The Dreamer's Road (Part 2)

By Damian Joyce

'The Dreamer's Road' (Part 2) picks up where Damian Joyce's highly acclaimed debut bio/novel (Part 1) left off... with his 'escape' to Spain.
Where 'Part 1' chronicled his humble Lancastrian upbringing and early-life struggles with conformity and identity, 'Part 2' blossoms into a story of dreams and potential being realised.
From his base in the Costa Brava, he strums his guitar and sings to the summertime tourists, before heading to the Ski Resorts, or touring the world during the winters.
The often hilarious and hedonistic adventures of his first book are taken to new heights in this sequel, taking place in exotic and far-reaching countries such as Australia, South Africa and even the island of Bali.
Heart-stopping tales of romance, contrast with the often dark reality of life on the road, as Joyce maintains his erudite and thought-provoking style of story-telling.
His experiences culminate in the writing and recording of his first album, leading to an unexpected and thrilling climax, making 'The Dreamer's Road' (Part 2) well worth the wait.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Damian Joyce
• Release date: Aug 3, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370675319

Damian Joyce

Damian Joyce is an English-born musician and writer currently residing in Los Angeles, California.Born and raised in Lancashire, the eldest of five children, his early life was incident packed and turbulent due to his mischievous sense of adventure. This was despite the best efforts of a loving and supportive family.In order to quench his thirst for exploration, and to spare his loved ones further (first-hand) anguish, he left England, aged 19, landing in Northern Spain in 1988. Armed with his guitar, 30 English Pounds, a lust for life, and a street-wise sensibilty beyond his years, he would spend the next ten years singing his way around the world. He spent months in places as far reaching as South Africa, Australia and the Island of Bali, to name a few. The accumulation of knowledge gained from his adventures was eventually chronicled in the form of his first self-penned album which he entitled 'No Fixed Abode'. Released in 1998, it quickly garnered critical acclaim and the attention of music industry giants EMI, who invited Damian to America. He spent 18 years there, performing mainly in Los Angeles and Las Vegas, whilst also writing music for TV and Film.His second album of original material 'The Wilderness' was released in 2009. Upon it's completion Damian decided that the time was right for a new challenge and he set about the task of writing his first novel.'The Dreamer's Road' (Part 1) tells the story of Jack Jordan. A bright and adventurous boy, struggling to realise his dreams and his potential growing up in a 1980's repressed, Thatcherite Britain. His solution; to expand his horizons and flourish . Based upon the early period of his own life, the book is consequently a true and erudite story. On the back of the success of 'Part 1', 'The Dreamer's Road' (Part 2) was published in 2016 and continues the story of his life.This came after the release of Damian's third album entitled 'RAW', featuring his good friend and legendary keyboardist Keith Emerson. It was Keith's final recording before his tragic death. it is produced by the prolific Brian Kehew (The Who).

Book preview

PREFACE

"So, we shall let the reader answer this question for himself: Who is the happier, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, Or he who has stayed securely onshore and merely existed?"

Hunter S. Thompson

Based on a true story…

Reus Airport, La Costa Dorada, Spain…

I hesitate in calling it an airport, as it was unlike any other I’d previously occupied. Not that I was in any way a veteran of world travel. Far from it, I was 19 years old and this was only the third flight of my life. The other two flights had taken me to the Spanish owned Canary Island of Tenerife and back. However, this flight was different: it was one-way.

So it was with a mixture of both apprehension and excitement that I once again set my feet on Spanish soil - because I had made a major move. I had left my home, my job, my family and friends behind, and I was here to stay.

Despite wonderful, supportive parenting and as solid a family background as any child could have wished for, my struggles establishing my own personal identity had led to a tumultuous upbringing.

I had been both a shy, yet boisterous child; a selfish, yet conscientious adolescent; an intelligent, yet uninterested and wasted academic; a talented but ultimately failed sportsman; a loving but flawed boyfriend, a binge drinker and drug user, a lover, a fighter, an activist, and an aspiring songwriter and musician… all before the age of 18.

Years of facing and fearing the consequences of expressing

myself in every which way were now over. The battles, against what I saw as an establishment intent on conformity, had culminated in a dramatic exit from my country and my former employment with Blackburn Borough Council.

I was now in the situation that I had longed for, in a place where nobody knew me, and where the people would be of a kindred spirit. I was free.

I arrived with one large suitcase, and an acoustic guitar on my back. In my pockets I had 30 English pounds, and a one thousand-peseta note that had been kindly donated to me by a patron of my old, local pub - The Anchor. A friend who had sworn never return to Spain again after experiencing The shittist holiday ever!. I also possessed a packet of ten Silk Cut cigarettes.

I had nowhere to live, no job and no clue where I was going, but it would be reet (alright) as my old Lancastrian mate Banksy would say…

Wait! Was I reminiscing already?

Return to Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE – Day One

It was 1988. The morning of April 1st to be exact. The irony of the date was not lost on me, as I trudged across the runway tarmac simply following the crowd towards what appeared to be an excuse for a terminal. Was I the fool?

