by Lucy Lord
‘OK, honey.’ Tamara smiled back sweetly, her heart sinking. Let the drinking commence. They pushed their way through the heaving crowds of funkily dressed people towards the bar, which was being propped up by Ben, Poppy and Damian, all three of them already doing their best to confirm people’s worst preconceptions about British drinking habits.
‘Jack! Tamara! There you are! What can I get you both?’ Ben cried effusively, downing his enormous plastic schooner of lager in one.
‘One of those for me.’ Jack grinned. ‘Hell, make it two. This is Coachella, right?’
‘Right!’ Ben high-fived him, and Tamara suppressed a groan. God their buddy-buddy stuff could be tiresome.
‘Diet Coke for me,’ she said, wondering how she was going to get through the next few hours.
*
Five hours later, everybody was wasted except Tamara, who was bored and restless. Jack and Ben had been smoking weed, and while it seemed that Ben could handle his dope, it tended to make Jack irritatingly silly, giggling like a lunatic over the least funny things. Poppy and Damian, who’d been snorting lines of coke in the loos (which couldn’t have been more different from the portaloos at Glastonbury), were hyper and over-chatty, interrupting other people’s sentences with rambling streams of consciousness about themselves.
They’d moved on from beer and were now sharing a bottle of JD as they lounged in large leather sofas in the shaded VIP tent. Glamorous girls with long brown legs, long flowing hair and retro Seventies-style shades flitted about, drinking beer from the bottle and talking at the tops of their voices. Handsome bare-chested dudes with ludicrous facial hair and even more ludicrous (given the weather) beanie hats lounged on the grass, smoking dope. There was a strong smell of weed in the air.
‘Well, guys, it looks like we’re going to need another bottle,’ said Ben, picking up the nearly empty bottle of JD. Jack started giggling as though this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
‘Another bottle,’ he spluttered. ‘Ha ha ha ha ha, awesome, dude!’
Tamara looked at him with annoyance. Why couldn’t he be more like Ben? It was a real turn-off when guys couldn’t handle their poisons. Had she thought about it a little more deeply, she’d have realized that the reason Jack couldn’t handle his dope was that he was generally a pretty wholesome kind of guy, not nearly as used to booze and drugs as his more hard-living English friends.
At that moment, though, it was just a turn-off. And Ben – well, as she looked at him through narrowed eyes, she had to admit that he was something of a turn-on. He really was quite staggeringly beautiful, even in today’s slightly grungy outfit of faded black T-shirt that contrasted nicely with his floppy golden hair, and khaki knee-length shorts that did nothing to disguise his gloriously muscular golden body.
As he got up to go to the bar and replace the bottle of Jack, Tamara found herself also getting to her feet.
‘I’ll help ya,’ she said, smiling sweetly.
‘Oh thanks, Tammy,’ said Ben in surprise. ‘I could do with a hand with the Cokes.’
As she followed him through the crowds, unable to take her eyes off his broad back and perfect bottom, Tamara felt the familiar relinquishing of control. It was happening again, and she was powerless to stop it. When they got to the bar, almost as if she were in a trance, she began rubbing her breasts up against the back of his T-shirt.
Not realizing that it was deliberate, Ben moved forward slightly. Tamara followed suit, increasing the pressure.
Ben looked over his shoulder and frowned.
‘Tamara? What’s going on?’
In response she put her arms around his back and reached forward to stroke his crotch through the khaki shorts. It was so crowded in the VIP tent that nobody else could see what she was up to.
Ben jumped, then reached down and took her little hands in his big ones, moving them deliberately away from him. He turned around to face her.
‘I don’t know what you think you’re doing,’ he said, his cobalt eyes serious as they searched her face for answers. ‘But you’re barking up completely the wrong tree. Let’s pretend that didn’t happen, shall we?’
Tamara nodded, her cheeks burning, head cast down like a naughty schoolgirl being chastized by a teacher.
Feeling sorry for her, flattered and guilty that she’d turned him on, just a little bit, Ben added, ‘Right then – let’s get these drinks in!’
