Then. Now. Always.

by Isabelle Broom

  Fruit Salad Man shook his head.

  ‘Is okay. I am okay. Bueno.’

  I put down my bottle of water and smiled.

  ‘You work, in England?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘No,’ I admitted, feeling oddly ashamed. ‘I’m a student.’

  ‘Good,’ he replied, nodding and shifting his weight on to his other foot. ‘What will you do, after?’

  It was a simple enough question, but I didn’t have an answer for him, just as I didn’t have one for my teachers, or my parents, or even myself. I’d chosen sociology, history and psychology as my A-level subjects, but didn’t feel passionate about a single one of them. It all felt like nonsense, simply box-ticking. Do your A-levels so you can go to university, get a degree so you can get a job, work hard so you can buy a house, create a home so you can have a family. I knew the drill; I just couldn’t picture myself being satisfied with any of it.

  ‘I will come back here,’ I told the fruit seller instead, laughing as he pulled a face. ‘Why is that bad?’

  ‘This place is okay for holidays,’ he said, putting his tray down and rearranging the pots of fruit salad needlessly. ‘But for work, it’s not so good.’

  ‘Do you not enjoy your job?’ I asked, even though I knew from his expression that he didn’t.

  He shrugged. ‘I need money. My wife is having a baby, and I don’t want her to work.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ I replied, surprising him again, and this time he actually grinned, standing up and looking away from me, along the beach.

  ‘Family,’ he said then, turning to me once again. ‘Family is everything.’

  I watched as he strolled away, his cries of ‘fresh fruit’ beginning again in earnest, and found myself ridiculously close to tears.

  ‘That was weird,’ remarked Rachel, sitting back up.

  I nodded in agreement, but inside all I could think was, I know what I want to do. I want to work with people. I want to learn all about them. I never forgot about my encounter with Fruit Salad Man, and he’s probably a big part of the reason I ended up in this job. As well as the everyday boring stuff, being a researcher means spending a lot of time with people, and it’s this part of my job that I enjoy the most. I always have. Mojácar showed me who I was, and who I wanted to be.

  I’m still lost in thought when Theo says ‘cut’ for the final time and claps his hands together in appreciation that this segment is now complete. We’re well ahead of schedule, and with each passing day Theo seems to relax a fraction more, as if he’s striking through a mental checklist of things he must remember to do. I’m enormously flattered that he’s made any time for me at all, given how hard he works and how much editing he has to do, and I know that must be why he hasn’t called me back to continue what we started at the weekend. It will only be a matter of time now until it happens. For such a long time, it was ‘if’ and now, miraculously, it has become ‘when’. I wonder if Tom has worked it out, whether he can tell just by looking at me that something huge has happened. I think he probably suspects, but, like me, is muted by this new barricade of awkwardness that has wedged itself into the very same gap between us that was once filled with laughter and fun. I hope we can get past it. We must.

  ‘Can I buy you all a drink?’ Theo asks, patting Tom on the shoulder as he packs away the equipment. Blimey, he must be really happy with our progress.

  ‘Yes, please!’ I’m quick to agree, but I notice Tom pulling a face. He was probably hoping to sneak Nancy away from Diego. Well, he’ll just have to lump it.

  Claudette is reading a message on her phone. ‘I am meeting Carlos in an hour,’ she tells us. ‘So, let’s make it a quick one, oui?’

  Is it my imagination, or did Theo just catch my eye and wink?

  We find Diego downstairs with Nancy, his handsome face just inches away from hers and one of his hairy hands on her thigh. She’s wearing cut-off jeans today and a smock-style top with blue and orange patterns embroidered across the front. I’m inwardly reluctant to admit it, but the laid-back look actually suits her. Now if only she’d stop plastering half of Boots across her face … I don’t know how she can bear all that thick foundation during the daytime hours, when the temperature rockets up to the thirties. I’m amazed it doesn’t all melt off her face. She can’t believe that she needs all that rubbish to look good, can she? Nancy is a lot of things, but I’ve never known her to lack self-esteem. Then again, perhaps I don’t know her as well as I thought.