My mixed emotions ran wild and I looked skywards for a bit of heavenly assurance (should it exist), only to be briefly blinded by the sun. A wry smile came across my face. It had been pissing down with rain when I left Manchester airport two hours earlier. Yep, that’s why I was here: sunshine! Sunshine, beer, women and music, not in any particular order - in fact, why not all at the same time?!

My hedonistic daydreaming was brought to a halt by the realisation that there was no luggage carousel. I looked back towards our now empty plane and noticed an iron cage full of mostly shoddy looking suitcases being driven towards us by a surly looking handler. His tractor like vehicle towed the cage to within a few metres of where most of us were gathered. We were in search of guidance, which certainly wasn’t forthcoming from any of the airport officials. The driver turned off the engine, dismounted and walked by us as if we didn’t exist. He then disappeared through an office door.

A lot of shoulder shrugging and raised, open-palmed gestures of bewilderment ensued. Then a couple of rough looking lads with tattoos made the decisive ‘fuck it’ motion and strode purposefully towards the cage. Taking a couple of tentative looks around before doing so, they slid back the bolt that opened the cage and then jumped back to avoid the baggage as it came tumbling down in their direction. Surely that would stir an airport official into some form of action?

Nope, no reaction whatsoever. Not a turned head or raised eyebrow anywhere. Did they just not give a shit? Were they too lazy to care? Or was this perhaps just their laid-back way of living?

I took a deep breath at that thought, and in an attempt to calm myself. Spain was obviously no place for anxiety or impatience. It might take some getting used to but if it really was so, it would be exactly the pace of life that I felt I was born to live… eventually.

Reus Airport served a number of coastal towns that were destinations for thousands of, mainly European, tourists each summer. The much bigger Barcelona International Airport was 100 km north, and the one most used for the Costa Dorada. But my personal destination was the town of Salou and Reus Airport was only a twenty-minute bus, or ten-minute taxi ride away.

My original money-saving plan had been to take the bus but with none in sight, a monster suitcase in hand and a slew of taxis lined up in front of me, I decided on luxury and convenience. Not that any of the slovenly looking drivers seemed to be particularly interested in my business. In fact I felt mildly intrusive as I approached one - sitting on the bonnet of his car. I then stumbled over my first attempt at the Spanish language.

Hola. Err… taxi?

Si, es un taxi! replied the driver with a chuckle.

What did he say? Was he taking the piss out of me?

He moved towards the back of the car and opened the boot, gesturing for me to bring over my suitcase. I put the suitcase in front of him and began to remove the guitar from my sweaty back.

No, tu. he said, wagging his finger at my huge suitcase.

Yo no. he said with yet another chuckle, all of which I translated to mean ‘I’m a taxi driver not a fucking weight-lifter!’. I loaded it in myself and climbed into the backseat with my guitar.

Donde? he said.

Pardon? I replied. Sorry I don’t speak Spanish.

Where you go? he said in English, but with a heavy Spanish accent.

Oh. Err Salou.

Ahh Salou. He pronounced it differently than I had done.

Donde en Salou?

There was that word ‘donde’ again. It must mean ‘where’, I thought.

I pulled a piece of paper from my pocket that had an address on it. He looked at it and mumbled something in Spanish before nodding and returning the piece of paper to me. Success! I had understood him perfectly and he knew exactly where to go. I was practically fluent already! … and we were on our way.

There were three main reasons why I had chosen the town of Salou to be the base for the start of my new life outside of England:

Firstly, it was in Spain. A country I had visited on two previous occasions and had instantly felt at home in. I didn’t speak the language and I didn’t know any of its history but that would come. I simply felt like the lifestyle suited my personality and that I could be myself in a way that I could not at home in Lancashire.

It was hard to explain why, but I realised that I was coming here for the answers to that and other questions about who I really was.

The second reason for being in Salou was that it had become one of Spain’s foremost holiday resort towns. It didn’t quite carry the infamy of household name destinations such as Benidorm, Marbella and Lloret de Mar but that was a good thing. Those places had risen to prominence during the 60’s and 70’s and every man and his dog had been there, done that and bought some form of bar t-shirt, or crudely emblazoned vest.

Salou had become popular during Spain’s ‘boom’ decade - the 1980’s. Hence it was still on the up, fresher and more open to new blood such as myself.

The third reason was that this was the only town in Spain where I actually knew somebody. The connection went back to my old life and my old job as a Lifeguard, back in the town of Blackburn. My colleague, and occasional bedmate Natalie McDermott had a sister, Jackie, who had been assigned to the town of Salou in her new job of Holiday Representative. She worked for a company called Intasun. I didn’t know Jackie very well, in fact I had only meet her once in a Blackburn pub six months earlier. However, as a fellow ‘first- timer’ moving abroad I was sure that she would welcome a friendly face, whilst providing some assistance with the small matter of my having no home, no job, and very little means at my disposal. With these matters in mind my first stop was the Intasun head office, based in an area of south Salou known as Cambrils. I had to establish Jackie’s exact whereabouts.

