Chapter 31
By the following week, I’m almost back to regular programming and can walk on legs that no longer feel boneless.
I’m not sure if that was caused by my faulty sea legs, or the Xavier effect.
Since the boat ride I’ve fallen into these heady imaginings of his strong arms around me, the way he stared into my eyes like he had all the answers, or would at least protect me from black-tipped reef sharks.
On reflection, how exactly would he have done that if the boat did capsize?
Switch out my leg for his from the shark’s jaws?
Perhaps, like my experience with most men, I shouldn’t take Xavier at face value.
Or at least, keep my boundaries in place and possibly be a little more honest about the ocean and the fact it’s a no-go zone for me unless it’s from the comfort of the shore.
I’m locking up the bookshop, and I see Xavier and his mum, heads bent as they power-walk along the beach towards the Cabana Bar, looking like they’re discussing something serious.
Their faces are pinched, and Mrs Bastille shakes her head as if she doesn’t agree with whatever he’s saying.
I watch them for a beat when Mariola appears.
She shakes a bottle of wine that has rivers of condensation running down it from the humidity. ‘Can I pick up my book order?’
‘Sure.’ I unlock the door and dart in and grab her copy of the latest instalment of a romantasy series that’s sold bazillions and is likely getting a movie adaptation too. ‘I can’t wait to hear what you think of this one!’
I pass the book over. We chat back and forth about it, including the fact that book one ended on a cliffhanger.
I don’t have the heart to tell Mariola every book in the series does, including book four, when currently the author hasn’t even begun writing book five yet. The sweet pain of bookworm problems.
‘Ready?’ I say, desperate to get out of the unrelenting sun.
‘Ready! The White Lotus season two here we come!’
I’ve created a monster in the best way possible.
Mariola takes our viewing parties seriously, as if The White Lotus Resort is a real place, and we’re watching it to compare resorts and take notes.
Understandably, she was rather scandalised by the ending of season one but weren’t we all?
It’s put the Last Chance Resort and its troubles into perspective for her.
The renovations, the underbelly of secrets and even the power-walking, finger-clicking CEO with moody broody eyes doesn’t seem like such a big deal any more.
To me or Mariola. It’s been a riot comparing the two resorts, and while The White Lotus may have had the Hollywood treatment, a lot of the petty staff squabbles and disputes are surprisingly accurate and ring true for what I’ve experienced here so far, but on a much more PG-rated scale.
Now we’re onto season two and I’m enjoying hanging out and watching Mariola’s eyes bulge as characters get themselves into all sorts of mostly avoidable bother.
Some parts do also hold up a mirror to my own foibles, namely me jumping into other people’s skirmishes and coming out the other side a little worse for wear.
Maybe that’s just the way I am, my cross to bear, if you will.
And it’s not as if we’re talking life and death like in the movies.
‘Your suite?’ I ask. ‘Or Joji’s?’ We go between the two because Joji dips in and out depending on his mood and his fickle nature, where he’ll ditch us without a second thought if he gets a better offer, usually in the shape of a frisky guest. How the guy hasn’t been fired is beyond me.
I’d hazard a guess it’s his boy-next-door charm and oodles of charisma that he turns on to get himself out of jams. That and Xavier doesn’t ever seem to hear about Joji’s shenanigans, due to said charm…
‘Joji’s. He’s got the snacks sorted.’
‘Cool.’
We ride bikes through the resort. I’m going to have legs of steel if this keeps up. But it’s much quicker to have the bicycle on hand than call for the golf cart and wait, or worse, risk Mariola’s erratic driving.
We wave to the expats as we go past the Cabana Bar.
The three Lucys are playing Jenga around a table with Brian, who wears a look of extreme concentration as if there’s some money on the game – which, knowing them as I do now, is probably the case.
Mrs Bastille has made her way there too, Xavier is nowhere in sight.
She nurses a glass of wine and stares vacantly out at the ocean.
Doris sits beside her, a supportive hand on her back.
‘What’s that about?’ I ask Mariola, motioning with my head to the duo.
