Beach Cute, page 12
Why does he make that sound like such a bad thing?
My palms begin to sweat with trepidation.
I don’t look at the others, worried I’ll see they’re as uneasy as I am right now.
Esteban unlocks the door and steps inside with a sweep of his arm. Gingerly, I follow Jodie inside, with Luna trailing me. The floorboards creak and I feel grains of sand crunching under my flip-flops.
Luna lets out something between a gasp and a whimper and presses a hand over her mouth. Jodie’s face contorts in disgust. I’m a bit busy looking at the flaking, yellowing paint on the walls to even try to compose myself.
The knots in my stomach get worse.
I might actually be sick.
I thought it looked compact from the outside, but this is…tiny.
There’s a rickety little table with two chairs, the wood so faded and cracked I think it might spontaneously collapse any second. It’d definitely give you splinters if you got too close, I decide.
There’s a bookcase against one wall, but there’s nothing on it except a couple of cobwebs that catch the light.
Gross.
A mismatched sofa and armchair positioned around a small square table take up the rest of the space. The ocher armchair is stained with brown patches that I really don’t want to wonder about for too long. The sofa is a sad-looking dark red. It’s probably in a similar sort of state to the armchair, but it’s hard to tell because it’s covered by a couple of blankets and a pillow.
They, at least, look clean. Soft and fresh, like the ones in the rooms we were just forced to vacate.
I don’t really register what that pile of blankets means, though, not until Luna says, “Wait, is one of us sleeping on the sofa?”
Esteban gives one of his sighs that grate on me like nails down a blackboard. “As I mentioned, you will have to share. These villas are intended for our couples retreat package, though that is currently unavailable while the villas are under development.”
“So…” Jodie looks up at the ceiling and then back at him. “There’s only one bedroom?”
“Sí, that is correct. Well, I shall leave you to it. Your bags will be along shortly. If there is anything else you need, please ask. Hasta luego, Miss Lola, Miss Rory, Miss Ho-dee.”
I follow him to the door—if only so I can slam it shut behind him.
The door is loose on its hinges. Of course it is.
I spin back around to face the girls. “If we need anything else. Yeah, right. The way this is going, the only thing we’ll get is the plague.”
If I had my phone, I’d pan around the room with my camera, put a black-and-white filter on the video and maybe some music from a horror film or something. Screw social media suicide. At least this would be authentic. And this is exactly the kind of thing that should be shared—#vacationsfromhell #howaboutnope #imnotacelebritybutgetmeoutofhere.
“Maybe it’s not that bad,” Luna says, starting upstairs.
Jodie shrugs at me, and we follow her. The staircase leads straight into the bedroom, which at least looks clean. Ish. The walls are pretty grim, like the ones downstairs. They’re about ten years overdue being fixed up. The door to the bathroom is open, and I go in to look while Luna inspects the wardrobe.
She screams, then runs and leaps onto the bed.
“Spider!”
“I’ve got it,” Jodie says, sighing.
I peer around the bathroom a little more carefully. Ew. Ew. I can feel my skin crawling already. “One in here as well, Steve Irwin.”
“Wasn’t he the crocodile guy?” Luna says.
“As far as I’m concerned, he’s the scary-creature guy. Including spiders.”
I back out, cringing next to Luna until Jodie’s done a sweep of the bathroom, too. She finds more spiders than just the one I saw in the bath.
Then she says, “Ooh, a lizard!”
And I think I might actually faint.
“Aw, he’s cute,” she says, coming back into the bedroom with her hands cupped. “You guys wanna see?”
“Please, no,” I say.
“You’re right,” Luna tells me while Jodie coaxes the lizard out of the bathroom window. “She is basically Steve Irwin.”
“All clear,” Jodie tells us, and I go back in to inspect the bathroom.
It could be worse. It could definitely be worse. There’s a shower over a bath and plenty of counter space near the two washbasins. It does actually look relatively clean—like they sent someone to give it a quick once-over before shipping us in. There’s a pile of nice fresh, fluffy white towels. Jodie reaches into the shower. The pipes churn and chug for a few minutes before water spurts out. It looks pretty weak, but there is steam rising from it. At least we can have a warm shower.
And even though the tiles could use a proper scrub and there are cracks in the bath and sinks, it could be a lot worse.
“This is not what I think they mean when they talk about luxury private villas,” Luna says with a sigh. “I saw the pictures in the brochure at reception, and it is not supposed to look like…like a glorified shack.”
“Shack is generous,” Jodie mutters.
“At least the sheets and the towels are clean,” Luna points out, and I grunt in agreement, because God only knows what the old ones would have looked like. And if this is the villa all cleared out for us…I dread to think what it looked like a couple of hours ago.
“And hey, look on the bright side!” she continues, grinning at us. “There’s no way Esteban will kick us out of the hotel if we don’t do all those silly organized activities every day, hmm? No more early-morning yoga, no more improv nights…And I’ve gotta be honest, girls: I really wasn’t looking forward to the salsa class we had on tonight. I’ve got two left feet, and being paired up with some rando to be spun around a hall…Really not my idea of fun.”
