“Livi wants to head out for breakfast,” I told her when she swam over to me.
She nodded, tipping her head to one side as if trying to get some water out of her ear. “Give me thirty minutes.”
My sister climbed out of the pool, rivulets of water running down her skin. She was golden now, her tan having reached that point only time and care could find. She could’ve made more of her modelling career, but for her it was a hobby, designing things people would love was more important, as much as that could sound materialistic.
I waited with Livi, sipping a juice and revelling in that early morning light. This was my favourite time of day when I was on the island, and even though I wasn’t doing anything, I didn’t feel the need to be busy. I could relax. Think.
Not think about Tommy.
That was easier said than done. I still saw him every day, mainly in the evenings after he’d finished at the bar, or we’d meet somewhere for lunch. Most nights, I’d be in his bed. A summer fling, was what Lala called it.
I still hoped she was right, but doubted she was.
We headed to Es Cavallet, a beach surrounded by sand dunes which made it feel private. There was a café there that was one of Livi’s favourites, ran by Pascal, a Frenchman she’d befriended two decades ago when Lala and I were small and tired and had walked too far.
He’d given us a lift to his café,Pacifica,and for most of that summer we’d run wild across the sands, oblivious to the nude sunbathers that we came across, the beach being known as one for Ibiza’s nudists.
Pascal was an old man now, and it was his nephew, Lucas, who met us, ushering us to a table away from the entrance and still outside, from which we could see the beach. We didn’t order anything; we didn’t need to. Coffee, juices, homemade rolls and preserves came our way, with fresh fruit and patisseries that were Pascal’s own recipe from when he trained in Paris before running away from his parents with his boyfriend.
His relationship didn’t work out, but his café did, and was now part of the Ibiza legend.
“My uncle said he’ll be here in a few minutes.” Lucas paused by the table. “Please wait for him.”
We did, Livi excited to see her old friend as she always was. Our mother alternated between a wise woman and excited girl, and this morning she was the latter. Lala had already whispered to me that something was happening in Livi’s world, something had created a wave.
Pascal arrived with lashings of French and kisses for us all. He raptured over Livi, speaking in rapidFrançaisthat I could only catch an odd word of.
She understood it all, speaking back almost as quickly. They stood away from us, their own private conversation while Lucas brought us more patisseries and looked at Lala for a little too long.
When Livi came back over, she seemed calmer, as if Pascal had provided some sort of balm that had eased whatever had made her hyper this morning.
“I sometimes forget how long you’ve lived on this island,” Lala said, picking at anabricots à l’anglaise.
“Or how long they’ve let me live here. London never felt like home, not like here did, right from the start.” She smiled, picking up a chocolate covered strawberry. “In London, the media was always waiting for me to do something. It was like they expected me to provide the headlines when there wasn’t anything else going on, and I did.” She glanced at Lala. “I didn’t want you to grow up with that, and here we had that freedom. No one cared here who I was, just what I was like, so I could be me. I could talk to who I liked without anyone questioning it, and the people here were fascinating – they still are – with all their stories.”
“Like Pascal.” Lala topped up our glasses of water. “These pastries are divine.”
Livi laughed, then stopped suddenly, standing back up.
I looked towards what had caught her attention: Lawrie and Marcus wandered along the beach, both wearing suits that were creased, Marcus looking tired.
She waved, rather than calling out to them, and her laughter quietened, her shoulders stiffening. I didn’t need to glance at Lala to know she’d noticed too.
Lawrie kissed her cheek, his manner stilted compared to Pascal’s. “We had chance to stop for breakfast. I was told where to find you.”
She smiled, that same smile I’d seen before when she was playing a part, only you shouldn’t play a part with your partner. “It’s good of you to stop by. Where have you come from?”
“Madrid. We need to be in Dubai this evening, so we have a couple of hours before we’ll be heading back to the plane. I needed to ask you something. Do you have a few minutes?” Lawrie glanced at Lala and then me, giving us a brief nod.
“Sure. Back in a minute, girls.” She headed off towards the beach with Lawrie, their arms not touching, their postures stilted.
Marcus sat down at the table. “Do you mind?” He pointed to the pastries.
“Go ahead.” Lala stood up. “I need the bathroom. Too much juice.” She must’ve been desperate as usual she wouldn’t leave me alone with him.
A few silent seconds ticked by.
“Did you find the money you needed?” I pulled apart a choc au pain.