During the fifteen-minute taxi ride I took in the scenery, whilst keeping one eye on my unenthusiastic driver. His languid driving style was causing me the occasional anxious moment. It felt weird enough being on the right side of the road but he also had the bad habit of taking his eyes off it to gawk at female pedestrians. This caused us to start veering over to the left and though I was more accustomed to that side of the road, it was clearly dangerous. Being a big fan of the opposite sex myself, I did at least have some understanding of his lurid tendency, and he certainly didn’t discriminate. If it was female, he was looking, and blatantly - with complete head turns.

He was a scruffy individual; wearing a food and coffee stained short-sleeved shirt and jeans. I hazarded a guess that he was around the age of 40. He was quite short, perhaps 5ft 6", and definitely the beneficiary of a few too many plates of Paella, Spain’s national dish. He had dark-brown eyes and hair and the greasy complexion befitting of an overweight man working in the hot sun.

All in all, I concluded that he was probably not the most pleasant of individuals to be in the company of. I wondered if he had a wife and children? There was a set of rosary beads dangling from the rear-view mirror: a Catholic, so the answer to that question was probably ‘yes’. I felt a brief moment of sympathy for them.

We had passed through a couple of small villages. The houses were built of mainly grey concrete slabs. Occasionally they would be painted in bright red, green or yellow. Some houses had a derelict appearance, but then a line of washing strewn across the balcony would surprisingly suggest inhabitance.

Between the villages there were fields, some occupied by sheep or goats. The fields were a mixture of light green grass and hay and were quite barren in comparison to the lush green grassed and cow-riddled fields of the North of England.

There was still no sign of the Mediterranean Sea as we passed a road sign that read ‘Bienvenido a SALOU’ but it would surely only be matter of seconds now, as we were heading directly east towards the coast.

We took a right turn at a traffic light which caused me momentary concern, as it meant that we were no longer heading seawards. But then it revealed itself…

La Playa!

Announced my driver with an outstretched left arm pointing eastwards. I wasn’t exactly sure what ‘La Playa’ meant and it could have been a sleazy reference to another sighting of a desirable female. However, as I peered between the line of shops, offices and hotels I spotted the sand and then the deep blue sea. It brought a smile to my face, which the driver saw in his mirror and acknowledged by smiling smugly and nodding his head. He knew why I, and thousands of others had come to his town and he seemed suitably proud of what it had to offer. He also knew that it afforded him and many other locals like him a living. What would he be doing otherwise, I wondered?

Aqui he said pulling over to the left.

The first thing I saw was a small clothing boutique but written on the building next door were the words Intasun and ‘Oficina’. We had arrived.

Mil pesetas. said the driver, his open palm reaching towards me.

I pulled my entire budget out of my pocket, spread it out in my hands and said How much?

Mil pesetas. he repeated, taking the only Spanish currency that I possessed, a 1000 peseta note.

As he did so I noticed the word ‘MIL’ written on the note. I wasn’t getting any change, and he wasn’t getting a tip. I did the conversion from Spanish to English money in my head. 1000 pesetas = 5 pounds. That’s an expensive 15-minute ride, I thought, as I got out of the car. But what could I do? I was at his mercy and perhaps that was just the going rate around here.

Once again I was forced to unload my own suitcase. I thanked the driver all the same, which brought no response, and he went on his way without a goodbye or even a backwards glance. Not particularly friendly, I thought, but perhaps predictable, considering his other personality traits.

I stood outside the Intasun Office and ran through my mind exactly what I hoped to accomplish within it. Then I took a deep breath and entered.

Two women in maroon uniforms that gave them the look of air stewardesses were milling around behind a counter. One of them looked at me and walked towards the counter to address me. She was a pretty girl in her mid-twenties, Spanish I assumed, with her dark hair, eyes and complexion.

Hello. she spoke English.

Hello, I am a friend of Jackie McDermott, one of your reps. Could you tell me where I might find her please?

Hmm… Jackie McDermott. I am not familiar with her.

Her English was very good, I thought. She looked through a list of names.

She’s one of the new ones. said the other uniformed girl: she was definitely English judging by her accent and her appearance, fair-haired and freckled.

Is she expecting you? The Englishwoman’s question was unexpectedly aggressive.

Err… yes. Yes she is.

The truth was that I wasn’t sure whether Jackie’s sister Natalie had managed to pass on my arrival information or not. I suddenly felt anxious at the prospect of this possibly being a complete surprise for Jackie. Would she even remember who I was? And her colleagues’ tone led me to believe that me showing up like this may be frowned upon by the company.

She is living in an apartament on this street. Apartamentos Hosephina, B3.

The Spanish girl came to my rescue. She looked up from the list and gave me an assuring half smile, whilst raising her eyes in a gesture that said ‘don’t mind her’.

I smiled back at her.

Thank you very much. YOU are very kind.

I said looking past her at the English girl, with a wry smile on my face. My Spanish ‘amiga’ attempted to hide another smile as she wrote down Jackie’s apartment information on a piece of paper.

