Chapter 7
CHLOE
Do you have a friend who gets between you and bad life decisions?
Let’s have more shots! No, I think one more might make you throw up, let’s switch to Coke!
I think I’m going to go home and have sex with this man!
No, he has a suspicious ponytail. He’s giving strong regret vibes.
Let’s rent this house! It has rooms! Can anyone else smell weed? I think it’s coming from the loft.
I am that friend. One of my mates calls me Jiminy because I’m the person who leans over your shoulder and talks sense when you are on the verge of making a bad decision that could have damning effects.
Some might say my behaviour can veer towards being overly cautious, but I’d argue that I’m savvy, loyal and always on the lookout for people I care about.
This trip to Ibiza may be the first time I’ve done anything with a sense of wild abandon but it doesn’t mean that I’ve had a complete personality transplant.
I’ve only just met Zara and Jess and they seem nice but I’m smart enough not to be charmed by a few pastries.
What if this is all a trick and he’s spiked the pastries or the drinks?
One of us has to be on their best escape game.
I need to be the sober one who can resist getting captivated by the bright blue sky, conversations about grand adventures and sob stories about uncles.
We are in a SEAT Ibiza. We still need to exercise our common sense.
I don’t know what I think about Ben Allbright with two ls.
My quick Facebook check proved that certain things check out, like the fact he does indeed own a restaurant, but why is he so casual?
Why is he almost too nice? There is a catch, there has to be.
No one is allowed to look like him and also have a decent personality.
Yes, I will admit as much. The man has a nice face.
But I can’t be swayed by that. I need to be sensible here.
Staying calm and rational feels even more important now we really are in the middle of nowhere, away from Ibiza’s main towns.
As we drove into the mountains, the main roads turned into narrower lanes lined with dusty banks and bracken, making me nervous about whether the SEAT is capable of getting us to our destination.
The drive takes us past white, craggy rock faces and winding roads with barriers separating us from sharp drops to the sea.
Dark-green palms line the roads against a backdrop of blue, blue skies.
He’s a very capable driver. I’d be going heavier on the brakes.
‘Someone obviously didn’t learn to drive in London,’ Zara says from the back of the car.
I turn to see her holding on tightly to the door whereas Jess grabs on to Zara and her phone.
I told Jess to do that. Get your location on, if he’s driving us to a cabin in the woods then we’ll be able to message our location to someone before using the phone as a weapon.
‘I’ve driven in London for a while. I’ve lived all over – I’m a dab hand at winding country lanes,’ Ben says.
The car climbs a steep, winding incline where we have to pass another car.
I look at it and panic; to my left is a sheer cliff, but Ben pulls over, winding down the window as the other car passes, and exchanges pleasantries with the person in the other vehicle in Spanish.
I’m in awe. If it were me driving, we’d have rolled down the cliff by now.
‘Nearly there, ladies,’ he says as he makes a sharp left turn into a gate next to a wooden sign marked CASA.
I don’t quite know what to think. It’s not a hugely fancy entrance; some olive trees and a low stone wall mark the way. The car kicks up the dusty sand, blocking the view.
‘GOATS!’ Jess says super loudly.
I jump in my seat, wondering if this is how she swears. But I turn around and see her looking into a neighbouring field where black goats roam freely.
‘They were mentioned on the flyer. Are they yours?’ I ask Ben.
‘No, they’re… wild,’ Ben explains.
‘Are they the sort you can do yoga with?’ Zara asks.
‘God, no. These ones are a bit feral. And loud. I find they just stand there and bleat at each other for no reason and then eat all the neighbour’s flowers. But maybe they add to the ambience?’ he suggests uncertainly.
I look over at them curiously. They also have really massive bollocks. Like grapefruit.
Jess is taking videos on her phone while I notice that the stone wall ends and is replaced by a crude wire fence.
‘Any other wildlife?’ I ask, looking up to the sky. ‘Are those eagles? Red kites?’
‘They’re vultures, but don’t worry, they only eat the goats,’ Ben says apprehensively. ‘There’s also a cat who lives on-site. She’s a bit feral too. Don’t try and pet her,’ he warns. ‘And there are snakes but I’ve never actually seen one.’
We all go quiet. There better be something at the end of this road. At this point I’m expecting a shed. I’m glad I brought mosquito repellent.