*
Later that evening, backstage with the bands, the party was rocking. Wild-eyed groupies hand-picked by flint-eyed roadies were flirting with Filth and the band while trying to catch the eye of Jack Meadows and Ben Jones over their shoulders. Jack and Ben, oblivious to the attention of the glamour girls, were pissing themselves at Poppy and Damian’s approximation of twerking in the corner, taking imaginary selfies with their smartphones.
They were all so off their tits that nobody noticed when Tamara slipped quietly out of a back exit and joined the student jock who’d approached her earlier, asking for her autograph. She’d conquered her other addictions – the booze, the drugs, nearly the fags. But her sex addiction was as full-on as it had ever been, and that incident with Ben at the bar had lit a fire that could only be extinguished one way.
‘Hi.’ She smiled, grabbing him by the hand and leading him to the empty tent she’d noticed in her wanderings, one of those used to store the bands’ instruments when they weren’t on stage. She was taking an enormous risk, but that was all part of the thrill.
‘You want to screw me, you do it on my terms. Understand?’ she said, still smiling sweetly.
‘Uh – sure. Yeah, definitely,’ said the jock, unable to believe his luck. He’d had posters of Tamara on his wall since high school, and now he was going to get to fuck her? Whatever her conditions were, he could live with them.
‘My terms are simple: total secrecy. I am very litigious and I have a lot of money. If any word of this gets out, I will sue the ass off you for defamation. Understand?’
The jock gulped, then shuddered as she put her hand in his pants and started stroking his balls. ‘I understand.’
‘Great.’ She smiled, leaning in to kiss him. ‘You won’t regret it.’
Chapter 7
Bella had been coming to the beach yoga classes twice a week for a good six weeks now, and neither Saffron nor India had seen fit to acknowledge her presence. Summer told her not to worry about it, that they were a couple of ill-mannered bitches, but it still stung, especially as she was the only other English participant.
‘Namaste,’ said Britta, straight-backed in the lotus position.
‘Namaste,’ repeated her pupils as the class came to an end.
Bella opened her eyes and let her gaze rest on the sun rising, far above the horizon by now. The sea stretched out in variegated shades of turquoise, deepening to a dark navy. A couple of white sails bobbed in the distance.
This was by far her favourite bit – in fact it made the whole agonizing ninety minutes worth it. That cleansed, wholesome, at-one-with-nature feeling really did have a lot to recommend it. Bella couldn’t help but give a wry smile at the contrast between this life and her old one.
At the front, Saffron and India were comparing abs and congratulating one another on how well they had held the most difficult vinyasas, even though Britta was always reminding them all that you should be striving for your own personal best, not comparing yourself to others. Which was hard, Bella thought, when others could balance standing on their heads while you were struggling with a shoulder stand.
Not everybody had been as unfriendly as the English women. Gabriella, a wonderfully un-grand sixty-something Italian contessa, was a delight; Leila, a sporty American realtor, had been unremittingly chirpy from the minute she’d handed Bella her card; and Junko, who ran a sushi restaurant in Santa Eulalia, kept inviting her and Andy around for dinner. They hadn’t been able to take her up on the invitation yet, but they would. Having left all their friends in London, it was nice to start to f
eel part of a community – even though, so far, it was mainly ex-pat.
Bella, still gazing out to sea, was overcome by a sudden urge to run into it. She was sweating repulsively from the class, and there was nothing she would have liked better than to take a quick dip. She hadn’t had a chance to taste the water yet; what with the constant renovations going on at Ca’n Pedro, Andy tearing his hair out over his new book, and somebody always having to look after Daisy, there hadn’t been the opportunity.
‘Hey.’ The lovely smiling form of Summer loomed up behind her, Daisy in her arms. ‘Good workout?’
‘Great, thanks. Hello, my angel.’ Bella got to her feet and kissed Daisy on the forehead. ‘I was just thinking how much I’d love a swim now.’
‘Why don’t you have one? I can lend you a bikini if you don’t have yours with you – I keep a couple down here.’
‘Oh, I don’t think I could possibly fit into your bikini.’ Bella felt embarrassed, yet compelled to tell the truth.
‘Nonsense.’ Summer smiled. ‘Mom’s classes have definitely been having an effect on you. You get in that water, if you want to. I can look after Daisy . . .’
