Chapter 5
Nacho opens the big white entrance gate, and we follow too closely behind him into a glorious courtyard, paved in terracotta tiles and dotted with enormous palm trees.
It is stunning. We all coo as we trot through the double-width front door, which opens on to a large entrance hall and a sweeping staircase, bathed in colourful light from the huge stained-glass window at the top.
There are two large archways either side of the hall, one leading to an American-style kitchen-diner and the other to a spacious all-white lounge, with a glossy white grand piano at the centre.
‘The acoustics in here will be perfect for practising scales and vocal warm-ups,’ I say.
I am met with blank stares. Nacho quickly ushers us out to a twinkling, kidney-shaped swimming pool surrounded by expensive wooden sunbeds with thick white mattresses, matching parasols and even a brick BBQ and pizza oven over in the corner.
It resembles something out of a magazine.
I’m amazed that Nancy has sprung for this, until I remember it was meant for Ted Sheeran.
The most popular tribute act on the whole Costa Blanca.
‘Good job this place is so private because I’ll have to sunbathe nude.’ Liberty gives Nacho a hefty pantomime wink. ‘My stage costumes are very demanding. I can’t risk any tan lines.’
‘We are going to have such a great time!’ Tash screams.
For the first time, helped by a belated rush to the head of whatever was in that last cocktail (two kilos of raw sugar cane and fourteen shots of vodka, I suspect), I think she might be right.
Nacho explains that there are three exceptionally large and luxurious double rooms upstairs, two with en suites.
I hesitate. It’ll seem a bit weird sharing a room.
I’ll feel self-conscious doing my tongue trills and lip bubble routine in front of anyone, and I’m not sure I could take their constant bursting into dance routines every five minutes.
I need a moment of calm to meditate too, and I like to do a full humming chant.
I quickly try to convince myself that perhaps the Dollz will be able to learn from me as much as I will from them.
Nacho leads the way as Big Sue effortlessly sweeps Tash up into her muscular arms to carry her up the marble staircase.
‘I’ll need a room to myself because of my ankle,’ Tash says firmly.
‘And because you bite in your sleep,’ Cherry reminds her.
‘Yes.’ Tash slips down from Big Sue’s arms and hobbles into a bedroom, leaving the rest of us on the landing. A huge quarrel ensues over who doesn’t want to share communal facilities because of certain medical conditions.
‘You always have to get your own way and I am sick of it!’ bellows Big Sue to Liberty.
‘You can talk, with your thrush! Yes, we all saw you trying to hide those tubes of Canesten in your case,’ Cherry says accusingly.
‘It’s supposed to be good for tired eyes! It was in Heat magazine!’ Big Mand shoots back.
A massive row breaks out over who does and who doesn’t currently have thrush.
‘I need a sea view. The air is good for my thrush and my asthma.’
‘Piss off, Mandeep. You’ve not got asthma. That’s your twenty cigs a day, that is.’
We are treated to Big Mand’s gravelly smoker’s cough. ‘I should still get the sea view, though.’
Cherry yells, ‘SLUT DROP!’ and is told to fuck right off as this is clearly not a good time. This causes outrage.
It’s exhausting. I feel the tiredness of the last eight hours sting my eyes.
Nacho raises his eyebrows and asks me if he can leave the keys with me.
I find out that Nancy has not only paid for the entire villa, but she has also prepaid the two-thousand-euro deposit and that Nacho will come next Sunday morning, before checkout, to make sure everything is how we found it.
Oh dear.
‘There is a small room at the back of the property,’ he tells me quietly in Spanish. He obviously feels sorry for me.
I follow him downstairs and outside and sweep my gaze around the pool area but can’t spot anything that immediately strikes me as an extra room.
Nacho leads me round the pool, past a Jacuzzi bubbling away, to a break in the wall which is so brilliantly white that the gap is almost invisible from any angle.
It’s an optical illusion. The gap opens to reveal a white wooden gate opening to a short path, lined with pink cherry and almond blossoms. It leads directly to a white cottage that is entirely hidden from view.
It’s totally gorgeous. I waste no time seeing what the place has to offer.
The lounge area is flooded with light from the patio doors leading out the back to a private area with its own manicured garden and its own Jacuzzi.
Nacho briefly explains how to use it before I follow him back into the cottage.
Off the lounge is a glorious double bedroom with the biggest four-poster bed I’ve ever seen, covered in crisp white cotton sheets and huge swathes of white toile draped over it.
The en suite is stocked with fluffy towels and toiletries with posh-sounding names. It resembles a honeymoon suite.
