‘OK,’ she says, not quite smiling.
‘Because you should go back to London. You shouldn’t stay here. What are you going to do here? There’s only so much melon one girl can eat,’ I say, unsure why I sound so sarcastic. The three of them stand around me silently, listening.Why are you all standing still? Why do you look so worried?Let’s dance. I sway my hips lightly. Let’s go proper Bad Bunny. ‘Plus, I have a business to run now, I’ve got to get me some more ladies in to pay the bills.’ I must be drunk because I pretend to flick paper money off my hand like I’m a gangster.
‘Ladies, he is very drunk,’ Miguel says, absolutely mortified that these words are coming out of my mouth, but I see Chloe silently watching me. Jess puts an arm around her.
‘You know what I mean? I wish you all love, life and peace, and all the good things but let’s not pretend that this was anything but a holiday. A week-long string of ridiculous events in the sun that I tried to market as a retreat.’ Miguel’s eyes are wide like saucers. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t see through any of it. It’s not real.’
Miguel cups my face again. ‘Benji, you shush now.’
‘Why? I am just speaking in truths,’ I insist.
‘Because your words are hurting,’ he says, glancing back to Chloe who has tears running down her face.
I look at her. ‘I’m just being sensible.’
She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and I immediately feel awful.
‘Don’t listen to him. He’s drunk, my darling. He is talking in tongues,’ Miguel says, trying to intervene. ‘Benji, please.’
‘In eight hours,’ I say, looking at a watch I’m not wearing, ‘you should go home, you really should,’ I tell her, looking her in the eye. ‘Leave this place. You don’t belong here, I don’t think it’s right for you to stay. I don’t want you to stay.’
Chloe flinches, taking a step back from me.
‘I don’t know what you’re saying,’ she mutters sadly.
‘I’m saying this isn’t a thing.’ My whole face is frowning, scrunched up tight like a mole, and my eyes feel heavy. ‘None of it is real. Look at the sky and all that sea. It looks like a picture. How is that real?’ I wave my hands in front of my face as if I can double-check reality.
‘You’re saying that this was just a holiday thing then? Just sex? I saw you freak out when I was talking about weddings. Was I just a fling? A lady to pay the bills?’ Chloe asks, her tone changing, anger and indignation tensing her face.
‘You want to get married?’ I ask her. ‘But what about the bills? You want to get married like this? It’s mycroquembouche, isn’t it? That’s all you want me for.’ I realise I’m not making much sense now. I should tell them about the absinthe. But I can’t see my feet.
‘I didn’t need that, not yet,’ she says, tears trailing down her cheeks. ‘But I’d be willing to take a chance on all of it, on you. I’m so certain of that. Even after a week. I thought you felt the same way…’
I pause for a moment. ‘I don’t, I can’t…’ I mumble.
She catches her breath for a moment. I try to remember what I was saying, to make more sense, but I’ve lost track. I felt strongly about something, but it escapes me now. Somethingabout not holding Chloe back – her doing what she loves. I mean I can’t see anything. I can’t walk. I look at Chloe and I wish I could ask her to stay.
You deserve more than me, I think.You deserve a world beyond this small island with a man who actually knows what to do with his life. I won’t let you stay for me because I don’t think I’m worth it.But all these thoughts and words that fill my head can’t find their way out. I think I’m crying now. I can’t feel anything but Chloe turns and runs away. Jess looks at me strangely for a moment, like her opinion of me has changed in mere seconds. She follows Chloe, leaving me swaying softly next to Miguel.
‘That’s a lovely dress, Miguel. You look beautiful,’ I tell him, stroking the material with my hands.
But he pushes me away. ‘¡Qué cabrón!’ he says with a ferocity I’m not familiar with.
‘Did you just call me an asshole?’ I mumble.
‘Yes, a big asshole.’
I laugh under my breath and continue swaying to the beats below.
‘Why? Why did you do that? That is not you. That is not what you feel? I know you,’ he says.
‘Do you? You knew a little boy without a care in the world who used to come here every summer and run across the grass,’ I tell him, mimicking the action.
‘But your uncle did. And he wouldn’t have left that beautiful house to someone with nocorazón. He wouldn’t have entrusted all that magic to someone who wouldn’t know love when it was staring him in face.’
‘Staring him intheface,’ I say, correcting him.
Miguel looks at me. ‘Oh, what is that word your uncle uses? TWAT! You are a twat. Big twat,’ he shouts, putting his arms in the air to show me how big of a twat I really am.
