Chapter 11
Gabriel wasn’t joking. We’ve barely passed the signs warning people that we’re crossing from private to public beach before our destination comes into sight.
It’s basically a wooden shack facing the sea with a hand-painted sign on the top advertising it as Raphael’s Bar.
Although the sun hasn’t quite set yet, the fairy lights wrapped round the pillars at the front are already illuminated, giving the place a festive glow.
A number of collapsible tables and chairs have been set out on the sand, and I notice that the majority of them are already occupied.
As we get closer, I begin to pick up the babble of animated conversation with an underlying soundtrack of reggae music.
It has a happy vibe, and I can feel myself starting to relax.
As we approach, a bare-footed man in shorts and a T-shirt comes out, carrying a tray of drinks. When he catches sight of us, his face erupts in a massive grin.
‘Gabriel! Wah Gwaan?’ he shouts.
‘Mi deh yah, yuh know,’ Gabriel replies, surprising me again with his Jamaican accent.
So many questions are firing around my brain as the man puts the tray down on the nearest table and the two of them embrace.
I try to follow the conversation but most of it goes straight over my head.
At some point the man obviously asks about me, as Gabriel turns to me and switches seamlessly back to the English accent I heard earlier.
‘Tori, this is my brother Raphael, the owner of this bar. Raphael, this is Tori, who is staying at the Elixir and is in need of a proper drink.’
‘Nice to meet you, Tori,’ Raphael says to me as he puts down his tray and holds out his hand for me to shake. ‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘I’d love a glass of white wine,’ I tell him.
To my surprise, he bursts out laughing.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Darlin’, this is Jamaica. You can do much better than that. Leave it to me, I’ll bring you something nice. Trouble’s brewing, Gabriel?’
‘Trouble’s brewing,’ Gabriel replies with a nod.
‘Umm, Gabriel?’ I ask nervously as he sits down at the table.
‘Yes?’
‘If there’s going to be trouble, I probably oughtn’t to be here.’
Once again, I’ve obviously said something hilarious as it’s now Gabriel’s turn to burst out laughing.
‘Trouble’s Brewing is the name of a local craft brewery,’ he explains after a moment. ‘You’re quite safe, don’t worry.’
Relieved that I’m not about to find myself in the centre of something unpleasant, I sit down opposite him.
I’m still trying to work out which of the thousand questions currently in my head to ask him first when Raphael appears with a beer for Gabriel and something that looks like fruit juice for me.
‘Rum punch,’ Raphael explains when I look at him quizzically.
I take a sip and sigh with pleasure. It’s refreshing, like fruit juice, but with an underlying heat from the rum. ‘This is seriously good,’ I tell him.
‘The best on the island,’ he replies with a smile. ‘Enjoy.’
After Raphael wanders off to deal with his other customers, Gabriel and I sit in silence for a while.
His face is so serene as he takes a mouthful of his beer that it seems a shame to bombard him with all my questions, so I take another sip of my drink and turn to watch the sea instead.
I don’t understand more than the occasional word of the conversations buzzing around me, but I’m enjoying the vibe nonetheless.
It sounds trite, but I feel like I’m experiencing a sense of the real Jamaica, rather than something curated for tourists.
‘Is everything OK?’ Gabriel asks after a while.
‘Yes, I’m just soaking up the atmosphere,’ I tell him.
‘It’s good, isn’t it? Way better than the Blue Dolphin, anyway. You should bring your boyfriend and his pal here.’
That’s the thing that was niggling me earlier, I realise.
‘Neither of them are my boyfriend,’ I tell him firmly. ‘What made you think one of them was?’
‘I saw you checking in. Aren’t you in the same room as the tall, dark-haired guy?’
‘Yes, but that’s because of a misunderstanding. I can assure you we’re not together and, from what I know of him, we never will be.’
He looks confused but evidently decides he’s probed enough, as he returns his attention to his beer.
‘Can I ask you something now?’ I say after a moment.
‘What about?’
‘Your accent. When you speak to me, you sound English, but you went full-on Jamaican when you were talking to Raphael.’
‘Yes,’ he says simply. I wait for a moment to see if he’s going to elaborate, but it seems not.
‘Which are you?’ I ask.
‘I guess I’m probably a bit of both,’ he tells me after another pause. ‘I’ve spent time in both places.’
That’s as clear as mud then. I’d like to press him for details, but I get the impression he’s said all he wants to on this particular subject, so I decide to change tack.
‘Do you play in other hotels, or just the Elixir?’
