by Henry Sands
‘What on earth was that?’ Lucinda spluttered at the waiter, her eyes watering.
‘It’s my magic mezcal. You’ll like it. Enjoy your evening, guys.’
‘I bloody don’t like it,’ Lucinda replied, still holding her throat.
Anthony raised his hand to wave the waiter off; it seemed easier at that particular moment, he thought, than trying to talk.
A few moments later, the fire in their throats soothed, Anthony said, ‘Right, let’s go and have one drink, and then head home, shall we?’
Lucinda grabbed Anthony’s hand and they headed around the side of the courtyard, behind which was a hidden garden with a DJ booth set up under a stone archway at the far end. It was Diego, and the 400-strong crowd were loving him. Everywhere they looked, spacey-eyed people were rocking their bodies to the beat of the bass. They considered leaving again, thinking they had seen enough, but had agreed to have a final drink. On the other side of the garden, deeper into the jungle, there were a couple of tables. Parked on the bench, Anthony suggested she stay there and keep the table while he tackled the crowd at the bar.
‘What would you like?’ he asked.
‘Certainly nothing with tequila or the magic mezcal. A glass of white wine, I think. Anything to wash out the taste in my mouth!’ Lucinda shouted back, into his ear.
Lucinda watched Anthony make his way through the crowd until he was lost amongst them. Their table had rather protected them from where the crowd were jostling for central position, though allowed Lucinda a clear view to where Diego was spinning his decks. With a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other, even Lucinda could see how captivating Diego was. How extraordinary, she thought to herself, that she was at a jungle party in Mexico that her 23-year-old son had been at only a few weeks earlier. Although Diego’s music wasn’t exactly what she was normally accustomed to, she could see why he was so popular. There was something hypnotic about it. Lucinda couldn’t help but find herself rocking her head to the music in an appreciative way, along with the crowd in front of her.
Lucinda looked up at the sky, where the stars were glittering brightly above the darkness of the jungle, and for the first time in a long time she felt genuinely happy and free from a sense of burden. She knew that she should stop trying to look for something that wasn’t there, but instead make what was there – her friends, her children and her kind, decent husband – the best they could be. She just needed to navigate that path of life with consideration and thoughtfulness and add a little more adventure.
Her thoughts were rather swiftly interrupted by the voice of a young American man, wearing a maroon t-shirt which accentuated his muscular arms and chest. The man was with three other friends, each of whom was as equally athletic as the first.
‘May we squeeze in here, ma’am?’ asked the man, smiling at Lucinda. He couldn’t be much older than Jack, Lucinda thought to herself.
Given the table had two benches on either side which could easily sit six on each, it was difficult for Lucinda to do anything but agree.
‘Yes, of course. My husband’s just gone to the bar to get drinks, but please do squeeze in.’
‘You have a lovely accent, ma’am. And that is a beautiful dress,’ the man said, smiling in a way that reminded Lucinda of a puppy wanting to please its master. Well intentioned, but not what was asked for.
‘That’s very kind of you, thank you,’ she replied. Before adding, a little awkwardly, ‘Are you guys on holiday here?’ As if they could be on any other sort of trip.
‘We are, ma’am. We’ve just come back from Afghanistan and we’re now on our R&R.’
Good heavens, Lucinda thought, soldiers. But they didn’t look old enough to be in Afghanistan. ‘Please. You’re very polite, but do stop calling me “ma’am”. I’m Lucinda. Now what do you mean by “R&R”?’
The man smiled to his friends with a knowing grin, and then responded. ‘Rest and Recuperation, Lucinda.’
‘Of course, how silly of me. Sorry. And what’s your name?’
‘I’m Sean. Sean J. Cooper. I’m from San Diego.’
‘And how long have you been a soldier for, Sean J. Cooper?’ Christ, am I flirting with him? Lucinda thought to herself. I’m probably older than his mother.
‘I’m not a soldier, ma’am. Sorry, Lucinda.’
‘You’re not?’
