My Best Friend Has Issues (6 page)

It was a hot night as Ewan and I walked from Barceloneta to Barri Gotic. The main streets with the bars on them were busy,
swarming
with people smoking and laughing, but some of the smaller streets we passed through were dark and deserted. I was glad I wasn’t walking here alone. I kept to the pavement to avoid being hit by the mopeds that occasionally roared past, but Ewan strode up the middle of the street.

‘Where is it you’re staying?’ he asked me again.

‘You asked me that a minute ago,’ I giggled.

‘Sorry, so I did. Come here you to me,’ he said softly.

I’d only left Scotland a few days ago but already his Celtic syntax had the power to soothe and seduce me. I bet he said this to all the girls.

Another bike came down the street, a girl on a bicycle ringing her bell as a warning.

‘Ewan, be careful you don’t get run over,’ I said.

Ewan was at least as drunk as me.

‘I’ll walk where I like. Don’t stand under there,’ he moaned, ‘you’ll get soaked.’

It was true, as I walked beneath the balconies of the flats above, water was dripping on my head and down my neck.

‘Where is it coming from?’ I asked him.

‘Well, if you’re lucky it’s the run-off from somebody doing their washing or watering their plants.’

‘And if I’m not?’

‘Then it’s their condensed sweat. See those wee boxes up there? They’re gathering up people’s sweat and spilling it on to your head.’

‘Eeuch!’ I squawked, moving off the pavement.

‘Come here you to me, you lovely wee thing.’

This time I came to him. We walked down the middle of the road with our arms entwined.

‘Aye, your big brother Charlie’s doing all right then, eh?
Electrical
engineer? He was telling me he’s got his own business. Must be making good money. Good on the boy, I always knew he’d do well.’

‘You sound like you miss Scotland.’

‘
Claro
. Of course I do. It’s my homeland.’

‘Would you ever go back?’

‘And do what? Work in a hostel? There aren’t any in
Cumbernauld.
And there’s no call for fluent Catalan speakers either. I’m not trained for anything else. I couldn’t go back to living in a council flat and signing on. I’ve stayed away too long. I can’t go back to Scotland, but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.’

I thought Ewan looked as though he might start crying, but I was wrong.

‘
Oh flower of Scotland
!’ he sang.

‘
When will we see
,

your likes again?

That fought and died for,

your wee bit hill and glen,

and stood against him,’

Ewan aggressively interrogated himself.

‘
Against who
?
’

And then vigorously replied,
‘Proud Edward’s army,

and sent him homeward,

to think again.’

Having sex with Ewan tonight might not be such a good idea after all. Maybe I should wait until I got to know him a bit better. So far he was grumpy when he was sober, and maudlin when he was drunk. I was mulling this over when a river of dark blood came rushing down the hill towards us.

I couldn’t believe this was happening; it was like something out of a horror movie. I screamed and dug my nails into Ewan’s arm.

‘Calm down!’ he said sharply. ‘It’s only the bin men. They’re cleaning the street, they do it every night.’

And then I saw that it was the bin men. They were washing the ground, aiming a fat hose into dark corners, flushing the muck out along the street and down into the drains. Even though rationally I knew this, I was still terrified of the black water touching me. I tried to run in the opposite direction but Ewan held tight to my arm.

‘Here, get on.’

He bent his knees and invited me to jump on his back.

As I leapt on him the filthy water flowed over the soles of his flip-flops and between his toes. I held tight, my arms and legs clamped around him, my face against his.

‘Jesus,’ he complained, ‘will you stop that bloody squealing? It’s right in my ear!’

‘Wow, nice place,’ Ewan said after we’d walked up the five flights. ‘This must be costing a packet.’

‘Indeed,’ I replied enigmatically.

I showed him into the living room.

‘No, but really, how much is this place costing you?’

‘Nothing, it’s free.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘I mean, it’s free. I’m looking after it for a friend who’s gone to Berlin for a few days.’

Ewan looked confused.

‘Charlie said you didn’t know anybody in Barcelona.’

‘Well it goes to show that Charlie doesn’t know everything.’

‘And this “friend” just left you their flat, just like that? Just went to Berlin and left you the keys to a penthouse apartment, for nothing?’

‘Ah well, it’s not entirely for nothing. I have to earn my keep.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘A bit of gardening. Crop management and animal husbandry,’ I said. ‘Come and I’ll show you.’

I took him out to the terrace and showed him the marijuana plants.

‘Ah,’ he nodded.

We sat on the plastic chairs and looked out over the terrace towards the sea.

