Page 20 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

He clamps his lips shut. ‘Good to know. Good to know. Anyway, my clothes should be dry now,’ he says, pointing over to the patio furniture draped in shorts and a top.

‘What time is it?’ I suddenly ask, alarmed that I’ll be late for the ‘Tash or Gash’ night out. I need to transform into a skanky lady for the sake of performance purposes. I can’t afford to let the audience or Nancy down.

‘Eight o’clock.’

‘The Dollz are expecting me to be dressed up like a prostitute,’ I say, ‘so that I can play a game where we have to guess whose fanny belongs to who or something like that.’

Matteo raises his eyebrows at this. Maybe he thinks the bash on the head has affected my grammar.

‘I mean whose fanny belongs to whom.’

He seems a little worried.

‘Ah. I mean sex worker, not prostitute.’

I need to get a grip. These pills are very strong. They appear to have affected my filter. ‘In no way am I being offensive because if I’m about anything, it’s equality in the workplace.’

I’m not sure how this is relevant, but Matteo agrees.

‘It’s just the “girls” have invited me out to bond with them, so we’ll have some on-stage chemistry.’ I use my fingers to make quotation marks and, when he furrows his brow, I realise that, again, that was irrelevant, and now I have made him think that some of the girls may not actually be girls. ‘No, I mean that if I’m about anything then surely it must be gender equality in the workplace equality.’

I think I might definitely be a bit concussed.

‘So,’ I blurt out, rather exhausted from it all, ‘could you please leave now so I can get dressed to go out?’

‘Are you sure?’

I leave his simple question hanging in the air. For some inexplicable reason, probably the concussion, my brain wants to interpret this as,Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay here with me instead?

‘Yes. Yes, I’m sure,’ I say in a voice that suggests I’m not in the slightest bit sure. I think I’ve accidentally created an air of sexual tension, even though he explicitly told me a moment ago that he is not in the least bit attracted to me.

‘Bye then,’ he says, swiftly disappearing into the villa with his clothes. He can’t get away from me quickly enough.

Message received loud and clear.

‘Bye,’ I shout feebly after him. I shuffle over to the en suite, look in the mirror and let out a chilling scream, which sendsMatteo racing back through the cottage to find me. As he charges into the bathroom, he sees me staring at myself in the mirror.

‘Oh, yes. Right. Of course,’ he says.

Jesus Christ, what a mess.Even if we just forget for a second that my hair – which has dried in the sunshine in a truly remarkable, gravity-defying manner, helped by a can of fizzing Fanta and being slept on awkwardly – isn’t the main problem. My face, whilst it has a sticky orange sheen, also has black streaks from the liquid liner that I put on my good eye. The streaks are right down to my chin. The swollen eye, while it has gone down a lot, has also turned black. The overall effect is somewhat horrific.

‘You might feel better after a shower. Also,’ he says, sounding embarrassed, ‘I’m very sorry, but I think that the girls have already left to go into Benidorm.’

‘They’ve left? Without me?’ I feel a tightness in my throat. ‘But did they at least come to check on me while I was unconscious?’

His silence tells me that not one of them had even noticed I wasn’t there or that I hadn’t returned from the supermarket.

Pathetic. That’s how important I am. Nobody cares. Literally nobody cares.

I let this information sink in.

‘Well, thanks again for helping me,’ I say self-consciously while keeping my eyes glued to the ground.

‘It’s the least I could do,’ he replies rather formally, doing the same. The atmosphere is suddenly uncomfortable between us. I’m still totally fucking stunned at how on earth I could have imagined there’d be any sexual tension between us while I look like a two-year-old child has painted a portrait of me and left it out in the rain. I am beyond embarrassed.

‘Good luck,’ he says, edging away from me and closing the bathroom door on his way out. I lean against it, my heartpounding, until I hear the front door shut and the distant roar of his moped driving off.

7

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