BEN
We don’t go home that night. All professionalism goes out the window because once the lastchouxbun is eaten and we’ve loaded the dishwasher, put my equipment back into our cars, and wiped down the kitchen counter, the wedding transforms. The nice guitar band go home, the bride gets changed into a sequinned playsuit, and people push back all the tables. A van rocks up with more champagne, a bevy of younger guests arrive, and a DJ called Diego, (stage name The Big D) turns this rooftop retreat into a nightclub. Fabien and Odette are far gone at this point on alcohol, joy and possibly other substances so they invite us to stay, drink, dance, enjoy, share in the love. I don’t have to cook anymore. But I’m glad I’ve made extra bread in case people want sandwiches. I stand on the lawn and look at my watch, it’s five in the morning. I don’t think I smell very good or can see straight but I’m glad this all went off without a hitch. The Big D brought his best Ibiza anthems to that clifftop, there were glow sticks and face paints (Bella drew a moustache on my face and the fact I let her and laughed about it means that she now trusts me), and the whole event was lit up with happiness, peoplejumping and dancing in frenzied shapes, group hugs, selfies. I don’t want to be arrogant but mycroquembouchewill do that to a crowd.
‘BENJAMIN! MY MAN! COME HERE!’ I turn and Fabien grabs my cheeks and kisses me on the lips in a prolonged manner. I accept the kiss because hell, I’m drunk and he’s French and I’m culturally attuned to these things. Fabien has changed into a tuxedo T-shirt and the skinniest skinny jeans I think I’ll ever see on a man. ‘You are my saviour, my hero,’ he tells me. ‘Did you receive the transfer, the money?’
‘I did and that was a healthy tip, thank you,’ I say.
‘Deserved. You made acroquembouchein record time. My bride is smiling from ear to ear. The food was exquisite, everyone say so. You have a gift, my friend. Come.’ He hands me a bright-green shot and I down it out of politeness, feeling it burn my eyeballs but immediately rise throughout my body like I’ve drunk aviation fuel. I seriously thought it wascrème de menthe, possibly jelly.Hell, no.
‘Fuck off, Fabien,c’est absinthe!’ I grunt.
‘Oui?’ he says, smiling at me like he hasn’t just given me some five-hundred-percent neat alcohol. He downs his shot and howls into the night sky before making me jump around with him and hug him tightly.
Hell, why not get in a sweaty embrace with a Frenchman you’ve just met?The way I’m feeling now, I’d snog him again too.
‘Water! I need water!’ he suddenly says, running away and I laugh watching him go, pausing to snog another man on the stairs, possibly his uncle.Fabien, I thought we had something special. Whatever I just drank feels like gunpowder in my veins so I try and dance or create some sort of movement that matches that description.
‘Woah there cowboy!’ I hear a voice suddenly say behind me.
I turn around and see Chloe, Jess and Miguel. Jess is barefoot, holding a bottle of Moët, and I have no idea why Miguel is wearing a light-blue dress.Didn’t I see that on the mother of the bride?But there’s skipping and dancing and light twerking that one can only do at this time of the morning. Soon the sun will come up and this party will end. It will all end. But for now we are here.Why is the sky green? I run my hands through my hair and do a dance move that involves punching the air like a boxer. It’s not a sexy move, I know, but absinthe has me in its grip. I notice Chloe laughing.How is it the morning and you look the same? So beautiful. I like your hair. I love your hair.
‘Why are you laughing at me?’ I ask her drunkenly.
‘That’s quite a move.’
‘Did you know I could dance?’ As I say this, I spin and point, and even Miguel stops to look at the artistry in my movement.
‘Is there nothing you can’t do?’ Chloe says.
I’m quiet for a moment and I look up to the stars, still swaying and moving all my limbs. ‘I am a saviour, a hero,’ I say in a French accent. They all look at me in confusion because they weren’t here three minutes ago when I was talking to Fabien.
Miguel comes over and cups my face.Is he going to snog me too?‘My Benji is so drunk. Do you want water?’
‘I don’t know what I want, Miggy,’ I say, my eyes watering for some reason. Maybe it’s because I’ve never called him Miggy before.
‘Maybe we take you home? You lie down?’ he suggests, pointing inside to several sofas where the older relatives are sprawled out. I think I spy the uncle from Pacha spreadeagled on the floor.
‘No!’ I say. ‘We have to stay for the sunrise so the ladies can see the start of our last day – horizons, sunrise, all thatmalarkey.’ Jess is laughing. ‘Alas, he is a motivational speaker too. Look at the sea, it is like life and all its infinite possibilities!’
‘Benji,’ Miguel says softly, looking into my eyes. ‘Are you on drugs?’
I push him lightly. ‘The only drug I’m on is life.’ I dance and this impresses no one. Again. ‘Because Mr Miguel, they are all going home. They are leaving and going back to London and I have no idea where my home is…I want to stay here.’
‘Well, you can’t stay here. It’s somebody else’s house,’ he explains.
‘Not here,here. Ibiza. I want to be here. I’m so happy living in Uncle Lorenzo’s house. He left that whole house to me, you know? All of it and I want to make him happy. I want…I want…’ I look over at Chloe and sigh.I want you. So very much. I want to see the sun come up with you, and to hold your hand for a bit longer.But I know now that this won’t happen. I can’t let that happen. ‘Zaha…’ I mumble.
‘Zara is dancing with Bella by the sea,’ Jess explains.
No. Zaha Hadid. I had to go into a side room off the kitchen and Google her but it turns out she’s an architect and Chloe has been offered a job with her. I heard her tell Zara.A dream job. And I heard the excitement in her voice as she talked about what an incredible opportunity it is, her tone hopeful, joyous and that makes me so proud of her. I barely know anything about her, but I know that she loves what she does. I saw the way she’d sit by the pool, how she’d sketch and draw, how she would take in views and the finer points of any old wooden shed or stone hut around these parts. That job is exactly what she deserves, with all her hard work, her talent. It could raise her up so much, more than I ever could.
‘Ben. Are you OK?’ I feel a hand touching my arm.Chloe. Her hazel eyes look up at me.
I must look like a big sweaty chicken nugget. I don’t say that out loud but it’s funny in my head so I laugh.
‘Do you need some water? Some coffee?’
I need you.I don’t say that out loud either. ‘Is there any more paella?’ I say instead. I don’t know why I say that. Rice is not the answer at this moment. Chloe shakes her head, her touch, once tender and loving is now feeling a bit pitiful. ‘Chloe. Beautiful Chloe. I hope that your life is magnificent and when you go back to London, you realise how fucking amazing you really are. You really are amazing.’
