The Summer of Dead Toys (22 page)

For a moment he didn’t know where he was. He didn’t recognize the walls, or the sheets, or the light on at an unfamiliar angle. He only noticed the cold sweat soaking his body.

“Fuck,” he whispered at last.
“You’ve had a nightmare.”
Two, he thought. In style.
“I’m sorry,” he stammered.
“No problem.” She caressed his forehead. “You’re freezing.” “Sorry.” He rubbed his face. “What time is it?”
“Eight. Early for a Saturday.”
“Did I wake you up?”
“No.” She smiled at him. “I think I’m out of practice at sleeping beside someone. I’ve been tossing and turning for a while. What the hell were you dreaming?”

He didn’t feel like talking about it. In fact, he didn’t feel like talking.
“Do you mind if I grab a shower?”
She shook her head.
“I’ll be good and make coffee.”
Héctor forced himself to smile.
They’d made love with a tenderness uncharacteristic of two strangers. Slowly, carried more by a need for contact, the touch of skin, than by an unbridled passion. And now, as they had breakfast together, Héctor realized that the sex had strengthened bonds of something that resembled camaraderie. They weren’t kids, they’d had their share of disappointments and hopes, and they accepted the pleasant moments without projecting hopes or desires on to them. There wasn’t the least sensuality in this breakfast together: the light of day had returned to put them back in their places, without any pressure. He was partly grateful and partly saddened by the thought. Maybe that was the best he could hope for now: pleasant, friendly encounters which had a nice aftertaste. As comforting as this hot coffee.
“Is the shirt your size?” asked Joana. “Philippe left it here.”
The comment wasn’t wholly casual, thought Héctor. He smiled.
“I’ll give it back to you,” he told her, with a meaningful wink. “Now I must go. I have to see Gina Martí’s parents.”
She nodded.
“This isn’t over, is it?”
Héctor looked at her fondly. Would he could tell her it was. Case closed. But the image of Iris in the pool, heightened by the dream, suggested otherwise.
“There’s something I think you should read.”

That morning, more than ever, Aleix wanted to turn back time. Gina’s death had been an unexpected calamity, a harder blow than all the others he’d taken in the last few days, and lying in bed, with no energy to get up, he let his mind roll back toward a recent past that seemed almost remote now. Gina alive, insecure, easy to sway, and at the same time affectionate, fragile. All this was Marc’s fault, he thought bitterly, although deep down he knew it wasn’t wholly true. Marc, his most faithful follower, the one who’d even taken the blame for something he didn’t do just because he’d asked him to, had come back changed from Dublin. No longer a boy he could bend to his will. He had his own ideas
—
ideas that were becoming an obsession, ideas that could get them all into serious trouble. The end justifies the means, that was his motto. And since he’d learned at a good master’s side, he’d devised a plan that bordered on the absurd, and in itself could have unforeseen consequences. Luckily Aleix had managed to thwart it before it went too far, before one thing led to another and the truth came out. Not knowing his true motives, Gina had helped him in it: she’d been reluctant, but in the end she’d given in. Gina . . . They said she’d left a note. He imagined her alone, writing on her computer like a little girl, all full stops, careful grammar and accents, haunted by having betrayed Marc. Worn out by what he’d made her do.

Explosions that sounded like thunder had kept him company all evening. On the eve of San Juan, Barcelona became an explosive city. Dangerous fireworks lurked on every corner as everyone prepared for the all-night party that marked the luminous beginning of summer: sparklers, bonfires and cava toasting the shortest night of the year. Arriving at Marc’s house, the first thing that struck him was how pretty Gina looked and he felt a stab of jealousy thinking she hadn’t dressed and made herself up like that for him. Anyway, she looked uneasy, uncomfortable in those high heels, that tight black dress. In fact, the outfit clashed with theirs: plain T-shirts with faded jeans and trainers. Gina was playing princess with two scruffy toffs, thought Aleix. Marc was nervous, but that wasn’t unusual: he’d been like that for weeks, trying to fake a decisiveness he didn’t possess. For Iris. Damn Iris.

