Page 3 of Sun, Sea and Spotted Squid

“We planned on going out for something to eat,” Astrid said. “See you in an hour?”

“Oh. Okay.”

With that she set off down the corridor to her room before stopping halfway.

“Choose whichever of the two rooms upstairs you like. The final member of our group doesn’t arrive until later.”

He nodded and half carried, half dragged his case up the stairs. It caught on a piece of the peeling wallpaper and managed to rip it off, sending some plaster scattering onto the threadbare carpet.

“This place will cave in around us,” he muttered.

At the top he discovered a small landing with three doors.

He peeped through one into what had to have been a storeroom at some point—the proportions were tiny.

So much for attics having the biggest rooms.

A quick peek through the middle door revealed a shower room, which left one final door. Sam grabbed the handle.

“Double or quits,” he said to himself.

He pushed it open and discovered what would be his home for the next eight weeks.

A lumpy bed sat against one wall, with a black lacquer bedside cabinet to the side. A wobbly desk and wardrobe completed the furnishings.

This is only a place to sleep. I’ll be out most of the time.

He plonked himself down on the bed and took a minute.

“You’ve made it to Spain,” he murmured. “Everything else can be sorted.”

His heart hammered in his chest. Everything familiar to him seemed a long way away. He swallowed down his nerves.

The view from the window showed the rooftops of the town stretching ahead to the cathedral in the distance. It reminded him of when he’d first arrived at the halls of residence at university. Some people had been nervous. Not Sam. He couldn’t wait to get going.

He took a picture of the view and sent it to his mum.

Greetings from España. It’s lovely here.

It wouldn’t be a good move to show her his room. She would go mad. His case sat in the corner. He had all the time in the world to unpack. Instead, he sat up on the windowsill and watched all the people coming and going. That part of his Spanish fantasy was coming true at least. Even if he had to crane his neck.

An hour later, he ventured downstairs to meet the others. After a closer inspection of the upstairs bathroom, he opted for a sink wash. A deep clean of the facilities would have to wait until tomorrow. Weirdly, both bedrooms led off the bathroom. He’d have to remember to lock both doors.

In the kitchen he happened upon a couple feeding each other pieces of ham.

“Bonjour,” the girl said. She had poker-straight hair and a serious addiction to eyeliner. Maybe she’d actually put the Satan’s Flesh artwork up.

“Bonjour,” he replied.

“This is our Brit then,” the man said. He was shorter than Sam with a killer tan and soft brown eyes. After a couple of drinks, he would be quite attractive. “I am Paul and this is Genevieve.”

“Sam.”

They all stared at one another awkwardly.

“Where shall we eat?” Paul asked, mercifully breaking the stalemate.

“Oh, we have to have paella,” came a voice behind Sam. He spun round to find Astrid beaming at him. “We’re in the birthplace of it, after all.”