‘No, I’m a Seal.’
Lucinda thought now it was all a joke and he was just teasing her, before he added, ‘I’m a Navy Seal,’ looking at her for recognition.
Lucinda’s knowledge of US military was limited, but by chance she had read an interview recently in the weekend supplement of The Times about a Navy Seal called Robert O’Neill who had written a book claiming to be the one who shot Osama bin Laden, during their late-night raid in the Pakistani compound, the account of which was now being called into question by some of his comrades. What was not in question, however, was that the Navy Seals were considered to be the toughest of the US military, rather like the British Special Forces.
Lucinda knew the sensible thing to do at this point would have been to make her excuses and go to find Anthony at the bar. But she didn’t. Instead, she said, ‘Oh, so you’re one of the tough guys, are you, the ones who shot Bin Laden?’
Sean J. Cooper smiled and looked back to his friends again, who seemed to be encouraging him to continue their conversation. ‘Lucinda, Seals don’t talk about who they shoot and don’t shoot. It’s against our code. But we’ve all seen some pretty bushy places.’
‘I’m sure, and that must be why you’re here then. Coming back to the real world?’
‘I don’t mind if the things I see here are bushy or totally shaven, I’m just here to have a good time.’
There was a cackle of laughter from the other men. Lucinda realised what Sean J. Cooper was referring to.
‘That is no way to speak in front of a woman old enough to be your mother, Sean J. Cooper. My husband would be very cross,’ retorted Lucinda, but whether it was the tequila or the madness of the whole situation, she allowed the conversation to continue.
‘Well, I’m sorry, Lucinda. Listen, please do have a drink with us so I can make amends. Just one?’
‘My husband’s literally just gone to get me a drink. He’ll be back soon.’
‘I’m sure. But here, have one of our Coronas in the meantime.’ Sean leant across to the bucket of beers that his friend was holding and passed Lucinda an open Corona.
*
The tables in the courtyard where Anthony and Lucinda had been having supper had rapidly been cleared and now a scrum of party-goers were jostling to order drinks from the bar, which was now fully manned and distributing cocktails at an impressive rate.
Anthony was making his way to join the back of the queue when to his left a Mexican man of about thirty, wearing a blue t-shirt and holding his backpack, caught his eye. The man spoke to him, but Anthony wasn’t able to hear properly, so joined him, explaining, ‘Sorry, what did you say? My head’s pounding, and I can’t hear a thing with this music!’
His response, Anthony thought, was along the lines of, ‘Would you like a pill? It’s good for your head, yes?’
That’s thoughtful of him, Anthony thought. When he was younger, he would always take a couple of paracetamols before going to bed after a night out, and found that it did wonders for his head the following morning. This man must think along the same lines.
‘Great idea, that’s very kind of you,’ Anthony said. ‘You’d better give me two, I think.’
‘Ha! Be careful, you crazy man,’ the man replied, before reaching into his bag.
Anthony wasn’t quite sure why he called him a crazy man, and worried he was probably coming across drunker than he realised. He took the pills from the man and swallowed them both in one. The man offered him some water, which Anthony was grateful for, as the se
cond pill had got slightly lodged in his throat.
‘You’re very kind, you’re very kind. Can I buy you a drink?’ Anthony asked.
‘No, mister, just give me the pesos please. 300 pesos,’ the man replied, abruptly.
‘Yes, sure, of course,’ Anthony said, and pulled out 300 pesos from his wallet and handed them to the man.
The man nodded and wished him a good night.
Strange encounter, Anthony thought to himself, and somewhat rude of the man, but he thought no more of it and joined the back of the queue. Ten minutes later, he’d reached the bar, squeezing himself between two American guys requesting a bucket full of Coronas and a bottle of tequila.
‘A glass of wine and bottle of Corona, please,’ Anthony said, before then looking back at the queue behind him and adding, ‘sorry, please double that. Two wines and two Coronas, in a bucket, please!’
