The new neighbours.

The opening to a novel set in Southern Spain. Lighter in tone than my previous books, but retaining some of the characters. People die, but not in excessive numbers – I’m mellowing slightly.

The welcome to Spain routine, delivered by a well-meaning neighbour, was not going well. The main problem was Donna’s grandmother, Peg, who, at eighty-three years of age, resented being told how to boil an egg by a woman wearing a strapless sundress and scarlet nail polish. The new temporary neighbour and would-be guide, Alison Frobisher − ‘Call me Allie, absolutely everyone does’ − was explaining the vagaries of an antique cooking range connected by a length of rubber hose to a bright orange gas cylinder.

‘Now look here, Alison’ – no chance of Peg calling her Allie, regardless of what absolutely everyone else did – ‘I was cooking on stoves like that thing there before you were born, so you can save your breath. All this place needs is a good scrub round and we’ll be right as ninepence.’

Allie sniffed, then, transparently wishing she were elsewhere, glanced through the window at the red BMW parked on the dirt track which passed for an entrance road. Seated in the driver’s seat was a swarthy young man, dreadlocks flowing in the breeze, tattooed arms tilted to catch the sun. In between extolling the cultural charms of the region; concerts, art galleries and even opera all within easy reach, their self-appointed guide had told Peg and Donna the sorry tale of her recently departed husband who’d sailed his yacht away into the sunset with a blonde aroma-therapist firmly ensconced in the master cabin.

The young man in the BMW, whom Alison referred to as her driver, was presumably some consolation for her deserted status. As he was at least fifteen years her junior, and seemingly obsessed with studying his own reflection in the rear view mirror, Donna thought a shared interest in art galleries and opera to be way down the list of possibilities
.
‘Do you reckon she’s living over the brush with that long-haired Herbert outside,’ Peg hissed in a whisper that would have been clearly audible three fields away as Alison led the way down a dark corridor towards the bedrooms. Alison hesitated for a moment, and then went on her way, straight-backed. Donna would have laid odds that the first thing Peg would have noticed had been the way in which Alison casually draped her arm across the driver’s bronzed shoulders as she climbed out of the car, suggesting an intimacy not solely that of chauffeur and passenger.

Alison quickly showed them over the rest of the house, explained about the need to collect post from the village a couple of miles away, and vainly attempted to deflect Peg’s offer of a cup of tea by claiming an urgent appointment elsewhere. She was trying hard to preserve her dignity, but the battle was lost the moment Peg spotted the driver of her car.
Peg grunted, ‘I’m having a brew anyway, no trouble to make an extra cup. I’ve always reckoned it’s a poor do when folk are too busy for a spot of tea. You need to learn to spread yourself a bit thinner.’

‘Of course, the area is not what it was when we first came,’ Alison babbled, seeking refuge in what was obviously a familiar routine, ‘No cars then, just mules and donkeys. Now every Spaniard wants to own a Mercedes and prices for us poor Brits have gone through the roof. Everyone wants to live in the sunshine, and we have to pay the price. Not that Spain is perfect, far from it. I mean to say, those holiday programme presenters should just try living here in August. Murder, absolute murder. Far too many people and too bloody hot.’

The three of them pattered across the worn flagstones into the small kitchen and Peg bustled about, reaching down the china teapot with a grunt of satisfaction. No tea bag would ever be dropped into a cup in any kitchen where Peg had power of veto. The skinny little kitten that had been following Donna around since she’d arrived mewed piteously, rubbing against her legs in a desperate plea for attention. Peg put down a saucer of milk and the tiny creature lapped away happily, its persistence rewarded at last.

‘Oh, I say,’ Alison interjected, ‘Do you think you should do that? It’s only a stray, and you’ll be overrun with the little beasts if you’re not careful, and then… I don’t want to sound prissy, but there’s always the hygiene factor to consider when dealing with animals, don’t you think?’

Peg said nothing, but her silence was ominous. Donna said nothing either, but that wasn’t unusual; She’d hardly spoken two words all day, content to let Peg take charge. Peg would have done so whether Donna said anything or not.

‘I mean, for all we know,’ Alison prattled on, ‘that cat could have just been licking its private parts.’
Peg wheeled round to face her. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if you’d spent half the morning licking the private parts of that scruffy youth out in the car, but I’d still give you a glass of milk if you were thirsty.’

Alison blanched. Donna took her arm, swiftly leading her outside and muttering thanks for the trouble she’d gone to on their behalf. The brightness was a shock after the comparative gloom of the interior, and she felt the sun licking her body like a soft warm tongue. Alison relinquished Donna’s arm and climbed nimbly into the passenger seat. Her driver favoured Donna with the kind of salacious leer that really makes a girl feel special.

Yuk!

‘In your dreams, pal,’ Donna mouthed. He smirked and slammed the car into gear, then roared off in a cloud of dust.