Mariola grimaces at the sight of a forlorn Mrs Bastille. ‘Xavier’s pushing ahead with the idea of renovating the Cabana Bar, after the summer high season is finished. It makes sense to renovate during the wet season but it’s the one spot she didn’t want touched.’
I frown. ‘So why can’t he respect her wishes?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘It bloody well isn’t. It’s one little bar, and yes, it’s a touch shabby compared to the rest of the resort, but they could give it a spruce up, replace the thatched roofing, give the wood panelling a lick of paint. It’s not like it’s an eyesore, it’s a tiki bar! It just needs a bit of TLC.’
A range of expressions flit across Mariola’s face as she struggles with confiding in me, just like always. ‘It’s not that simple.’
It’s like trying to solve a complex riddle, getting information from people here at times.
Sure, it’s none of my business, but there’s just so much happening that I never quite get a handle on.
It makes it hard to relax into my own role, worrying what the future of the resort is.
Like it could all slip away – as if there’s some secret plan afoot but no one person has all the details, so we’re left to stitch rumours together, which only makes things worse.
‘Why not?’
She gives me an apologetic smile. ‘From what I can gather, there are a few things in play and he’s trying to navigate them all and do what’s best for the resort.’
‘Well, that’s as clear as mud.’
Her face dissolves into a smile, dimples on full display.
‘Sorry, Harper. What I can tell you is the Cabana Bar was the first thing Mrs Bastille and her first husband – Xavier’s dad – built when they purchased the resort all those years ago.
Back then there was no pool, no other bar areas and not even a restaurant.
All that came much later. Over the years they expanded, built the deck and added the Bilimbi Green, and further along, the Creole Kitchen and beach bonfire pit.
Most of the expats started holidaying here back then and were part of it – Brian plumbed in the Cabana Bar in for them, as he says he’s a Jack of all trades, master of none.
Doris was here with her husband when the thatched roof went on. ’
‘What happened to Doris’s husband?’
‘He was tragically eaten by a black-tipped reef shark when the glass-bottom boat capsized.’
I gasp. ‘I knew that boat had every chance of capsizing, and over the top of a shark breeding ground, for crying out loud!’
Mariola’s dimples deepen as laughter gets the better of her.
‘You monster.’
‘Sorry! Anyway, once the Cabana Bar was completed, Khalil organised the traditional Sega dance to celebrate and then he soon became part of the fabric of this place and never left, although he boats it to another island for his part-time job. The three Lucys came with their husbands and children for holidays as the expansion continued to the other areas, but the one thing that bonded them all was spending happy hour together as the sun set. To think of the Cabana Bar being torn down in the low season… well, it’s heartbreaking – it’s not just a bar, it’s a place full of memories where many stories have been told, confessions shared, heartbreaks lamented over, joy celebrated.
Tears mingled with much laughter, under thousands of blazing suns sinking into the horizon. ’
Mariola’s touching reminiscences make me well up and I see the Cabana Bar for what it is – a place of friendship, of love and acceptance.
Under the guise of happy hour drinks, it’s where bonds were forged and where the lost found their way back.
Where they came to the island of hope, the place of last chances.
If it gets demolished, revamped, it’s like wiping the past away, like it never happened, or worse, never mattered.
Now it makes so much more sense to me, why expats like Doris are actively rallying to keep the humble weathered Cabana Bar as it is.
In a world that’s racing full steam ahead, it’s the one place on earth that’s stayed the same and their pasts are tied to it.
‘Is there no way it can be saved?’
She shakes her head sadly. ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s already been delayed. It was supposed to be demolished when the bookshop was renovated last low season and Xavier somehow managed a stay of execution, but I don’t think that will wash again.’
As I cycle, I peer back at the Cabana Bar.
‘There must be investors pulling strings because I’m sure Xavier wouldn’t hurt his mum like that.
’ Or the ‘suits’ Michel took for a helicopter ride, are they linked to this?
It just feels like someone else must be involved because why else would he go against his mother’s wishes, and hurt the expats like that in the process?
She shrugs. ‘I’m not involved in that side of the business.’ But she doesn’t say no. What else could it be? With the resort renovations, it stands to reason that cash is needed to be injected. But whether they had that money set aside or had to find investors is the question.
‘Was the resort struggling before the facelift?’