‘No. Just me. I also haven’t had a holiday in ages,’ I tell her. ‘This was supposed to be me breaking bad workaholic habits.’
Zara reaches out for my hand. Like her, I’ve put a lot of eggs in this basket, taken a chance on this, and it might have fallen at the first hurdle. I scan her face wondering if she’s feeling the same disappointment but she smiles, shrugging it off.
‘Well, Chloe… it’s not like we’re going to get straight back on a plane, eh? We can get on the internet, find a hotel maybe? If you don’t mind holidaying with a fortysomething old woman?’ she says, half laughing. ‘We’ll organise our own retreat. We’ll find the equivalent of a Boots and get some face masks in. Hell, we’re in Spain. I’m sure there are plenty of men who look like Pedro Pascal who’ll do yoga with us if we pay them.’
My nervous smile melts a little at her immense positivity. I’m not sure how we’d find such a man, but at least I have a newfound friend in this adventure. A friend equivalent of a meet-cute maybe?
She scans the arrivals hall as flocks of holiday-goers arrive and head out to waiting buses, taxis and car rental desks. ‘I mean, it can’t just be the two of us waiting on a Lorenzo, no? Because if that’s the case, that’s a shit scam.’
We turn to look around for others who may be waiting – lost lonely people who look like us – but nothing. There are police. Do I approach them to explain my predicament?I booked a holiday advertised on a flyer and there’s no one here to meet me?I also see a large family obviously waiting for someone. Should I speak to them?Hey, there seem to be a lot of you? Would you like to adopt us?But I mostly see joy; faces relaxed and happy to be somewhere different, to have arrived at their destination safely with holidays and adventures ahead. Except for one dubious-looking character hanging around the entrance of the women’s toilets. He’s standing there holding a neon-pink trolley bag, and a tote which doesn’t really go with his cargoshorts, T-shirt and cap. His lower left arm has a tattoo winding around it. My first thoughts?Thief. Or maybe he’s waiting for his girlfriend or wife based on the way he tries to peek into the loos every time the door swings open.Or maybe he’s a perv?The trolley bag is an excellent ruse.
A woman eventually comes out and I watch as she takes deep breaths, wiping the sweat from her brow. She wears a baggy T-shirt and cycling shorts, her face is flustered and she puts her hands to her knees for a moment. The man puts an arm on her back, looking concerned, taking her rucksack and offers her a tissue and a drink. His eyes read kindness, the way they search for hers, the way he smiles and reassures her as she tries to wipe something off her T-shirt.Ah, he’s actually a nice man, she’s lucky to have him. She goes to hug him, resting there for a moment, and then they part. She takes her rucksack back and he offers to pull her bag as they start walking. Towards us. Now. Until he’s right in front of us.Hello?
‘I’m really hoping that you are Zara and Chloe,’ he says, giving a broad, charming smile, framed with stubble.
I pause for a moment, my jaw slack.
‘Pedro?’ I mutter. There is a vague resemblance. I’ve only had five hours sleep though so maybe I’m hallucinating to feel better about the way this holiday has started.
Zara looks at me and laughs. ‘Or Lorenzo?’
‘Actually, it’s neither. I’m Ben. The business – the villa – is called Lorenzo’s. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting.’
I can’t stop staring at him as he puts a hand around the other woman’s shoulders. ‘Jess here was first out and she was feeling unwell. I’ve been helping her which is why I’m late. I’m really truly very sorry.’
The woman he was helping steps forward. ‘It’s true. I arrived in a mess because of flying and the heat and, yeah…I’m sorry for holding everything up, ladies.’
I see Zara’s shoulders drop as her stress levels lower. There’s something about this man which sings trust and likeability, but I’ll admit the name thing is throwing me. He also does look a lot like Pedro Pascal, almost too much. A young Pedro with a good jawline. I keep scanning down to his legs because he has excellent calves. I don’t know if I’m being rude with all the gawping.Maybe he’s one of Pedro’s relatives? If so, who the hell is Lorenzo?I’m glad he’s here, but my doubts linger.
‘Thank God. Chloe and I were just about to find ourselves a hotel and a drink, am I right?’ Zara says, turning to me.
‘Is it just the three of us?’ I ask Ben, looking around.
‘Yes. It’s…we like to bring an element of exclusivity to the retreat,’ he says, seeming unsure, ‘so it will just be you three ladies in the villa.’
I force a smile. I’m not sure what I was expecting. A clipboard maybe? I think I expected him to wear a blazer with big gold buttons. Instead, he’s giving backpacker vibes. I’ve heard about these sorts. Next, he’ll ask me to carry a bag containing bricks of cocaine. Zara seems to be buying into the idea of this exclusive holiday after the false start of the two of us waiting aimlessly in the airport. She goes over to bend Ben’s ear whilst Jess comes over to me.
‘You’re George’s sister, right?’ she asks.
I look at her blankly before remembering that we already have a connection. I nod, still focusing one eye on Ben-Pedro.
‘You have the same smile.’
‘Jess from the baby group…yes, he talked about you. Twin girls?’
She nods, beaming. ‘First time away from them, which is why I’m probably anxious and all over the place. I just keep looking around thinking I’ve forgotten something. Two somethings.’
I laugh as she follows my gaze back towards Ben.Is this really the man tasked with looking after us?‘George said you found your flyer in a restaurant?’
‘Yeah. It was at this place in Notting Hill. One of the waitresses was talking about the retreat. She said her brother owned the restaurant, and that he was branching out. She was very enthusiastic. I was probably swayed by the desserts in that place, they were very good,’ Jess explains. ‘But my husband booked it for me. He wanted me to some have time to myself.’ There’s a look on her face that tells me that time alone is an alien concept to her.
‘He sounds like an excellent husband.’
‘He is,’ she says, beaming.
‘So, do you think that’s the brother in question?’ I ask discreetly, grateful that Zara is keeping him occupied for now.
‘Possibly. He does look a lot like Pedro Pascal though, doesn’t he? I’m not just hot, dizzy and out of it, right?’ Jess asks. We both look in his direction, tilting our heads slightly. ‘There is a disconcerting resemblance. What if it is him?’ she says.
