‘For you,guapo…good melon, this melon.Cinco euros, si?’ the kindly stallholder says.
I nod and she smiles broadly and weighs it, winking at me. I wink back because this lady gives me freebies and calls me ‘guapo’ every day. I also like hearing her argue with Miguel, it reminds me of my mum’s hurried Spanish and makes me feel part of this place. Ever since I’ve arrived in Ibiza, Miguel has loved showing me all these secret corners where I can get the best produce and enjoy the most authentic Balearic cuisine. It taps into my love for food but also a part of my Spanish heritage that maybe I’d lost touch with.
‘She never calls meguapo,’ Miguel complains.
‘It’s because you’re unattainable so she doesn’t bother,’ I joke, picking up my shopping bags and hauling them over my shoulder. After my run, I had returned to the villa to find everyone still asleep. Chloe had been locked in her room, possibly still scared the snakes were coming for her. So it had made sense to come here to find prawns as big as my face and stroll through the streets in the sunshine. I do love it here. Usually when I’m shopping at home, I’m in a cold, busy market and fighting with other customers over produce, bartering with a bald man called Mick to get a good price on potatoes.
‘So, I come later and we give the ladies massage,’ Miguel suggests as we dawdle around the stalls. His enthusiasm for getting involved in this retreat has been endearing especially as he does everything unpaid but I’m still conscious that the women saw his wanger in the pool yesterday and may not have recovered from that unexpected sighting yet.
‘You know how to massage, right?’ I ask.
‘Of course, I used to work in one of the spa hotels in Eivissa when I was young. Plus, I used to massage horses,’ he says confidently. ‘I come. You have olive oil?’
‘Miguel, they’re not animals,’ I explain.
‘Benjamin, we are all animals,’ he says, patting my shoulder.
‘Horses?’
‘My uncle owned a farm. The horses were pregnant. I also used to clip hooves. You want me to do pedicure?’ he asks.
‘Miguel!’ I say, watching him laugh at my reaction. I’m pleased that he tags along and keeps me company. We continue to walk through the colourful, fragrant maze of this indoor market lined with fruit, vegetables and huge slabs of meat.
‘So we massage the ladies, we feed the ladies, what else we do with them?’ he asks.
‘You make it sound so simple, Miguel. I’m still working that out. I stopped at the nice shop by the church and got them these lovely notebooks and pens. I thought they could journal. Maybe I could lead some meditations?’ I say as he stops at a café stand and orders us both coffees andchurros.
‘Boring. You can walk in the hills and find any old man with a long beard to cross legs with and play with your chakras,’ he tells me. ‘I have a feeling those ladies also need fun times. Something that will make them feel free.’
‘Mountain biking?’ I suggest.
‘Benjamin, you have three sisters. You know women. What do they really want? I have one idea. I know someone who has a little shop in town. I will bring gifts.’
The fact that Miguel won’t share the full details of this idea worries me a little. The coffees are put in front of us along with the longest, crispestchurrosI’ve ever seen, dusted in icing sugar. I bite into one, savouring the crunch and the fluffiness of the interior. ‘I thought about beauty treatments,’ I say betweenmouthfuls. ‘I was going to make some face masks. Brew some herbal teas.’
Miguel continues to turn his nose up at my suggestions. ‘These are things these ladies can do in their houses in England, no?’
‘True,’ I say, feeling bad that my ideas, which I’d thought were carefully considered, might be a little bland.
‘Oooh, I have an idea for tonight. You are all free? I give you an address,’ he says.
‘Miguel, you’re full of ideas but you aren’t giving me any details,’ I say, worry framing my brow.
‘Because you are boring. I am surprises,’ he replies cryptically. ‘Now eat yourchurroslike a good boy.’
I recall my conversation with Miguel at the market as I now watch him massaging Chloe beside the pool with little more than his old hands and some olive oil that I heated up gently on the stove.Don’t overdo the oil Miguel or she’ll start to sizzle. I stand by the table pretending to clear away some of the lunch dishes, watching, mildly panicked.
‘Chica, you are so tense. I work out these knots, my love. Keep the breathing through the nose,’ he tells her.
For most of the morning, Chloe has worn sunglasses and we haven’t mentioned the snake incident. I saw her go in the pool and put her head under the water and do those dolphin kicks she was talking about, yet I can’t shake the sense that she isn’t happy or fully letting go.
‘And do you have a boyfriend?’ Miguel asks her. ‘I know Zara and Jess are married. You? Do you have a man-friend?’ He looks up and winks at me quite obviously from across the pool.
I shake my head at him.What on earth?This is not a matchmaking service, Miguel.I leave them be, watching Zara asher flip-flops clap against the patio, interrupting the silence as she speaks angrily on her phone.
‘If your dad says no, Bella, then it’s a hard no…Did you literally just call me to ask me that? How aboutare you safe?How’s the holiday, Mum? Is there a pool?’
I bite my lip as I hear Zara’s sarcasm. She hangs up abruptly and comes to sit down. I push a glass of wine in her direction. She reaches for it automatically and takes a prolonged sip.