‘We don’t normally serve wine by the glass in a bucket, sir. But we can give you a tray if you like,’ the waiter responded.
‘Oh, go on, mister, just this once. Give old Uncle Anthony here a bucket, please. I do like the buckets, so very much.’ The man looked at Anthony oddly, yet with a knowing smile. In some part of his brain, Anthony was aware of what he had just said, but yet had no recognition of why. Definitely overdid the booze, he thought, but was pleasantly surprised that he felt more energised than he could remember in a long while.
‘Okay, Uncle Anthony, just this once.’ The barman winked at him, handing him a bucket with his drinks.
Smiling, Anthony turned back from the bar and made his way through the crowd, while shouting, ‘Mind out! Mind out! Uncle Anthony coming through, with an unexpected bucket.’
Once back in the courtyard, he saw there was a path around the other side of the bar which led back around to the secret garden. It looked like an interesting alternative route, he thought. He comes from one way, but he shall go back another way, he said to himself.
He picked one of the bottles of Corona out of the bucket and took a big glug. He couldn’t remember a beer tasting as good as this before, ever.
‘Wow, this tastes amazing,’ he told a couple leaning against the structure behind him. They laughed and told him they were pleased to hear that.
Again, somewhere inside his head, he was trying to establish why it was he felt so good. He looked ahead and could only see a sea of bodies to get through. What was even down that way? he wondered. Was it the same garden he had come from, or was this a different garden? He closed his eyes for a moment to listen to the music, and could feel the bass enter his body through the soles of his feet. It travelled through him, forcing his knees to instantly shift to the dance. Then to his hips. They needed to move.
Then the beat got higher, into his arms, which wanted to rise into the air together. He could hear a voice saying, Don’t keep this beat to yourself. Share it. Share it with all those around you. He put down the bucket by his feet and opened his palms. Through his fingers, he released the beat into the crowd of people in front of him. He opened his eyes and watched proudly as those in the crowd ahead of him passed the beat around. He could see it. He could see their bodies moving as the beat passed through their bodies too, and he was proud. He was proud he had shared it.
He took another swig of his Corona and leant back on the wall behind him, watching the people dancing in the crowd in front of him, and moving his head along to the rhythm of Diego’s music. He was about to raise his hands into the air again, when he felt a tap on his shoulder. At first, he thought someone had just brushed against him. But then it came again, more assertively. He turned around. There, standing in front of him, smiling, and wearing a pair of leopard print trousers and a buttoned-up velvet black jacket with just a bra underneath was the woman from Camp Mayo.
‘The yoga’s obviously been good for you,’ the woman smiled.
- Chapter Twelve -
Tulum, Mexico
Anthony stared at the woman standing in front of him, slightly lost for words. He thought for a moment that he might be having a flashback. Before he could think of anything to say, the woman asked, ‘Is one of those for me?’ Looking towards the bucket Anthony was clasping containing two glasses of wine and the second bottle of Corona.
‘Yes! Yes, absolutely. I bought both options – beer and wine – just in case I bumped into you as I wasn’t sure what you like to drink.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you’re wrong on both counts. I take scotch and soda, but I’ll have one of these wines then, if that’s okay.’
‘Absolutely, have both of them if you want,’ Anthony hastily replied.
‘Perhaps I’ll start with one and see how we do, shall I?’ the woman said, smiling.
‘Good idea,’ and with that, Anthony passed her the wine.
‘I didn’t expect to see you here. Didn’t have it down as your sort of place. Then again, I guess there are a lot of misconceptions about people out here. Or maybe we pretend to be things we’re not. Anyway, you look like you’re having a good evening?’
‘Not really. Well, I wasn’t having one earlier. In fact, my wife of twenty-two years told me she was planning to leave me. Not very nice at all, given everything I’ve done for her. In fact, that bloody woman has got some nerve.’
‘Sorry, you said your wife? You have a wife? And she’s here too, with you?’ the woman in green said, clearly a little surprised.
