Page 62 of ReTreat Yourself

She turns around to check with my assistant. ‘MJ, how about a few drinks first instead?’

‘Claro que sí, Abba, muy buena idea!’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen answers enthusiastically.

Christ! BFFs already. Not once has Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen ever asked me to go for a drink after work. I am determined not to let my feelings show and almost split my face trying to conjure up a smile.

‘I have my spinning class,’ I say stiffly.

Well, I would have my spinning class if I’d bothered to join a gym.

‘Oh,’ she says, sounding disappointed. ‘I was hoping that I could just buy a few cocktails to say a sort of thanks from me for, well, everything, you know.’

I glare at her.

‘My treat,’ she adds.

Maybe I should go out and get shitfaced. It might help me cope with Ava and this awful situation between us.

I nod slowly. ‘Yes, okay, whatever, just one.’

I follow her through to reception to see it has turned into a pop-up salon with hair and make-up products scattered all over the desk. My sister puts on some Latino music, and she and Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen start dancing about and swishing blusher over their cheeks and posting endless selfies of their nose-contouring journeys to Ava’s Instagram. She has managed to transform Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen from sullen vampire to very gorgeous vamp and she is emitting that familiar but strange hissing laugh again.

I suggest we open my emergency emergency bottle of wine in the cooler, literally the only surviving bottle.

Within seconds, Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen is holding out three plastic cups brimming with wine.

Soon after the bottle has been drained, Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen makes a shy suggestion. ‘Mees Weston, would it be possible for us to eat first and then go for thee dreenks?’ She explains that she has only eaten four times today. She fears that she has not lined her stomach properly. She reminds me that the Spanish simply do not have the capacity for drinking alcohol that the northern Europeans have. This is very true. The Spanish will often nurse a small beer for hours and hours, whilst we Brits will have drunk ten or so in the same time.

I immediately wonder if my last twenty-euro note is going to cover it. Not likely. Shame. I’ve not eaten out at all since I got here because I’ve not had anybody to go anywhere with or any money to do it. I really must sort out the money transfer somehow. It still hasn’t gone into my account here, but I haven’t had time to face the countless hours on the helpline, the endless queueing and numerous trips it will take to the bank.

‘You two go ahead,’ I shriek way too chirpily. ‘I’m not really hungry.’

My stomach has already eaten itself and made a start on my kidneys.

I’ve lost track of who owes what for the coaching, even though Oliver did try his best to explain it. Nidi mentioned something before she went, but what was it? And I’m sure I asked Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen to do a spreadsheet or something. At that moment, my phone pings with a text. It’s not Oliver. It’s Nidi, asking if Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen and I have booked the date and times for the singles event yet, and how the preparations are going as she can’t see any advertising on our socials or website for it. She has also had loads of enquiries to the work email about a coach trip. She then sends another text asking if Jiff is all right because she received an unusual message from him asking if she had any contacts for a speech and language coach. I leave the texts unanswered and feel anxious.

Drinks were a stupid idea. I’ll wait until Ava and MJ leave and then rub the feck out of some crystals. ‘I forgot, I have the finances to do. And this event to organise,’ I say flatly, turning to go back into my office. Thank God Oliver showed me where to find everything on the computer.

‘Please, Nell, even if you only have a few bites. Come with us,’ Ava pleads.

See? It’s them against me. They’re a firm ‘us’ after only one day doing admin together. I’m always the outsider. Always the one left out. But I could eat an entire grassy paddock of cows.

Maybe the finances can wait.

‘Okay,’ I sigh, making sure they both know that I have much more important things to do with my time, ‘just a quick bite and one drink, if I absolutely must.’

Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen pipes up. ‘My parents have restaurant by the marina.’

What? And she’s waited until now to mention this to me?

‘Wonderful!’ my sister chirps, turning to me. ‘What’s it like, Nell?’

One look at the embarrassed silent exchange between me and Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen gives Ava the answer she is after. Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen tells us quickly that it is Italian because her father is from southern Italy.

‘Small place, nothing fancy. La Bella Maria,’ she says.

‘That’s your parents’ restaurant?’ we say in unison.

‘That’s our favourite restaurant in the whole world, isn’t it, Nell? We used to go there all the time with our parents, didn’t we?’ Ava gushes. ‘I love that place!’