Beach Cute, page 7
“I’m fine, thanks. Just—bit tired.”
He keeps smiling, and I want to dunk his face in my plate of eggs. I’m not in the mood for cheerful and overly friendly service this morning.
“I see, I see. You missed your morning yoga.”
“Huh?”
“You and your friends last night, you all signed up for morning yoga for the duration of your stay. Sofia, my colleague, said that you did not turn up.”
“Oh. Right. That.”
I have zero recollection of signing up for yoga.
How much wine did I have?
They shouldn’t ask people to sign up for classes when they’re drunk, I almost tell Esteban, but my head can’t handle an argument right now. So instead I just say, “Sorry.”
“Mm.” He knows I’m not sorry. “We hope you will make it tomorrow, then, Miss Ho-dee.”
After he’s gone, Rory scurries into sight, head ducked and one hand raised to hide half her face. She sets down a cup of coffee on the table, claiming the seat opposite me. She peers out from between her fingers, bloodshot eyes the only visible sign of a hangover. I can’t help but feel a little jealous, thinking of my lank hair shoved back in a ponytail and the bags beneath my eyes. Nobody should be allowed to look cute in this state.
“Please tell me he’s gone. I cannot deal with another telling-off from Señor High-and-Mighty. Cute glasses, by the way.”
“Thanks. You missed yoga, too, then?”
“Honey, I don’t even remember signing up for it,” she says, running her hand over her face.
“Me either. Do you think he’s just making it up so we feel bad and actually show up?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him, the Kindle thief.”
I smirk and dig into my food. Rory eyes my plate for a while before hauling herself out of her seat and going up to the breakfast buffet. I wander back over to make myself more tea and get more juice; when I come back, she’s got a full English breakfast and an omelet.
“How does someone as skinny as you eat that much food?” I ask, half in awe and half plain envious. I’m not plump and curvy the way Luna is, or skinny and willowy like Rory; my body is soft and untoned, something I’d rather keep covered up and definitely have never felt confident about.
Mouth full, she tells me, “It doesn’t count when you’re this hungover. Ugh, how much did we drink last night?”
“I don’t know, but I get the feeling that also doesn’t count when you’re on vacation.”
Rory laughs a little, then winces like even that is too much effort. I feel you, girl. “It does when you end up signing up for six a.m. yoga classes. God. Do you think we signed up for anything else?”
“I hope not. Are you going to go tomorrow?”
She pulls a face, then looks over her shoulder and spies Esteban laughing cheerily with a group of five who must be pushing seventy. “I feel like if we don’t, he’s not gonna let us hear the end of it. Have you seen Luna this morning?”
I shake my head, but minutely, because I don’t want to aggravate my raging headache any further. “Nope. She probably slept in, too.”
* * *
—
Luna, it turns out, didn’t sleep in. She’s one of those horrible high-functioners who doesn’t suffer from a terrible hangover after drinking too much. “Unless I mix, then I’m a goner,” she explains when we’re sitting around the pool later that morning, divvying up her collection of books. (I’m starting to see why she had such a hard time lugging her suitcase up all those stairs: she’s brought enough to stock a Waterstones.)
When Luna says the alarm on the clock in her room had gone off at twenty to six that morning, I gasp. “Oh God, no, I do remember! You said you’d set an alarm. Promised to get us all up.”
“I did knock,” she says, looking guilty. “But only a little. After Rory was sick last night and you almost fell asleep at the table”—I do not remember that, but Rory shrugs and looks unabashed—“I wasn’t so sure you guys would want to go.”
Rory and I shake our heads. “Definitely not.”
“Sofia, the lady running the class, asked me where you both were. I said I thought you weren’t feeling well, but I don’t think she bought it.”
“Esteban definitely didn’t,” I tell her with an eye roll. “How was the class?”
“All right.” Luna shrugs one shoulder. “Lots of tree pose and concentrated breathing. It wasn’t so bad, actually.”
“How is anything at that time of the morning not so bad?” I mumble. I pulled my fair share of all-nighters at the library, no problem, but getting up to make it in time for a nine a.m. lecture was always a trial.
“Watch out. Incoming,” Rory says, putting down the two books she’s choosing between and nodding behind us.
Luna and I turn around to see a hotel rep making his way from a group a few sun loungers down from us. Light-colored khaki shorts, neat haircut, white polo shirt…and a clipboard in hand. Wonderful.
“Buenos días, ladies. How are we today?” the man says, smiling broadly.
And then he waits for an answer instead of just telling us whatever he’s come over for.
So I say, “Er, yes, great, thanks.”
He helps himself to a seat on the sun lounger next to Rory. “My name is Oscar. I am one of the activities reps here at Casa Dorada. I am assuming you have all read the information pack, so you will be familiar with all the activities we have on offer here. Are there any you would like to sign up for?”
My eyes dart to the girls. Rory is looking at us with wide eyes, forehead crinkled slightly in helpless confusion, waiting for one of us to take the lead. Luna peers wistfully down at the book on her lap and strokes its cover. It’s clear from both their reactions that they feel the same way as me about the organized activities: completely and utterly unenthused.