‘Really?’ Bella looked at her in delight. She loved the sea – she’d been able to swim before she could walk, and was intending to teach Daisy as soon as their pool was ready. ‘Are you sure we’ve got time?’ She and Summer had arranged to have breakfast together in Ibiza Town, followed by food shopping in the Saturday market.
‘Oh, sure, sure.’ Summer gave an airy wave of her hand. ‘Relax. This is Ibiza.’
*
It was with some trepidation (and closed eyes) that Bella climbed into Summer’s navy-blue string bikini in the Art Resort’s nicely kept changing rooms. She hadn’t looked at herself naked in a full-length mirror since moving to Ibiza (partly as she and Andy didn’t own one – yet). Tentatively she opened one eye, and then the next.
My God, I’ve got a waist again!
Slowly she smiled, then turned around to inspect the rest of her body as best she could. Bloody hell, Summer was right – the yoga classes actually had been having some effect. Yippee! She did a little dance in the changing room, then picked up the sarong Summer had also kindly lent her. She may have got her waist back but she was still not (and never would be) in the same league as Saffron and India; she wasn’t about to give Saffron, who was definitely the queen bitch, an opportunity to sneer at her.
Bella didn’t relinquish the sarong until she was at the water’s edge. Then she ran, without a backward glance, into the gently lapping waves, going in head first as soon as it was deep enough, gasping as the cool, refreshing water engulfed her. She swam underwater for a couple of minutes before turning back and waving ecstatically at Summer and Daisy on the shore, Summer waving Daisy’s little hand back at her.
She was in the sea. She was home. And it felt great.
*
‘So are you planning to stock up on groceries today?’ Summer asked Bella, as they sat under large red parasols on the pavement outside Café Madagascar, Daisy gurgling away happily in her buggy beside them. The café, an Ibiza Town institution, was bustling with locals reading the papers over their morning coffees. At the table next to them, a couple of transvestites – clearly still up from the night before – nursed balloon glasses of hierbas. Their make-up was starting to run in the morning sun.
‘Actually, no, though I would like to make a habit of doing a weekly market shop. We’ve got lunch guests today, and I thought I’d try my hand at a paella. I’ve never made one before, but surely it can’t be too hard?’
‘No way!’ Summer laughed. ‘I have written so many articles about paella! I can give you all the tips you need.’
‘Oh, brilliant! Thank you. I want to do a mixed one – with shellfish, chicken, chorizo and peppers. I’m assuming you fry the chorizo first with the onions, garlic and peppers, so it gives off its spicy oil, then add the rice, then the stock – a bit like a risotto – then all the other bits, according to how long they take to cook?’
‘That’s pretty much it. You don’t need my help at all.’ Summer took a sip of her freshly squeezed orange juice. ‘Of course it all depends what the fishermen have in stock, and one thing I’d add is don’t forget the lemon, saffron and loads of parsley. They make all the difference.’
‘I’m sure I’d have forgotten at least one of those.’ Bella smiled. ‘So you do have your uses. What would you serve it with? A simple green salad and some bread?’
‘I guess. Though it depends how many of you will be eating, of course.’
‘Just the four of us – we’ve invited Jorge and Henri to join us.’
Summer looked taken aback. ‘Jorge and Henri? Have you been seeing much of them, then?’
‘Oh yes. Jorge’s been so helpful – today he’s delivering this enormous antique mirror we found to go in our bedroom. And Henri’s a lovely old chap. So this lunch is a kind of thank you from us.’
‘I see,’ said Summer, frowning slightly.
‘What is it? Don’t you like them? I thought you and Jorge were childhood sweethearts?’
‘Is that what he told you? Well, yes, I guess it was something like that. Oh, sorry, don’t listen to me. You’re right about Henri – he is a charming man. And Jorge. Well, Jorge’s . . . Jorge. Just be a little bit careful around him, huh?’
‘Is there something I should know about him?’ Bella was starting to worry a bit now – though it was difficult to feel worried about anything much on such a lovely day.
‘No, no – of course not. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.’ At that moment the waiter arrived with their food and Summer seized gratefully on the interruption. ‘Ah tortilla! Breakfast of the gods!’
They had both ordered slices of tortilla Española, with a large platter of juicy fuchsia watermelon chunks to share.