‘Sorry to be a complete techno wimp but is there also Wi-Fi?’ Zara asks. ‘Just so I can keep in touch with my kids? This is pretty secluded and I’m just wondering if I missed some small print about digital detoxing?’
‘We are fully wired up. We also have Netflix,’ Ben says. ‘There she is.’
It’s funny how the villa suddenly appears through the clouds of dust. I look round at Zara and Jess’s faces and see relief, but as I take in the view of the house my mouth opens a little; the white stone building is majestic against the blue sky.
It looks just like it did on those flyers: an authentic Ibizan finca with rustic features.
I like the shape of it. It looks like it has a courtyard and the roofs are all slightly mismatched in height.
The villa has the feel of a place that hides an excellent story.
I break into a smile as we drive closer to it, the car struggling against the rockiness of the path until we roll to a complete stop.
‘Are you convinced yet?’ Ben says, turning to me.
I don’t reply. I get out of the car, perching my arms on the door and looking up at the villa in front of me. It’s completely still and quiet on the mountaintop; there is nothing for miles around bar birds and breeze.
Zara gets out of the car, whipping her head back to catch some sun before putting an arm around me. ‘Girl… I for one am less worried now. This is not too shabby.’
I sigh, releasing a big pent-up breath, and I smile at Jess on the other side of the car. She lifts up her sunglasses and winks at me. We’ve not been inside yet, Jess, I think, struggling to fully shake off my doubts. But there is something about this place that breathes calm, warmth and light.
‘Ladies, please leave your bags. They are safe, even from the goats. Let me give you a tour,’ Ben says, watching as we all stand there in awe.
He opens a low-lying metal gate and takes us through to a stone patio; archways lead through to two massive wooden doors and that courtyard space I envisaged – there are statues hidden in alcoves and vines creeping up the walls.
Above the courtyard are Juliet balconies where the bedrooms are located, and further up, I can see a swimming pool, flanked by olive trees with fantastically twisted silver trunks.
Around the pool are sun loungers and parasols, a large stone table; a beautiful gazebo structure hidden away in the gardens.
‘Please use the grounds,’ he says. ‘There are some wonderful walking trails with brilliant views but do stick to the tracks. I’ve drawn maps of some of the best ones.
And use the pool as you wish. There are lights so you can swim at night if you want but remember there’s no lifeguard.
Ummm…’ Ben pauses and opens a door to a large stone kitchen with gorgeous tilework.
It has tall French windows; herbs hang in arrangements by the cooker and big plump tomatoes are left to ripen on the wooden countertop.
‘This is my space. Let me know what you want to eat in the day, I can likely accommodate any requests, and I’ll do set spreads for lunch and dinner.
Between meals, just help yourself to what’s in the fridge.
I’ll make sure we always have wine and drinks available.
I went to the market yesterday and went crazy with the olives… ’
The three of us watch as he opens the fridge to reveal twenty bottles of Cereza on chill and platters of sliced fruits.
‘We’ll probably eat outside most days but there’s a dining room here and then the living room,’ he explains.
We follow Ben to a space with a massive white sofa and lots of paintings on the walls. Pictures and ornaments fill the natural stone shelves and a millstone in the middle is used as a coffee table.
‘You’re welcome to chill in here, the light is great. Can I ask for no red wine on the sofa? But then you are all adults…’
Jess laughs. I look at Zara and she can’t quite wipe the grin off her face, she keeps glancing at me with her mouth wide open.
‘Follow me.’ We walk up a wooden staircase to the second floor and he opens the door to one of the bedrooms.
This is where it’ll all go wrong, isn’t it? He’ll open the doors to cells. Worse, there might be bunk beds. I walk along the tiled corridor, anxious.
As soon as the door opens, we all stand there like he’s unveiled a painting for the first time.
Light floods the place. In the middle is a large double bed, made up with impeccable white sheets.
It has a substantial mattress too, thick like good chunky toast. There’s a small desk in the corner with a vase full of sunflowers on top and there are shelves of books above the bed.
The breeze catches the white muslin curtains, framing the Juliet balcony that overlooks the swimming pool. It even smells good.
‘Are the rooms all like this?’ Zara asks Ben.
