9
I don’t know who I offended so badly in a past life, but karma is definitely out to get me today. First a snake tries to attack me – okay, so that’s a slight exaggeration, but it easily could have – then my mum calls right in the middle of the best conversation I’ve ever had with the love of my life, and then I arrive back at the apartment at the same time as Claudette, who is not alone.
‘This is Carlos,’ she announces, vanishing into the bathroom and shutting the door behind her, leaving the two of us standing mutely in the hallway. Carlos is short and stocky, with masses of light brown curly hair and a grinning, impish face.
‘Hola,’ I say, peering down at him, as a woman of five feet and nine inches can at a man who is clearly not much over five feet.
A flood of Spanish is his reply, and I have to hold my hand up to stop him.
‘Sorry,’ I mumble. ‘I don’t speak much Spanish.’
Now he just looks confused, the poor little hobbit, so I go to the kitchen, thrust some bottled water at him, and hurry out on to the balcony to hang up my towel. I should have taken Tom up on his offer to stroll back up the hill stopping at bars along the way, but I was feeling tired when he suggested it and the bus rolled up at just the right moment.
‘Are you going out?’ I ask hopefully when Claudette reappears, wafting toothpaste and what smells suspiciously like my perfume.
She looks at me as if that’s the stupidest question anyone could ever ask another human.
‘I think not,’ she says, reaching for Carlos. He’s been back into the fridge since my back was turned and the two of them are now toasting each other with my bottles of cerveza.
‘Right,’ I say, averting my eyes as Claudette slides a hand around and rests it on Carlos’s bottom. ‘I’ll just. I’ll leave you to it, er, leave you alone, then.’
I doubt they even hear me over the sound of their tongues thrusting together, and a few minutes after I’ve shut the door to my bedroom, I hear Claudette dragging her visitor into her room. Oh, now they’re giggling. And now? Yep, that was definitely the sound of bedsprings.
‘Oh baby!’
Oh hell.
‘Baise-moi,’ I hear Claudette say. I know that term, I’m sure I do. It means …
There’s a crash, followed by more laughter.
Pretty sure it means ‘kiss me’. Of course it does.
‘Mmmm …’
That’s definitely not Spanish.
‘Oooh!’
I need to get out of here.
A loud slapping noise and a shriek.
Kill me now.
‘Yes! Yes! Oh yes! Oh baby!’
That’s it!
I don’t even bother to change out of my beach clothes before slamming the front door of the apartment shut behind me and legging it up the steps as fast as I can. It’s depressing enough not having any sex yourself without being forced to listen to other people having it through a wall. Still, it is pretty impressive all the same. Claudette certainly knows how to get what she wants.
The sun is just beginning to droop down behind the honeycomb mosaic of the village as I make my weary way up the hill. During siesta time, it’s almost eerily quiet up here, with only a few cafés staying open to welcome exploring tourists, but now that it’s nearing seven thirty, the place is beginning to wake once again. There’s a natural disarray to Mojácar that I love: the way that plants spill out from window sills and houses sit one atop another, as if they’ve been balanced there by a child playing with bricks. Ordered chaos reigns supreme here, and it’s the very haphazard yet perfect design of the Old Town that makes it so endlessly fascinating.
I reach the Plaza Nueva and take the steps up to the viewing platform. There’s no Theo here this time, but there are plenty of empty tables and chairs in front of the café-cum-bar, so I choose one close to the outer railings and order myself a cerveza. A gentle breeze is chasing a scatter of twigs and dry leaves around in a circle on the ground, and I can detect the aroma of paella drifting down from one of the open windows above the square.
The waitress brings over a bowl of complimentary nuts, and I mindlessly begin to post them into my mouth, realising as I do just how hungry I am. There are ingredients for pasta or salad back at the apartment, but there’s no way I’m risking going back there yet. I think about sending Tom a message and telling him to come and meet me, but I don’t. It’s actually quite nice to have an impromptu evening to myself, and to have the freedom to explore all the charming twists and turns of Mojácar that I have yet to rediscover.
