“I’m sorry, guys, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the poolside. We’re closed for today.” Stella looked down at the two women who had promised to pack their things and move away fifteen minutes ago. When she noticed one of them was crying, she kneeled down. “Hey, you’re upset. Is there anything I can do?”
The strawberry blonde woman shook her head, causing tears to drip from her chin. “Thank you, but no one can help me.” Mirroring her bleach-blonde friend, she started stuffing her suntan lotion and towel into her bag, then put on the bright orange dress she’d been using as a pillow.
“Are you hurt?” Stella pointed to a big bandage on her shoulder and upper arm. The skin around it looked red and sore. “If someone here hurt you, I can call the police.”
“It’s not that, it’s…” The woman started sobbing again and covered her face with her hands. “Pull it off and show her,” she said to her friend.
Her friend carefully removed the bandage and Stella suppressed a gasp when she saw the monstrosity of a tattoo covering most of her shoulder. A man’s face was tattooed on her shoulder blade, and it wasn’t a pretty face. His long hair and beard looked like they were blowing to the right, covering her upper arm in clumsy curly shapes, some crooked in places. One curl extended to under her armpit, making it look like she had a random patch of hair there. The eyes were all wrong; one looking up and the other down, and the teeth weren’t aligned properly, giving the impression the man had three front teeth, instead of two.
“Whatever you do, don’t tell me it’s my own fault for getting a drunk tattoo,” the woman warned Stella. “I’ve had at least ten people say that to me today and it’s not making me feel better. I know I had too much to drink, and I asked for it. But come on; this isn’t fair. It looks horrible and now I’ll have to cover myself up for the rest of my life.”
“Is that a family member, or your boyfriend?” Stella asked carefully, because she just had to know. She’d had a laugh looking at bad tattoos online before, but she’d never seen anything quite as terrible as this one.
“It’s supposed to be Keanu Reeves,” the woman’s friend said, then added, “Sheila’s a fan,” as if that would explain the disaster.
“Oh.” Stella tried to find a resemblance but there was nothing in the man’s face that reminded her of the actor. Lost for words, she refrained from commenting on it. “Who did this?” she asked instead.
“Beni Tattoo. End of the strip.” Her friend put on a pair of pink denim shorts and paired them with a crop top that barely covered her triangle bikini. “We walked past at two am after hitting the tequila at Pit Stop. They were just about to close but took on the job anyway. I got one too, but mine is a little more subtle.” She removed a bandage from her ankle and placed her foot on the sunlounger so Stella could see it.
This time, Stella did feel an urge to laugh as it wasn’t quite so drastic, so she bit her lip and avoided the woman’s eyes.‘Benidorm. Been there, don that,’it said in a cursive script. The spelling mistake in the basic sentence baffled her. “Was the tattoo artist drunk too?”
“I think so. I vaguely remember sharing the bottle of tequila I’d brought from the bar with them. There were two tattoo artists, and one went out to get more booze at some point. They said it was fine to drink in there because the parlour was closed. It took hours with that massive one of Sheila’s, and by the time we left we could barely get in the cab.”
“Oh my God... Did you pay them?”
“Yes.” Sheila sniffed. “I checked my bank account this morning. Six hundred Euros I paid them. All my savings.”
“And I paid a hundred and fifty,” her friend added.
Stella took a moment to think it over. She wouldn’t normally take action against local businesses who were fighting to survive after the pandemic, but this was criminal. “They’re not allowed to tattoo you if you’re under influence,” she said. “I doubt they have a licence to stay open after midnight, and if they’d been drinking themselves, then you should definitely consider speaking to the police. At least they can help you get your money back and make sure this doesn’t happen to anyone else.” She shrugged. “Or you could check if you have a legal cover under your travel insurance.”
“But we were drunk and—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Stella interrupted Sheila. “They shouldn’t have done that. Not while you were intoxicated and certainly not while they were intoxicated, artistic interpretation of a brief aside.”
There was some mumbling between Sheila and her friend as they discussed the course of action. “We don’t speak Spanish,” Sheila’s friend finally said. “Do the police speak English?”
“Most of them do.” Stella sighed. She hated seeing their guests so unhappy and whether they’d been reckless or not, this was unacceptable. There was a plausible chance that the police might just laugh at them if they didn’t have a local with them, and that would make matters even worse. She wouldn’t normally go out of her way after hours to help guests—her colleagues were more than capable to take over—but she doubted anyone was willing to deal with two grown women who had made bad decisions after too much tequila. ‘No sympathy’, was generally their running comment. “You know what? I’ll take you to the station. They’ll only come out here for emergencies, so I’ll drive you there, and explain the situation.”
“Really? Would you do that?” Sheila grabbed Stella’s arm as if she were a lifeline, and although the police couldn’t take away the weird face on her skin, Stella suspected getting her money back was better than nothing right now.
“Sure. Do you have any pictures you took at the tattoo parlour? A video, by any chance?”
“Yes. I have both. I’m Tiff, by the way,” Sheila’s friend said. Tiff scrolled through her phone and handed it to Stella. “I haven’t dared watch it yet but please feel free.”
“Thanks. I’m Stella. Poolside manager.” Stella cringed as she looked through the pictures, one worse than the other. Sheila and Tiff in the chairs, clinking their plastic cups together, still happily intoxicated and blissfully ignorant of things to come. Sheila leaning against the backrest of a chair, while the tattoo artist held his tattoo gun in one hand and a shot of tequila in the other. Sheila looking cross-eyed, holding a bucket under her chin.Oh, God.Tiff holding up a piece of paper with the slogan that would be tattooed on her ankle, minus spelling mistake. Tiff biting her knuckle while one of the guys was tattooing her. Tiff pointing to Sheila’s back in tears of laughter. Then finally a video where they spun around in the studio, showing off their fresh tattoos. In the background, one of the tattoo artists was drinking a beer, while the other filmed and commented.
“Are you sure we should show those to the police?” Tiff asked as she glanced over Stella’s shoulder. “It’s not exactly making us look innocent in the matter.”
“Yes, this is evidence and trust me; the police here have seen worse.” Handing the phone back, Stella straightened herself and gestured to the gates. “I’ll be outside the front entrance in twenty minutes in a white Beetle.”
26
“Lisa! How’s the Costa Blanca? Is this a good time or are you in the middle of bingo or karaoke with pensioners?”
“Fergi!” Lisa smiled at her brother’s cheerful voice. He was always upbeat. Even through the very beginning of his recovery he’d been optimistic, never losing hope that he’d be back to normal within a year. “I’m okay, enjoying the sunshine. No karaoke or bingo so far,” she added with a chuckle. “But the opportunities for that are endless here, so you’ll be the first to know if I give it a go. How are you?”
“I’m good. Getting better every day; I made it down the drive and back this morning and I’m sitting in the garden as the weather’s lovely here. Mum and Dad are driving me bonkers, but they mean well, so I try not to get worked up over Mum’s constant fussing and Dad’s repetitive stories about his time in the Royal Marines.”