  Tom is hovering uncertainly behind Nancy’s stool, obviously desperate to interrupt but far too polite to actually say anything. Theo, who is seemingly oblivious to the multitude of complications going on around him, has his back to us and is now chatting away to the owner in rapid Spanish. I hear the word ‘Indalo’ and glance instinctively down at my little tattoo. I used to love it because it reminded me of Mojácar, of how I felt here – but from now on it will forever take my mind to Theo. The realisation makes me treasure it even more.

  ‘Here you are, Hannah,’ says the man himself, sliding a cold beer into my waiting hand and letting his fingers brush against my knuckles.

  I want him to kiss me. I want him to kiss me so badly that I almost weep.

  Nancy has refused Theo’s offer of a drink, and I can see a bottle of Diet Coke on the bar in front of her, a bright pink straw poking out of the neck. I’m glad she’s not drinking. I don’t think my nerves could bear another of her vanishing acts. Claudette who, unlike Tom, is not shy in any way whatsoever, pulls a stool out from under the bar and sits herself down right between Diego and Nancy. I can’t help it; I have to smile at her blatant audacity.

  ‘You look happy today.’

  Theo is beside me again, his lime aftershave immediately making my heart thud lustfully against the walls of my chest. I think about his finger stroking my spine, his hands pulling down my dress. It would be easy, too, as the one I’m wearing today is short, black and made of Lycra. One tug and he could take it right off over my head.

  ‘I am happy,’ I tell him, moistening my lips. ‘Are you happy?’

  Theo looks at me as he takes a sip of beer. There is so much I know he wants to say, but he won’t. Not here, not when the others are in earshot.

  ‘I am happy with the film,’ he says, a suggestive twitch lifting one corner of his top lip. He’s toying with me. I know it, and I love it.

  ‘Just the film?’ I murmur, keeping my eyes on the group over at the bar. Tom is now leaning around Diego in an attempt to get Nancy’s attention, but from what I can tell, she appears to be oblivious to both of them.

  ‘There are other things, too,’ Theo tells me, deliberately letting his knuckles brush across my knee. If he took one step to the left of my stool, he’d be standing right between my legs and I could pull him against me, slide my hands into the rear pockets of his shorts and knot my ankles around his thighs. He could bend me backwards and kiss my neck, my chest, the hollow of my throat.

  ‘I have looked at your footage.’

  I’m not prepared for the sudden change of subject, and I blurt a nonsensical reply. Theo laughs, obviously amused by my incoherence, but when I pull an offended face he grabs my hand.

  ‘Don’t be like that, you know that I think you are adorable.’

  Sod being adorable, I want to be sexy, sophisticated, wanton, irresistible …

  ‘Hannah, are you listening? I said that it’s a very good start.’

  I really need to get a grip. I can’t think straight around Theo lately, not even about something as important as work. Lust is making me blind, deaf and apparently mute.

  ‘The footage, your interviews with Elaine, they contain some great stuff.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Thanks.’

  He takes another swig of beer before continuing.

  ‘I have been thinking about what you told me about the healers that Elaine mentioned.’

  ‘You mean on the bus? I didn’t record her, sadly.’

  ‘I know.’ Theo frowns at the bad new
s and my heart breaks. ‘But do you think she would say it again? These old stories, about the myths and legends of Mojácar, go to the heart of our subject.’

  ‘I’m sure she would,’ I say, smiling with confidence. ‘I’m seeing her tomorrow morning, actually, so I’ll ask her then.’

  ‘And also,’ Theo pauses as two Spanish women make their way over to the bar. Seeing him look them up and down makes my insides churn like angry butter.

  ‘Also?’ I prompt.

  ‘Ah, yes. I want you to ask her more about why she came here in the first place. There must have been a reason that she chose Mojácar, out of every place in the world. Can you ask her that?’

  ‘Whatever you want,’ I tell him, adding quietly, ‘you’re the boss.’

  He’s giving me that look again, the one that makes me want to drag him into the nearest dark cobbled corner and ravish him. When he suddenly puts his bottle of beer down and makes to move away, I think for a thrilling second that he might ask me to go with him – but it’s not to be.

  ‘Where’s your new boyfriend gone?’

  Tom has appeared at my elbow, looking red in the face and uncomfortably sweaty. Of course he can’t possibly know about what’s happened between me and Theo, but the casual way he refers to him as my boyfriend makes my cheeks burn.