‘Sea view,’ I indicated, but it was too dark to see anything. ‘If you concentrate, you can feel the wind off the sea.’

We closed our eyes on the stiflingly hot night and concentrated on the breeze.

‘The maria’s not ready yet,’ I said with a backwards glance at the plants, ‘it’ll be a few weeks before the buds are out.’

‘Just as well I brought my own then.’

Ewan reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a lump of hash.

‘Not as good as home grown but you have to take what you can get when you buy it in a café.’

‘You bought that in the café tonight?’

‘Those boys don’t just sell flowers you know.’

‘Really?’

‘Whatever you want, if you know the right people: coke, eckies, grass, anything.’

‘Cool. Is your friend Sanj ”the right people”?’

‘Could be. He’s certainly well connected. Sanj’s uncle, Mahmood, runs the street vendors.’

‘Sounds dodgy.’

‘Och, it’s not like that. Mahmood keeps everybody in a job; he takes care of his community.’

‘Like
The Godfather
?’

‘Kind of like
The Godfather
, only Asian. Mahmood’s more of a businessman than a gangster. And a successful one, he owns half the property in Raval. But it’s true, he’s shady. You hear rumours. I wouldn’t like to cross him. Nobody messes with Mahmood.’

Ewan produced a tin containing tobacco and cigarette papers and began rolling a joint. He licked the paper and twisted the joint closed before handing it to me to light.

Weeks ago, resisting the temptation to invite the buck-toothed Frank into my hospital bed, I’d decided that the first man I slept with would be gorgeous and sexy. Was Ewan a worthy recipient? The criterion, like my gloriously intact hymen, was tight. Since we’d been chatting I’d watched Ewan’s mouth closely, imagining kissing it. It was a small mouth, one that I’d previously compared to a cat’s arse, but I’d been unfair. His lips were full, pouty even, especially when he smiled. He smiled slowly, the left side of his lips curling slightly before the right, giving him a crooked smile. That was sexy, so was his gold hair and firm body.

But good looks weren’t enough. The man who deflowered me would have to be a kind, considerate lover. I’d read enough in magazines to know what that meant. Ewan had shown kindness and consideration when I’d had my coughing fit. And he’d gallantly carried me across the dirty water in the street.

Most important of all, my first lover would have to be discreet. Ewan scored highly here too. I doubted he would tell anyone, not Charlie anyway, who would probably kill him for breaching the sanctity of his wee sister.

As I puffed on the joint I weighed it up. Perhaps before the night was out Ewan and I would be doing the mattress mambo.

‘No! Suck, don’t blow!’ he said. ‘That’s a waste of good dope.’

‘Sorry.’

On the negative side, he was a grumpy git. I took another draw and the smoke slid into my lungs quite pleasantly. I passed the joint back, pulling a face I’d seen professional hash heads make.

‘Sorry, I was worried I’d start coughing again.’

‘Jesus. Sorry, Alison. I’d forgotten about that. Yeah, you’re right, you should take it easy. We don’t want that to happen again. I thought you were going to have a heart attack.’

‘It was only a cough. It wasn’t that bad.’

‘Still and all, maybe you should take it easy tonight until your lungs clear out.’

‘Oh, you think so?’ I said taking the joint from between his fingers.

‘Look, if you’re going to smoke, put it between your lips, but keep them open at the sides, like this.’

Ewan demonstrated. He moved close to me and gently held the joint to my lips while I inhaled. He was now studying my lips the way I’d studied his.

‘That’ll cool the smoke down.’

It did. I took a deeper draw than the last.

‘Easy, don’t take too much.’

‘I’m starving.’ I said suddenly, ‘I’m going to see what’s in the fridge.’

Ewan smiled benignly. I left him facing into the sea breeze with his eyes closed.

In the fridge I found a bag of cherries, black cherries, engorged and ripe, the most delicious I’d ever tasted. I had eaten more than half of them before I remembered Ewan.

‘Ewan, you have got to try these. These are the best cherries in the world.’

Ewan still had his eyes closed. He was still smiling.

‘The wind’s got up, can you feel it?’ he slurred. ‘It feels good.’

I stood still and felt a faint stirring of wind across my face. It occurred to me how wonderful it would be to feel it across my belly and before I knew it I’d pulled my top over my head. Ewan’s eyes were still closed.

‘Oh, I can feel it, it’s fantastic!’ I gasped.

I was wearing a magenta pink bra of Chloe’s that I’d found in her drawer. Like the other one, this bra was a bit tight, but it pushed my tits up to just under my chin. The breeze tickled and played across my skin.