He’d arrived calling for beer, trying to give the get-together a party vibe. He’d done a couple of lines before leaving because he sensed he’d need them, and just then he felt euphoric, full of energy, insatiable. Dinner, some pizzas Marc and Gina had seasoned and put in the oven, was ready, and for a while, as they emptied their glasses faster than their plates, it seemed like one of the parties they used to have before. When Marc went down to the kitchen for more beer, Aleix turned up the volume and danced with Gina. Fuck, that night the girl looked good enough to eat. And coke, whatever they say, was a fantastic aphrodisiac. Just ask his friend’s mother, he thought, refraining from feeling her up. As he danced with her, he almost forgot about Marc: that was the good thing about coke: it eliminated problems, made them fade away. Made you concentrate solely on what’s important: Gina’s thighs, her neck. He nibbled it jokingly, like one of those seductive vampires she liked so much would do, but Gina moved away from him a little. Of course, now she was saving herself for Marc. Poor little fool. Hadn’t she seen that her beloved Marc was hung up on another girl? He was about to come out with it, but held back: he needed Gina as an ally that night and wasn’t planning on saying anything that might turn her against him.

“Have you done what I asked?” he whispered in her ear. “Yes. But I don’t know—”
He put a finger on her lips.
“It’s decided, Gi.”
Gina exhaled.
“OK.”
“Listen, this whole thing is mad.” He’d said it a thousand

times the afternoon before, and having to do so again was driving him crazy. He mustered all his patience, like a modern father with a stubborn child. “Madness that could have enormous consequences, for you and for Marc above all. Can you imagine what people would think if they found out the truth? How were you going to explain what was on that USB stick?”

She nodded. Actually she was fairly sure Aleix was right. Now they just had to convince Marc.
“And also, what’s it for? Are we going to get into trouble to help out this girl from Dublin? Fuck, as soon as her hold on him passes even Marc will be grateful to us.” He paused. “He’ll be grateful to you. I’m sure of it.”
“What will I be grateful for?”
Aleix noticed then that he’d raised his voice. Well, whatever. They had to tell him, and the sooner, the better.

The usual sounds of the house in the mornings didn’t change at all on Saturdays. His father had breakfast at half past eight, and his brother had followed this routine since he came home during the summer. Someone knocked at his bedroom door.

“Aleix.” It was Eduard. He opened the door and stuck his head in. “You should get up. We have to go to the Martís’.”
He was tempted to cover his head with the sheet, to hide from it all.
“I’m not going. I can’t.”
“But Papa—”
“Fuck, Edu! I’m not going! Get it?”
His brother stared at him and nodded.
“Fine. I’ll tell Papa that you’ll go later.”
Aleix turned over in bed and stared at the wall. Papa, Papa. Fuck, his brother would still be taking his father’s word as gospel when he was forty. Eduard hovered on the threshold for a few seconds, but seeing that the figure was staying still, he closed the door without making a sound and went. Good. He didn’t want to see Edu, or his parents, and definitely not Regina. He preferred to look at that blank wall like a screen where his mind could project other images.

