Wrong Place Wrong Time Read online

  Roger thanked me for my services over the past few years, shook my hand and wished me luck for the future.

  "Oh, and Dave?" he said, as I was halfway out the door.

  "Yes?"

  "You're a fucking idiot."

  I closed the door behind me, walked down the stairs and out of head office onto the busy London streets. That's the last time I'll leave that building I thought to myself as I negotiated my way through the people and headed down to the underground. I paid for a ticket and boarded the train with the words "you're a fucking idiot" ringing in my ears.

  That evening, I visited my parents. They were more upset than angry; they could see how I was feeling and didn't have to tell me what an arsehole I'd been. I phoned Mike that evening too, and told him what had happened. He was sorry, but what more could he say? I told him I'd catch up with him soon and finished the call. I really wasn't in the mood for talking.

  My court appearance followed within a matter of days which resulted in a twelve month driving ban and a hefty fine. I'd had it all: an excellent career and salary with a smart BMW and a luxury apartment. But I lost everything in one stupid, reckless evening. Not being able to afford the payments on my apartment, my parents suggested that I move back in with them. Although I was more than appreciative of their support, depression quickly set in when it hit me that I'd just kissed goodbye to my salary, my home and the lifestyle I'd loved.

  I spent the next few months staring at a TV screen and feeling extremely sorry for myself, refusing to go out and refusing to face up to the situation. I became a complete recluse and hated myself for it.

  I needed some breathing space to get away from it all and to re-evaluate my life, so, with nothing better to do, I decided to take some time out. I booked a one way ticket to Spain where I planned to spend the summer. A trip to clear my head seemed like my very best option.

  The night before I left, my family arranged a small party for me. Actually, it was more of a get together considering that losing my job, home and driving license wasn't cause to get the party poppers out.

  We were a very close family; four brothers and a sister. I had a twin brother, John, but we were like chalk and cheese. He was arty and extremely clever, whereas I was sporty and now, it seemed, fucking stupid as well.

  The champagne flowed that night. Okay, I lie, it was sparkling wine, but it was a lovely evening, albeit rather emotional. Just before midnight the family started to say their goodbyes and head for home. My youngest brother, Bobby, gave me a hug at the door.

  "For fuck's sake Dave," he said, "look after yourself, eh? And don't get into any trouble."

  "Me?" I replied.

  "Yes you, ya bastard. Just be careful."

  I smiled. "Course I will mate. Now piss off and leave me to pack."

  There were hugs all around from John, Stuart and Gary, my eldest brother. They all wished me good luck and told me to stay in touch. Then followed a huge hug from my sister, Susan. For as long as I could remember I'd always called her Pink, but to this day I have no idea why.

  "Please Dave, take care," she said, squeezing me tightly.

  "Don't worry Pink, I will," I promised her.

  "Good, because you've put Mum and Dad through enough already."

  "Yeah, yeah I know."

  She leaned into my face and kissed me, then headed down the path after our brothers.

  I thanked Mum and Dad for the party and headed to the spare room where I'd been sleeping for the past few months. My empty suitcase was on the bed beckoning to be filled, and just as I was about to start packing there was a faint knock on the door. I turned round to see my Mum standing there.

  It couldn't have been easy bringing up six children, but Mum had always been there for us all. She was warm, kind hearted and did all she could to take care of us. You'd have thought that with the demands of having such a large family to look after, her physical appearance may have taken a back seat. But far from it; she was always immaculately dressed. She looked lovely that night.

  "Do you need any help, darling?"

  I shook my head. "Don't fuss Mum. I can do it. But thanks."

  She smiled, nodding her head, and closed the door quietly behind her.

  I finished packing and got into bed. Lying there, with my arms behind my head, I was excited about getting out of London and my miserable day to day existence. I thought of the sun, the sea and the sand and of the women I hoped I'd meet. And before I knew it, Mum was knocking on the door the following morning with a cup of coffee — with sugar this time — and a few slices of toast. Every morning without fail she had breakfast ready for me, even though I always told her I could do it myself. She wouldn't have dreamed of letting me do it though, and twenty-one years on, that still brings a smile to my face.