The beer is tangy and tastes fresh, the perfect accompaniment to the salty nuts, and I let myself enjoy the sensation of it slipping over my taste buds. Drinking here is so different to how it is back at home, where everything always feels so rushed and urgent. The very reason you get a free snack with your beer in Mojácar is to encourage you to linger at your table and take your time. I watch as an older couple sit down a few tables away and study their menus. They both look dressed for dinner, and the woman has clearly spent some time getting her hair just so. The man leans across and points to something he’s just read, and his wife chuckles in appreciation.
I want that one day, I think. I want someone to love that I can trust. It’s okay to admit it to myself, even though I wouldn’t dream of confessing such a thing to Tom or Claudette. Nowadays everyone seems afraid to admit that finding someone to love is a desirable goal. It marks you out as weak and uncool. Young women should be independent, focusing on their careers and becoming happy in themselves before entering into a serious relationship. But regardless of what other people might think, if I’m being brutally honest with myself I’m more worried about getting hurt. This infatuation I have with Theo might be fruitless, but at least it’s safe.
Am I just being silly about Theo? I don’t let myself think about it in a serious way very often, because in the past the idea of Theo ever showing an interest in me has seemed so remote – ludicrous even. But over the past few days – and especially this afternoon – I feel as if something has changed between us. He looks at me differently, and keeps touching me. Could it be that he’s simply getting to know me better at last, or could he genuinely be flirting with me? I don’t think I’d recognise what flirting was if it skipped over wearing a rainbow tutu and slapped me over the head with a wet fish, so I don’t have the faintest hope of ever knowing if that’s what Theo has been doing. I can hope, though. There’s nothing wrong with hoping.
I finish my first cerveza and ask for another, along with some grilled sardines, which arrive blackened and swimming in olive oil. I developed a real taste for these slippery little blighters after that first lunch at the beach, and now I can’t seem to get enough of them. Pulling apart some bread that’s still warm from the oven, I mop up a generous helping of the oil and smile as some of it dribbles down my chin.
The view from up here continues to awe me, and as I eat my dinner I let my eyes sweep lazily across the horizon, taking in the mountains, the greenery, those strange desert-like patches of earth, scattered houses and orchards. The sea has changed colour in the approaching dusk, a navy curtain outlined by the deep golden sand of the beach, and I can see pockets of birds coasting through the warm evening air, their wings outstretched as they dip, dive and spin. What a magical unison of nature it all is, I think, emotion temporarily getting the better of me, and I use a napkin to dab away the rogue tears that have appeared on either cheek. I think of Elaine, who still seems to love this place as much as she did forty years ago, and I wonder what it really was that drove her out of England. People don’t just up and leave their homes behind for no reason, do they? I have the feeling that there’s a lot more to Elaine’s story than she’s letting on.
A text comes through on my phone, making the small metal table shudder in protest. It’s a group message from Theo, telling us that he’s planning to drive out of Mojácar the following morning and that we should feel free to have a lie-in. I wait for the inevitable reply of delight from Tom, which comes through shortly afterwards, and then I try to work out what I can say. Before I have time to tap out my response, however, another message comes through from Theo – and this time it’s just to me.
Do you want to come with me in the morning?
Yes, please! I immediately text back.
Nice one, Hannah. Way to play it cool.
Excellent. Meet me at the villa at 8.30 x
He’s added a kiss!
Okay, I type back, delight making my fingers shake. See you then! x
Two can play at that kisses game.
Hugely cheered to have been singled out for a special trip and practically cartwheeling with pleasure at the thought of even more alone-time with Theo, I pay my bill and head across the square into one of the many gift shops. I’ve been meaning to buy Rachel a new Indalo Man since I arrived. After all, she needs all the good luck and protection she can get now that she’s let awful Paul move in with her.
One day I vow I will have a nice house with a much nicer man living in it with me. And maybe, just maybe, his name will be Theo.