‘You are very welcome,’ I say.
‘So, tell us more about this villa,’ Jess says. ‘Is it a long drive?’
‘About half an hour. It’s named after my Uncle Lorenzo and it used to be his. He left it to me after he passed away recently, so my sisters and I decided to give it a makeover and turn it intoa retreat. It’s in the north of the island, with views of the sea and mountains. It’s very peaceful.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your uncle,’ Jess says. I try to focus on the driving as being on the wrong side of the road is still throwing me, but I’m immediately drawn to Jess’s empathy. I also notice Chloe taking in the story. I wonder if she thinks it’s all spiel.
‘Lorenzo moved to Ibiza in his thirties and never quite left,’ I explain. ‘I have very fond memories of this villa from the summers when I used to visit. It’s magical and I hope you’re all charmed by it too.’
Chloe turns to gaze out the window, taking in the blue sky, the golden sun and the changing landscape as we pull away from the airport and head towards sandier, more verdant roads. Perhaps she’s memorising the route just in case. Zara and Jess are tucking into the pastries, chatting about my lamination; it’s strangely satisfying to hear them enjoy the fruits of my labour.
‘So, tell me Chloe, what do you do?’ I ask, trying to get a conversation going.
‘For work?’ she replies, nursing her bottle of water between her thighs. ‘I’m an architect.’
‘Wow, that’s impressive. Do you have your own practice?’
‘No. I work for a practice in Shoreditch.’
‘Trendy.’
‘Sometimes. Trendy is overrated,’ she replies. ‘You have a restaurant in Notting Hill so you know what I mean.’
‘Do I?’ I ask her.
‘Sometimes it’s all style, no substance,’ Chloe says.
I can’t tell if she’s being rude about my restaurant. She’s hasn’t even tried a pastry to inform any judgements about my cooking.
‘What do you design? Would I be familiar with your work?’ I ask, frowning and trying to focus on the road. I know very little about architecture so I hope I don’t sound like a moron.
‘Do you know the new eco-housing projects in Wembley?’
‘I don’t, I’m afraid.’ I can’t tell if she’s bothered by this. ‘You built them?’
‘Well, not me but I was involved in conceptual work, drawing, design?—’
‘Sounds sketchy,’ I say, trying to be funny.
She looks at me, a little confused before the joke finally lands. ‘Oh, sketchy as in sketch,’ she says, pretending to hold a pencil and draw. ‘Yeah. I’ve not done that for a while. A lot of our design work is digitised but yes, I like to sketch, draw?—’
‘I bet you’re good,’ I say. It’s an authentic line of questioning but I can feel that she’s suspicious of my curiosity, that I’m crossing a personal line far too soon or just coming across as a complete idiot.
‘I’m OK. From the sounds coming from the back of this car, it seems that you’re quite a good baker,’ she replies. We listen to Zara and Jess still tucking into my pastries. They talk about the pastries but they’re also chatting about where they’re from and enthusing about the view, taking in the new sights and sunshine. It’s a very different vibe from the front of the car. ‘They’re very impressed.’
‘I’m OK,’ I say trying to mimic her. And I risk a glance over and spy a smile.Have I broken her?She opens the box and looks at the last pastry sitting there, waiting. But she doesn’t touch it. I made the almond paste myself. I ground the nuts by hand with a pestle and mortar and took time laminating that pastry. I don’t tell her that; I don’t want to come across as some sort of Gordon Ramsay-style foodie knob. Instead, she reaches into her handbag and pulls out a Starburst, unwrapping it slowly and putting it in her mouth. And she turns to look outside again, herfingers picking at and unravelling the label on the bottle of water that’s still resting between her thighs.
7
CHLOE
Do you have a friend who gets between you and bad life decisions? Let’s have more shots!No, I think one more might make you throw up, let’s switch to Coke!I think I’m going to go home and have sex with this man!No, he has a suspicious ponytail. He’s giving strong regret vibes.Let’s rent this house! It has rooms!Can anyone else smell weed? I think it’s coming from the loft.
I am that friend. One of my mates calls me Jiminy because I’m the person who leans over your shoulder and talks sense when you are on the verge of making a bad decision that could have damning effects. Some might say my behaviour can veer towards being overly cautious, but I’d argue that I’m savvy, loyal and always on the lookout for people I care about.
This trip to Ibiza may be the first time I’ve done anything with a sense of wild abandon but it doesn’t mean that I’ve had a complete personality transplant. I’ve only just met Zara and Jess and they seem nice but I’m smart enough not to be charmed by a few pastries.What if this is all a trick and he’s spiked the pastries or the drinks?One of us has to be on their bestescape game. I need to be the sober one who can resist getting captivated by the bright blue sky, conversations about grand adventures and sob stories about uncles. We are in a SEAT Ibiza. We still need to exercise our common sense.
I don’t know what I think about Ben Allbright with two ls. My quick Facebook check proved that certain things check out, like the fact he does indeed own a restaurant, but why is he so casual?Why is he almost too nice?There is a catch, there has to be. No one is allowed to look like him and also have a decent personality. Yes, I will admit as much. The man has a nice face. But I can’t be swayed by that. I need to be sensible here.