‘I play all over the place.’ His eyes are sparkling with something that looks like mischief as he speaks, and I get the distinct impression that he’s toying with me in some way. ‘Tell me something,’ he continues. ‘What sort of music do you like?’
‘All sorts, really,’ I reply. ‘Well, I’m not massively into classical, actually, and jazz just winds me up, but most other types.’
‘Why does jazz wind you up?’
‘It just comes across as incredibly pretentious to me, and the music never seems to go anywhere. It’s like they’re making it up as they go along.’
‘Hm. That sounds like you’re describing modern jazz. What about the more traditional stuff? Glenn Miller, Louis Armstrong or Duke Ellington?’
‘I’ve heard the names, but I don’t know their music,’ I admit.
‘What about Gershwin? You must have heard Rhapsody in Blue.’
‘It rings a bell, but I can’t remember it.’
‘“Summertime”?’ He begins to sing softly, and I immediately recognise the song.
‘I do know that,’ I tell him.
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s OK. I guess I’m probably more of a pop person. What about you?’
‘Pretty much all kinds of music have their merits,’ he says. ‘Although I’m not a fan of songs where the backing is obviously a computer-generated track, which I’m afraid rules out a lot of the latest stuff.’
‘I’m not sure I’d know the difference.’
‘Oh, I think you would. Take Queen as an example of how to do it right. There are plenty of other bands in the same boat, but I’ll use them.
Everyone agrees that Freddie Mercury had an incredible voice, but all of them were superb musicians.
Brian May could make an electric guitar dance on the head of a pin, Roger Taylor was a maestro on the drums, and John Deacon’s bass playing was right up there as well.
In comparison to that, a lot of what’s being produced now feels soulless, like it’s just being pumped out of a pop factory somewhere. ’
I smile at him. ‘Queen is kind of retro though.’
‘Fair point. I guess I picked them because my dad liked them, so they were the soundtrack of my childhood. If you want more modern examples, you could take someone like Imagine Dragons or Bastille.’
‘Still a bit retro,’ I tell him.
‘Which kind of backs up what I was saying about a lot of the modern stuff, doesn’t it?’
Evidently satisfied that he’s made his point, he takes a mouthful of his beer and leans back in his seat.
I’m trying to think of ways to prolong the conversation as I sip on my rum punch.
It may be refreshing but it’s also seriously strong, and I can feel my normal British politeness starting to slip.
‘Tell me more about your childhood,’ I blurt suddenly, immediately cursing myself silently for being so invasive.
‘What?’ Thankfully he looks puzzled rather than offended.
‘Sorry, you just mentioned that your dad liked Queen, and I guess it made me wonder,’ I babble, frantically trying to dig myself out of this hole.
‘It was a fairly normal childhood, nothing particular to report.’ Again I wait to see if he’s going to elaborate, but there’s nothing. Every time I ask about his background, he seems to clam up, which only makes me more curious. I know I should stop now, but the rum evidently has other ideas.
‘Is it just you and Raphael, or are there other siblings?’
‘There are six of us in total.’ He smiles. ‘But I’m not very interesting. Why don’t you tell me a bit more about you?’
‘What do you want to know?’ I ask him.
‘Let’s start with why you’re here.’
‘Why are any of us here?’ I reply, unable to resist the opportunity to get him back for being so secretive with a little bit of amateur existentialism. ‘Does God exist, or are we just meaningless ants hurtling round the universe on a random piece of rock?’
He smiles again. ‘I meant Jamaica. Why Jamaica and the Elixir? Why are you sharing a room with someone you’re not dating and seem very sure you never will?’
He listens carefully as I explain about my relationship with Lily, leaving out the pregnancy plan, how the implosion of Fliss and Robert’s relationship put the whole trip at risk, and the various disasters that have led to me being in the situation I am now.
‘He sounds unhappy,’ Gabriel says after I’ve described Robert to him.
‘He’s certainly making me unhappy.’
‘Maybe a trip to Raphael’s will cheer him up. I doubt the Blue Dolphin will.’
I take another appreciative sip of my drink.
‘I don’t see how it could fail,’ I tell him.
‘This is literally everything I hoped the Caribbean would be. Who thought a dry hotel was a good idea? I mean, I get the wellness concept, but it seems like the marketing people haven’t thought it through properly. ’
‘Go on.’ He leans forward, resting his chin on the upturned palm of his hand.
‘Most of the clientèle are couples, from the little I’ve seen of the place so far,’ I begin.
