Dog days

I invite Ruby for dinner. I won’t eat with you, she says, but I will drink with you. She comes over with an opened bottle of white wine which she puts in the fridge, and a glass of vodka-orange with saran wrap over the top. Over the next few hours, she drinks another 4 or 5 large vodka-oranges (we make juice with oranges from the tree), and we talk outside by the pool. She was supposed to go home at 9, so I could see the World Cup Match, but there’s an electricity cut so we keep talking, outside in the dark. At 11, she’s completely drunk, can’t stand up. I get her to hold on to the garbage can while I get my keys, and her keys to drive her home. She falls down on the gravel. I get her up and into her car and can’t find reverse. She laughs at me, refuses to show me. Finally get her home, she almost falls again on her outside steps, I notice she’s got blood on her face, one side, where she fell. She won’t go to bed or sit down so I leave her and walk home.

Next day, I wait to go by and check on her because she usually gets up late. At 11:30 she phones. Did you lock me in? No, of course not. I’m locked in, can’t get out. And I can’t find my keys. Can you come? Why did you hit me? I didn’t hit you. You fell down. Laugh I know, just kidding. But I’m locked in. Can you come over right away? (She left me an extra set of keys the previous night so I could use her washing machine when she's not there. Our washing machine was stolen the last time we were burgled.)

I arrive a few minutes later. Arantxa, her friend, who always talks as if she’s in an Almodovar movie, is outside, talking to her through the closed French window. They're both smoking, each sitting on a chair leaning towards each other and shouting loudly through the door. Arantxa's dog is sitting quietly nearby, head on one side ears cocked, apparently listening carefully. After some checking, it turns out the door isn’t locked, she just has the catch on, and her keys are in her bag, which she turns out onto the table when I suggest it. Now that everything is hunky dory, I ask if the Cybercafé is open (The Cybercafé is close by and Mohammed, the owner, is Arantxa's husband). They don't know if it's open - it's often closed because Mohammed is not very reliable - but if I go, she, Arantxa, isn’t here. Arantxa and her husband don't get along.

She tells us about Mohammed getting caught in a Police operation to catch drunk drivers. He was drunk of course, got a 600 euro fine, and they insisted on shutting the dog in the car while they were talking to him, so he destroyed all the upholstery and the seat belts, which are very expensive to replace. When I come back from the Cybercafé, having checked my email, they’re still there, smoking and talking, the dog asleep now. Ruby says Did you buy me cigarettes? No, I didn't know you needed cigarettes, you should have told me. But I sent you a message. I didn’t get any message. Not on the mobile, silly, I sent a telepathic message. Laugh Didn’t you get it? NO. Well, could you buy me some cigarettes (at the cybercafé). Sure. She gets 3 euros out. Arantxa says Oh, do you think you could get me some? But don’t say it’s for me. And don’t say anything about the dog. How much is it? Oh I don’t know, says Ruby, it’s two euros something, or three euros. They give me another 3 euros. What sort? Fortuna, but the red packet, not light. Not light? Oh, do they have light? I’d really like light (says Arantxa). So I get one normal, one light, both supposedly for Ruby. Mohammed, who's a pretty laid back sort of guy, doesn’t ask.

Next day I go by to do the washing and Arantxa is still there, but without the dog. They’re getting ready to go to a funeral. I’m invited of course, but I refuse. They can't tell me who the dead person is.