An Unexpected Invitation
As the taxi from the airport pulled up at the electronic gates, Maggie turned to Flick.
‘I thought you said this was a farmhouse?’
‘That’s what she told me.’ Buzzing the intercom, Flick leaned out of the window. ‘Hi, Flea . . . yeah, it’s me, Flick . . .’
As the gates silently opened, revealing a sweeping driveway lined with olive trees, bougainvillea and droves of French lavender, they entered the kind of sprawling estate you see when you’re flicking through glossy magazines at the hairdresser’s with your hair in tinfoil.
The ones featuring beautiful women in designer clothes artfully posed on chaise longues, while you slump in your chair underneath a monstrous black cape.
‘This doesn’t look like any farmhouse I’ve ever seen.’
Thinking of the farm back in Yorkshire where she’d been living in the caravan, with its muddy fields, leaking barns and piles of cow shit, Maggie gave a low whistle.
‘This is amazing.’
As they neared the bottom of the driveway, they heard trance music playing from the outside speakers. A skinny blonde girl in a bikini was waiting to welcome them, arms flung out, waving excitedly, like one of those inflatable advertising air dancers you get outside car dealerships.
‘You’re here! This is SO awesome, I haven’t seen you since graduation! And welcome to your friend!’
Throwing her arms around them both as they climbed out of the taxi, she led them through the enormous house, quickly doing introductions to all the other guests while Flick said hello to some people she knew from uni and Maggie tried to remember all their names.
‘This is Jasper and Pelly . . .’
Identical twin brothers with identical beaded necklaces looked up from grazing at the kitchen island to nonchalantly wave hello.
‘Fabio . . .’
Over by the diving board. Tiny trunks. Less budgie smuggler, more Avert Your Eyes.
‘Hattie, Panda, Toots, Kitty, Tigs, Topsy . . .’
They were lazing around the pool in various poses, looking like they’d just come in from a club, which they probably had. It was like Saltburn meets the characters of Beatrix Potter. Though the Tale of Gen Z on Their Phones Smoking Spliffs didn’t have quite the same ring to it.
‘Daddy . . .’
Maggie wondered if she’d misheard. Surely she meant Granddaddy? Snoozing in a hammock, he looked like Father Christmas. That’s if Santa wore a batik sarong and drank too much rosé in the sun.
‘Cousin Haz.’
Red trousers. Signet ring. Socks and sandals. Financial Times.
‘I’ll introduce you to Mummy later – she’s gone sailing to Es Vedrà, but she’ll be back this evening for her drumming circle.’
‘Wow, you’ve got so many people staying,’ said Flick, who hadn’t quite realized just how rich Flea really was and was feeling a little intimidated. Though she would rather die than show it. ‘Are you sure you have room?’
‘We’ve got ten bedrooms, but it’s a bit of a full house,’ laughed Flea, cheerfully. ‘But luckily we’ve got a couple of spare tents.’
Uh-oh. She should’ve known there had to be a catch.
‘Great!’ Flick smiled brightly and tried not to look at Maggie as they were led away from the house, past the saltwater swimming pool and into the orchard to be with the goats and chickens.
It was like being in a game of social mobility snakes and ladders and they’d just slid down the ladder of the British class system.
‘So, you said on your DMs you’re out here working on a story? How exciting!’
‘Yes, we’re just here for the one night.’
‘Are you a journalist too?’
Flea turned to Maggie who was trailing behind, looking like she’d done ten rounds with Tyson Fury.
‘No, I’m—’
‘Oh! Don’t tell me! You’re undercover!’ Goggle-eyed, Flea turned back to Flick. ‘Is it a major scoop?’
‘Well, I’m not sure I’d call it that—’
‘Golly, I do love a scoop, though I’m terrible, I never read the news. TikTok is my tabloid of choice.’ She laughed gaily, then caught herself. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be frivolous. I mean, it’s all so depressing, isn’t it? All this terrible cost of living crisis.’
As Flea gave them a tour of her family’s private Ibizan estate, Maggie wasn’t sure if she was being ironic.
‘How’s PR?’ asked Flick.
‘Dreadfully boring. All those tedious book launches and gallery openings. Journalism sounds so much more thrilling!’
Flick thought about her job at The Local Echo, sitting next to Tupperware Tony as he told her about his sandwich fillings, typing up endless copy about charity fundraisers and local council committees. There were many words she could use, but thrilling wasn’t one of them.
‘Here you are.’
By the time they reached a flat terrace, shaded by pine trees and cooled by a soft breeze, both Flick and Maggie had mentally prepared themselves for a couple of nylon tents and some camping mats if they were lucky; instead they were greeted by two huge white canvas bell tents, strung with fairy-lights, and complete with real beds, duvets and pillows, and rugs.
‘Oh wow, thank you – they’re gorgeous!’ gasped Flick.
‘They’ve even got their own loo!’ exclaimed Maggie, feeling relieved for her perimenopausal bladder. Well, sorry, but she wasn’t twenty-six any more; trips to the loo in the night were now the norm.
‘They’re fully compostable,’ smiled Flea, ‘and all the lights and charging points work on solar; there’s also a solar shower.’
Which of course made Flick beam from ear to ear. A compostable loo! A solar shower! Solar lights and chargers! She was in heaven.
‘OK, well, make yourself at home. If you need anything, I’ll be up at the finca.’ With a wave she turned and headed back through the orchard.
‘That’s Spanish for farmhouse,’ said Maggie as Flea disappeared.