  EL VIAJE

  My flight was at one in the afternoon and my parents insisted on driving me to Gatwick Airport. I put my suitcase in the boot of the car and we left the house three hours early to make sure I arrived on time. It was pouring down and we thought there would be heavy traffic, especially at that time of the morning. The conversation in the car was light-hearted, interspersed with my parents' concern that I look after myself.

  "Please call us as soon as you get there," Mum said.

  "Don't worry, I will, "I promised.

  I was feeling excited and happy for the first time in months and the journey flew by in a flash.

  Once at the airport we said our goodbyes.

  "Dave, have a great time," Mum said, "but please be careful, okay?"

  I sighed. "Mum, I'll be fine! Stop worrying!" I wrapped my arms around her. "But thanks. I love you."

  I pulled away and faced my Dad, knowing he was sure to have some words of wisdom for me.

  "Son, have fun," he said. "But behave. Don't do anything stupid."

  I nodded.

  "Just watch out for the cops," he went on. "Some of them are cunts".

  I was a bit taken aback. I'd never heard him swear before. He used the occasional 'sod' or 'bloody' on a particularly bad day, but nothing quite as extreme as the c word. He hugged me and planted a firm kiss on my cheek.

  "I'll be fine, Dad," I told him.

  I opened the boot, grabbed my case, said my final goodbyes and made my way to the building, turning to wave as I reached the door.

  Thankfully there wasn't much of a queue at the check-in desk. An attractive redhead said hello and polity asked for my passport. I handed it over with a smile.

  "Do you have any luggage, sir?"

  "Here you go," I told her, and placed my case on the conveyer belt. She attached a few stickers and I watched as it disappeared through the rubber flaps.

  "Thank you, sir. Your flight will be called in about an hour. Have a good trip!"

  "Thanks!" I replied with a grin and a cheeky wink, and made my way to the departure lounge. I was feeling good — very good — and couldn't wait to get there.

  Before long I boarded the plane and saw that I had a window seat next to a nice, elderly couple. The captain introduced himself and his crew, and then announced that we'd be arriving in Spain in just over two hours. The weather, he told us, would be twenty eight degrees. Everybody on the plane cheered because outside the rain was hammering against the windows. I thought of my parents momentarily, hoping they'd be safe on their journey home, and as we took off I peered out through the tiny square window and watched the bedraggled airport staff going about their work, trying to shield themselves from the downpour. As the countryside receded into a grey, lifeless sky and the cars on the motorways became nothing more than dots, I smiled. I was getting away from it all and I couldn't have been happier.

  After a decent flight, we landed at Malaga Airport with the heat of the late afternoon sun hitting me as soon as I stepped off the plane. We were driven by the waiting bus to the baggage collection area and before I knew it I was passing through passport control. At last; I was in Spain!

  I whistled for a taxi and asked the driver to take me
to Marbella. To this day I don't know why I ended up there. I was somewhat aware of its reputation (Costa del Crime) but this didn't hold me back. I'd also heard a lot about Puerto Banus, a glamorous place not far from Marbella, and thought it would be worth a look.

  The taxi driver told me in broken English that it would take around forty-five minutes to get to Marbella but we actually got there much sooner. I'd heard about the reputation of the Spanish drivers — especially those making a living from airport fares — so I was glad to arrive in the centre of the town in one piece.

  I wandered around the town feeling free; as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. There I was in Marbella, the sun was shining and wherever I looked there were women scantily clad in bikinis and sarongs, strolling around looking beautiful. There were a few casual glances in my direction, a few reciprocated smiles and I felt good. I felt really good.

