Two Old Fools in Spain Again Read Free Page A

of burning?”
    Joe explained and showed him the melted, burnt-out plug and pointed to the dishwasher, now back in its place.

    Burnt-out plug
     
    “A bad business,” said Paco. “Imagine if you had not been here and the fire had reached your gas bottle in the next cupboard! Whhomph! Your house, my house and El Hoyo would be gone!”
    I blinked. Paco wasn’t making me feel any better.
    Paco roared with laughter. “I have forgotten one more vegetable that you must have. Wait, I will fetch it from my house.”
    He stamped out and returned a few minutes later.
    “For you,” he boomed, thrusting two heads of garlic joined by a long piece of twine into Joe’s hands.
    Joe stared at them, puzzled, then looked at Paco, waiting for enlightenment.
    “Hang them round your neck when you go to bed!” roared Paco and thumped the wall with his fist, bending double with laughter. “I see you have been bitten by a vampire!”
    Joe’s hand flew to the wounds on his neck.
    “Everybody knows I grow the best garlic!” bellowed Paco. “No vampire will bother you now!”
    “I don’t think that’s very funny,” said Joe as Paco stamped off, still guffawing, slamming the front door behind him.
    We didn’t solve the mystery of the neck bites, although Paco later guessed a spider may have been the attacker. I’ve never seen big spiders in Spain, not even in our log pile. I’ve seen far bigger, hairier spiders in Britain, and, of course, Australia.
    I was reminded, however, of an incident many years ago when my sister-in-law and her partner had moored their boat in the local marina. Paul woke to find two punctures on his neck, just like Joe’s and the Spanish doctor who examined him reckoned they were spider bites. So perhaps Paco was right.
    Whatever the cause, Joe didn’t take the garlic to bed that night and I liberally sprayed our bedroom a few hours before bedtime. All vampires, spiders and mosquitoes stayed away but that didn’t mean we had a peaceful night.
    At around one o’clock, I woke to a tapping noise. It was muffled but regular and insistent. It sounded as though it was coming from next door but I thought it unlikely because I knew Paco’s family had gone down the mountain for a few days.
    Old Spanish cottages can have walls a metre thick and I was always surprised when any noise from next door penetrated through to us, but it did. I lay awake, listening.
    “Joe!” I prodded him. “There’s a funny noise coming from next door.”
    “Wah?”
    “Can you hear that tapping noise?”
    “Mm...”
    “What do you think it is?”
    “Dunno. Sounds like hammering, or something. Go to sleep.”
    Hammering? Even if Paco was in, he would never do any hammering at that time of night. The noises suddenly stopped and I drifted back to sleep. Later I was disturbed again by the same rhythmic noises. I checked the clock on my bedside table. Three.
    “Joe!”
    “Wah?”
    “There’s that noise again!”
    “Go to sleep.”
    I lay still, trying to work out what it could be. Burglars? No. A woodpecker? Ridiculous. Deathwatch beetles? Unlikely. A nocturnal DIY project? Ludicrous.
    Eventually it stopped and I slept again. Until 4.30am. The noise was back and I had a raging thirst. Ignoring the noise, I slipped out of bed and tried to find my slippers in the dark. I didn’t want to turn on any lights and wake Joe again. I made my way to the kitchen barefooted and groped for the light switch.
    To my absolute horror, I saw black shapes scuttling across the floor and into the shadows. Even to my bleary eyes they showed up in sharp contrast against the white floor tiles. Cockroaches!
    I ran back to the bedroom and woke Joe.
    “Joe! We’ve got cockroaches in the kitchen!”
    “Wah? We got wah? Right…” and he resumed his snoring.
    I gave up trying to rouse him and went back to the kitchen. No cockroaches to be seen, but I knew I hadn’t imagined them. I drank a glass of water, staring at the floor the whole time, my bare