Page 25 of Girls Just Want to Have Sun

Why? Why am I yelling in Spanish?I may as well be bellowing, ‘Over here! Come and get it, big boy!’

As what little confidence I have deserts me, I’m about to turn around and run as fast as I can in the opposite direction out of sheer mortification when I recognise the jogger is Nacho and not Matteo. They are so very similar, except Nacho is a good few inches shorter and in no way as alluring. It’s the moodiness of a man’s eyes that can draw you hopelessly in. I find, anyway. I try to clear my mind of last night and that lingering look.

Clearly still concussed.

I’m all of a kerfuffle, so I try hard not to stare at Nacho’s tanned arms and legs pounding along the sand, nor to pay any attention to his tight-fitting shorts that hug his thighs in such a perfect way, and I’m certainly not going to get all het up just because he’s not wearing a top and reminds me terribly of Matteo. When we finally reach each other, Nacho asks how I am.

In a state of raging hormonal collapse would be putting it mildly.

‘How are you enjoying the villa?’

As I double over, panting, I decide not to tell him that his pool area is covered in vomit, scorch marks, fag ends and stray bits of Chinese virgin hair or that Cherry’s sandal has sunk to the bottom of the pool or that there’s a new burn in his rug. To be honest, my linguistic skills are simply not up to it.

‘Lovely. It’s really lovely.’

‘Coffee?’ Nacho points to a sweet little café at the side of the beach.

‘Sure, why not?’

I’m sure the song lists and the costumes can wait a few minutes longer. As we walk, I ask Nacho all about his life and what he does. He answers in a mix of both English and Spanish and, nodding in all the right places, I listen, enthralled, to how well travelled he is, how many adventures he has been on and his plans for the property-developing business he owns with his brother. It is so impressive compared to me, even though we are about the same age. Thankfully, he doesn’t ask any questions about me at all, so I am spared the embarrassment of admitting that I have done very little with my life. Nothing at all, actually. Nothing.

‘My brother is the good-looking, clever one.’ He tuts. ‘He has many businesses.’

I stare at him in disbelief.

‘It’s true.’ He laughs, clocking my expression. ‘I have achieved nothing compared to him. He is very about the work, you know? All work and no play? Very serious.’

If Nacho is a walking detonator that makes all the ovaries in the near vicinity explode as soon as he ambles through the café door, I’d hate to imagine the effect his brother would have. Even as we chat, he’s attracting glances from literally everyone. And every female seems to know him, so every few words he has to stop and kiss people on the cheek and take selfies with them. He proudly tells me about his many, many followers on Instagram and encourages me to check out his stories.

By the time we reach the point in the conversation about how many hours a day he works out, how many days he fasts per week to maintain zero body fat and his love of dangerous-sounding water sports, I really must go. He insists that we take a selfie with our coffees for his Instagram.

‘I’ll see you later,’ he shouts as I race away from the café. ‘For the big show and the dancing!’

Oh no. I forgot I told him about The Jolly Roger. I need to stop inviting every dreamboat I come across to the show tonight.

I pick up speed as I run back along the beach, imagining both Nacho and Matteo watching me sing from the front row while I belt out soulful anthems at them, drawing them in with my ability to go from soprano to baritone in a blink. They will be enthralled by my vocal range and then fight like gentlemen to take me out on a date. I haven’t been on a date in years. Back through the bustling, narrow, cobbled, restaurant-crammed lanes of the Old Town, I remind myself that this trip is a spiritual journey to connect with my inner voice, not a spiritual journey to connect my pelvis to every hot guy I come across. But by the time I reach our villa, covered in sweat from head to toe, I ambuzzing.

The main house is still completely silent as I walk quietly round the pool, taking in the clinging smell of vomit now the sun is rising high in the sky and the heat has begun to build. If they don’t clean it up, it will become unbearable and so caked on we will probably have to pay for it to be cleaned out of Nancy’s deposit. I pick up all of the abandoned bags, shoes, bras and hairpieces that were left behind last night and put them on the table near the patio. As the door suddenly slides open, Tash appears, squinting at me. I take in her crumpled face. She has a fake eyelash stuck to her forehead, mascara down her cheeks and hair all over the place.

‘What have you been up to?’ she asks suspiciously.

‘Jogging,’ I say. ‘It’s good for my breathing. You know, holding the notes?’

Tash stares blankly at me.

‘Anyway, I bumped into Nacho,’ I say, trying to hide my flushed cheeks. ‘And he’s coming to see us tonight.’

‘Who?’

‘Enreeky.’

Tash bristles. ‘You’ve been out with Enreeky? Without telling us?’

‘No. Well, yes. I mean not out out. Just a coffee. I’ve also been picking up all of your stuff from the pool area,’ I say, steering away from the subject. ‘Although, I think Cherry might have to dive down to the bottom of the pool to get her sandal back.’

She stops, confused, and for a moment I wonder if she remembers my alarming disappearance from the previous day. She has yet to enquire.

‘Great night though, wasn’t it?’

---