I manage a faint smile; that is a silver lining, I guess.
(Especially when the shoes I’d been thinking of wearing for salsa night are soaking wet.)
There’s a knock at the door signaling our bags have arrived, and we thank the two guys in their khaki shorts and white polo shirts who carry them in for us.
“So…who’s taking the sofa?” Jodie asks.
In the end, we play eight rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors. I lose five times.
I’m taking the sofa.
15 Jodie
We unpack our stuff and try to clean things up a little with soap and water and wads of loo roll, if only to convince ourselves the villa is properly clean. It turns out the manky coloring of the whole place is more down to age than any kind of dirt, though, which is reassuring even if it means our efforts at cleaning are pretty useless. Rory takes a spare sheet and covers the dining table downstairs, saying it’s so she can put some of her things on it and not have to worry too much about getting splinters. It looks as crappy as we expect.
The whole mood is pretty sour, actually.
“This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t convinced you guys to steal our phones back,” Luna mumbles. “It got us into trouble with Esteban, and clearly the man can hold a grudge.”
“No, it’s my fault,” Rory says. “You saw how pissed off he was about me tripping the power. Not to mention I left the bath running and caused the whole flood…Not on purpose, obviously, but still. God, I was so stupid.”
“It’s neither of your faults,” I tell them firmly. I mean, it’s kind of Rory’s, but she’s not really to blame for the busted plumbing in this place. Of all the things to compete over, this isn’t it. “These things happen. That burst pipe was a freak accident. The bath—that was just unlucky. Someone would’ve ended up in this villa, and let’s face it, they probably would’ve stuck us here anyway. I mean, three girls like us? Traveling alone? We’re the youngest people here by like, twenty years—at least. Rory’s barely old enough to drink! We don’t exactly look as if we’re about to sue them. Not like Linda and Andrew would.”
“No one would mess with Linda,” I agree.
Ignoring us, Rory throws herself onto the bed, hunching forward and burying her face in her hands. A sob tears out of her mouth, startling me.
“I can’t do anything right! I’m so sorry, you guys. I’m such a colossal fuckup! How was I supposed to know I turned the tap the wrong way when the water cut out? Then I trip the power and get us banished here, and I’m going to be stuck doing that shitty law degree and end up in a job I don’t even want forever, and everybody always saying, no, Rory, you did the right thing, you’d never have made it as an artist, you’re just not good enough, that’s why your Etsy store is a total failure, just like you. Sorry, Rory, that brand you pitched to rejected you! This one didn’t even bother to reply! Nobody is buying from your store! You’re bleeding followers, and that brand you started to build for yourself is crumbling already for no apparent reason! Nobody cares about your stupid art or your boring social media—you’re wasting your time with it all. Because you can’t do anything right. I’m so fucking stupid!”
I look over at Luna, not sure where Rory’s outburst came from. Luna shrugs at me and finishes hanging a dress in the wardrobe before walking over to put an arm around Rory. “Hey, come on, it’s not forever.”
“See, this is why my sisters signed me up to this. So I would have to get out of my head about everything. They don’t even know about all my social media stuff or my Etsy store. I have decoy accounts for them to follow! I have a Finsta just for them! They already think I won’t get anywhere with art and should just be sensible and keep it as a hobby, but if they knew…God, if they knew, it’d just drive the knife in. Like—like, as long as they don’t know I’m trying and failing, it’s Schrödinger’s career. But it’s not, because the cat’s already dead.”
Luna and I wait, but Rory doesn’t carry on. Her breathing is noisy, ragged, and she’s shaking. Luna rubs her back with a sympathetic expression. She catches my eye for a moment, but I can only shrug helplessly. I know Rory said before that she didn’t want to do the degree she’s due to start in a couple of months, but…
I didn’t expect this.
She comes off as so blasé, so cool and self-assured. But now she just looks young and scared, and I feel for her. I can definitely sympathize with feeling stuck about uni, anyway.
Rory seems to be done venting for the moment, so Luna takes it upon herself to try and comfort her.
“I know it’s not the same thing, but I kind of get where you’re coming from—at least about feeling like a failure. Ever since I broke up with Liam, I’ve been so in my head about whether it was the right thing to do or not, thinking that I’ve ruined things, let myself down. Mostly it’s that I feel like I wasn’t enough for him somehow? Or for our mutual friends? Like it’s all a failing on my part and that’s why I had to call it off, rather than anything he did. And I keep trying not to think about him, but it’s not that easy. After I saw those pictures on Instagram, and that girl…And, you know, I was sure in one of them that she had one of those polo shirts on like they wear here? I didn’t get a chance to check properly, though. That was when Esteban showed up. So now I’m driving myself crazy thinking what if she does work here?”
Rory sniffles a little. “I’m sorry, Miss Lola, but what the fuck? You know how paranoid that sounds, right?”
“No, I’m serious. I—I know how it sounds. That’s why I didn’t bring it up earlier. The girl in that photo on his Instagram. Remember when I looked on Gabriel’s phone and I was panicking Liam had moved on? Well, he’d tagged her, so obviously I snooped on her profile—remember when I accidentally liked one of her old pictures? I was trying to zoom in. I can’t remember now because, you know, sangria, but I’m sure she’d posted another picture more recently where she was wearing a polo shirt that looks just like the kind they wear here.”