Ahh Josephina, with a J. I said.

Si, Hosephina with a hota. She replied with another smile.

So, in Spanish ‘J’s were called ‘hotas’ and they sounded like ‘H’s, not ‘J’s. This was getting complicated.

Thanks again. I said, looking at her closely and taking note of her nametag. It read ‘Intasun Representative Amelia Garcia’. I liked her.

Bye I said as I opened the office door to exit.

Adios said Amelia.

There was no reply from the English girl.

Why had she been so unhelpful I wondered, as I dragged my suitcase along the pavement? She had a posh sounding, London area accent. ‘Snobby bitch’ I thought to myself.

I looked down at the wheels of my suitcase. The pavement was different here. It wasn’t flagstones or the more modern tarmac. It was a tightly knitted collection of white concrete slabs with thin-lined, shallow indentations that I couldn’t explain, running vertically alongside each one. They made my wheels veer in directions that they weren’t supposed to. The pavement did appear to be quite new though. In fact, as I looked around, the whole area had a recently built look to it, as though Cambrils had been an expansion project of the main town of Salou.

‘Apartamentos Josephina’: I had arrived at Jackie’s place. There were two separate blocks. The first had A1 inscribed on a door on the ground floor. So I assumed that A2 was above it, and so on. I moved onto the next block. Behind it was a row of trees through which I could just about see the beach and the water. Great! She practically lived on the beach.

B3 meant dragging my suitcase and guitar up two flights of stairs which was no easy task, but my adrenalin was pumping now. As I stood outside the door I gathered myself, took another deep breath and knocked. I ran a couple of ‘hello’ type lines through my head, not knowing whether Jackie herself would answer the door.

Nothing… I knocked again.

It was the middle of the afternoon. Perhaps she was at work? I put my ear to the door. I couldn’t hear anything.

I knocked once more and then sat down against the wall resigned to the fact that there was nobody home. I felt disappointed but my shyness also left me feeling slightly relieved at not having had to face a potentially awkward moment. This was only delaying the process of course, and I was quickly learning that travelling and new beginnings did not solely involve adventure and excitement. The unknown was also a cause of anxiety, and now patience would be required.

Though I was happy to be resting, my mind was still racing. I wondered if I should return to the office to ask if they knew Jackie’s working hours. What if she decided to go to dinner after work, and then maybe have a few drinks? I could be here for hours!

Just as my stress levels began to rise again, I heard female voices and the clicking of shoe heels. I jumped to my feet and braced myself. They were coming up the steps towards me. One voice was English, the other sounded Scottish. It had to be her. They reached the top step and turned to face me. They both looked at me, slightly startled. I smiled nervously.

Hello. I said.

Err… Hi. replied an attractive blonde in her early twenties as she reached into her handbag for a door key. Both girls wore maroon uniforms. I fixed my eyes on the freckled faced brunette as they walked by me.

Hi Jackie.

She stopped in her tracks and looked right into my eyes, her face beset with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

Then recognition kicked in.

Oh shit! It’s err… Jack, right?

Yes!

What the hell are you doing here?

She didn’t say this warmly and obviously had no idea that I was coming. I was flustered.

Er, well, it’s kind of a long story I suppose…

She was entering her apartment, only half listening and looking increasingly agitated. I began to panic.

I need a bit of help Jackie.

She turned, putting one hand on the door. She obviously had no intention of inviting me in.

Help? From me?

Natalie didn’t tell you that I was coming obviously?

Natalie? No.

Well, basically I resigned from my job at Splash and I have come here to live. But I don’t have anywhere to stay right now and I don’t know anyone… except you.

Oh great! And you don’t really know me. Very smart.

Her sarcasm had me on the brink of walking away.

I have just moved here myself Jack and just started a new job. As you can see, I live here with another girl, so I can’t just invite you in and have you stay here.

I didn’t know what to say. Her unfriendliness and unwillingness to help me was shocking, even if she did make a good point (or three). I had been naïve and not thought about what her situation might be.

Yes, sorry Jackie. You are right. I wanted to speak to you before I came, or at least get a message to you through Natalie… Never mind, I’ll find something.

I turned to grab my suitcase. As I did so the realisation was hitting me that I was completely fucked. I had nowhere to stay and not enough money for a hotel. I also had a huge suitcase and a guitar for company during my search. Jackie was standing at the door in silence. I heard a voice in the background. It was the English girl.

It’s fine by me Jackie. I don’t mind if he stays.

Jackie looked back in her direction for a second but didn’t reply, perhaps hoping that I hadn’t heard her colleagues’ sympathetic words. I saw an opportunity.

Jackie, can I ask one small favour please?

What?

Do you mind if I leave my suitcase with you for an hour or two, so I can look for somewhere to stay without having to lug it around with me?

She paused, then answered with an air of exasperation.

Fine, but you can’t leave it here for long.

Right. Thank you.

She opened the door fully and stepped back to allow me to bring my suitcase in. I put it behind the door.