Until the glandular fever my torso had been a sweeping
panorama
of featureless flesh. Now there were distinct regions: the mountainous peaks of my breasts, the flat plains of my stomach, the twin promontories of my arse cheeks. I was shaking from my shoulders to my fingertips. I had never stripped in front of a boy before. I wasn’t comfortable, it wasn’t me. I reached to pull my top back on and Ewan opened his eyes.

‘I like you better like this,’ he said quietly.

I hunched and put my arms across my chest. Ewan gently opened my arms, ‘Look at the shadow you’re casting.’

I turned and saw my silhouette on the wall.

‘See? You’re like a Bond girl.’

I stared at it and laughed. The shadow had a slender graceful figure.

‘Did you have a nice night out?’

‘Yes I did, thank you Ewan.’

‘You know, I feel a bit bad. I lied when I asked you for your number: it’s not a legal requirement to take a contact number. I wanted to see you again, I hope you don’t mind.’

‘No, I don’t mind.’

Ewan saw the Elastoplast on my arm. ‘What happened to you?’

‘It’s nothing,’ I mumbled, ‘I tripped.’

‘Come here you to me, I’ll kiss it better.’

Suddenly I was aware of a snuffling at my feet. The smell of the hash must have woken Juegita. She and all her puppies were standing looking up at us expectantly. Ewan laughed.

‘Puppies!’

He lifted one of the pups and held her to his face, kissing and hugging her.

‘You really do have puppies!’ he said. ‘I thought that was only a ruse to get me here. I thought you wanted to take advantage of me.’

I leaned over and kissed him, open-mouthed.

‘I do,’ I said.

Then I kissed him again.

Something was sticking out of his eye, a twig, from a branch. He was blinking and blinking, but his eye wouldn’t close properly, his eyelids meeting around the twig-like lips, kissing, making a puckering, sucking noise.

He was crying and groaning. Stuff was coming out of his eye, slower and thicker than tears.

When I was small and I cried, she used to sing a song to cheer me up. She put her finger in her mouth, sliding it across the inside of her cheek and out through her lips. It made such a funny noise that I’d laugh and forget to cry. Pop goes the weasel.

He found the twig. He touched it and screamed, his hand flailing about in front of his face. And then his hand moved to explore it again.

The next morning I woke up on the couch. I groaned when I realised I had that stupid song Pop Goes the Weasel running round in my head, again.

Every time I tried to lift my head two things happened: an
invisible
mallet dropped on my skull and an invisible horse blanket of shame was thrown, heavy and suffocating, over me.

Stupidly I continued to try.

Not only was it incredibly painful but it didn’t even have the benefit that hangovers were supposed to have: I could remember everything.

Last night, after a snuffle and a hug, the dogs had gone back to sleep. Ewan and I had advanced from sitting in the plastic chairs to lying on the terrace floor looking at the stars. We had kissed some more. At some point my jeans had been removed and Ewan had taken his shirt off. It was still very hesitant. But we had all night, we weren’t going anywhere, and I was loving the sensation of being stoned.

I asked Ewan to roll another joint.

‘Eh, excuse me,’ Ewan said, pointedly, ‘I think you’ve had enough.’

‘Eh, excuse me,’ I retorted, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Easy, you’re already monged.’

‘I’m not monged! Whatever monged is, I’m not it.’

Ewan laughed.

‘Of course you are. Your green eyes have turned a lovely shade of pink.’

I giggled. ‘Which one?’

Ewan sniggered, ‘what d’you mean which one? Both your eyes are pink.’

I hooted with laughter and slapped the ground. ‘No, not which eye, you idiot, I meant which shade of pink?’

‘Magenta. You idiot,’ he replied sourly.

‘The same shade as my bra!’

I started to pull myself up, curious to find a mirror and see what my eyes looked like.

‘Hey,’ said Ewan pulling me back down, ‘don’t worry, they’re still gorgeous.’

He leaned forward to kiss me. At that moment this struck me as a preposterous thing for him to do. I pushed him away and giggled.

‘You’re off your face, girl.’

He lay back and didn’t try to kiss me anymore.

‘Ewan, don’t get all serious.’

I leaned over and slid my fingertips across his chest.

‘It’s okay, I’m not monged, I feel nice,’ I whispered, but even as I whispered, I felt the impulse to laugh. Everything I said sounded ridiculous.

Ewan looked me in the eye. He lifted his bum off the ground and pulled down his jeans. As he tugged his jeans past his crotch, his penis sprang out and bounced a few times against his belly. I bit into my cheeks and managed to resist laughing but I shouldn’t have looked down. There, fully erect and weirdly asymmetrical, was his hilariously misshapen penis.

