Page 77 of We Chase Shadows

They are. And she does. If Adam doesn’t remember their anniversary, that signifies nothing. There’s always next year. And what the hell can you buy that’s copper?

‘I love you too,’ says Adam. ‘And an awful lot more than slightly. Go catch a scary bald guy for me.’

37

First they tried the Irish Pub, but the crowd was way too young. Amy had asked around, ‘Would anybody in the bar have been here in 2001?’, and one customer, with a full beard, told her that he hadn’t actually been born until 2012. Amy had said something about underage drinking and the plucky young lad had pulled out a knife. Amy had then pulled out a gun, and the two of them had agreed to say nothing more on the matter.

The English Pub next door skewed a little older, mainly because it was owned by a long-retired England rugby player. But still no one had been here in 2001. The rugby player, who could not have been nicer, had explained that Málaga had a fairly transient population, and it was unlikely that anyone would know this Connor Brooks they were looking for. And anyone who did know him wouldn’t be telling them anything.

‘There’s two types of business in Málaga,’ the rugby player had said. ‘My business and none of your business.’

They decide to leave the main strip of pubs and clubs, and head somewhere a little more sedate.

As they leave the pub, an older man starts walking a few steps behind them. Amy puts her hand on her gun, and the man speaks.

‘You won’t need your gun,’ the man says. ‘But don’t turn around, eh?’

‘You knew Connor Brooks?’ Rosie asks, looking straight ahead and continuing to walk.

‘Nope,’ says the man. ‘But you’re looking for a few old-timers who might have been here back in 2001?’

‘I wish everyone would stop talking about 2001 like it’s the fifteenth century,’ says Steve. ‘I’ve still got pants from 2001.’

‘But yes,’ says Amy.

‘Take this left,’ says the man.

They turn onto a smaller side street. The man does the same, still a few steps behind.

‘You know someone?’ Rosie asks.

‘Wait, are you Rosie D’Antonio?’ the man asks.

‘Call me Rosie,’ says Rosie.

‘Thanks,’ says the man. ‘You writing one of your books about Málaga, then?’

‘Taking a little rest from writing at the moment,’ says Rosie. ‘But maybe one day.’

‘I didn’t know you were taking a rest,’ says Steve.

‘You could name a character after me,’ says the man. ‘In your next book?’

‘I certainly could do,’ says Rosie. They are now crossing a small square, Málaga becoming more Spanish with every step. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Graham,’ says, presumably, Graham. ‘Graham Arbuthnott.’

‘I mean, if you’re unbelievably helpful, then maybe,’ says Rosie.

‘Thanks,’ says Graham Arbuthnott. ‘Down this alley.’

They are now in a small residential alley. If this is a trap, they can’t say they didn’t walk straight into it.

‘Where are we going, Graham?’ Amy asks.

‘If you’d come a year ago, there’d have been no one here from 2001,’ says Graham. ‘As the man said, people move on, or get shot, you know.’

Amy thinks this sounds hopeful.