59 Minutes by Gordon Brown

Author:Gordon Brown [Brown, Gordon J]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Fledgling Press
Published: 2011-07-13T16:21:49+00:00

Monday February 4th 2008

Martin came round today. I’d had a bad weekend and, to be fair, he wasn’t an unpleasant sight. I had spent most of Saturday and all of Sunday going back over the photos and the letters.

I asked the computer geek if he had access to an old floppy drive and he told me that a friend still had a steam powered computer and laughed. I kicked him in the ankle and he went off to sulk.

I tried the libraries but floppy discs are long since gone and on Sunday night I was back talking to the geek about his friend. He said if I gave him the disc he would print off what was on it. I told him to take a running jump. After a bit of negotiation we are going to see the geek’s friend tonight.

The photos must have some significance but not knowing the faces other than Dupree makes them frustrating. I’m sure I’ve seen two of the others before but it won’t come back. The fact that the photos are probably taken in Spain doesn’t help or hinder.

I had a place in Spain. Note the word had. It lay just south of Malaga on the Costa Del Sol. When I bought the thing it was one of four in a block built by a local builder. Swimming pool to the front and a good quarter of a mile of scrubland between the houses and the beach.

I have no idea what the area looks like now but even on my last visit, and that goes back fifteen odd years, the place had changed beyond recognition.

The scrubland was gone - replaced with acre after acre of villas and apartments. To the rear a new development stretched to the main road a mile back and the front, which had been a wild beach when I first moved in, was now a parade with the usual array of restaurants, shops and other nonsense.

The bank in the photo rings no bells. I used a UK bank with a branch in Malaga when I was in Spain.

Martin sat on the front step of the hostel with me and pulled out a quarter bottle of Bells. I pushed it back into his pocket, stood up and told him to follow me. We walked round the hostel and up towards the Necropolis and I pointed to a bench that was overhung by an old oak tree.

‘House rules,’ I said. ‘No drink in or near the hostel. If you are caught you get a warning. Next time you’re out.’

Martin laughed.

‘You are kidding. Most of the guys in there must be a bottle down by lunch time. Do they not see the irony?’

‘Of course but rules are rules and if you want a bed you stick by them. Also booze in the hostel is a shit idea. Fights break out. You’d be amazed what some of the guys will do to get their hands on a bottle of juice.’

Martin shrugged and passed the bottle over to me.

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