  For my first night I decided to treat myself to a decent hotel as, after all I'd been through, I thought I deserved a bit of luxury. When I noticed a beautiful building in the distance, looming up from within a circle of palm trees and standing prouder than the rest, I made my way there. The building was modern, clean and crisp and situated close to the beach, bars and restaurants. It was a four star and looked a lot grander than it had from a distance, but I figured I could afford a couple of nights there until the need to find much cheaper accommodation would become a necessity.

  The woman behind the reception desk looked up.

  "Ola!" I said. "Do you have any rooms available for two nights?" I intended saying 'please,' but "por favor" left my mouth instead.

  Not bad, Dave…not bad at all! I muttered to myself.

  She replied in Spanish and I looked blankly at her. I knew I should have learned the language! "Sorry?" I said rather embarrassingly.

  She sighed, and her shoulders seemed to lift and fall in annoyance. "I have a double room available," she said in perfect English, rolling her eyes at me.

  What a bitch! I thought. "I'll take it," I told her. It was a lot more than I wanted to pay, but determined not to make a complete ass of myself I decided to stay just for the night.

  She asked for my passport, took a photocopy and handed me a form to complete. I paid in cash and she handed back my passport with the key to my room, number 373. I took the lift to the third floor then walked through a maze of corridors until I found it. The room was beautifully decorated. It had a huge king sized bed, an ensuite bathroom and a spacious balcony with a stunning sea view. When I saw a phone by the bed I decided to make a quick call to my parents to get it out of the way. The answer machine clicked in almost straight away.

  "I am sorry; there is no one home at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep and we will get back to you on our return. Thank you."

  I chuckled. Mum's voice always sounded like the Queen's on the machine. It was so posh; it was a running family joke.

  "Hi Mum, hi Dad, it's me. I'm here and I'm fine. Speak soon, love you!" I was about to hang up but lifted the receiver back to my ear. "And please," I said, "don't worry!"

  After unpacking some of my clothes I stripped down to my boxers and located the mini bar. Out on the balcony I unscrewed the small bottle of whisky I'd taken and raised the bottle to the sea. "Cheers!" I said, and drank it in one go. I had another, wallowing in the sunshine with the rays beating down on my pasty, white body. A couple of hours later, considerably more relaxed, I took a shower, changed and headed out to see what the nightlife had in store for me.

  My first night in Marbella took me to some of the local hotspots and it dawned on me pretty quickly that keeping a low profile would be a sensible option, as it came to my attention that there were some rather unsavoury characters in the area. I'd always considered myself a streetwise guy from London, but this wasn't my patch and I realised I could easily get out of my depth if I wasn't careful.

  After visiting some local bars, drinking a few cocktails and feeling pretty damn good, I came across a Karaoke bar. It was filling up and I could hear from the street a guy singing a Frank Sinatra song; My Way. He had an incredible voice — far too good for karaoke — so I ventured inside to check him out. It turned out that he was the main act for the evening and that the Karaoke would start after he'd finished his set. I found a space at the bar, pulled up a stool, sat down and ordered a Bacardi and coke. The barman tossed a couple of ice cubes into a tall glass, poured my drink and put it in front of me.

  "There you go," he said.

  I recognized the accent straight away; he was a cockney through and through. I thought I'd strike up a conversation with him, thinking perhaps he'd be from my neck of the woods.

  "So where are you from?" I said, handing him a note.

  "What?" he replied, staring at me.

  I thought perhaps he hadn't heard me over the music. "Where are you from?" I shouted.

  He glared at me. "Who wants to know?"

  "Just asking where you're from, that's all. I took a sip from my drink. And then he flipped.

  "Why the fuckin' questions?"

  "Hey, sorry, man," I said, holding my hands up. "Just trying to be friendly!"

  "Well don't. Or your break won't be just your fuckin' holiday, but your fuckin' legs an' all."

  It turned out that he was the owner and was running the bar along with his son. I also worked out pretty quickly that he didn't appreciate general chit chat. I strolled away from him to the end of the bar and pulled up a stool. Why I decided to stay escapes me now, but after a few more drinks, my wisdom and common sense flew out of the window together with my sobriety.

