Lucinda sighed and shook her head. “You need to see how you feel about them, not issue a questionnaire. Ask them one important question max and don’t encase your emotions in kryptonite. Do you remember one of your mum’s favorite sayings? Act now—”
“Think later,” Carla completed it. She reached out to touch a small, ripped map of Barcelona in the travel journal and re-read her own words at the back. It was like she’d written them in the past as a calling to her future self.
Adventures...to be continued.
Nine
Gifts
Lucinda promptly got in touch with Babs, who offered Carla a place to stay on the Costa Brava. Before she could change her mind, Carla booked a flight to Barcelona, departing the day after next. With such limited time to find a supposedly significant ex from her past, she’d have to rely on her gut instinct. She wanted to disprove Myrtle’s predictions as soon as possible so she could walk down the aisle with Tom and know he was the man she was supposed to spend the rest of her life with, all while easing her gran’s concerns.
When Carla landed in Spain, the sky was powder blue, and the heat felt like the blast of a powerful hairdryer on her skin. She disembarked the plane, took the shuttle bus to the terminal building, picked up her luggage and swiftly exited through security before her worries made her turn back.
On the concrete concourse outside, taxis beeped their horns and long, sleek buses swept past with sunlight bouncing off their windshields. Palm trees swayed in the arid air and tourists wearing bright colors scurried around her like exotic beetles. There was a smell of sunscreen mixed with diesel and coffee.
Lucinda had given Carla three gifts for her journey. A huge yin-yang luggage tag was attached to her suitcase, and a medallion-sized Saint Christopher necklace swung across her collarbone like a pendulum, a supplement to her eye pendant. The third present was from Myrtle, passed on via Lucinda. It felt like a block of soap wrapped in a silk scarf printed with stars and Carla hadn’t opened it yet.
Mimi and Evelyn had also issued her with a list of instructions, such as, don’t put a mirror in your suitcase in case it cracks and brings you seven years of bad luck, and always sleep with your head in the direction of the door. Against her gran’s advice, Carla had also brought a list of Logical Love questions.
She examined a map on her phone, a blue dot moving as she crossed the road to the café where she was supposed to meet Babs. A group of men sat outside, drinking cups of coffee and playing cards and dominos. They sucked on hand-rolled cigarettes, squinting against the smoke that spun into the air. None of them paid Carla any attention, the opposite to her gap year when she’d received several offers to help with her luggage. At the time, she’d been quite offended. Did they really think she couldn’t carry her own backpack? But now she felt rather invisible and inconsequential.
She’d thought there might still be an intrepid traveler locked deep inside her, who’d spring to life when she reached foreign climes. But the bravado of Carla’s youth had gone AWOL, replaced with a thousand reasons why she should have stayed at home instead. She could be getting her eyebrows freshly waxed and her nails painted peach with white half-moons on the tips. More importantly, she could be untangling the issues with Logical Love’s database. Instead, she was outside of Barcelona–El Prat Airport, feeling like someone was beating their fists on her chest.
Carla paced back and forth in the heat, glancing at her watch every few seconds. Her ride from the airport was late—very late—and she wondered if Babs had forgotten about her.
As she paused to roll up her black trousers to her shins, she questioned why she’d worn such a formal outfit to travel in. Her feet had swelled in her laced-up shoes, and her cotton blouse stuck to her back with sweat.
Her phone buzzed as a message arrived from Tom.
Safe travels. Have fun x
She’d called him last night, to tell him she was taking a break in Spain.
“Brilliant. With Jess? Are you sightseeing, shopping or chilling out?” he’d asked.
His encouragement had made her feel even more guilty and Carla was relieved when crackling on the line had broken up their conversation. “Sorry, Tom, I can’t hear you.” She’d half-heartedly stuffed a finger in her ear. “I’ll call you when I get there...”
A scarlet open-top car screeched up beside her, making her jump back. A Spanish pop song blared out and a man hung his arm across the passenger seat as if around the shoulder of an invisible girlfriend. He was in his early-to-mid-thirties, wore Ray-Bans and had the slicked-back hairstyle of a fifties crooner. At first glance the car looked expensive, but Carla noticed rust around the wheel arches and how the leather upholstery was taped together in places.
“Carla, yeah?” he shouted while drumming a beat on the steering wheel.
She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “Um, yes...”
“I’m not supposed to park here,” he barked. “Babs sent me. Jump in.”
Carla lugged her suitcase onto the back seat, next to a straw hat and a pair of headphones. She sat on the passenger side, wondering if the man was Babs’s son, or even her grandson.
The moment she fastened her seat belt, he roared off, taking the corner like he was in a race. “I’m Fran,” he said in a Cockney accent, skimming an eye over her clothes. “Your first time here?”
Carla supposed she did look more like a bank manager than a tourist. “Second.” She raised her voice above the music. “Is it that obvious?”
“Nah.” He winked. “By tomorrow you’ll look like a local.”
As they took the highway out of the city, the wind whipped Carla’s hair into a bird’s nest and she swept it out of her eyes. She craned her neck to see the billboards at the side of the road, advertising tavernas and car hire companies. A good-looking man with folded arms and a megawatt smile advertised newly built apartments. Find Your Happy Place, the board said.
During her gap year, Carla had attempted to translate signage in her head, to ease herself into different languages. It was amazing how much you could pick up from them. “Do you live here?” she asked Fran.
“Yeah. I only meant to stay for a few weeks but this place has a way of seducing you, and I’ve now been here for two years. Babs told me you’re here looking for someone...”
Carla put on her sunglasses, which allowed her to open up a little. “I’m trying to trace a few people from my past.”
“If anyone can help you, Babs can. She knows every man and his dog. How do you know her?”
“I don’t. Not really. She’s a friend of the family.”
“At least there’s some connection. Not like some of the waifs and strays she picks up.”
Carla furrowed her brow in confusion but didn’t ask questions.
After another half hour on the road, she caught sight of a turreted castle tower and biscuit-hued walls in the distance. A road sign said Blanca del Mar. A lush green headland rose above the periwinkle sea, and white boats bobbed on the gentle waves. The sun winked and glittered like silver candy wrappers on the surface of the water. Carla was so used to the English drizzle, she’d forgotten the sky could be so blue. The warm air swept over her face, and she could already feel the tip of her nose glowing from the sunshine.
They headed inland, traversing a few winding side streets. Cats slinked along the pathways and lay on walls, catching the sunrays.
Fran’s car rattled over cobblestones and they passed a multitude of arched stone doorways. Supermarkets on street corners displayed fruit and vegetables in colorful crates outside and Carla looked up at electrical wires crisscrossing overhead. A pair of running shoes hung from one of the cables. The scenery was so vivid it made her think of the word clairvoyance. It had supernatural connotations but translated as see clearly. It was like a veil had been lifted from her face.
“Beautiful, ain’t it? Worth escaping to,” Fran said.
Carla nodded readily.
