Malik's Revenge

Chapter 2

Dressed in a pair of denim shorts and a white linen shirt, he strolled from his beach house to El Puerto, grabbed a stool at the bar, swivelling round to watch the activity around the small marina and paseo. He watched two men in a small fishing boat lift their catch onto the quayside, then into a little white SEAT van. He smiled and waved as one of his neighbours walked past the bar with his wife. At long last, he had found somewhere which he was happy to call home. He loved the pace of life, the social lifestyle that the climate afforded and although sometimes irritating, the “manana” attitude to life. He had a comfortable villa in a small, quiet development, which overlooked the beach and was a two-minute walk from the marina and the welcoming ambiance of El Puerto. His neighbours, mostly Spanish, with a smattering of northern European expats, were friendly without being intrusive. Some, who were not permanent residents, let out their properties from time to time. They all had their own lives and spent little time intruding or enquiring into that of others. No one was interested in his past.

“Hey! Big Al.”

A familiar friendly voice broke into his musings. He swivelled round to face the petite figure behind the bar.

“Wee Conchie,” he addressed Conchita Gutiérrez, who with Manuel her husband, owned El Puerto. She laughed and came round the bar to get a big friendly hug from her favourite customer.

She looked up at him with a smile, “I swear you get higher every time I see you,” she laughed, patting his chest.

“What you want, a beer?

“No, una cerveza, por favor”

“That’s what I said, you big lump”

“Oh, sorry. Me being Scottish, my English isn’t too good, Conchie.”

“You’re a bad boy, Alan Brodie,” Conchita chided as she opened a bottle of chilled Corona, which she placed on the bar in front of him. “You want some food or just your cerveza?”

“You got any cocido montañés left?” he asked looking at the Menu del Dia.

“Si, plenty left”

“OK, I’ll have that, please”

“She disappeared into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a large steaming tureen of Cantabrian Mountain Stew and a plentiful supply of fresh crusty bread.

As Brodie ate, he noticed the bar was very quiet and took the opportunity to nod at the “For Sale” sign.

“What’s all this Conchie? How do I get fed now?”

“Is too much, this place and the bar in Mojácar, so we sell this and keep the other one we’ve had for years. We have built a good business here but now we look for someone to buy it from us.”

“I might be interested Conchie, that’s why I came round today, I saw the sign this morning when I was out running. I’ve been looking for something to do out here for a while. I’ve looked at a couple of other bars, one in Mojácar and one in Villaricos. I’ve worked in bars before and I live just along the beach. It just kind of appeals to me. What do you think?”

“Maybe too busy for you, am not sure.” Conchita shrugged at him. ”You should talk with Manuel.”

“OK.” Brodie said, somewhat deflated by Conchita’s lack of enthusiasm for his approach. “Maybe I’ll pop into Mojácar tomorrow and have a chat with him.”

Having finished his lunch, he said goodbye to Conchita and walked back along the beach, which was now neither rain-soaked nor deserted. This afternoon was all about getting information to his accountant for his UK tax return, so he set about doing that with little enthusiasm. He took his laptop and paperwork out to his roof terrace and sat in a shaded corner where he was able to read the laptop screen, and lost the rest of the afternoon in receipts, accounts and HMRC forms. He only realised how much of the afternoon he had taken up with these when, due to lack of daylight, he found himself unable to read some of the receipts. At that point he cleared up everything, went back down to the living area on the ground floor, and put everything except his laptop into a small safe in the lounge.

He spent the next hour preparing his dinner, which he took out to his terrace with a glass of Rioja Reserva and sat listening to the rhythmic breaking of the waves while enjoying his own recipe, chicken and chorizo paella in the warm evening air. After dinner he returned to the terrace, read some more of a book, pouring a couple more glasses of wine as the evening passed. At around 10.30 he went back inside, set the alarm system then headed to bed.