When neither of them volunteers an answer, I tell Oscar, “I think we were actually hoping for a bit of a quiet week. Lounge around with some books by the pool, have a couple of drinks, go down to the beach…”
“But you read the information pack, yes?” Oscar keeps smiling broadly, showing a set of perfectly straight pearly whites, but his tone is a bit less perky now.
“Well—yes…”
“Then you will be aware that the purpose of Casa Dorada is to reconnect with the world and yourself. Our activities have been designed specifically to center around this mission and are a chance to embrace some local culture. For instance, our trip to the Basílica in Palma is a wonderful opportunity to take photos to share with your friends back home.”
Rory perks up at that—she literally sits up straighter, frown disappearing. “Photos? Does that mean we’ll get our phones back?”
Ooh. Now we’re talking. Gran would love to see the Basílica, I think. Maybe I could FaceTime her and Mum to show it off and squeeze in a chat at the same time?
Oscar laughs. “No, you will get your phones back at the end of the week, of course. You can purchase disposable cameras in our gift shop, but we do ask that you do not use them around the resort.”
“Vintage,” Rory mutters, her frown reappearing.
“Perhaps our coastal walk? The views are magnificent.”
Luna gives a small appreciative hum, like she’s considering it. Maybe she’s only being polite, but Oscar latches onto it.
“Rafael will drive the group down to a point on the coast and we will set off on a three-hour walk. The bus will collect us at the end of the route. We recommend that you wear sturdy shoes, for safety reasons. Refreshments will be provided. The bus leaves at seven.”
“What a shame,” Rory says, really laying it on thick. “We’ve signed up for morning yoga. And I didn’t bring sturdy shoes.”
She waggles one flip-flopped foot at Oscar.
“The yoga class will be finished in plenty of time; it is only forty-five minutes.”
“I think we were planning to go to the beach,” I say, desperate for any excuse now. Because this guy is persistent.
“The beach is private access for our guests,” Oscar says. His smile is tighter now, his words more clipped. “A privilege for the guests who are participating. You will remember that to get the most out of your stay we encourage you to sign up for three activities a day? We find this is particularly helpful for those who are struggling to be parted from their phones.”
He punctuates this with raised eyebrows and a pointed look at each of us in turn.
I am feeling kind of lost without my phone, but in all honesty, it’s mostly because I want my Spotify playlists and podcasts, and less because I’m missing social media or the internet.
I mean, I am missing Wordle, but I’ll live.
It’s…actually pretty nice not seeing messages from my friends and constantly feeling like they’re doing anything and everything better than me, making me feel guilty and annoyed at all the things I should be doing to push myself, to one-up them, to prove I’m doing something worthwhile, too…
Yeah, I’m definitely not missing that.
Rory asks, “So we can’t use the beach if we don’t sign up for things?”
Instead of answering, Oscar says, “Have you signed up for any of our other activities yet?”
“Not yet,” Luna mumbles. “Just yoga.”
“Perhaps our aqua aerobics class, then? You have already missed this morning’s, but we run the class again this afternoon.”
“Um…”
“And this evening we are holding an improv night. Many of the guests have signed up already. That would be your three activities for the day.”
No. No. Morning yoga I might be able to stomach, but improv night is where I draw the line.
“If we sign up, do we have to perform or can we just watch?” Rory asks.
“Yes. Everyone participates.” Oscar grins again like improv is so appealing, because what more could we possibly want from a vacation than getting up to make prats of ourselves in front of a roomful of strangers?
Kill me now.
Okay, I think, taking a second to be rational. This guy is clearly not going to let up, so we’ll have to compromise somewhere…And better to do that on our terms than his.
“There’s a visit to a water park, right?” I look at the girls. “That could be fun. What do you think?”
Luna nods, face brightening. “Sure, a water park sounds good.”
“I haven’t been to one in forever,” Rory says, and smiles back at us. “Screw it, let’s do it. Go on then, Oscar. Sign us up for the water park.”
“Wonderful! There will be a small additional fee, but we will add this to your bill at the end of your stay. The Hidropark visit is tomorrow. The bus will leave at eight o’clock, and we will be returning for dinner.”
“Sounds great!” Luna says. “What about the theme park?”
“That will be on Friday. Would you like me to sign you up for that?”
“Can we think about it and get back to you?” Luna says, with an apologetic smile. “Chat between ourselves and decide?”
“Of course, of course. I will leave you with this…” Oscar pulls a sheet out from his clipboard and hands it to us. I take it. “This is a copy of the itinerary for the week. I will be around throughout the day, or you can find me in reception. I will leave you ladies to decide, and you can tell me later today what you are signing up for.”
“Great,” Rory mumbles, as Luna politely says with a far more enthusiastic tone, “Great!”
“And we will see you all later at the aqua aerobics class. Please be careful not to eat too soon beforehand.”
Before any of us can object and point out we never agreed to sign up for aqua aerobics, Oscar is already gone, moving on to the elderly couple a few sun loungers away. I swear under my breath and Rory snatches the itinerary from me.
“Jeez, please say we don’t actually have to do all this crap? Look. Look how much stuff they’ve got going on! A table tennis tournament, boules at three p.m. every day…” Rory tosses the sheet aside with a huff.