I realised that I hadn’t asked about also leaving my guitar, but I slipped it off my back as undemonstratively as possible and leaned it up against the suitcase - hoping that she wouldn’t notice.

I looked back at her. Over her shoulder, in what appeared to be a large open-plan living room and kitchen, the English girl sat at a dining table. She was looking at me and even afforded me a warm smile.

Thanks Jackie, I’ll be back in an hour or two.

Right, good.

I walked down the steps, relieved that the ordeal was over, but still shocked by Jackie’s attitude towards me.

What a bitch! I said quite loudly, as if helpless to stop my own voice from expressing my feelings. That made me chuckle, relieving a bit of tension.

Now what? I said to myself, a nervous smile on my face attempting to mask my fear.

I stood in the middle of the pavement. I looked left, then right. To the left was the unknown. I recalled passing an inviting looking bar on my initial walk. Perhaps it would contain vital information to aid my cause. It would at least contain alcohol, which in my current frame of mind would definitely aid my cause. It had the words ‘The Victoria’ emblazoned in large, metallic lettering above its entrance doors. Despite the obvious British Pub name, it didn’t have the appearance of such an establishment. Curiosity got the better of me and I decided to take a peek inside.

Peering around the half opened door I saw a large room with dining booths on either side, divided by a wide walkway that I guessed could also be a dance-floor. There was a double turntable deejay set-up between the booths on the right-hand side and a bar running the width of the room at the top end. The place was completely empty, as I walked cautiously towards the bar. Then suddenly a door burst open from behind the bar revealing a kitchen behind it. A diminutive but obviously energetic woman appeared.

Hiya luv. You alright?

Wow she sounded like my Mum!

Er… yes thanks. Are you open?

Yeah, it’s always quiet durin’t day, unless it rains. Sit down ‘ere at bar. What can I get you?

I sat on a stool at the corner of the bar

Emm… I need a beer I think. What do you have?

She proceeded to rattle off a long list of different beers that she had obviously memorised in a certain order. The list included names like ‘San Miguel’, ‘Henninger’, ‘Estrella Dorada’, and finally one I knew and loved: ‘Tetley’s’.

That’s the one. I said stopping her in her tracks.

"You sound like you come from ‘round my neck ‘ert

woods?" she said.

Aye, I were thinkin’ same about you. I’m from Accrington, or Oswaldtwisle if you’re really local

Yeah I know ‘em. I’m from Bolton.

Ha, that’s where mi Mum’s from!

I know Blackburn well. That’s ‘round there, right?

I’ve just come from Blackburn. I was living and working there, at ‘Splash’.

That’s that new, fancy swimming pool, right? Yeah I heard about that. Are you on holiday then?

No, I’m here looking for work.

Oh right. Where are you living?

Well, actually I don’t have anywhere yet. I just arrived an hour ago.

Do you know anybody here?

I know one of the Intasun reps a bit, but I just saw her and she wasn’t very helpful.

I laughed nervously not wanting to sound too desperate, but secretly praying for some kind of help.

We’ll have to get you sorted out then luv, won’t we?

Really? You can help? That would be brilliant.

Well, I can’t promise anything but we can introduce you to a few locals and see what’s going on.

Thanks a lot. That would be great. I’m Jack by the way. Jack Jordan.

I’m Mave. Nice to meet you Jack. Yeah, I know some of them Intasun girls. They drink in here sometimes. Which one do you know?

Jackie. She’s got dark, wavy hair and a lot of freckles. Quite pretty though.

Oh yeah, I know her. She thinks her shit doesn’t stink.

Haha, yeah that’s her. I don’t really know her well. She’s the sister of an ex-girlfriend of mine.

We chatted away while I consumed my pint of Tetley’s and smoked a Silk Cut cigarette, feeling much happier about the world now that I had an ally.

Mave was a classic Lancastrian woman: big-hearted, down-to-earth, no nonsense and busy. She cleaned, re-arranged and re-stocked the bar as we talked. Her small but shapely frame bustling with energy and her dyed blonde hair bobbing up and down as she moved. I hazarded a guess that she was probably in her late thirties. She had attractive facial features, though well worn, probably due to hard work, the stress of running a business and smoking. I noticed that she had three cigarettes in the first half an hour of our talking.

She poured me another Tetley’s without my asking for it, which had me mentally reviewing my dire financial situation for a second.

I’d better only have a couple Mave. I need to save my money for food and rent.

Don’t worry luv, this one’s on me. I’ll start you a tab and you can pay me when you get a job and get settled in. Try to do a runner on me though, and I’ll kill you.

The last part was said with a cheeky smile, but I knew she wasn’t joking.

That’s really kind of you Mave. I don’t know what to say. I promise I’ll get sorted out and pay you back as soon as possible.

That’s okay. You seem like a good Northern lad. I’ll trust you.

It was an unbelievable offer of general help involving all my essential needs: food, shelter, work, friendship, and beer of course. I was almost overcome with the sense of relief. Then she spoke as though she recognised my emotional state.