I stare at Luna, not exactly sure if she’s exaggerating in an attempt to distract Rory. She looks so stricken, though, that I quickly realize she’s not.
“We should never have checked our phones,” Rory laments, clutching Luna’s hand.
I look between them both for a minute, knowing it’s my turn to pitch in. It’s my turn to say how much I wish I had my phone or how much I wish I hadn’t seen something.
Except—
Well, except, I don’t. I don’t have anything to say like that.
I’m glad I didn’t have time to see all those other notifications on LinkedIn and that I didn’t have time to read everything in the group chat, that I didn’t have to reply to it.
It’s kind of nice not feeling like I have to prove myself all the time to everyone.
But Rory and Luna look so morose over this entire thing that I end up saying, “Yeah. I know. I mean, I’m so mad about all my friends doing better than me. At everything.”
It sounds like a lie even as I say it, and I think they notice my heart isn’t really in it. I surprise myself at how much I suddenly want to distance myself from that feeling of competition that only drags me down, rather than driving me.
So I say, “Look, it’s nearly dinnertime. Why don’t we get changed, head to dinner and then hang out at the beach bar again tonight? Get away from Esteban and the whole crowd of people and whatever rubbish they’re putting on tonight.”
“I guess being your wingwoman for the night might make today a little less crap,” Rory sniffles, managing a smile.
“Yeah, that and a few tequilas,” Luna mutters. “Count me in.”
* * *
—
The hot water is more like lukewarm by the time I get my shower, so I make it quick and try not to be mad about it. With the three of us clustered in the bedroom trying to get dressed, do hair and makeup or find something that isn’t still damp from the pipe disaster, it gets to feel a little claustrophobic.
Rory doesn’t appear to be at all shy about sharing the space, and Luna seems considerate of both of us whenever she’s moving around. I might be comfortable hanging out with them, opening up to them about some stuff, but it feels weird to be taking a shower with them just on the other side of the door, hearing them chattering away. Even though I put my underwear on in the bathroom, I wrap my towel back around me to go into the bedroom to pick out some clothes, which makes them both laugh.
“No need to be shy,” Rory tells me. “We’ve seen you in your swimming costume, hon—that’s basically the same thing.”
I know she’s got a point, and it’s not like I have any specific hang-ups about my body, just…you know, general ones. All-encompassing hang-ups. Plus, it’s plain weird to not have my own space to get ready in. I don’t have siblings and never shared a space with a boyfriend.
I get a sudden surge of panic about how I’m going to even do a number two, knowing they’ll be just outside the bathroom. I’ll have to sneak back by myself when they’re out at the pool or something.
As relieved as I am to be sharing this shack with the girls rather than enduring it alone, I mourn for my privacy.
Maybe it is actually all Rory’s fault, I think before I can help it. She deserves to be on the sofa. She caused that flood from her bath. She tripped the power. Maybe we’d have been fine if that little mishap hadn’t happened.
But then again, they did ask us if we were okay to share a room, so we basically volunteered to be here. And Rory’s not the only one who annoyed Esteban and broke his precious rules; I got a bit nasty with him, and Luna started the whole Mission: Impossible stunt…
It’s not like we can do anything about it now anyway, so I don’t say anything, and smile at Rory when she asks me to straighten the back of her hair for her.
* * *
—
We don’t stick around long at dinner. Both Luna and Rory seem a little preoccupied, and besides that, it’s like there’s a dark cloud hanging over our table. It’s all too clear that everyone knows we had something to do with the whole rerooming thing, judging by the frowns we’re getting and the way people whisper to each other and look over at us.
“I heard they broke into the office and took their phones back,” one lady mutters to her friend behind me at the buffet, where I’m piling lasagna on my plate. “Absolutely outrageous. Why bother coming here if you can’t hack it?”
Her friend bursts into giggles. “Hack it! Oh dear!”
We shovel our food down and get the hell out of there.
“Did you hear the guy at the next table? He said he’d heard we caused the power outage. He was complaining that it was the reason behind the ice machine on his floor being out of order,” Rory rants. “Half my stuff was ruined. I wanted to shove his head in a bucket of ice.”
She keeps ranting all the way to the beach bar, and Luna and I let her. Keeping quiet seems easiest.
Rory strides ahead of us, throwing herself onto a stool at the bar and collapsing over it like a Disney princess who’s lost all hope after having been told she absolutely cannot marry that man she met just once in the woods. Luna snickers next to me, like she can read my mind.
“She’s such a drama queen—I love it.”
Gabriel leans on the edge of the bar next to her and clears his throat as Luna and I take our seats. “Am I to assume a stiff gin is needed?”
Rory groans. “Not tonight, buddy. Give me a mocktail, stat. I’ve got enough of a headache without adding a hangover to it.”
Luna pats Rory’s shoulder, and then Gabriel turns his dashing smile on us. “And for you ladies?”
“Uh,” is all I can manage because, oh, I forgot how good-looking he is.