‘Oh yum. Heaven.’ Bella took a bite of the tortilla, which oozed savoury, just-set egginess.
‘Uh-huh. And a perfectly balanced meal in itself.’
Bella laughed.
‘I mean it. You get protein from your eggs, carbs from the potatoes, and plenty of vitamins and minerals – not to mention thousands of antioxidants – from the onion and garlic.’ She grinned. ‘As I said – a perfectly balanced meal in every bite.’
‘You make healthy eating sound so simple.’ Bella found something more to like about Summer every moment she spent with her.
‘That’s because it is simple.’ Summer’s golden face glowed under the red parasol. In flat sandals and a gossamer-light short, floaty cotton dress in shades of indigo, navy and white, with her streaky blonde hair loose around her shoulders, she was the epitome of laid-back island chic. Bella, looking at her, felt suddenly dowdy in her denim miniskirt and T-shirt. It was about time she had some new clothes.
‘Hey, Summer!’ A short, swarthy man wearing knee-length combat shorts and a linen tunic top was waving enthusiastically and approaching their table. Summer suppressed a sigh.
‘Hi, David,’ she said coolly, proffering one smooth brown cheek to be kissed. ‘This is my friend Bella, and this is Daisy.’ She smiled as she nodded towards the buggy. ‘They live in San Carlos, moved here from London – what? A couple of months ago?’ She raised her eyebrows at Bella.
‘Yes, nearly. Hi, David.’ Bella smiled, holding out her hand for him to shake.
‘Welcome to Ibiza,’ said David. His accent was educated NY, his handshake firm and dry. ‘I’m Summer’s editor on Island Life.’
‘Cool, great to meet you! I love your website! I was completely addicted to it in London before we moved here.’
‘Wow, a fan!’ David grinned wolfishly and Bella grinned back. ‘Do you mind if I join you for coffee?’ He sat down in an empty chair.
‘No, of course . . .’ Bella started, but Summer cut her off.
‘Sorry, David, but we’ve nearly finished and then we’re hitting the market. See you on Monday, huh?’
David’s grin faded.
&
nbsp; ‘Yeah, well, I don’t have time to hang about anyway. Fashion show at Ushuaïa this afternoon. I might find me a hot model.’
‘You do that,’ said Summer.
‘Sorry it was so short and sweet,’ said Bella, smiling.
‘I’m sure our paths will cross again,’ said David, and stomped off in the direction of the harbour.
*
Shopping in the market with Summer had been great fun, thought Bella as she pushed Daisy’s buggy through the ancient winding streets behind the harbour to where she had parked the jeep. The buggy had been worth the extortionate amount of money they’d spent on it, as it doubled now as an extremely capacious shopping trolley, laden with colourful fresh produce.
All the stallholders knew Summer, and she had bartered to get the best price for the spankingly fresh clams, mussels, squid and langoustines for Bella’s paella. ‘Hey, smell this,’ she’d exclaimed, as she held an enormous lemon, burstingly ripe and fragrant, to Bella’s nose. ‘Hey, smell this, Daisy!’ The baby had grinned and gurgled in appreciation.
Yes, thought Bella, it had been her lucky day when Jorge had introduced her to Summer.
Now she meandered happily through Ibiza Town’s back streets, lined with restaurants, bars, chic boutiques and a surprising number of pharmacies. The tourist season hadn’t started properly yet (the club opening parties at the beginning of June heralded the start of the summer craziness), but there were plenty of cool- and not-so-cool-looking local residents going about their weekend business. The sky above the tall buildings was a cloudless blue, but the warren of streets was cool and shady.
Bella stopped as something caught her eye in the window of one of the island’s many impossibly chic clothes shops. Bloody hell, that dress was to-die-for! Bella stood and stared at it for a full minute before saying to Daisy, ‘What do you think, darling? Could Mummy get away with it, do you think? Or is she too old and fat? Well, only one way to find out.’ And she pushed the buggy into the shop.
‘Hola,’ smiled the pretty young shop assistant. All the shop assistants (and bartenders, and policemen) were young and pretty in Ibiza. ‘O que bonita!’ She rushed over to Daisy and crouched down by the side of her buggy, blowing raspberries at her.