"I remember when I first landed here fifteen years ago.

It can be hard work getting it all together at first, especially if you don’t have tits. Mine have got me a few jobs over the years."

I bet they have ha-ha.

Her tight-fitting t-shirt revealed a great ‘set’, despite her diminutive stature.

What can you do work-wise?

Well, I am a very well qualified life-guard.

Useless.

Okay… I’ve worked in a couple of pubs and clubs as a barman and a deejay.

That’s more like it. I’ll ask around and see who might need someone. You’ve landed at a good time. Things are just beginning to get going, so bar owners are looking for staff.

I also play guitar and sing, but I’m not sure if I am quite ready to do that as a job just yet.

Really? We are always looking for good entertainers. In fact, if you come here tomorrow night Pat Bradley will be playing. He’s the best around.

Oh great, yeah I’ll definitely come in for that.

This was getting better by the minute.

It was true that I didn’t feel ready to perform my musical act yet. I knew that I still had a lot to learn. My singing and guitar playing were coming along nicely but song selection would also be a very important part of the job, as the audiences would comprise of multiple nationalities. I needed to learn which songs were popular with everyone. My act would need numbers that they could sing-a-long to, and dance to - fast or slow. I had to choose them carefully and then I had to learn them. I would also need equipment to amplify myself: speakers and a mixer of some form. Then I would have to work on my stage presence and confidence. Astrologically, I was a typical ‘Leo’ in many ways - only being the centre of attention was in direct conflict with my natural shyness. I would have to learn to overcome that and to at least give the appearance of ‘belonging’ on a stage. It sounded like Pat Bradley would be the perfect man to learn from. I assumed that with such a name he was an Irishman. No doubt he would have the gift of the gab then too, a part of the job that made me most nervous: conversing with the audience in between songs.

The doors to The Vic suddenly burst open and two girls chatting and giggling appeared.

It’s Happy Hour! Mave declared.

I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant by ‘Happy Hour’ but my thoughts on that matter were halted by my recognition of the two girls.

Hiya Linda. Hiya Amelia.

Hiya Mave.

Hola Mave.

Amelia was the lovely Spanish girl from the Intasun office who had been so helpful to me a couple of hours earlier. Linda was the girl who shared Jackie’s apartment. She had also been kind to me.

They sat down in the middle of the bar, a few stools away from me. They seemed aware of my presence but they hadn’t looked directly at me yet.

What are you having tonight girls?

A lager and lime for me please Mave.

Linda had a London Cockney accent, I noted.

Y Yo, un vaso de vino tinto por favor. Amelia replied.

Muy Bien. said Mave.

Hmm, Mave spoke Spanish. Then she spoke some more directed at Amelia again. Though I didn’t know exactly, it appeared to be a question regarding her selection of red wine. She spoke Spanish without hesitation but still retained her thick Lancastrian accent. This made me smile. I would definitely have to learn some Spanish I thought, though I may attempt to sound a little less Northern English in my pronunciation.

Err can we speak in English Mave so I can join in?

said Linda with a chuckle."

You bloody Southerners don’t understand me when I do speak in English! I might as well be speaking Spanish.

We all laughed, though I’m not sure that Amelia understood the joke.

By the way girls, this is Jack. He has just arrived from England and he’s looking for work. Well, he’s looking for everything actually.

Awright Jack, nice to see you again.

Linda said with a friendly smile and a glint in her eye that told me that she could be the flirtatious type.

Amelia was more surprised to see me, but smiled and waved as the recognition set in.

Mave looked at me quizzically.

I met Linda and Amelia a bit earlier Mave. They were lovely and very helpful.

Both girls turned their heads and smiled at me.

You havin’ any luck then mate? asked Linda.

Well, Mave’s been great and she’s going to ask around for me about some work. I still don’t have anywhere to live though yet. I might have to start looking around for a hotel soon.

Ahh, have a couple of drinks with us first. We’ll worry about that later.

I knew that taking Linda up on her friendly offer could be fraught with danger, and an image of me wandering the streets late at night with my huge suitcase entered my head. But who was I to refuse the company of two lovely Intasun Representatives?

Before I’d had the chance to respond to Linda’s invitation, she was picking up her drink and heading in my direction.

Come on Amelia. she said.

Mave looked over at me, raised her eyebrows and grinned. Was she trying to tell me something?

Linda sat on the stool next to me and Amelia on the stool next to her. Amelia seemed the shy type too, but she was happy to follow Linda’s direction.

Cheers! Here’s to Happy Hour. said Linda.

Cheers!

The three glasses came together.

Salud. said Amelia.

Is that ‘Cheers’ in Spanish, Amelia?

Yes Jack.

You’re a quick learner ain’t you mate?

Why, had you not worked that one out yet Cockney?

Oi! Careful Northern monkey. We’re not all fick!

Hmm? …Anyway, what exactly is Happy Hour?

We all get pissed! declared Linda with a laugh. Amelia understood that one and laughed too.

Borracho! That’s ‘Pissed’ in Spanish. she added.