‘Yeah, give me a shout if you need fresh towels. I have loads. You’ll have to share a bathroom I’m afraid. And at night, just close the shutters by dusk so you don’t get attacked by the mozzies. The air conditioning has been recently serviced. But yeah…’
He stands there looking a little apprehensive as he waits for our reactions to his beautiful house that we’re being invited to stay in.
With as many towels as we want! What is the catch?
If it’s the shared bathroom then I’m fine.
But I’m still waiting for this to go desperately wrong.
Is there someone hidden in the wardrobe?
Maybe it’s haunted. Shit, is this some kind of ghostbusting retreat?
Jess perches on the edge of the bed looking so happy she could cry.
Zara breaks the silence by going over to Ben and giving him a hug. ‘Ben. Young man, this is simply outstanding. What is this place? Seriously? And you’re telling me it’s just us three staying here on our own?’
‘Oh, I’m on-site too. But I’m in a little cottage the other side of the pool,’ he says, pointing outside.
‘So we basically have an on-site chef?’ Zara asks. ‘And you can cook anything?’
‘Well, maybe?’ he says tentatively. ‘I might need some notice if I have to get stuff in.’
‘And is there a tap on the wine?’
‘A tap?’ he asks, confused.
‘I’m asking if I can drink as much wine as I want?’ Zara says.
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead but maybe for your own health, let’s limit you to a bottle a day.’
‘Shared or each?’
‘Each?’ Ben replies, trying to do bad wine maths in his head. ‘I haven’t really planned ahead or given much thought to rules, you know. Like you all seem quite normal and nice, but I guess let’s be nice to each other, don’t smoke in the house—’
‘And don’t pet the feral cat?’ I add.
Ben holds my gaze for a moment. I guess if he was going to rob, swindle or kidnap me then he would have done it already, so I feel my defences drop slightly.
Those are good sheets and you haven’t scrimped on this whole affair.
Plus, it looks like Zara’s wine consumption might bankrupt you so maybe I should be a tad more sympathetic.
‘Please don’t. I think she has fleas, possibly mange too, but I can’t get close enough to her to check,’ he says.
I laugh. Not that fleas are a laughing matter but if that’s one of the only rules here, I think I might be able to cope.
‘Can I just take a video of this room to show my husband?’ Jess asks. ‘He gifted me this holiday for my birthday and I want to show him how perfect it is.’
Ben nods as Zara walks through to the other bedrooms and bathroom to inspect them.
‘Do you think you might want to take your trainers off? Relax a little?’ Ben asks me, curious about whether he may have won me over.
‘Perhaps. It’s a very beautiful house. Do you know the history of it?’ I ask. ‘The millstone in the living room and the vaulted passageways suggest it might have been some sort of farmhouse.’
‘I think there are some old photos downstairs that might tell you. I found boxes of old letters and books so they may give you some clues if you’re interested,’ he says. ‘I’m glad the house pleases you.’
‘Why do you say that like an English butler?’ I reply, giggling.
He grins in return. ‘I have no idea. But at least you know now that I really have no clue what I’m doing.’
‘You are doing very well so far, Ben/Lorenzo/Pedro… whatever your name is.’
I’m exhaling slowly again when I suddenly hear a shriek from one of the other rooms down the corridor.
Shit. I knew it. I should have trusted my gut.
I let this nice house get in the way of my instincts and now a woman is in danger.
I move towards the door before Ben can, happy I kept my trainers on, and I jog with speed and purpose towards the sound of Zara’s voice.
Please be OK. But as I open the door to the room where her voice is coming from, I see her bent over and shrieking with laughter, tears running down her face, gasping for air.
Shit. Did she have an olive? Is she choking?
‘Zara?’ I ask. ‘Are you…?’
Ben joins us in the room, his face pale and confused, and I look around, on guard just in case there’s someone under the bed. Jess bursts in, grabbing her phone like she might use it as a weapon.
‘Look outside, into the pool,’ Zara points to the window.
We all look out of the window, and my eyes widen as I try and hold in a laugh. Jess, who still has her phone in her hand, starts to take pictures.
Ben goes out on to the small balcony, shouting. ‘Miguel! ?Qué pasa?! The guests! The guests are here!’
Well, at least he knows the man in the pool. The naked man, wearing a snorkel, who I think might be cleaning it. I hope that’s what he’s doing anyway.