“Why are you here?”
“One last summer holiday here, I guess.” She glanced at the menu. “I’m moving to New York in October to finish my training there.”
“Architecture.”
“You remembered.”
“I remember most things. Why’s this one last summer here then? Your family has property here.”
She shrugged; slender, slightly sunburned shoulders barely covered by the straps of her sundress. “This is the first time I’ve been here for a while.”
“The mermaids didn’t get to you then?”
“I wasn’t their type.” She cracked a smile that was full of still waters.
“You won’t come back here after this summer?” It felt like a rejection and I didn’t know why.
“Probably. But not for a while. My family is amazing, but they’re overbearing. They’d do anything for me, but sometimes it’s too much and I just want to try to be my own person. Not just Olivia’s daughter or one of Gavin Kearney’s girls.” She smiled at the waiter.
“A lot of people would give their first born to swap with you.”
“I know. And I know how lucky I am. But I still want to try to go my own way.” She looked at the waiter.” Can I have an iced coffee? And a slice of flaò, please.” She handed the menu back to him.
“And you, sir?”
I hated being called sir.
“English tea. In the biggest mug you’ve got. Leave the teabag in.” I glanced at Jameson, expecting to see her grinning, but she wasn’t. Maybe she was too polite.
“Anything to eat?”
My mother had always told me it was rude to let a woman eat by herself.
“Flaò too, please.”
“No problem, sir.” His eyes lingered back on Jameson before he left. I doubted it surprised either of us.
“If you never come back to Ibiza you won’t be able to have flaò again.” I pointed my finger at her, as if I was telling her off. I didn’t understand why I felt loss at the idea of her not returning here. No one ever properly left the island, not if you’d been here for more than a holiday.
Flaó was an Ibizan dessert, like a cheesecake but with anise and mint. One piece was never enough.
“I’ll be back, I just don’t know when. How long do you plan to stay here, or is this your home now?”
My home was a rough flat, above Còctels, with furniture I’d picked up from someone who’d been moving back to the mainland. It was clean and basic, and not a home. I slept there, sometimes I ate there, and it was where I showered. And I had the apartment, which was nicer, but I rarely got to go there.
“I’ve never thought that far.” You didn’t play the long game in my world. You never knew how it was going to end, or when.
The waiter brought our drinks and the cake, giving Jameson a smile and me the bill. I left a ten euro note underneath the ash tray and added two sachets of sugar to my drink.
Jameson sipped her iced coffee and watched me. “You like it sweet?”
I nodded. “That’s why I don’t drink coffee. They’d charge me extra for the sugar.”
She laughed, the sound more genuine than before. “You’re not sweet enough?”
“Not something I’ve ever been accused of.” I looked at her for longer this time, not just stealing a glance like I’d done before.
She looked like Lara; the same bone structure and blonde hair, but her eyes were different. Lara’s were wilder, as if she was always seeking some unattainable high, whereas Jameson’s were wary.