We cut the prices on some beer and wines for a couple of hours. Mave interjected.

I like the sound of that. So 4 til 6 every day? I asked glancing at my watch.

Yes. We try to get the crowd in early, or at least to grab’em as they come off the beach. It’s still a bit early in the season though to be busy now.

Mave obviously had a lot of experience in the bar business, I could learn from her too.

Before I knew it two more hours had passed by and we were all now entering into the realms of merriment. The Vic was slowly but surely filling up, and I was acquiring more and more valuable information about my new surroundings and the lifestyle of the locals.

A couple more glasses of red wine had brought Amelia out of her shell and she was now chatting and laughing as much as Linda. I was doing more listening than talking, partly because it was in my nature to do so when I didn’t know people well, but also because I was preoccupied with retaining the information that was on offer. I was also perfectly happy watching two attractive girls interacting playfully. I found it insightful to listen to what the girls had to say to each other. It was quite different from the way lads conversed. At times they seemed mindful of my presence and at other times they spoke without any inhibitions, the latter becoming more prevalent with each glug of alcohol.

Amelia was a naturally pretty girl. I liked her olive coloured skin. Coupled with her long dark-brown hair, it gave her an exotic appeal that was new to me. Her English, spoken with a Spanish lilt, was also sexy.

Linda, though not as naturally pretty was certainly an attractive girl. She had long, dirty-blonde hair, striking green eyes and a lovely figure. I’d noticed this when she entered the pub and now that she had removed her uniform jacket it became even more apparent that she was the proud possessor of a tremendous ‘rack’: voluptuous, upstanding bosoms built to delight admirers of the female form. As she made her way to the bathroom I attempted to size up her ‘rear’, without making it obvious to Amelia. A quick glance downwards informed me that she appeared to have a great ass too. It was quite unusual for an English girl to be so curvaceous, I thought. I wondered if they thought the same about English men? Though we weren’t supposed to be shapely, were we?

Do you have a girlfriend Jack?

I was pleasantly surprised by the forwardness of Amelia’s question. For a split second I considered mentioning my relationship with Natalie, as it would be a reference to her sister Jackie, someone we both knew. I certainly didn’t want to say anything that might discourage sweet Amelia though.

No Amelia. I have arrived here young, free and single.

It suddenly struck me as I said the words that I was indeed completely ‘free’. Free to be whatever I wanted to be. I could re-invent myself as anything or anyone I wanted to, should I so desire.

Do you have a boyfriend Amelia?

Actually, yes Jack. His name is Jose. We have been together for two years.

Shit. That burst that momentary bubble. Why was she asking then?

Linda arrived back from her bathroom visit and immediately ordered another round of drinks.

Hold on luv… I’m sorry but I might have to go. I promised Jackie that I wouldn’t leave my suitcase in your place for more than a couple of hours, and I need to start thinking seriously about where I’m going to sleep tonight.

Before Linda had chance to reply Amelia leaned in and whispered in her ear. Linda paused for a second…

Don’t worry about it Jack. You can stay at our place tonight.

Once again I was pleasantly surprised.

Are you serious Linda? That would be brilliant! But what about Jackie? I don’t think she’d be too happy about that?

Leave her to me. I’ve been doing this job a couple of years, and she’s new. She doesn’t get to decide stuff like that. And besides, you are my friend now. So we’ll just wheel your suitcase into my room. She won’t even know that you are there.

Well, if you’re sure. Thanks very much. You’re a saviour.

As I was saying this, all I was thinking was ‘did she just say that I was staying in her room?’

Amelia was smiling at me. That was all the confirmation that I needed. I assumed that the whispering between them had been either to inform Linda that I was single, or to encourage her to solve my sleeping arrangement problem, or both. It didn’t matter. I was in.

Another hour or so passed by, during which I was introduced to The Vic’s head chef Mark, from Liverpool. He was a friendly lad of similar age to myself and his strong Scouse accent added to my feeling that this pub was going to be my home from home. He also persuaded me to try his ‘famous’ homemade ‘pie, chips and gravy’. Not that I needed much persuasion - I was starving by this stage, which didn’t go unnoticed.

Bloody’ell Jack, you must have been Hank Marvin. Did that touch the sides on the way down?

Linda’s use of Cockney rhyming slang made me chuckle. I was familiar with it as it was prominent dialogue in one my favourite TV shows, a London based comedy/drama called ‘Minder’, but I had never heard a real Cockney use it in person. Linda continued…

And what is it with you Northerners and gravy?

What do mean? I replied.

We only put gravy on our roast dinners down sowff.

Pie, chips and gravy IS a roast dinner up north luv! Well, at least to some folk.

Ha-ha. You Noverners got it tough up there, don’t you?

The truth was that my Mum made us a great spread of a roast dinner every Sunday evening, but I wasn’t going to let the truth get in the way of a funny aside. After all, playing the role of ‘lad in need’ seemed to be working a treat for me at the moment.

Everyone I’d met so far had sympathised with my plight and offered to help. All except Jackie of course, the one person that was supposed to help me out. And now it was time to re-visit her.