‘Yes, that’s true. It’s adults only, so very couple orientated.’
‘OK. How many couples do you know where both partners are total wellness freaks?’
He smiles. ‘I don’t know any wellness freaks, apart from my sister.’
‘Aha!’ I tell him triumphantly.
‘What?’
‘You said you weren’t interesting, but you’ve just accidentally revealed something interesting about yourself. One of your siblings is a sister, and she’s into wellness.’
He laughs. ‘If you think that’s interesting, you need to set the bar higher. Lots of people have sisters, and there’s nothing unique about being a fitness freak, otherwise all the gyms would shut tomorrow. Anyway, we’re getting off the point, which is the marketing of the Elixir.’
‘Is she married?’
‘Who?’
‘Your sister, the wellness freak.’
‘Is it relevant?’
‘Very.’
‘She is, yes.’
‘Is her husband as into wellness as she is?’
‘No. I think I can say fairly definitely that he isn’t.’
‘Exactly.’
‘I’m sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘If the couples staying at the Elixir are broadly similar to your sister and her husband, and I’m going to stick my neck out and suggest that they are, then at least 50 per cent of the clientèle probably want something stronger than mango kombucha, not least because they’re on holiday.
It’s a strange hotel that ignores half of its customers, don’t you agree? ’
He smiles. ‘That’s a good point, well made. I’ll tell her.’
‘Who?’
‘My sister. She owns the Elixir. It’s her concept.’
Thank goodness the sun has set, so hopefully Gabriel can’t see the flush of embarrassment spreading across my cheeks.
‘Oh, shit,’ I say quickly. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—’
‘It’s fine,’ he reassures me. ‘If it helps, I agree with you.’
Our conversation is interrupted by the arrival of Raphael, with a battery-powered lantern and more drinks. I glance down and I’m surprised to see my glass is empty.
‘I’ll get these ones,’ I say quickly, reaching for my purse.
‘Relax,’ Raphael says with a grin before leaning down and lowering his voice. ‘Drinks are on the house for family.’
‘So,’ Gabriel says once Raphael has left. ‘Let’s return to the question of why you’re here.’
‘I thought we’d answered that.’
‘I know why you’re in Jamaica, at the Elixir. But, to quote you, “Does God exist, or are we just meaningless ants hurtling round the universe on a random piece of rock?”’
‘I was being flippant.’
‘I realise that, but I’m curious nonetheless.’
‘Nuh-uh. I’ve answered your questions. It’s time for you to answer for a change. Do you think God exists?’
He thinks for a minute. ‘You know, don’t you, that Jamaica is a very religious country. One of the best-known is Rastafarianism, but actually the majority of the population belong to a Christian denomination.’
‘That’s fascinating,’ I tell him, ‘but I’m looking for a more personal answer. What does Gabriel believe?’
‘I was raised in the Church of God. My parents were both members.’
‘You’re a Mormon?’
‘No. Mormons refer to their churches as the Church of Jesus Christ, short for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You can understand why; the full title is rather a mouthful. The Church of God is part of the Pentecostal movement within Protestantism. I can see why you’d get them mixed up though.
They are quite similar names. Another marketing blunder, do you think? And, if so, on which side?’
This proves to be something of a rabbit hole and, by the time Gabriel guides me back to the hotel, I’m both pleasantly relaxed from the rum and considerably better informed on the various religions of Jamaica and their practices.
Pentecostalism sounds fun, a bit like the black churches I’ve seen depicted in films and on the TV, while the Seventh-Day Adventists sound rather strict with their observance of the Sabbath and their focus on healthy living.
I’d remarked at one point that Gabriel’s sister had missed another marketing opportunity, as the Elixir sounds exactly the sort of place that would appeal to them, which had made Gabriel laugh and suggest I should be charging for all this good advice.
I’ve enjoyed his company enormously but, frustratingly, I don’t seem to have learned anything more about him beyond the fact that he believes in God.
I’m relieved to see that Robert isn’t back when I let myself into the room.
I grab my longest T-shirt and head into the bathroom to get ready for bed.
The staff have been in and put up a single bed near the window so, after drawing the curtains and turning on one of the bedside lights so my unwanted roommate will be able to see whenever he decides to reappear, I slip under the covers and close my eyes.
I’m absolutely exhausted, but it still takes me a little while to get to sleep. This is partly because I never sleep that well in a strange bed, but mainly because Gabriel’s reluctance to talk about himself has made me burn with curiosity. What is he hiding?