Gina hung her head. A bang from outside startled all three of them. She let out a scream.
“I’m sick of the fireworks!” She went toward the table and poured herself another vodka and orange. It was her third that night. Plastic cup in hand, she watched her friends, who face to face looked like two gunmen poised to fire.
“Marc,” said Aleix at last. “Gina and I have been talking.”
“What about?”
“You know.” Aleix fell silent, then walked over to the table to join Gina. He got there and stood at her side. “We’re not going ahead with this.”
“What?”
“Think about it, Marc,” Aleix went on. “It’s too risky. You could get into trouble, you could destroy us all. And you’re not even sure if it’s going to work.”
“It worked before.” It was Marc’s retort, his constant refrain of recent days.
“Fuck, man, this isn’t school! We’re not talking about playing a prank on a silly teacher here. Don’t you see that?”
Marc didn’t move. Between him and the others, the open window showed a bit of sky that from time to time lit up with vividly colored fire.
“No, I don’t see that.”
Aleix sighed.
“You say that now. In a few days you’ll thank us.”
“Oh really? I thought it was you who had something to thank me for. You owe me one! And you know it.”
“I’m doing you a favor, man. You don’t see it, but that’s how it is.”
For an instant Marc seemed to hesitate. He lowered his head, as if he’d run out of arguments, as if he were tired of fighting. Gina had remained quiet throughout the whole conversation, and she chose that moment to take a step toward Marc.
“Aleix is right. It’s not worth—”
“Fuck off!” His answer startled her as much as the firework. “I don’t understand why you’re so worried. You don’t have to do anything else. Give me the USB and I’ll take care of everything.”
She went back to Aleix. Not knowing what to say, she finished off her drink so greedily she almost choked.
“There’s no USB, Marc. It’s gone,” he said.
Marc looked at Gina, disbelieving. But seeing her hang her head, not denying it, he exploded:
“You’re a bastard! A real bastard. I had it all ready!” And he continued in a lower voice, “Don’t you know how important this is to me? We’re supposed to be friends!”
“And we are, Marc. That’s why we’re doing it,” repeated Aleix.
“Wow, great favor! I could do you one too.” Marc’s voice sounded different, bitter, as if it were coming from his stomach. “Stop doing this shit that’s turning you into an idiot. Or did you think we haven’t noticed?”
It took Aleix a few seconds to understand what he was referring to. Long enough for Marc to have a head start in rushing to his backpack.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“I’m doing it for you, Aleix. It’s a favor.” He’d taken out the little bags, meticulously prepared in the amounts he usually sold, and he ran toward the door with a triumphant smile.
Aleix leapt after him, but Marc pushed him and ran downstairs toward his bedroom. Gina, astonished, watched as Aleix followed him, grabbed him by the collar of his T-shirt and forced him to turn around. She screamed when the first blow rang out: a slap which Marc took full on the mouth. The two friends were still. Marc noticed that his lip was bleeding, ran his hand over the cut and dried it on the front of his T-shirt.
“Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to hit you . . . Come on, let’s forget this.”
The knee in his groin left him breathless. Aleix doubled over and squeezed his eyes shut while a thousand miniature fireworks went off in his head. When he opened them, Marc had disappeared. He could only hear the sound of flushing in the bathroom. An insolent, definitive stream of water.
Asshole, he thought, but when he tried to say it out loud the pain in his crotch became unbearable and he had to lean against the wall so as not to fall to the floor.

He heard the front door and guessed that his parents and brother had already left. Knowing he had the house to himself gave him a momentary sense of relief, which faded little by little when he realized that, of that reunion of three friends who ended up falling out, two were dead. Dead. Aleix hadn’t ever thought about death. He’d never had to. Sometimes he remembered the long months of his illness; he tried to recall if, while he was in the hospital bed subjected to the tortures of the men in white, he’d ever been scared of dying, and the answer was no. It was afterward, with the passing of the years, that he became aware that others, affected by the same disease, hadn’t managed to survive. And realizing that had made him feel powerful, as if life had put him to the test and he with his strength had managed to overcome. He’d shown he was brave. Edu had said it over and over: you’re very brave; just bear it a little longer; it’s over now.

He got out of bed, with no desire to shower. His room was a disaster: clothes everywhere, trainers scattered on the floor. Without wanting to, he thought of Gina’s room, the rows of teddies on the shelves which she’d resisted discarding and which formed part of the charm of a room that still kept a certain trace of innocence. Gina . . . An alarm bell went off in his head. What shorts was he wearing the last day he saw her? He rummaged around in the three pairs thrown any which way on the chair. He sighed with relief. Yes, the damn USB was there. He connected the USB to the computer out of habit, not because he felt like looking at what it contained. That was for certain. In fact, he wanted to do himself what he’d asked Gina not to do, simply because he didn’t trust her in anything to do with Marc: delete it, so those images would disappear without trace forever.

When the screen began to display its contents he was stunned, and that quick irritation toward others, the disappointment that overcame him on realizing, again and again, that he was surrounded by idiots, seized him. He reproached himself for being angry with Gina now the poor thing was gone, but . . . Fuck, she had to be stupid to get the devices mixed up and give him her Art History notes. Annoyance gave way to another even more intense alarm. Damn. The USB was still in Gina’s bedroom, within reach of her parents and the police: that stern
sudaca
and the agent who’d be a good lay. It took him five minutes to be dressed and running out for his bike. Well, he thought maliciously, at least his father would be happy.

Standing before the stately, black-grilled door that led up to the Martís’, Héctor consulted his watch. He had fifteen minutes before meeting Castro, whom he’d called on leaving Joana’s house, and he told himself another coffee wouldn’t be a bad idea before facing what awaited him upstairs. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought so, since as soon as he entered the café, out of the corner of his eye he saw Fèlix Castells at the end of the bar, paper open, absorbed in his reading. He was someone he wanted to speak to one to one, so he didn’t hesitate for a moment. He went over to him and greeted him, using the ecclesiastical address almost without thinking.