22
I adore the way the Old Town comes alive at sundown. Locals emerge from their little white homes post-siesta, stretching rested limbs above their heads and taking deep breaths of warm late-afternoon air into their lungs in an attempt to wake themselves up for the evening. For many people living here in Mojácar, this is the time of day when they make most of their living, opening up their shops, bars and restaurants to travellers from all across the world. The smell of paella wafts out from open windows, ordered that morning to be slow-cooked to perfection for families, couples and large groups of friends. Fairy lights that have been hung up like bunting outside boutiques and gift shops twinkle in the fading light, and the sound of contented chatter rises in volume as more people spill into the narrow cobbled streets.
From up here, on the roof terrace of a jazz bar not far from Diego’s restaurant, I can see and hear all of this going on below me, and the sounds are interspersed with strains of music – a lone saxophone, a woman singing sleepily in Spanish and the more traditional and upbeat pop songs coming from the bars. The atmosphere feels charged, and I imagine that I can hear the hum of energy in the air.
We’re currently filming a segment about Mojácar’s Moorish history, and Claudette is standing in front of Tom, whose shoulders are frozen in concentration as he watches her through the camera. Theo is off to one side, taking in every word, his focus fully on the task and a rolled-up script in one of his tanned hands. I think about what his hands were doing to me just a few days ago, and smile to myself. While he hasn’t invited me back to the villa since Saturday, he did run a lone finger down my spine earlier today, when he knew the others were distracted, then dropped a single kiss on my bare shoulder. I’ve been tingling in that same spot – and others – ever since.
Nancy isn’t up here with us. Much to Tom’s dismay, she agreed to Diego’s offer of a drink downstairs in the bar. It was him who convinced the owner of this jazz club to let us in to do some filming before the official opening time, and we’re all very glad he did, given the stunning views we’ve been able to capture. Well, I say all of us, but I’m sure Tom would have preferred it if Diego was not involved. He’s still lapping up every word Nancy utters and hanging around her like cling film, but as far as I can tell, she’s treating him as just a friend. I know I should simply pull him to one side and ask him to explain the whole truth about what’s happened between them, but I’m still unsure whether or not I want to hear it. And anyway, something has shifted in our friendship since Nancy turned up. I feel as if he’s judging me every time he looks at me, and I can’t relax around him in the way that I once did. I know Tom senses the awkwardness, too, because I keep catching him staring at me with those big, sorrowful eyes of his. It’s as if Nancy’s arrival has cut a swathe in the very air between us, and now we can’t find a way back across to each other.
Claudette has stopped talking, and Tom stands up straight, rubbing his back with a big hand as Theo crosses over to review the footage. A few days ago, he asked to see everything I have recorded with Elaine, too, but I’m yet to get any feedback. If I was bolder, I’d see if he wanted to discuss it over dinner. If I was Claudette, I’d probably suggest a full review in his bed. But I’m neither, so of course I haven’t mentioned it since Sunday evening when I handed over the memory sticks.
They’re about to commence filming again when a plane comes into view overhead and Theo lifts up a hand to halt proceedings. Looking up at the unblemished blue sky, I grin in delight – there’s a large banner stretched out behind the aircraft advertising what looks like melons. Only in Spain, I think, just as the church bells chime in the near-distance.
The image of melons brings back a memory, too, of Rachel and myself sunbathing down at the beach that last summer we visited Mojácar together. There was a man who strolled up and down the sand every day selling little plastic tubs of fruit salad, and each time he came into view we would giggle in unison at his odd bellow.
‘Fresh, fresh, fresh fruit. Fresh fruit. Fruit salad!’ he would yell, tripping over his own words as he stumbled into a hole near the shoreline.
One day he glanced sideways at us as he passed, noticed our laughter and immediately headed in our direction.
‘Oh my God!’ Rachel squealed, quickly lying back against her lounger and closing her eyes.
‘Pretend to be asleep,’ she hissed.
It was too late for me, though, because Fruit Salad Man was already standing over me, his shadow blocking out the sun.
‘Hola,’ I said politely, somehow managing not to laugh, even though I could see Rachel’s body shaking with silent mirth beside me.
A sniff.
‘Do you want?’ he asked, motioning to the tray balanced up on his shoulder.
‘No, thank you. I mean, gracias,’ I mumbled back at him, trying my best to smile without giggling.
He sighed at this, and crouched down on his haunches next to me. He was older than I’d thought, the lines around his eyes and the flecks of grey in his stubble a contrast to his thick head of dark curls and lurid pink shorts.
‘You think me funny,’ he said, and although it wasn’t a question, I shook my head quickly from side to side.
‘No!’
He regarded me for a few seconds, a bead of moisture running down from his forehead to his jaw. I could sense that we’d annoyed him with our giggling, and in that moment, I saw us as he must have: two silly girls with nothing to do all day but lounge around laughing at him.
‘Do you want some water?’ I offered, taking both of us by surprise. Rachel opened one eye, but didn’t move to sit up.
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 news 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.