‘Yep. She’s around here somewhere. God, I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t be saying things like this. But, honestly, how could she have said something like that? Who treats a spouse quite so… flippantly?’
‘I’m sorry to hear that; she sounds like a bitch. And I have to say, I’m kinda surprised to hear you’re here with a wife at all.’
Anthony looked slightly offended and the woman explained.
‘It’s just that each time I’ve seen you, you’ve been alone. I kind of assumed you were here by yourself. So, has she left you now?’
‘I honestly don’t know. She says she is, then she isn’t, then she is. Who knows, you mystery lady, who knows!’ Anthony wiggled his finger towards the woman in a way he thought was amusing, to emphasise the curiosity of the situation.
‘Right…’ she answered in a drawn-out way. ‘Maybe you should go and find her?’
‘No. Do you know what? No! I’ve given everything to that woman, and she repays me by saying she’s going to leave me. Anyway, what about you? You here on your own?’ he slurred.
‘I am now. I travelled here with some friends, but they’ve gone back to Chicago. After I got offered a few extra days by the hotel, I thought I’d stay on and enjoy it a while longer. I leave tomorrow afternoon, actually.’
Anthony had a flashback. ‘Oh my God. I’m so sorry about the situation on the toilet the other evening. That was so embarrassing.’
‘Embarrassing? Why? You didn’t know I was there.’
‘Of course I didn’t, but you know, I think I saw your, well, I think I saw your breasts,’ he blurted out, finding it hard to believe what had just come out of his mouth a split second later.
‘You did, did you? I wondered.’ The woman raised her left eyebrow knowingly.
‘Can I tell you something?’
‘Of course.’
‘I haven’t been able to get the thought of your nipples out of my head ever since that moment. I almost thought, well, I almost thought you wanted me to see them.’
‘What would you do if I told you I did? It’s not often a woman, on holiday by themselves, finds a handsome man looking at their tits in such an enthusiastic, yet gentlemanly way, late at night.’
Anthony felt a rush of blood charge around his body. He was suddenly aroused in a way he hadn’t felt for as long as he could remember. And, in fact, just generally, though he couldn’t understand why, he felt more alive than he could ever remember feeling. He darted his eyes down to the
woman’s partially exposed breasts again, which she saw.
‘Did you like what you saw? You’re a very handsome man, Mr…?’
‘Anthony. I’m Anthony,’ he answered before grabbing the second Corona from his bucket and taking a large swig. ‘Yes, Ms Americano, you can call me Anthony.’
‘Would you like to walk me back to our camp? It’s a lovely walk back along the beach, under the stars.’
*
Back at the military table, Lucinda was now deep in conversation with Sean and his friends, who had joined in. She had allowed herself to be distracted from Anthony’s whereabouts, assuming he’d been held up at the bar and was too polite to push through the crowd. Sean’s friends were telling her stories about their time together in the Seals. Not the sort of tales of war bravado you might expect from some soldiers, but about the bonds they’d formed and the camaraderie they’d developed working together over the last few years.
In the background, Diego’s music had become more upbeat, with a stronger Mexican influence to it than before. People started dancing more intimately.
‘Lucinda, how about we dance? Just until your husband comes back?’ Sean asked.
‘Um, I’m not sure, actually. I don’t really dance, but thank you anyway,’ she replied hesitantly, a little embarrassed at the proposal.
His friends then all jumped in, ‘Oh go on, give our man a dance, Mrs Robinson.’
‘Just one?’ he pleaded with her.
‘Fine. Okay, just one,’ wondering what on earth Anthony would think if he arrived back to see her on the dance floor with a young American soldier.
Sean stood up, taking Lucinda by the hand, and led her slightly away from the table. Diego was playing a remixed version of a song Lucinda recognised from when Jack had been playing it during Christmas, called Despacito.
She put her head back and allowed him to direct her hips.
‘You can dance, girl. You can dance!’ Sean hollered towards her. And Lucinda could dance. She’d been resolutely avoiding dance floors for so long now that she’d forgotten how much she enjoyed it.