‘I finca’ve died and gone to heaven,’ whooped Flick. Diving inside her tent and stretching her arms wide, she flopped backwards and sank into her pillowtop bed.
Twenty minutes later, they were back in a taxi heading into town.
‘Couldn’t we have just chilled out for a bit?’ grumbled Maggie as they left the stunning surroundings of the finca behind and headed towards Dalt Vila, Ibiza’s fortified old town. Tired and hot, she’d had to be dragged out of her bell tent. ‘I could really do with a siesta.’
‘A siesta?’ Flick snorted. ‘We don’t have time for siestas!’
They’d only been in their tents a few minutes when there’d been a shriek from inside Flick’s.
He was back online! Posting on one of his accounts, his stories showed photos of himself in Ibiza, in the old town and down by the port.
Which had caused Flick to leap off her organic cotton sheets and immediately book a cab.
They needed to hurry, time was of the essence.
Which is why they were now racing into town.
‘The cruise leaves at 11 p.m. tonight – there’s no time to lose.’
Maggie gazed out of the window as the red earth of the Ibizan countryside whizzed by.
To be honest, after yesterday’s events, she was having serious doubts about the whole thing.
She didn’t know if it was the bang on the head or the memory of standing frozen on the pavement, but there was a big part of her that didn’t want to find him.
She’d had her chance and she’d fucked it up.
She wasn’t sure she was strong enough to go through seeing him again – or, more importantly, if she wanted to.
She was tired, and right now, she just wanted to throw in the towel and go home.
‘We have to find him this time. We just have to . . . we’re running out of time . . .’
But, listening to Flick muttering under her breath, all Maggie could think was: how on earth could she admit her true feelings?
Soon after, they arrived in Dalt Vila, the beautiful fortified old town, accessed by a dramatic stone drawbridge. Inside there was a maze of cobbled backstreets and steps, winding steeply up and down, and a plethora of shops, restaurants, art galleries and bars.
‘Do you think they’ll have a pharmacy?’ asked Maggie, after a few minutes of climbing. Pausing to rest, she caught her reflection in a shop window. ‘I think I need something for this bruising.’
Flick looked suddenly guilty. In her haste she’d forgotten about Maggie’s accident.
‘I know, why don’t you find one, then go sit at that nice cafe we passed by the entrance and have a cold drink. I’ll go down to the harbour, see if I can see the cruise ship.’
‘OK, thanks, if you don’t mind.’
‘No, of course not. Find a spot in the shade and relax. I’ll meet you back here in an hour.’
It was only after Flick left that Maggie remembered she didn’t have a phone to find a pharmacy.
She’d already cancelled it with her phone provider and ordered a replacement to collect when she got back to the UK.
Luckily, she didn’t have to look too far, and the pharmacist spoke perfect English.
Though to be honest, no words were really necessary, as her huge shiner did all the talking.
She left with strong painkillers and something for the bruising and swelling, together with a new pair of sunglasses to hide behind, then found herself a nice spot in the shade at the little cafe, just outside the ramparts.
She was just enjoying an iced coffee when she heard a whistle and turned to see a woman approaching in a figure-hugging sequinned dress and heels.
‘You know, we’ve really got to stop bumping into each other like this, people will talk.’
She engulfed Maggie in a perfumed hug.
‘Birdy! What are you doing here?’
‘Shopping.’
‘Are you going to the hippy market?’
‘Do I look like the kind of gal who goes to a hippy market?’
All decked out in sequins and heels, she pulled a face.
‘I wasn’t a hippy the first time around.
All that patchouli and free love, no thanks.
If you want love, you’re going to have to pay for it, honey.
’ As if to prove the point, she lovingly stroked the Louis Vuitton handbag on her shoulder.
‘Seriously, no one ever looked good in tie-dye. Not even Cher and she looks amazing in everything.’
Maggie fidgeted in her tie-dye skirt she’d bought from a little market she’d happened to pass in Mallorca and hoped Birdy wouldn’t notice it underneath the table.
‘Anyway, I hear that was yesterday so we’re too late, our cruise only arrived this morning.’
At the mention of the cruise ship, Maggie felt her insides twist up.
‘We leave tonight, so I thought I’d better make the most of it and see what this party island is all about—’ She broke off as Maggie took off her sunglasses. ‘Geez Louise! What happened to your eye?’
‘Oh, it’s a long story.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yeah. Sort of. At least I think so.’ Out of nowhere she had an urge to tell Birdy everything, to get it all off her chest to someone. ‘Actually, if you’re not doing anything, why don’t you join me for an iced coffee?’
‘Sorry, doll, but I can’t stay. I’m going clubbing.’
‘Clubbing?’
Seriously, could Birdy do nothing that didn’t surprise her?
‘What? This afternoon?’
A limousine with blacked-out windows pulled up beside them and a driver got out to open the door.
‘I’ve got a private table booked at one of the best daytime parties in town. You should come. I’ll put your name on my guest list.’
She handed her a flyer.
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Maggie smiled politely, shaking her head. It was the last thing she felt like. ‘Clubbing’s not really my thing.’
Sliding inside the air-conditioned leather interior, Birdy turned and raised an eyebrow.
‘I haven’t forgotten our conversation in Sicily. Seriously, Maggie, think about it. You never know who you might bump into.’
Maggie frowned, confused. Wait a minute. Who was she referring to?
But before Maggie could ask any questions, the heavy door closed behind her with a soft click and the limousine glided away.