Page 73 of Hot to Go

‘That seems to be our thing at the moment,’ she says, grinning. I look down, trying to hold in my laughter.

‘This isn’t really dancing,’ she tells me. We look over at the kids, who are basically jumping with their arms around each other. ‘It’s more…letting go…euphoric dancing,’ she says, laughing to herself.

I give her a look as she shrugs her shoulders and invites me on to that dance space. And I laugh as she starts to jump around, throwing shapes, her hair swinging and backlit by the Sevillian sun. I don’t think she’s a very good dancer. I’m not sure I care.

SIXTEEN

Suzie

‘It’s midnight. I don’t care if other Spanish people are up. Go to sleep,’ says a beleaguered Charlie in the hallway. What are you doing with that shaving foam? Give it here? No, put it down.’

Contrary to what we previously thought – that the early start would have made these kids super tired – it transpires that dancing and too much Coke (the drink) on the rooftop has turned these kids into whirling swirling overtired child beasts. This hostel is going to hate us, they’re going to tar us English all with the same hooligan brush. It’s been like this for the last six hours so this also means Charlie and I have barely spoken, let alone touched or had the time to do anything remotely steamy.

‘Please put some clothes on, why are you in swimming trunks? Where are you going?’ I can still hear Charlie trying to control them and herd them into their rooms. ‘I will ring all your parents. All of them, look at me! I’m holding my phone.’

I lie back in my top bunk and try to rest for a little bit, grateful for a night breeze coming through the window. All the staff are rotating patrol duties so I try to think of ways to calmthem down when it’s eventually my turn. Cough medicine? An attempt to block all their WiFi/data signals? Money? I scratch at my left ankle. Urgh, I’m also getting bitten. I scratch that itch again and reach down to feel a red bump. Not just one bump, it’s a little cluster of them. Some Spanish mosquito has had a feast. I’m calling him Miguel. The little prick. I turn on my phone torch to try and look for him and give him a good piece of my mind. But as the light hits my ankle, I look at the bites and my face creases up. I don’t think those are mosquito bites. A quick Google images search confirms my suspicions and I do some sort of strange spasm-like movement in the bed, crawling towards the slide so I get down and out of here. The bizarre jumpy seizure like dance continues on the floor, just as Charlie enters the room. He stands there for a moment, watching me.

‘God, not you too. Is this still part of your euphoric dancing?’ he enquires.

I am suddenly conscious that I am in my pants and a vest top.

‘No,’ I say, shimmying in my discomfort. I lift my leg a little in the air to show off my bites. ‘I’m getting bitten. I think my mattress has bed bugs.’ I continue to do my dance as he tries to pretend he’s not smiling.

‘Are the kids in bed yet?’ I ask.

‘No, Mark has taken over. He’s already threatened to throw someone’s suitcase out of the window so we shall see how that goes.’

I am listening but also have my phone out examining up and down my legs with the torch from my phone.

‘This is a strange way to present your legs to me,’ he says. ‘Lighting them up like this.’

‘Do you think they’re in me? Are bed bugs like nits? Do they cling on?’

He continues to just stand there looking at me in disbelief. I am not a biologist. I teach verbs.

‘I think they live in the bed which is why they’re called…’

‘Bed bugs…’ I repeat, slowly. ‘Why are you laughing at me? They might be in your mattress too. There could be an infestation…’ I whisper. I’m not quite sure why. Maybe I don’t want the bed bugs to be offended.

‘That’s a sexy word,’ he says, poking his tongue out, trying to lighten the mood. ‘Are they itchy?’

I nod, reaching down subconsciously to grate my fingers over the bites. ‘Sit down on the edge of my bed,’ he says. I do as I’m told while he digs through his bag. He then comes to kneel down in front of me and puts out a hand.

‘I’m going to touch you now,’ he says, a cheeky look in his eye knowing that we haven’t done that yet. The touching. ‘Give me your ankle.’ I hold it out and he cups it gently, running his fingers along the bites like he’s reading braille. I feel that touch everywhere and shudder again, feeling it run up and down my spine. ‘I think with bed bugs you have to suck the poison out?’

‘Really?’

‘No.’ He strokes his fingers up and down my foot and ankle and looks me in the eye. He reaches down for a jar of ointment. ‘They went for you. You must be tasty.’

‘It has been said.’

‘I’m rubbing some Tiger Balm on this. It will calm down the bites and help with the itching,’ he says, using his index finger to rub the balm over the bites lightly in circular motions. He’s good at that but we knew that already. I remember a moment next to a swimming pool where he was exceptional at that. I try and steady my breath. He then leans over and kisses my knee. ‘This poses a very serious question, you know?’

‘It does?’ I ask.

‘Where on earth are you going to sleep tonight?’ He rests his hands on my knees and looks up at me. It’s started again, hasn’t it? All of it. This tension, feeling so incredibly turned on every time he’s close to me.

‘Your mattress might have bed bugs too,’ I tell him.

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