How could I not laugh?

I must have been monged after all, how else could I explain the irrepressible waves of euphoria that washed over me at the absurdity of a penis? That and first night nerves.

It had been no stifled titter. It had been a pretty intense attack of the giggles: shoulders heaving, slapping the ground, pointing. I groaned again at the mental replay:
pointing
.

I’d seen a naked penis before. In magazines admittedly, but nevertheless, I knew what they looked like.
Cosmo
had run a
feature
celebrating the fact that no two were the same. They had photographs of long ones, thin ones, long thin ones, pointed ones,
tulip-shaped ones, bent ones, short stubby ones that resembled doorknobs, ones that veered to the left or right or curled back or forward, tiny ones difficult to detect with the naked eye, huge ones like hoover attachments.

As I lay groaning on the couch I wracked my brains to think which category Ewan’s fitted. On reflection it seemed like it was of a reasonable length, a bit bell-ended and definitely curly. It was the curliness that had started me off laughing, the way it curved outwards and sideways, like a friendly puppet that lived in Ewan’s pants. Apart from the curliness, it wasn’t that bad. It was certainly no reason to ridicule the poor guy.

It was first night nerves, I told myself, simple first night nerves, but Ewan wouldn’t have known that.

He’d stormed off to the bedroom last night, perhaps thinking that, despite my hysteria, I’d follow him. I would’ve if I’d not felt so ashamed; if I’d not been so nervous about actually doing The Deed.

As my hangover began to lift I thought of ways to get back on track with him. I’d bring him a cuppa. The only tea I could find was some foul-smelling herbal stuff. That would have to do. There was no milk, I hoped he could take it black.

‘I’ve brought you a cuppa,’ I said as chirpily as I could.

Ewan grunted. He opened his eyes and sat up.

‘Cheers,’ he said.

There was no rancour in his voice. Perhaps he’d been as stoned as I was; perhaps he’d no memory of last night. More likely he was as embarrassed as I was and preferred to forget it.

‘Jesus Christ!’ yelled Ewan. ‘What the hell is that? It tastes like rat poison.’

Not being able to understand Spanish, I hadn’t stopped to read the label. I’d assumed it was tea, perhaps it
was
rat poison.

‘Sorry,’ I said meekly, ‘don’t drink it if you don’t like it.’

We fell quiet. This was embarrassing. I stood beside the bed in the magenta pink bra and pants set. I hadn’t thought about it when I woke up, after all Ewan had already seen me like this last night, but now I felt self-conscious. To cover myself and get close to him I lifted the sheet and slid into the other side of the bed. The bed was
so big I was miles away from him. He didn’t object but, by the way he grabbed the sheet around his groin, I could see he was uneasy.

So he hadn’t forgotten.

‘I’m so sorry about last night, Ewan.’

‘Forget it,’ he snapped.

‘I must have been off my face after all.’

‘Oh yeah,’ he laughed sarcastically.

‘But also, I was shy.’

He didn’t say anything to this.

‘I was nervous; it’s not that I didn’t like your penis…’

This was completely the wrong thing to say. He nearly jumped out the bed. If he hadn’t been naked, he probably would have. He sat up rigid and held on to his bits protectively.

And then I thought of the perfect solution. I’d give him a blow job.

I wanted to prove to Ewan that I didn’t think his penis was laughable. I had thought about blow jobs many times. The notion of being so horned up that you were prepared to put a penis in your mouth was fascinating to me. Especially when urine passed through it several times a day. A penis was a pipeline for raw sewage.

I had to halt this train of thought or I’d be sick while I was down there.
Dear Lisa and Lauren, Currently attempting fellatio without vomiting. Man may be unwilling. Wish you were here.

I lay quiet and slid my hand under the sheet, slowly creeping as close as he would allow me. I heard his breathing change. After a few minutes spent in silence he moved his hand from his cock and lay back, giving me permission. My hand made contact with something warm and surprisingly hard. The skin on it was soft, like a baby’s, and as I ran my fingers up and down I slowly pulled the sheet away. Ewan had a beautiful body, slim manly hips, legs that looked solid and powerful. He could have been a sculpture but his peach-coloured skin was warm and fragrant and soft to the touch. I wanted to get closer to it. I slipped down the bed and positioned my head. I was ready to clamp my mouth around it, to fill my mouth with the size and smell and heat of it when the bedroom door flew open and Chloe caught me with Ewan’s engorged cock inches from my lips.