put it, Barry… storm the apartment?’ I politely declined. It was no surprise that Barry was happy to spend so much time watching Siobhan’s with Mrs Tanner fussing over him. He’d obviously dramatised the situation, as Mrs Tanner had invited round several friends to watch the action.

‘When are you smashing down the door?’ asked one of them excitedly.

‘Er… as soon as Barry’s finished his toast,’ I replied.

‘Oh, good. I’ll get my Kodak ready,’ she replied.

Barry followed me back to Roger’s apartment where the rest of the group were growing anxious, particularly Siobhan.

‘If we don’t do something soon,’ she whispered, ‘Terry’s going to start without us.’ I looked over at Terry who was outside, pacing up and down the small patio at the back of the apartment.

‘Right, Barry says they’ve gone, so if everybody’s ready, let’s go.’

Terry shot in from the patio and was already opening the front door to leave the apartment. I grabbed his arm.

‘Remember, Terry, you can have him after we’ve sorted this out.’

Terry just grunted, picking up the holdall he had left at the entrance.

We marched in unison up two short steps of stairs and around the block to Siobhan’s apartment. I motioned to the others to stay at the bottom while I quietly climbed the stairs leading up to Siobhan’s door. After checking that there were no signs of life within, I called the others up.

Terry was first. He scaled the twenty or so stairs in just four bounds. In one swift motion he pulled a portable drill out of the holdall and dropped the bag on the floor. Barry and Wayne were keeping watch either way at the bottom of the stairs.

‘All clear?’ I hissed.

Just as they both gave the thumbs up my mobile rang. It was Joy. She’d gone to the top of Cardiac Hill to keep watch on the road. I put my hand on Terry’s arm to halt him.

‘He’s coming back,’ she hissed, ‘Pedro’s on his way back.’

‘Quick,’ I shouted to the others. ‘He’s coming back. Everybody back to Roger’s.’

Wayne, Barry, Frank, Siobhan and Roger scattered like sprayed cockroaches but Terry was taking his time putting the drill back in the bag.

‘You’ll get your chance later, Terry. You agreed to do it my way first.’ I grabbed the bag and pushed him towards the stairs. After just five minutes poised behind the front door of Roger’s apartment, Joy phoned to say Pedro had left again.

We all filed out and assumed our previous positions. Terry carefully positioned the drill bit over the lock and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. He shook the drill and slapped it a few times but still it refused to work.

‘Fucking thing. Battery’s dead.’

I was just about to ask, rather belatedly, whether he had charged it when my phone rang again.

‘I have king prawn this week. You want?’ It was Captain Birdseye, our fish delivery man.

‘Er… no, thanks.’

‘It’s very fresh.’

‘No, that’s okay.’

‘How about swordfish?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Nice swordfish steaks. You try?’

‘No, listen, I’ll call you back, okay?’ I snapped the phone shut and pondered the new dilemma. ‘We need an extension lead,’ I shouted to the five at the bottom of the stairs.

‘I’ve got one,’ shouted Siobhan.

‘Great. Can you get it quickly?’ I replied.

‘Yes, I’ll… oh… it’s in my apartment.’ Everybody turned to look at her.

‘Well, go and get it, then,’ said Barry. He fluttered his hands at Siobhan, urging her on.

‘My apartment. The one we’re
trying
to get into,’ explained Siobhan.

‘Ah,’ said Barry after a moment of pondering.

‘I’ll get mine,’ said Roger. He bounded back around to his apartment.

‘Barry, will you see if we can plug it in at Mrs Tanner’s, then run the cable through the window?’ I pointed up at the bay window where four ladies were waving cheerily. We all waved back dutifully.

With power restored Terry began drilling the lock, ending what little discretion we had so far managed with a banshee squeal of twisting metal. After three choruses of high-pitched whining he managed to dismantle the lock and pushed the door open.

‘We’re in!’ I waved the others up. My own preconception of what a squat would look like was immediately extinguished. Gone were Siobhan’s family portraits and screen stars pictures. But instead of geometrical dust lines signalling their departure, new pictures and wall hangings had been hung in their place. The living room furniture had been rearranged around a new sunset-coloured rug, and beanbags were scattered throughout the room. It was quite an improvement on Siobhan’s design, but I thought better than to mention it.

‘The cheeky bastards,’ said Siobhan, surveying ‘the carnage’. ‘They’ve changed everything around.’

‘I think it looks better,’ said Barry. His abysmal bar skills were only matched by his abhorrent lack of tact.

Wayne shouted from the bedroom. ‘Look in here.’

Siobhan recoiled and put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, sweet lord, the dirty bitch.’

The bed was decked in black silk. A pair of handcuffs rested on one of the pillows, still fastened to the headboard. On a chair in the far corner lay a short, leather whip and next to it a video camera was mounted on a tripod.

Wayne broke the stunned silence. ‘I hate to say it, Siobhan, but I think your place is now a brothel.’

‘Just what this shithole needs,’ said Frank, rubbing his hands together.

The suspicion was confirmed as we packed everything into bin liners. Next to the television was a stack of videos, the titles of which left no doubt as to their genre. Barry noticed there was one, unlabelled, half way out of the video recorder. He pushed it back in and turned on the TV.

We all turned to stare at the groans and heavy breathing emanating from a black-haired woman straddling a man. Her back was to the camera but the room furnishings were alarmingly familiar.

‘That’s my bedroom!’ shrieked Siobhan.

We peered a little closer. Silent nods confirmed her suspicion. The girl flicked her hair, turning her face to the camera for a split second. There was no doubt that it was the Czech girl. Although the man was half concealed, it was evident that it wasn’t Pedro. The legs were too flabby, and even though we weren’t exactly friends, I’d gauged enough of an opinion to surmise that he wasn’t the sort to wear black socks while he had sex.