  When the evening's main act had come to an end, it was the turn of the drunken wannabe singers to belt out their tunes. And before I knew it I was up, gaining a higher profile than should have been sensible considering the circumstances, and singing my heart out.

  The main act in the bar was run by a hard man double act. Kelvin the singer, who'd sang the Frank Sinatra song earlier, was an ex-army chap who told me afterwards about his time in Northern Ireland. Anthony, his brother, arranged the music. A George Michael in the making I was not, but for some reason they took to me. After a couple of songs and a bit of a laugh about my mediocre performances, they seemed to like me.

  "So Dave, when did you arrive?" Kelvin asked in his broad, Midlands accent.

  "Just today," I said. "I'm here for the summer."

  "Cool! We've been here for three months now. "You'll love it! The fucking birds are right up for it!"

  I couldn't help but laugh.

  "Where're you staying"? Anthony asked.

  "A hotel up the road. It costs a bloody fortune though, so it's just for tonight."

  "What are you doing here?" he said. "Working?"

  "No, nothing," I told him. "I haven't got any plans at all. I don't even know my way around yet!"

  To my complete surprise they offered me some part time work. To start with they said I could help out with setting up the equipment, and then once I got to know the area a bit better I could spend time trying to get them some extra gigs. The cash would definitely come in handy, I thought, and it would be a great opportunity to get my name around the place. Perhaps I'd even be able to extend my trip? I accepted their offer immediately and ordered another round of drinks.

  "Cheers, guys," I said, "this is a great help."

  "No sweat, Dave, Anthony said. "We need it. And we know how it is when you're alone in a place you haven't been to before."

  Once the gig was over and the gear had been dismantled and packed away, a group of girls wandered into the bar. There were five of them, all from England and all rather attractive. We established more or less straight away that this was their last night in Marbella after a fortnight's holiday, and they intended to see it out with a bang. It didn't take long to get acquainted and before long we were buying them drinks and having a great time. My conversation with one girl in particular became very flirtatious and we moved away from the rest of the group. Her name was Emma.
She was twenty-two, dark haired, tall, slim and curvaceous. It occurred to me that my first night — and her last night — in Spain could perhaps end far better than I could have hoped for.

  Sometime later, with Emma and I becoming a little too intimate for a public place, we decided to walk back to the hotel. We were heading out of the bar, hand in hand, when I heard my name being called.

  "Oi, Dave!"

  I turned around. It was Kelvin, shouting across the bar. "Yeah man, what's up?"

  "Meet me and Anthony at the beach bar at two tomorrow. We need a chat about the next gig."

  "Yeah, sure," I said. "Where is it, mate?"

  "Right at the beginning of the beach front. You can't miss it. Chico's."

  "Original name," I shouted back, laughing.

  "Yeah, I know," he said. "See you then, mate."

  I opened the door for Emma and started to follow her through.

  "Oi, Dave!" I heard again. I turned around, rather impatiently this time, keen to get Emma back to the hotel.

  "I told you about the girls, didn't I?" he said, raising his glass in the air.

  I was thankful that I'd booked the four star because Emma was certainly impressed. We were both pretty drunk already, but back at the room I wasn't ready for the night to end.

  "So babe," I said, "fancy another drink?"

  "Yeah sure," she said. "It's my last night. May as well make the most of it!"

  She kicked off her shoes as I pulled two vodkas from the mini bar. I perched on the edge of the bed where she was stretched out, propped up on one elbow.

  "Cheers!" she said, grabbing the drink and downing in it one. She cleared her throat, blinked her glassy eyes a few times and said: "wow that was strong!"

  I laughed. "Fancy another?"

  "Yeah, why not, go on then," she said, smiling.

  She drank the second one just as quickly, tossed the empty bottle onto the floor and looked into my eyes. "Are you trying to get me drunk, Dave?" She giggled.