I think of Ged and Liam and feel a sudden pang of longing. What must it be like to feel in love? Consumed with desire? To be on honeymoon with the love of your life?
A jangling of keys pulls me back from the moment.
Nacho shows me a remote that controls the lights, the air con, the music system and even a massage function on the sunloungers.
It’s all amazing. So, no matter how badly this week goes, at least I will have the calming sanctuary of this lovely place.
Before he leaves, we swap numbers. He says to me in English with a grin, ‘In case you want to see me and… in case I want to see you.’
Oh my.
There might be a flirty subtext going on and, if I’m not mistaken, a lusty glint in Nacho’s eyes. Suddenly, the sweltering heat, the heady mix of cocktails, his exposed skin and rippling muscles cause a lapse of judgement.
‘Well, erm, we’re doing a warm-up gig tomorrow at The Jolly Roger if you’re around?’ I say, trying to sound poised and cool. It’s been a very long time since I noticed anyone flirting with me. ‘We’re on from nine.’ A ripple of panic at the lack of rehearsal time rips through me.
‘You and the other girls are in a band?’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m not with them. The Dollz are my support band. I do… a different sort of act. More thought-provoking, you know… classy, sort of avant-garde.’
Please stop talking.
Nacho smirks. ‘Maybe, yes. I’d like that. I imagine you are all very loud, very dancing.’
‘Yes. Yes, we are. Very dancing. Yes.’
I have no idea why I included myself in that statement. I was once described as a singing statue.
It’s the sun, the heat.
I have heatstroke.
‘ Hasta pronto ,’ he says, kissing me lightly on both cheeks in that very Spanish way.
After I see him out, I accidentally catch sight of myself in the patio door reflection.
My right eye has swollen up and is all but closed.
My hair has frizzed in the heat but only on one side and my face is glistening with sweat.
All I’d need are a few smears of blood on my face and some rubble in my hair and I could easily pass for the victim of a major earthquake.
I should totally get a grip of myself. There was no lusty glint in Nacho’s eye.
It was pity. Or worse, he’s simply a polite landlord with a clear and procedural check-in routine.
What was I even thinking?
After I have unpacked and located an ice pack for my eye, I go through to the pool. Big Mand and Big Sue emerge from the patio doors into the bright sun. I am relieved to hear the bickering has stopped and they have huge smiles on their faces and seem super relaxed.
‘We’ve just downed four tequila shots each,’ Big Mand says, offering me a swig from the bottle they are carrying.
‘Maybe later,’ I say hesitantly. ‘I still need to run through my set list, decide on my costumes, do my vocal chanting exercises, you know, that sort of thing. At least swimming is good for the lungs.’
When they don’t respond, I put down my melted ice pack and slip into the cool water.
I notice Big Mand gazing wistfully after Big Sue, watching as she dives into the pool and executes a perfect Olympic-style turn before swimming underwater back towards us.
Big Sue’s legs are even longer than mine and she has a rose-vine-type thing climbing all the way from her toes right up her left leg to her crotch.
‘I love your tattoo,’ I say as she emerges for air, to get her back on side.
‘Mandeep has a great one,’ Big Sue says. ‘Show her.’
I try not to look prudish as Big Mand pulls her bikini down below her bottom.
‘It’s the entire cast of The Greatest Showman ,’ Big Sue says proudly.
‘And I’ve got Sanskrit writing down my arms,’ says Big Mand, showing a tramline of writing down the inside of each arm to her wrists. ‘It’s out of respect for my Indian heritage.’
‘What does it say?’
‘“If the doors of perception were cleansed”’ – Big Mand pauses for dramatic effect – ‘“everything would appear to woman as it is: infinite.”’
There’s a small silence as they absorb the enormity of this wisdom.
‘So beautiful,’ says Big Sue, her eyes glistening with wonder.
What did I miss? What am I not getting?
I’m too embarrassed to admit to being baffled, so when I make the mistake of admitting that I don’t have any tattoos, you’d think I’d let down women everywhere.
‘What? Not even a little back tattoo?’ Big Mand says, appalled.
I shake my head.
‘Not even some stars under your hairline at the back of your neck? Surely everyone has some of those?’ They both lift up their hair to show a trail of stars.
‘No.’
‘Not even some ankle flowers?’ Big Mand lifts her foot to display daisies sprinkled around the outside.
‘No.’
‘Nothing on your vagina?’
‘Definitely not. No,’ I say before either one of them can show me an example.