Chapter 16
BEN
I do dance. I dance a lot, mainly because Flo dictates it and she only listens to disco, but it’s kitchen dancing.
I sometimes dance when we’ve closed the restaurant for the night and I’m mopping up on my own, but Miguel might have a point.
There is something very different about dancing in the sand with about a hundred other people, mostly off their faces on alcohol and illegal substances, and losing control of your limbs.
Maybe it’s the low lights, the flashing colours, the taste of saltwater and the fact that half of us aren’t wearing shoes but there’s something to be said for jumping up and down, occasionally singing a lyric and throwing your head up in the air and shouting into the night sky as the Ibizan sun goes down.
Did we need tickets for this? Who’s looking after this fire?
Who’s arranged this? Who knows? Questions race through my mind but I’m not sure I care about the answers.
‘Ben, what the hell was in that Hierbas?’ Zara asks, draping herself over me.
To be honest, knowing Miguel it could have been anything in that bottle, and I feel weird that we bought it out of the back of his friend’s van.
A van that also housed two Chihuahuas in coats, a double bass, fairy lights and net curtains.
Miguel has sprung a lot of surprises on us today so all bets are off.
It was incredibly herby. It may have been liquid weed for all I know.
Mushrooms. I did give it a quick sniff but maybe I should have done more.
All I know is that I felt that shit in my veins. It felt like superpower juice.
‘I’m not quite sure,’ I tell her. ‘Are you having fun?’
‘WHAT?’ she shouts.
That’s the other thing, it’s very loud here.
I can’t hear what anyone’s saying and that adds to the mass delirium.
Zara doesn’t care though, she just screams into the air, her hands held to the sky as she runs back to Jess: wonderful Jess who is letting go, waving her arms, using a plastic water bottle as a microphone, her hair swinging around.
I smile to see her happiness, to see the colours from the lights bouncing off Jess and Zara in lilacs and pinks.
I lost sight of Miguel a while ago after he became a strange dance sandwich with two men wearing angel wings and knee-high boots.
But looking around I spy Chloe on her own, downing a bottle of water and throwing a little on her face.
She’s done a good job so far of keeping her distance, of not addressing what happened before, and I can’t tell if that silence is building the wrong sort of tension.
I guess I could find out now. Go on, Ben.
Be smooth. Do I dance on over? I don’t think I have the hip skills for that.
She sees me and waves, so I walk towards her, trying to look as cool as possible among the sea of dancers and partygoers.
‘Hiiiii,’ I say as I finally reach her. ‘It’s very loud!’ This is good, Ben. State the bleeding obvious.
‘WHAT?’ she says to me. She leans into me and I can smell the familiar earthy scent of Hierbas on her breath; her lips are dangerously warm on my skin.
‘It’s very loud!’ I repeat.
‘It is!’
‘Have you seen the moon?’ I ask.
‘WHAT?’ Chloe replies.
I look at her and she smiles. ‘It’s a full moon,’ I say.
‘WHAT?’ she shouts again.
We both look at the moon. She leans into me and threads her arm through mine. I try to subdue the buzz I feel when she comes in close.
‘Soon?’
‘No, the moon.’
‘Like… tune?’
‘Sand… dune?’ I shout over the noise.
We both stand there, immensely confused but laughing. Chloe possibly more energetically than me, and I catch her as she stumbles in the sand, feeling her face against my chest, looking at the shallows of her neck as her head rolls back with laughter.
I watch as she starts jumping up and down, her arms in the air, fully stretched, swinging her head from side to side, looking up at the stars.
Well done, Miguel. This was a wild idea but it looks like it’s working.
I could have set up a Bluetooth speaker by the pool but we can truly let go among this crowd.
Chloe throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly.
‘I love Hierbas,’ she says, moving her face close to mine.
‘How many bottles have you had?’ I ask her, looking into her big shiny eyes, conscious that our bodies are super close. She puts her mouth close to my ear. ‘Miguel gave me spares. He said the herbs were good for my hair.’
‘Your hair? Your hair looks great.’
‘WHAT?’ Chloe comes closer again to try and hear me, her cheek brushing against mine.
I like the feel of her skin on my hands as I cradle her frame in mine and for a moment, I want to kiss her.
Isn’t this the perfect backdrop? The sound of the sea, the inkiness of the sky holding up a thousand stars, the beat of the dance music like a pulse.
