She pulls out a babygro with DJ headphones on it. ‘It’s for my nephew, he’s tiny but isn’t this super cute?’
I nod, noticing her bag full of prints and postcards.
‘I mean, look at these local products, they’re amazing,’ she says, approaching another stall. Cups of lightly coloured liquid line the stall bench. ‘¡Salud!’ she says reaching for one and downing it. That is until she realises it’s olive oil.
I try not to laugh but look down at the pieces of bread that she was supposed to dip in the oil and at the stallholder who flares his nostrils in disbelief at this overexcited tourist.
Chloe licks at her very slick lips. ‘Muy excelente,’ she tells him, putting her thumbs up in the air. ‘I just did that, didn’t I?’ she says, giggling.
‘¡Dos latas, por favor!’ I say to the stallholder to spare her blushes. I hand over the money and take the tins. ‘You did,’ I confirm to Chloe. ‘You OK? How do you feel?’
‘Very well lubricated,’ she says as she pulls my arm to drag me away from the stall.
I laugh, her hand still on me as she walks beside me, sneaking looks in my jute shopping bags.Yes, I have bought you two melons. ‘Lubricated?’ I say, lingering on the word.
Chloe smiles cheekily as I repeat it, almost shocked that I would dare to take the conversation in this direction. ‘Well, it’s a better word than flange,’ she says.
I laugh, strolling next to her, enjoying having her by my side. She looks at me, there’s this gorgeous crease in her face when she cracks a joke, shocked that anyone would find her funny. ‘You are so adorable, do you know that?’ I ask.
She stops on the crowded street and nudges me as if she can’t take the compliment. ‘Adorable, eh?’
I shrug and face her. ‘It’s a mixture, isn’t it? You’re incredibly smart but sweet, hilarious, curious, and there are times when I look at you and…’
Her face softens. I want to tell her everything.Stay. With me. I’d like to walk around these streets with you every day, watch you down olive oil, run from snakes, get into fights on beaches.But I’m distracted by someone calling my name. I turn to see Miguel sprinting towards me, his face panicked.Has something happened? Why is he running?
‘Benny. Benny…we need to go,’ he says, out of breath.
‘How come? What’s up?’ Ben replies.
‘The security cameras we set up, something is triggered.’
‘Is it a goat? Is it Renata?’ I ask.
‘There is an alarm on my phone, maybe a trespasser. They break the lock on the gate. Come. We go.’
It doesn’t take long to locate the others and Miguel offers to drive us back in his jeep. The happy, carefree nature of the day is suddenly depleted as we all wonder about what’s happened at the villa.
‘My passport is there,’ Jess whispers to Chloe in the back seat. ‘You don’t think…’
Miguel showed me the alarm and there is definitely someone inside the villa. Renata wouldn’t do that; she wouldn’t break anything. I am filled with panic as I wonder who is inside.The valuable art, the history of the house, it all could be smashed to smithereens. It’s not even worth thinking about.Plus, I’m not sure if I have the manpower here to confront a gang of masked thugs. Do I call the police?I cling on to my seat, mainly because there’s a fast and furious side to Miguel’s driving.
‘It might not be robbers, it could be a wild animal,’ Zara says, trying to remain optimistic.
‘Possibly, but they’re in the house so unless goats have started opening doors it’s more likely to be a person,’ I say,trying to limit the panic in my tone.The villa has history: it’s almost sacred to me, my family.
‘Cleaners?’ Zara asks.
‘I’m the cleaner,’ I reply.
‘He’s been cleaning too?’ Jess whispers to Chloe. ‘When does he sleep?’
Miguel’s jeep finally reaches the long, dusty path leading to the house and I take a deep breath to contemplate what we’re driving up to.Should we have called the police?My eyes crease as the car rolls to a stop and we all exit together, seeing that a light in the kitchen is on.Not a goat then.
I walk up to the gate and see that someone has indeed wrecked the lock, but then a figure exits the house.They’re tiny. Are they alone?I think we could take them on.
‘Hi? Who are you? This is a private property,’ I say, striding up to her, my fist clenched even though I know I’d never use it to hit her.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ the person replies.