  ‘Men’s room,’ I say primly. ‘And he’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘I know,’ Tom replies, squinting at me. ‘It was only a joke.’

  ‘Funny,’ I reply, but neither of us laughs.

  ‘Diego’s a bit annoying, isn’t he?’ mutters Tom.

  I sigh. ‘Not if you’re female,’ I tell him, feeling far less guilty than I should for winding him up. In truth, Nancy doesn’t seem very interested in my former crush today. She’s crossed her legs so they’re facing away from him and has turned all her attention on to Claudette, who in turn has rested her tiny feet on the rungs of Diego’s stool.

  ‘Do girls really like that look?’ Tom asks. ‘You know, foreign sleazebag.’

  ‘Just because he’s handsome and happens to be Spanish doesn’t make him a sleaze,’ I scold, but then I remember that Diego kissed my sister about three minutes after meeting her and change my mind.

  ‘Okay, so he might be a slight sleaze at times – but he’s still hot to look at. Sorry, Tom, but it’s just true. There will always be girls who fall for a pretty face.’

  He’s about to answer when we both see Nancy slip off her stool and head towards the toilets. She actually said something this morning about not feeling too great, and I assumed she’d had too much sangria, but perhaps she’s been drinking the water out of the taps or something. I made that mistake myself years ago, and Rachel still has my number saved under the name ‘Dear Ria’ in her phone. She didn’t call me that yesterday when I rang to tell her about the Theo hook-up, however – instead she gave me a new nickname: ‘legend’.

  ‘I hope she’s okay,’ Tom says, echoing my own trail of thought, and as soon as Nancy reappears, he hurries over to make sure. Theo is chatting to the club owner again, but he keeps looking over at me through the steadily increasing throng of customers jostling for position at the bar. The music is getting louder, the crash of boisterous jazz making me feel even more jittery, and all I can hear being spoken is Spanish.

  When the crowd clears, I see that Claudette has left, presumably to meet Carlos, and Tom has a concerned arm around Nancy’s shoulders. Diego is nowhere to be seen, either, but then he probably had to go to work at the restaurant. I’m not even sure where Theo is now – I can’t see him at the bar. Tom catches my eye and beckons me over.

  ‘Nancy’s not feeling well,’ he shouts over the din.

  I bend down so I can look into my sister’s face. Her skin has the telltale waxy sheen of someone on the verge of sickness, and I take an instinctive step backwards as she opens her mouth.

  ‘What was that?’ I ask, as her words are swallowed by a particularly aggressive strum of a double bass.

  ‘She wants to go,’ booms Tom, and Nancy nods weakly in agreement.

  Now I’m in a quandary. I need to find Theo, at least tell him why I’m leaving. He’ll think I’m so rude if I just disappear. Then again, I can’t tell Tom that I need to locate Theo without him getting even more suspicious than I know he already must be, and I’m just not ready to share my Theo truth with anyone here in Mojácar. Not yet, anyway. I want to keep it all to myself.

  I glance around desperately as yet more people file in, their shrieks of greeting and excited babbling chatter almost deafening. Nancy is really pale now, and Tom is looking at me beseechingly.

  ‘Come on then.’ I turn reluctantly towards the exit. I’ll just have to message Theo and tell him what happened.

  Once outside, Nancy seems to perk up a bit, and the colour comes back into her cheeks. I’m half-tempted to send her and Tom on their way and head back to the jazz club, but something stops me. As extraordinary as it might be, I realise that I am genuinely concerned about my sister’s wellbeing. It’s been creeping up on me for days, ever since she went missing and we had that stupid fight. Seeing her so upset at the beach unnerved me, too, as historically Nancy has always been the more confident one. And now she’s feeling unwell, that initial fear for her safety that I felt has been exacerbated. I actually care about her.

  As we walk through the narrow, dusty streets, the fading light lending a mauve tinge to the white buildings, it doesn’t seem possible that we were just in that lively, noisy bar. Mojácar is such a place of contrasts: of history and vitality, of sleepiness and playfulness, of adventure and comfort. I feel so much more alive here than I ever do back in London, and despite the fact we’re all heading home, I know I’m not ready to call it a night just yet.