‘Turn it off,’ screamed Siobhan, crossing herself.

Barry and Frank were glued to the screen, arms folded.

‘Barry! Frank! Turn that godforsaken filth off,’ shouted Siobhan.

‘Oh… sorry,’ said Barry as he fumbled with the remote control.

It took another half hour for the six of us to stuff everything into the bin liners. When we had finished, we sellotaped a note on each. Josephine had warned Joy and me not to be around when the couple returned to Siobhan’s apartment, due to potential legal repercussions. While Siobhan and Terry remained behind to clear up and wait for their return, Barry, Frank, Wayne, Joy and I sat in the bay window of Mrs Tanner’s apartment to await the showdown. Roger had made himself scarce. He deemed it unfit for the community president to become embroiled in possible physical altercations.

We watched Mrs Tanner’s carriage clock nervously. The brass timepiece stood proudly between a pair of ceramic Siamese cats. It was a token of appreciation from British Aerospace to the late Mr Tanner for 45 years loyal service tightening the nuts of Britain’s airborne fighting fleet.

The dozens of photographs that were slipped in front of us as we waited showed a happy couple in various decades of courtship, each era proving that Mrs Tanner was a great believer in the old adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. Her aim had been direct. A compulsion to bake confectionery may well have been a contributing factor to her husband’s expanding girth and, consequently, his fatal heart attack the day before his 64th birthday.

The hands ticked quietly towards 5.10 and the chat fell silent. Even Mrs Tanner’s three excited friends ceased their merriment and gazed down across the narrow passageway to Siobhan’s apartment.

By 5.30 Joy and I were starting to grow anxious. We had to open the bar in half an hour but we were determined to watch the climax. The couple had put us through so much worry over the past few weeks that we were desperate to witness the closure.

As the clock showed 5.45 we were beginning to think that Pedro and the Czech girl weren’t going to come back that evening.

‘Have you seen the time?’ I asked Joy quietly. ‘We’re going to have to go and open.’

‘Ssshh,’ said Barry suddenly. ‘They’re here.’

Pedro was walking ahead of the Czech girl. Both had their heads down, looking glum. We all inched away from the window in order not to be seen. We watched them both trudge up the steps, still staring at their feet. It was only when Pedro was three steps from the top that he noticed the pile of black bin liners outside the apartment door. He stopped for a moment and gazed round, wondering if he’d come to the right apartment. The Czech girl had caught him up and began to look nervous again. She started to go back down the steps, but Pedro grabbed hold of her elbow to halt her retreat. Stepping round the bin liners he tried the key then knocked loudly on the door. We quietly opened Mrs Tanner’s window to hear the confrontation. Terry answered, his eyes ablaze with anger.

‘Yes?’ he barked.

‘Who are you?’ asked Pedro confidently, and in English.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ answered Terry, taking one step closer to the Spaniard.

Pedro didn’t move. ‘This is my apartment. What are you doing here?’

‘This is my mother-in-law’s apartment and I’m staying here with her,’ said Terry.

‘You… you can’t be. We live here. We rented this apartment from Joy at the Smugglers Tavern.’ Although Pedro had revealed his mastery of English, Terry’s threatening demeanour was causing him to falter.

‘Never heard of her,’ snapped Terry. ‘Do you have a contract?’

‘Er… no.’

‘Well I suggest you just fuck right off and stop wasting my time,’ said Terry. He was clearly enjoying himself.

‘You can’t do this,’ argued Pedro, raising his puny frame as much as he could. ‘These are all my things,’ he continued, pointing at the bin liners.

‘Well, move them off my doorstep before I tell the police you’ve been dumping rubbish outside my mother-in-law’s apartment.’

At the mention of ‘police’ the girl turned and made her escape. She called to Pedro from the bottom of the steps, beckoning for him to follow, but he wasn’t giving in just yet.

‘You can’t throw me out,’ he continued. His voice was getting louder now. ‘Where am I going to go?’

Terry suddenly leaned closer, making him step back suddenly. He was reading the label on one of the bin liners.

‘Why don’t you go back to apartment 224, Playa Sol, Las Américas? That’s where you live, isn’t it?’

Pedro was speechless for a moment.

‘I’m… I’m… I’m calling the police,’ he spluttered eventually.

‘Go ahead,’ said Terry, smiling, and closed the door.

‘He won’t do it,’ whispered Wayne. ‘He’s bluffing.’

‘He’ll do it,’ said Joy. ‘He’s got that much front.’

Instead of feeling relief that the confrontation had seemingly gone our way, and equally importantly that Terry had managed to resist assaulting Pedro, we now sat with knotted stomachs awaiting the arrival of the police.

The two squatters loitered at the bottom of the steps. The girl was trying to persuade Pedro to leave, but he was resolute. After several failed attempts they both sat down in silence.

It was now ten minutes past six but Joy and I had decided we had to stay around for the finale. We’d pay the consequences of an angry patronage later.

After half an hour two uniformed policemen sauntered up to the couple, guns swinging on their hips. They listened to Pedro as he pointed up at the apartment and showed them the handwritten receipt that Joy had given to the girl. The volume and tone of his voice started to rise as he tried to evoke a sense of injustice. One of the officers held his hands up to halt the onslaught.

The two policemen lead the way back up the stairs and knocked at Siobhan’s door. This time Siobhan answered. In broken English one of the policemen asked who she was. Siobhan told him her name, adding that she was the owner of the apartment.

‘You have papers, say you owner?’ asked the officer. Siobhan went back inside. Pedro tried to follow but the other policeman pulled him back. The two officers looked through the title deeds, bank statements, utility receipts, community payments and all the other reams of paperwork that Josephine had advised us to tell Siobhan to bring.