We both look at the moon. She leans into me and threads her arm through mine. I try to subdue the buzz I feel when she comes in close.
‘Soon?’
‘No, the moon.’
‘Like… tune?’
‘Sand…dune?’ I shout over the noise.
We both stand there, immensely confused but laughing. Chloe possibly more energetically than me, and I catch her as she stumbles in the sand, feeling her face against my chest, looking at the shallows of her neck as her head rolls back with laughter.
I watch as she starts jumping up and down, her arms in the air, fully stretched, swinging her head from side to side, looking up at the stars.Well done, Miguel. This was a wild idea but it looks like it’s working. I could have set up a Bluetooth speaker by the pool but we can truly let go among this crowd. Chloe throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly.
‘I loveHierbas,’ she says, moving her face close to mine.
‘How many bottles have you had?’ I ask her, looking into her big shiny eyes, conscious that our bodies are super close. She puts her mouth close to my ear. ‘Miguel gave me spares. He said the herbs were good for my hair.’
‘Your hair? Your hair looks great.’
‘WHAT?’ Chloe comes closer again to try and hear me, her cheek brushing against mine. I like the feel of her skin on my hands as I cradle her frame in mine and for a moment, I wantto kiss her. Isn’t this the perfect backdrop? The sound of the sea, the inkiness of the sky holding up a thousand stars, the beat of the dance music like a pulse. Let’s see where a kiss could go. But alas, I was also raised to be a gentleman and maybe some drunken snog where she can’t find her footing and smells like a medicinal herb garden is not ideal. I will not take advantage of this situation despite the urge I feel to hold her so very tightly.
‘You are so strong!’ Chloe says, grabbing my bicep. She puts her arms out like a strong man and does a dance with her hands in the air, pouting. I laugh. However, as she does this, wearing flip-flops in the soft sand, she stumbles back again but this time into a young partygoer in a crochet sarong and a white bikini top, spilling the girl’s tinned cocktail all over the sand.
‘Oh my, I’m so sorry…’ Chloe tells her, scrambling around as she tries to stand.
The girl looks at her, snark and judgement in her eyes – she and her friends have not come here tonight to dance and bay at the moon; they are more reserved dancers, swaying and hanging out for the posed Instagram opportunities. She was vlogging before in that sort of deliberate, pouty way that makes me sad. I’ve seen it in my restaurant.Like and subscribe, guys! Don’t forget to follow!
‘Urgh…’ the girl says, looking down at Chloe.
The upper half of Chloe’s body seems to have disconnected from her legs, so I go over to support her. I notice one of the girls laughing and whispering to her friend. The cruelty of the gesture makes me frown at them and turn Chloe so she’s facing away. She leans on me but seems to be sinking into the sand.
‘She did try to apologise,’ I tell the girl.
The girl puts a hand to her ears and pretends she can’t hear me. ‘Maybe she needs to learn how to handle her alcohol,’ she says condescendingly.
‘Maybe you need to learn how not to be a complete bitchbag,’ Chloe says, clasping her hands over her mouth like she’s never been able to insult anyone before in her life, but descending into giggles afterwards.
‘What the fuck did you call me?’ the girl asks.
Should I repeat that she called her a ‘bitchbag’?’
‘Oi!’ I hear Zara storming over with Jess. ‘Is there a problem here?’ The more drunk Zara gets, the more London her accent gets. There’s some bravado in her, like she might be some East End gangster.
A girl in a cowboy hat and body glitter looks both Jess and Zara up and down. ‘They really let anyone show up to this these days,’ she says.
‘What was that?’ Chloe asks. She’s bleary-eyed but standing bolt upright. ‘Why are you so rude?’
Crochet-Sarong girl laughs at her. ‘You bumped into me because you were dancing like a complete idiot. Maybe you need to control your girlfriend?’ she says, looking directly at me.
‘She’s not my girlfriend,’ I say.
‘Yeah, talk about dodging a bullet…’ She looks over at Zara. ‘Why are you staring, Grandma?’
Zara’s jaw drops open.
‘You and thunder chub there can mind your own,’ the girl continues.
I see all three women’s faces freeze at the insults rolling off the acerbic tongue of someone so young.What is she? Eighteen?
