Page 70 of ReTreat Yourself

‘Oh,’ she says, her face falling. ‘Gosling.’

I try hard to keep the relief from my face.

‘You two are nightmares,’ Oliver butts in. ‘You’re as bad as each other.’

Ava and I stare at each other before we turn abruptly to Oliver to put him right on a thing or two.

But before we can get a word in, Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen says, ‘Sí, they are exactly the same. Yes. Two beans, no, peas, two peas in a…’

We wait while she takes a slurp of her water. I greatly admire her command of the English language. Far, far better than anything I could do.

Abandoning the original train of thought, she squeezes Oliver’s bicep. ‘Mees Weston is very good life coach. Very good. The best.’

She strokes my face.

‘And Abba is very good friend for hair and clothes. We are BEE-EFF-EFFs.’

She flicks Ava’s hair extensions and makes a heart sign with her hands.

She has known her for less than a day.

I take a moment.

It’s her lack of judgement and any sense of loyalty that is the real worry.

28

I can barely open my eyes the next morning. It’s as though I’m coming round from a general anaesthetic where I’ve been given a last-minute epidural to prevent my limbs from moving while the surgeons take turns going at my head with an ice pick.

I lie back against the pillows, taking it all in. Last night. The pizza. The drinks. The all-night dancing. The braying toffs. And that wonderful kissing. Even through my banging head, I feel a wave of excitement. I wonder if Oliver will get in touch with me today. Last night was like a dream come true, the way he just showed up like that. All beefy and handsome and full of heroics.

I hope he isn’t disappointed when he finds out that, day to day, I’m exceptionally ordinary and not half as bonkers as he thinks. I just went through a bit of a difficult patch, as we all do. That’s all. I mean, surely everyone has had to deal with shock redundancy, family disloyalty (imagined), dysfunctional staff, a cheating boyfriend, global economic and environmental meltdown brought on by very poor political decisions, and the overuse of plastics at some point in their lives, haven’t they?

I think back to how Oliver and I parted ways.

Now, did he say he would text me, or did I say I’d text him? I can’t remember which one of us said what.

After the introductions, my sister decided we must all do shots to mark the occasion. After the third one, I remember desperately trying to stand up straight and Oliver helping me because he’s extremely attentive like that. He then left me briefly, after propping me up on a stool against the DJ booth, to look after my sister who had thrown up all over the table we had been sitting at.

Yes, that’s right, that’s why Oliver moved me to the stool, so that I wouldn’t get any more vomit on me. He is such a gentleman. So, while he escorted my sister to the toilet, I vaguely recall that he then had to go back to get Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen.

Ah, now. It’s all coming back to me. Oliver had to put his huge beefy arms to good use and give her a fireman’s lift out of the club and over to his car, because she had passed out and was also covered in my sister’s sick. That’s right. Then he came back in for me, and returned with my sister, who apparently had also passed out mid-wee in the ladies’ toilets.

Phew, what a night. It must have been four o’clock before he managed to get us back out of his car and into the villa.

Then there was a right hoo-hah when my sister and Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen woke up and briefly exclaimed that they were having a second wind and demanded to be taken straight back to the club. Luckily, the second wind lasted only long enough for the tantrum and tears to stop, the hugging to begin and then for them to reach the sofa and pass out again.

I remember asking Oliver if he wanted to stay over and him saying, ‘Absolutely not,’ in a really exasperated voice.

The more I think about it, maybe he was a teeny bit annoyed with us by the end. I hope he has also forgotten that I called him Ryan when I waved him off. Maybe I should wait until he texts me.

I stumble out of bed and into the shower. It’s a good job I’ve a strong constitution for the drink. It’s one of the perks of living alone and having no friends with whom to go out.

While I’m washing the powerful stench of booze from my hair and skin, I hope that Oliver hasn’t been put off me. I think back to my sister and MJ treating him like their personal Uber. I’m now certain Oliver was quite annoyed with them.

Mind you, I hardly made the greatest of impressions myself. I’ve got a hazy recollection of doing a sexy striptease for him outside the club, only to do it quickly in reverse when he barked, ‘Put those back on!’ at me.

Oh God.