Harper squeals, announcing that she loves the next song. I know the next song. It’s 50 Cent. ‘In Da Club’. I hate it. They used to play it relentlessly in 2003 and it was one of the only songs that both Jason and I hated collectively. Still, I politely dance along, knowing that in four minutes, I won’t have to participate in Shawty’s non-birthday celebrations any longer.
I’m not sure why I’m surprised. I’ve been forced to listen to an endless barrage of shit music in my room since I got here. I thought perhaps there would be different music nights, like Hen Party Night or Music You Can Dance in a Line To Night. I’m all about the cheese. I love Eurovision, for God’s sake. But I am not about to ‘YMCA’ my arse across the dance floor.
I continue to dance anyway, moving back to the edge of the floor, pretending I don’t know the actions to the ‘Macarena’ and genuinely not having a clue what the ‘Electric Slide’ is. Maybe it wasn’t big in the UK or maybe I just blocked it out. Harper and Jess obviously don’t feel the same and neither do the men who’ve been hanging around them the entire time. I feel heartened to know that there are single men on this trip, even if they’re not remotely interested in looking my way.
Another three drinks later, around 11.30 p.m., I’m happy to hear them play some eighties and nineties retro: Donna Summer, New Order, Heavy D, Backstreet Boys and even some Kylie, which I absolutely return to the floor for. But that doesn’t last and by the time ‘You’re the One that I Want’ fromGreasecomes on, I know it’s probably time to leave. Even I’m not drunk enough to dance to that. After a brief discussion on which member of the Spice Girls they’d want to be, I say my goodbyes to Harper and Jess, thanking them for the invite. At least I think it’s them, it is very dark.
Sloshed and sweaty, I make my way out onto the deck for some fresh air, leaving the opening notes to Shania Twain’s ‘Man, I Feel Like a Woman’ behind me. But as soon as I’m outside, I realise that this is the smoking area. Looking up, I see my balcony, planted directly into the path of rising fumes, and feel conflicted. This deck is the reason I cannot sit on my balcony, missing out on the beautiful night-time views. I plop down onto a bench and kick my shoes off.
‘Taking a breather?’
Ellis wanders over to me, his voiced raised above the music.
‘Ellis! So good to see you,’ I exclaim, like I didn’t just spend half the day with him. ‘I have decided that my dancing talents are wasted on the young.’
‘Too much cha-cha sliding?’ he asks playfully. ‘It’s not really my idea of a good time, but sometimes you just have to go with it.’
‘I refuse to go anywhere with it. It’s like. . . you know the utter despair you feel when you’re forced to untangle headphones? I would rather do that for the rest of my life.’
‘I wear Airpods.’
‘Well, I wear Samsung buds. Arch enemies. We should fight now.’
He parks himself down beside me and smiles.
‘I see you’ve been taking advantage of the free booze.’
‘I feel like the free booze has been taking advantage of me.’
He looks down at his beer. ‘I feel like I should be catching up.’
‘What did you do tonight?’ I enquire. ‘I went to the seafood restaurant.’
‘Did you have the red snapper?’ he asks. ‘It’s really good.’
‘No, I don’t like fish all that much,’ I reply, hiccupping. ‘It’s very flat.’
‘I had some dinner and drinks,’ he replies. ‘Chatted with some of the staff. Apparently one of the servers got her arse handed to her. They love a good gossip, I think I’m too old for that now.’
‘Nonsense,’ I reply indignantly. ‘You’re only as old as you are.’
He snorts at my level of utter ridiculousness. ‘It’s a bit smoky around here,’ he says. ‘Shall we move up a bit?’
‘God, do not mention the smoke,’ I grumble. ‘Between that and this club, I’ve hardly been able to say hello to my balcony.’
‘Really? Why? Where’s your room?’
I point up. ‘Right there. The one currently engulfed in a cloud of cigar smoke.’
‘Ah,’ he says. ‘You got a guaranteed cabin, huh?’
I nod. ‘I thought it was too good to be true. I hate being right all the time.’
‘These cabins are fine for people who only use their room to sleep,’ Ellis says. ‘You know, the leave at breakfast, quick nap and change clothes for the evening kind of folks.’
‘Have you ever tried sleeping over a nightclub?’ I ask. ‘It’s grimmer than actually being inside a nightclub.’
He laughs. ‘Damn, you got a shit room, Soapy.’