“I don’t mind doing the theme park,” Luna says. “If you guys are up for it.”
“Can do,” I say.
“I think we’d better,” Rory agrees. “I’ll be crawling the walls by then. That’s four days away. I’m already going nuts without my phone.”
“Tell me about it,” says Luna.
“You’re the only one of us who knew what you were getting into with this digital detox lark!” I laugh, flapping a hand at Rory accusingly, rather than admitting I’m not missing my phone so much. “It’s only the first proper day.”
“It’s been nearly twenty-four hours,” she laments, tipping her face up to the sky. “I miss Pinterest. And Instagram. And, like…being able to check the time. Not all of us wear watches.”
“I like to be prepared,” Luna says haughtily, hugging her wristwatched hand to her chest. But neither of them can stay serious, and we start giggling. Luna pulls a face at us and says, “Oi, carry on and I’ll revoke your privileges and take my books back.”
I scoff. “All right, calm down, Esteban.”
She pushes me, pulling another face, but then turns serious. “Do you think they’ll really stop us using the beach if we don’t sign up for enough activities?”
“They can try,” Rory grumbles, and then stands up, dropping the itinerary in my lap. “I’m going for drinks. Lemonade okay?”
“Yeah, cheers.”
“Orange juice, if they’ve got it,” Luna says. “Please and thank you.”
“Roger that. You guys can look at the list of living hell and decide if there’s anything else worthwhile.”
10 Luna
An hour after he’s given us the itinerary, Oscar loops back around to ask what else we’d like to sign up for. Grudgingly, we stay signed up for afternoon aqua aerobics and put our names down for a couple of evening salsa dance classes later in the week and the theme park.
Oscar looks disappointed that we’re not signing up for more. I can’t work out why it makes me feel like I’m in trouble at school—maybe it’s just because he’s around my parents’ age—but signing up for anything else seems like such a chore. I’m glad the other girls resist letting him push us around. I think if I’d been on my own, there’s every chance I would’ve caved and signed up for whatever he told me to, just to end the conversation.
Jodie finally gets him to leave by saying we’ll consider what else we’d like to do on the days we haven’t committed to three activities. I’m relieved that he buys it, and when she hisses at us as soon as his back is turned, “We are not signing up for anything else.”
This week is supposed to be fun. It’s meant to be relaxing and a break from the heartache I’ve been nursing; the thought of being dragged to a military museum or on a coastal hike makes me want to shrivel up. I’m sure someone would like it, but it’s definitely not my idea of a fun vacation.
And, thank God, not Rory’s or Jodie’s, either. I bet if they’d signed up, I would have ended up tagging along just so I didn’t feel left out.
* * *
—
The aqua aerobics class after lunch doesn’t turn out to be so bad, and when it’s closer to dinnertime, the pool starts emptying, people disappearing back to their rooms or to other predinner activities like the HIIT class.
“I think I’m going to head up to my room,” I say, piling my sun hat and book into my straw tote. “Wash my hair before dinner.”
“Mm, good shout,” Rory mumbles, the words muffled by her crossed arms, which are pillowing her head. “I’ll go up in a sec.”
“Once I finish this chapter,” Jodie says, gesturing with the book she borrowed from me. She’s hardly put it down all afternoon, and I’m glad I brought so many. (I’d had trouble deciding which ones to bring, and then I bought another two at the airport, even though I’d known there was no chance I’d be able to read them all in a week. It’s nice to have some choice, that’s all.)
“See you guys at seven-thirty, then, yeah?”
On my way back to my room, I think maybe I should call my parents and let them know how it’s going. I want to tell them about Rory and Jodie and how it feels like I’ve known them forever already, and how we’ve been press-ganged into signing up for structured activities, and how, even though some of them sound okay, it’s so awful. Why didn’t I see it written anywhere that this was some bizarre resort where they’ve banned phones and fun?
But obviously I can’t do that because they took my phone, and I feel my face scrunch up angrily. Stupid Esteban and his stupid rules. Stupid Oscar and his clipboard. Stupid Sofia with her nasty, judgy look when she asked where my friends were this morning and went, “Hmm,” like it was all my fault.
I’m muttering under my breath by the time I’m in my room, upending my tote bag and putting my things away before I shower.
This week was supposed to be bliss. It was supposed to be relaxing.
I can’t even book a vacation right! This is not who I am. I’m usually so organized! This is the sort of silly, rash, careless thing Liam would do.
Even just thinking his name reminds me of the tight, red-hot pain in my chest, which I’d done such a good job of ignoring all day. Until now. I put my hands over my face, not sure if I want to scream or sob.
Things only get better when I lean into the shower and turn it on. The water sputters, then stops entirely. I remember something in the small print of the information pack about the ongoing renovations and that the water may “occasionally” be “a bit temperamental” and “thank you for your understanding and patience at this time.”
My patience is extremely tenuous right now.
So much for a week of sun, sea and sand to try to self-soothe after my post-exam meltdown and the horrible fallout from it. Is this what it’s come to—that I burst into tears for not being able to take a shower?