  Tom puts a hand on my arm after I’ve let Nancy into the apartment and waits until we both hear the bathroom door close.

  ‘Will you come out for a drink later?’ he asks, keeping his voice low.

  ‘Why not come in and have one?’ I offer, but he shakes his head.

  ‘Nancy needs some rest. You should wait until she’s asleep, then text me and I’ll come to meet you.’

  ‘Okay,’ I agree, and he removes his hand.

  ‘Hannah.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ I say too quickly.

  ‘But I am,’ he insists. ‘I just think that … Oh, never mind. We’ll talk later. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?’

  Nancy doesn’t put up a fight when I urge her to get into my bed, and I fuss around her like my mum used to when I was ill as a child, leaving her the option of bottled water or Coke and needlessly plumping up the pillow. Once she’s settled down under the sheet, she looks horribly like she might start crying again, so I switch off the light and practically run out to the balcony, stopping at the fridge as I pass to grab myself a beer.

  I’m guessing that what Tom wants to talk about is Nancy. He knows as well as I do that her being here is affecting our friendship, and I really hope that he wants to try and move past it. The thing is, I can tell how much he likes her. In fact, anyone with eyes in their head and even the thinnest trace of curiosity would be able to tell. But I can’t believe that he would choose a possible romance with Nancy over what we have – that’s not the Tom I know. But then love does make people behave selfishly, doesn’t it? My dad knows all about that.

  I wait half an hour before I sneak back to my room to check on Nancy. Her eyes are closed, her hair a dark fan across the white pillowcase, and I close the door with a soft click. As I take out my phone to message Tom, however, a text comes through from Theo, and I breathe in sharply.

  ‘Come to the villa.’

  It’s not a question.

  23

  The first thing I’m aware of when I open my eyes is the light. It’s so bright that I have no choice but to scrunch up my face like an empty crisp packet, and for a few seconds I can’t make sense of what’s happening.

  I’m not
in my room. I’m not in the apartment.

  I blink and bring a hand up to rub away the grotty combination of sleep and dried mascara that is nestled in the corner of each eye. That’s better, now I can see. I can see large glass doors looking out over the beach, I can see the sea nibbling away at the shore, I can see a smear of clouds in the sky, and yes – those are my pants on the floor.

  MY PANTS!

  I manage to catch the excited yelp of delight before it exits my lips, but I have to clamp my hands over my mouth to do so, and it’s enough to disturb a blissfully sleeping Theo, who is lying with his back to me about two inches away.

  ‘Kalimera,’ he mutters, reaching across and finding my thigh.

  ‘Kali-what?’ I giggle, putting one of my own hands on top of his.

  ‘Buenos días,’ he says, his voice even deeper than usual. ‘Good morning.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I say playfully, and am rewarded with a squeeze.

  ‘Sorry I woke you,’ I whisper, wondering if it’s acceptable to lean over and kiss his shoulders. There’s a soft patch on his neck where his hairdresser has forgotten to run the clippers across, and I have an overwhelming urge to nuzzle my lips against the twist of hairs.

  ‘The light woke me,’ he says, finally stretching and turning his head towards mine. The tips of our noses touch and he looks right at me, directly into my eyes, not saying anything else because he doesn’t need to. My insides hurtle up to my throat like a lust missile and my heart begins to throb against Theo’s chest. Instead of kissing me like I think he’s going to, Theo simply blows gently on my throat, the warmth of his breath so much like a caress, and walks his fingers across my stomach.

  I want to shut my eyes and drink in the sensations, but I’m loath to miss out on even a minute of his gorgeous face, the intensity of his gaze, the way his lips curve and seem to swell with anticipation. I should respond to his fingers, now lower and more insistent, but I feel overcome with nervous trepidation. I have never felt like this before, so scrutinised by desire, and it’s as frightening as it is thrilling. I may be out of my depth, but I’ve never been one to flounder, and as Theo props himself up on one elbow and begins to trail his tongue down my body, I finally find my hands and slide them through the hair on his chest, around and down across his back to his adorably pale bottom, which is sculpted by muscle and dusted with more soft, fine hairs.