Are you ready Jack? I think I’ve had enough for tonight. And I have to get up early tomorrow.

Yeah of course. I’m ready when you are.

I thanked Mave for all her help and particularly for allowing me to run a tab.

Don’t leave town! she shouted after me as we got up to leave.

Don’t worry Mave, I’ll see you tomorrow.

We said our goodbyes to sweet Amelia and staggered back to Jackie and Linda’s apartment. As we did so, arm in arm, it crossed my mind that after travelling all day, I really needed a shower. If this newly formed liaison with Linda was heading where I thought it was, then I needed to freshen-up before the deed occurred.

We reached the door to the apartment.

Wait here Jack. I’ll see if she’s still up first.

Okay… what if she is?

It was too late, the door was opened and our whispering had to cease. I stepped back almost out of sight, but still able to see down the hallway. It was dimly lit and there was a thud as Linda walked into my suitcase, which I’d thought was out of the way behind the door.

Shit sssh. whispered Linda, as she made all the noise.

It appeared that the path was clear.

Come on Jack.

I entered the apartment as quietly as possible, grabbing my suitcase along the way. We made it into Linda’s bedroom undetected, at least visibly. Linda removed her heels and lay down on top of her bed invitingly.

Hey luv, do you mind if I take a shower? It’s been a long, hot day.

No, not at all. Be my guest. It’s in there.

Ten minutes later I emerged clean and somewhat refreshed - and ready for action. Linda had dimmed the lighting, undressed and climbed under the covers.

I let my towel drop to the floor, as I excitedly eased into bed beside her. Her back was towards me and as I went to put my arm around her, I heard a noise.

Was that a snore? I stopped in my tracks, my arm in mid-air. I moved my head over the side of hers to listen in more closely. I heard it again. It was a snore! I’d never heard a female snore before. It was barely audible and I couldn’t decide whether it was sweet or pathetic sounding. Either way she had fallen into a drunken slumber during my ten-minute shower, which literally put to bed any thoughts of my first day on Spanish soil ending in style. I kicked myself for a few moments; perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered with the shower, I probably didn’t smell that bad. Then, within seconds I was gone, out like a light also. It had been a very tiring day both physically and mentally. I may have been a fit 19-year old, full of youthful exuberance, but my body still had its’ limits and it had shut down.

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CHAPTER TWO – Settling In

I was woken by the sound of Linda’s Cockney speak;

Mornin’ Jack… Being a Novernor, I fought that you would like a cup of tea, right?

I paused for a second, wondering where the hell I was, and then to collect my thoughts. In a flash, a flood of information involving the previous days’ events overwhelmed me, and though I normally had a cup of coffee first thing in the morning, I couldn’t deny Linda’s sweet gesture.

Ahh thanks. A cup o’tea sounds great luv.

I sat in bed watching Linda’s ass walk its’ way around from my bedside to her side of the bed. She wore skimpy pink knickers and a tightly fitted white t-shirt that reminded me of her ample assets beneath. It also reminded me of the fact that I had failed to sample their probable delights a few hours earlier.

Hurry up with that tea Jack and we’ll have time for a ‘quickie’ before I have to go to work.

I practically spat out my mouthful of tea, as she clambered back into bed, snuggling up to me, putting her head on my chest and her leg over my own.

She looked up at me expectantly. It crossed my mind that I needed a piss and brushing my teeth would be preferable too, but she was obviously in a bit of a rush and I wasn’t about to miss out again!

Okay, let’s do it. How long have we got?

Hmm… fifteen minutes.

I took a sip of my tea, and then put the cup down on the bedside table. I lowered my face towards hers to kiss her. She had quite full lips for an English girl, and I soon discovered that she had found the time to clean her teeth. Subconsciously using our time constraints as an excuse, I immediately reached down to attempt to remove her T-shirt. I was wildly excited about viewing and manhandling the contents underneath it. I wasn’t disappointed. In fact they were undoubtedly the finest pair of breasts I had ever laid my eyes upon, and now I was about to lay my hands and lips upon them too. I could have spent days with those two big beauties alone, but we only had fifteen minutes to complete the whole act. So I moved onto the removal of her little pink knickers. Within seconds we were going at it like rabbits and unusually for me I was perfectly content to remain in the good old missionary position, as it meant that I could nuzzle on those mountainous mammories simultaneously. It wasn’t long before I was erupting like Mount Vesuvius and we were both laid out on our backs puffing and panting.

Linda turned abruptly and kissed me on the cheek.

Now that’s the way to start the day. she exclaimed, jumping out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. She would get no arguments from me on that particular proclamation.

I lay in bed reliving the last fifteen minutes and feeling quietly satisfied with my own part in it. Despite being relatively experienced for my age, I still possessed some of the usual insecurities associated with sexual performance. I always felt some form of relief in the knowledge that the girl I had just had sex with seemed perfectly happy with what had just taken place.

My thoughts then moved onto what might lay in store for me that day… until Linda returned.

"You can have