Let’s see where a kiss could go. But alas, I was also raised to be a gentleman and maybe some drunken snog where she can’t find her footing and smells like a medicinal herb garden is not ideal.
I will not take advantage of this situation despite the urge I feel to hold her so very tightly.
‘You are so strong!’ Chloe says, grabbing my bicep.
She puts her arms out like a strong man and does a dance with her hands in the air, pouting.
I laugh. However, as she does this, wearing flip-flops in the soft sand, she stumbles back again but this time into a young partygoer in a crochet sarong and a white bikini top, spilling the girl’s tinned cocktail all over the sand.
‘Oh my, I’m so sorry…’ Chloe tells her, scrambling around as she tries to stand.
The girl looks at her, snark and judgement in her eyes – she and her friends have not come here tonight to dance and bay at the moon; they are more reserved dancers, swaying and hanging out for the posed Instagram opportunities.
She was vlogging before in that sort of deliberate, pouty way that makes me sad.
I’ve seen it in my restaurant. Like and subscribe, guys! Don’t forget to follow!
‘Urgh…’ the girl says, looking down at Chloe.
The upper half of Chloe’s body seems to have disconnected from her legs, so I go over to support her.
I notice one of the girls laughing and whispering to her friend.
The cruelty of the gesture makes me frown at them and turn Chloe so she’s facing away.
She leans on me but seems to be sinking into the sand.
‘She did try to apologise,’ I tell the girl.
The girl puts a hand to her ears and pretends she can’t hear me. ‘Maybe she needs to learn how to handle her alcohol,’ she says condescendingly.
‘Maybe you need to learn how not to be a complete bitchbag,’ Chloe says, clasping her hands over her mouth like she’s never been able to insult anyone before in her life, but descending into giggles afterwards.
‘What the fuck did you call me?’ the girl asks.
Should I repeat that she called her a ‘bitchbag’?’
‘Oi!’ I hear Zara storming over with Jess. ‘Is there a problem here?’ The more drunk Zara gets, the more London her accent gets. There’s some bravado in her, like she might be some East End gangster.
A girl in a cowboy hat and body glitter looks both Jess and Zara up and down. ‘They really let anyone show up to this these days,’ she says.
‘What was that?’ Chloe asks. She’s bleary-eyed but standing bolt upright. ‘Why are you so rude?’
Crochet-Sarong girl laughs at her. ‘You bumped into me because you were dancing like a complete idiot. Maybe you need to control your girlfriend?’ she says, looking directly at me.
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ I say.
‘Yeah, talk about dodging a bullet…’ She looks over at Zara. ‘Why are you staring, Grandma?’
Zara’s jaw drops open.
‘You and thunder chub there can mind your own,’ the girl continues.
I see all three women’s faces freeze at the insults rolling off the acerbic tongue of someone so young. What is she? Eighteen?
‘Seriously, no… Where do you get off talking to people like that? This is supposed to be a party, we’re all just having fun,’ I say, stepping in.
‘Calm down Temu Pedro Pascal,’ Cowboy Hat jokes.
I try not to laugh at that, but Chloe storms up to Crochet-Sarong girl and fronts up to her. ‘Please explain to me why and how you are such a little bitch. Seriously?’
Zara doesn’t need an excuse to join in. ‘“Grandma”? Come here you little twat. Piss off back to your sandbox.’
Jess is right behind Zara, every sinew in her body is tense and ready to take this all on.
What on earth was in those bottles? Where the hell is Miguel?
The insults start to fly and I look between both groups of women, unsure what to do.
Do I play peacemaker? This scene feels vaguely reminiscent of a time when I was growing up and Norah and Flo had a wild fight over nail polish.
But before I can make a decision about my role here, someone throws some sand and it all kicks off.
Zara pushes Crochet-Sarong, Jess charges at Cowboy Hat who goes flying, someone else in a gold mini dress is kicking Chloe and she grabs at handfuls of her hair.
‘I’ll show you Grandma, you skinny twunt,’ Zara yells. ‘Stuck up little princess, this is how we grown-ups do it.’
I hold Zara back, arms flying, but there’s only one of me. I don’t have enough arms.
‘Please! Ladies! Can we calm it down a bit?’ I beg.
I try and control the chaos over the insults and the sandstorm that they are brewing up underneath them.
People stop to look, cheer and take videos.
Shit. I might like a copy of that video though.
Mainly for Phoebe. Yeah, we didn’t mention this in your retreat flyer, eh?