“How was the sex?”
“Decent enough to go for seconds the morning after, but not so that I want to jump his bones this weekend. I don’t know, Jay. We haven’t talked about it. It’s like it didn’t happen and all I did was dream it.” She sat back up. “Let’s head back. Time for champagne by the pool. Livi says no one’s around, but I bet there’ll be at least three people there by eight o’clock.”
We found our sandals and headed back up the path to Safir, the sun starting to dip in the sky. This was Hollywood hour, that golden light that made everybody and everything look beautiful, casting shadows that contoured and light that highlighted. That moment where nothing was impossible and the evening burst with hope and colour.
There was a back entrance to the grounds of the villa, one we knew had been made specially for us to aid any sneaking in and out. It was also a quicker way to get down to the beach and the bars in Es Cubells’ centre.
Lala talked more about Monty and who was coming with him. He was doing a shoot in Barcelona, a short flight from Ibiza, and somehow had managed to get a booking with four friends at The Pines, arguably Ibiza’s most exclusive hotel. I only paid attention to snippets of what she said, who would be there and the vague plans that had been mooted.
Livi was reading on a lounger when we reached the pool, a tall glass of something colourful next to her. The book was a hardback, probably full of arty photos and words to help live an inspirational life.
“Girls!” She put the book down as soon as she spotted us. “I had a wonderful idea.”
Lara gripped my arm, bracing herself. We’d lived through many of Livi’s ideas.
“Come sit down and we’ll have a drink while I tell you all about it.” She sat up and gestured to the lounger next to her. Rafe, her evening bartender, hovered around, waiting for instruction. Company was clearly expected if he was there; we’d learned to fix our cocktails a long time ago.
“Can I get you both a drink?”
This was summer. Long days of sun and sand, lounging and wandering, and then long nights of cocktails and parties.
Decadence.
“What’s Livi got?” Lara peered over.
“A Same but Different. Can I make you one?” Rafe had been poached from The Pines, working for us a couple of evenings a week.
“Why not?” Lara smiled. “Jay?”
I nodded and thanked him. “What’s your plan, Liv?” We’d never called her mother. When we’d been little, Mummy or Amma had been used, but when we became too grown up for that she told us to call her Livi like everyone else. Olivia Finch-Cooper was never really going to be like anyone else.
“I thought about having a series of parties, not just the one here. Make it an Event. I spoke to a couple of the hotels we usually recommend and they have availability if we secure rooms now, and two of the villas in Porroig are free.” She tapped her thighs, clearly excited. “We’d do one night here – the masked party – and then I thought about the yacht, and a beach party to end it. Or maybe in a different order. We’ll have so much fun organising it. And the themes – we’ll theme them all.”
Her idea of heaven. A party. The excitement of planning it, inviting guests, showcasing and hosting. Livi no longer fell out of taxis and flashed her lack of underwear, she contained that wildness well, but she was still the mistress of ceremonies, the lady of the hour.
This would be a long weekend of hedonism. Sex and drugs and rock and roll, and there was no pretending it would be anything different, even if you didn’t indulge in all three.
I was quieter than my sister, more reserved than our mother. My father would always watch rather than participate and, to a degree, so would I. But something about this long weekend, the contrast between it and my life for the last two years, gripped me.
“Cocktails?”
“Of course.” Livi smiled at me, the smile that made her the centre of everyone’s room. “You can decide the menu. Maybe we concoct our own cocktail in honour of our party weekend. Now who should we invite?”
We talked over drinks, discussed names and partners, love interests and current enemies. Lala started a list of names, Livi started a list of things. Over dinner, I left the life I’d studied for and rejoined the life I’d grown up in, one of privilege and games and parties, where no pleasure was too much, and judgement only happened when you couldn’t pay your bill.
For the next few months, this was my life.
This was my Ibiza.
Chapter Three
Jameson
Iwoke to the sound of the sea.
I’d slept with the doors to the balcony wide open, the heat of the day translating into a night I wasn’t used to. Warm air and the feeling of being somewhere old but new had discombobulated my sleep. At one in the morning, I’d needed a breeze and the Mediterranean ocean had provided one.
I’d heard music in the distance, even in early May. A party at a finca, slow beats and the occasional murmur of laughter. Gossamer drapes started to dance in the breeze when the temperature dropped, and even though I didn’t sleep soundly, when I woke, I felt anew.
