‘We can too,’ says a voice from the stairs. I turn and see that Zara, Bella and Jess have descended for breakfast.
Ben looks at all of us in turn. ‘Guys, it’s your holiday. You didn’t sign up to work. I took this on?—’
‘It wouldn’t be work. It would be like a cooking workshop,’ Zara says. ‘Plus, Bella has to pay you back for all the stress she caused yesterday.’
‘I do?’ she says, looking horrified.
‘Yes,’ her mother replies sternly.
‘I’d quite like to see how you make stuff,’ Jess says.
Ben scrunches his face up, not quite believing that we would offer our services up like this. ‘You’d all do that?’
‘We’d do it for you,’ I say. He looks me in the eye and smiles, a look of relief that we’re here. I’m not sure why though. Because I’ve never cleaned a clam in my life.
34
BEN
I wasn’t sure what I was going to be walking into when I agreed to cater for this wedding at six o’clock this morning, but a crying groom in his pants wasn’t one of them. I also didn’t expect French. Fabien and Odette are from Lille and flew both sets of families and friends to Ibiza to get married, but from the way Miguel describes it, things have not gone to plan. A bridesmaid fell off an electric scooter last night and twisted her ankle, the groom’s mother’s luggage never arrived, and early this morning, the caterers did a disappearing act on them.
Miguel knew one of the band who put the emergency feelers out and because I’m a kindly individual who enjoys a challenge, I said yes.Why not?I cook. You need food. Let’s not make your day any worse.I, however, did not expect a half-naked man in tears. This wedding better still be on because I’ve just ordered in thirty pounds of clams.
‘Hi, are you Fabien?’ I ask.
The man looks at me wide-eyed and sees me carrying the bread. He has a bow tie hanging around his neck, and he’swearing an unbuttoned white shirt and well, thankfully, a very swish pair of silk boxer shorts. Zara makes Bella turn away.
‘You are the man with the food,’ he says, tearing up and putting both hands in the air to grab my face and give me the customary double-kiss. ‘You are the saviour. Sent from the heavens.’ His accent is strong and he mumbles the words through his tears.
‘Is everything OK?’ I ask.Please just be happy tears.
We all enter the villa, a picturesque stone building overlooking the cliffs of a secluded cove. It is a hive of activity: family running up and down, bridesmaid dresses hanging from doors, there’s signs of a florist. I can see down to the cliff where chairs are laid out around tables, and fairy lights and lanterns hang from wooden posts and trellises.
‘It is a lot. My beloved is not happy. My mother is wearing some hot pink dress she bought in town and she looks like bubblegum; we’ve lost my uncle; and now the caterer has cancelled, and my beloved thinks it’s a sign,’ he tells us.
‘I’m so sorry about your uncle,’ I say, my eyes widening.
‘No, he is not dead. He went to Pacha, the nightclub and he is not back. He is seventy-one years of age.’
Zara nudges Bella in the ribs to stop her laughing. I wish she’d do the same to me. I know Pacha, the uncle is likely still there dancing through the day, but I nod to the ladies around me carrying equipment and ingredients to go through to the kitchen, giving the bread in my hands to Miguel. I hope Fabien can’t tell that they are not a completely professional outfit. The majority of us have known each other for less than a week and we all just threw on something black so we’d look the same. He welcomes them all in while Chloe holds back, knowing I might need some help. She reaches into her handbag and gives Fabien a tissue.
‘What is your beloved’s name?’ she asks softly, putting an arm around him.
‘Odette,’ he says.
She guides him over to a nearby sofa to sit down and catch his breath. I wish he’d sit with his legs together but it doesn’t seem to faze Chloe who really has seen it all this holiday. She’s wearing that black slip dress that has served her well all week. As she bends down to his level, the slit to the leg reveals a glimpse of thigh.
‘It’s probably nerves, don’t worry. It’s a big day and it must be frustrating when things don’t go to plan,’ she says.
‘It is one thing after another. And then the make-up artist came and she was angry with her so she left and now, I don’t know who is doing her face. I am…so…’
He sits there, sobbing. The sort of crying you do after a bad hangover. Chloe glances at me, looking like this might be beyond repair because she only has three tissues on her.
‘Fabien,avez-vous mangé?’ I ask him.
Chloe looks up at me curiously.
‘I cannot eat. I am so full of nerves and emotions.’
