It’s like trying to solve a complex riddle, getting information from people here at times. Sure, it’s none of my business, but there’s just so much happening that I never quite get a handle on. It makes it hard to relax into my own role, worrying what the future of the resort is. Like it could all slip away – as if there’s some secret plan afoot but no one person has all the details, so we’re left to stitch rumours together, which only makes things worse.
‘Why not?’
She gives me an apologetic smile. ‘From what I can gather, there are a few things in play and he’s trying to navigate them all and do what’s best for the resort.’
‘Well, that’s as clear as mud.’
Her face dissolves into a smile, dimples on full display. ‘Sorry, Harper. What I can tell you is the Cabana Bar was the first thing Mrs Bastille and her first husband – Xavier’s dad – built when they purchased the resort all those years ago. Back then there was no pool, no other bar areas and not even a restaurant. All that came much later. Over the years they expanded, built the deck and added the Bilimbi Green, and further along, the Creole Kitchen and beach bonfire pit. Most of the expats started holidaying here back then and were part of it – Brian plumbed in the Cabana Bar in for them, as he says he’s a Jack of all trades, master of none. Doris was here with her husband when the thatched roof went on.’
‘What happened to Doris’s husband?’
‘He was tragically eaten by a black-tipped reef shark when the glass-bottom boat capsized.’
I gasp. ‘I knew that boat had every chance of capsizing, and over the top of a shark breeding ground, for crying out loud!’
Mariola’s dimples deepen as laughter gets the better of her.
‘You monster.’
‘Sorry! Anyway, once the Cabana Bar was completed, Khalil organised the traditional Sega dance to celebrate and then he soon became part of the fabric of this place and never left, although he boats it to another island for his part-time job. The three Lucys came with their husbands and children for holidays as the expansion continued to the other areas, but the one thing that bonded them all was spending happy hour together as the sun set. To think of the Cabana Bar being torn down in the low season… well, it’s heartbreaking – it’s not just a bar, it’s a place full of memories where many stories have been told, confessions shared, heartbreaks lamented over, joy celebrated. Tears mingled with much laughter, under thousands of blazing suns sinking into the horizon.’
Mariola’s touching reminiscences make me well up and I see the Cabana Bar for what it is – a place of friendship, of love and acceptance. Under the guise of happy hour drinks, it’s where bonds were forged and where the lost found their way back. Where they came to the island of hope, the place of last chances. If it gets demolished, revamped, it’s like wiping the past away, like it never happened, or worse, never mattered. Now it makes so much more sense to me, why expats like Doris are actively rallying to keep the humble weathered Cabana Bar as it is.
In a world that’s racing full steam ahead, it’s the one place on earth that’s stayed the same and their pasts are tied to it.
‘Is there no way it can be saved?’
She shakes her head sadly. ‘No, I don’t think so. It’s already been delayed. It was supposed to be demolished when the bookshop was renovated last low season and Xavier somehow managed a stay of execution, but I don’t think that will wash again.’
As I cycle, I peer back at the Cabana Bar. ‘There must be investors pulling strings because I’m sure Xavier wouldn’t hurt his mum like that.’ Or the ‘suits’ Michel took for a helicopter ride, are they linked to this? It just feels like someone else must be involved because why else would he go against his mother’s wishes, and hurt the expats like that in the process?
She shrugs. ‘I’m not involved in that side of the business.’ But she doesn’t say no. What else could it be? With the resort renovations, it stands to reason that cash is needed to be injected. But whether they had that money set aside or had to find investors is the question.
‘Was the resort struggling before the facelift?’
We arrive at Joji’s suite. ‘Yes, you’ve seen the décor. The whole resort was the same colour scheme and falling apart around our ears. Xavier wasn’t here and Mrs Bastille was more lax with the running of the resort. She’s the heart-on-sleeve type, you know?’ Mariola knocks at Joji’s door. ‘The place, while full of rustic charm, wasn’t quite as appealing for guests, who want their escape to be five-star luxury. The Last Chance Resort didn’t so much as move with the times as it got rooted firmly in 1979. When you think of other resorts, like The White Lotus for example, that’s what we’re competing against.’
I hide a smile.
‘Not only by how visually appealing the resort is, but with the addition of all of the fun guest activities included in the price. When he took over, Xavier got us all together to dream up various ways we envisioned we could make guests’ holidays a truly unforgettable experience and then he offered us all a chance to try them.’
Damn it, when she paints his side like that, it’s hard not to like the guy. He really doesn’t seem to be the ogre some staff and expats make him out to be. Possibly the opposite, as he’s tried his best to save a sinking ship, while facing pushback from most camps.
‘Before the renovations, there was only beach volleyball or the occasional game of cricket under the palm trees. Now guests have a full schedule of events they can take part in, catering to those who want to cram in fun experiences into every day, or alternatively opt for peace and tranquillity and relax with a massage or with treatments in the day spa. I was all for it, having worked here for ten years and seen the decline firsthand, but I understand why they want to preserve the Last Chance Resort, and keep things the way they were.’
I feel a pang of sadness that they can’t have it both ways, a mix of the old and the new. ‘By the sounds of it, these changes have to take place and like any big change, it takes time. I’m sure once the promenade and Cabana Bar are overhauled, the expats will get used to it and guests from all over the world will visit and fall in love with this place. It really is a tropical paradise,’ I say. It truly is the kind you see in postcards with palm tree trunks that grow sideways on the beach, water so blue it looks fake, bright white sand just beckoning you to leave your footprints behind.
‘The expats won’t get used to it, you know,’ Joji says as he opens the door wearing a gotcha look and a pair of low-slung jeans. ‘He should just leave them to have their one little bar area, but he won’t because of its prime position.’
‘The walls have ears,’ Mariola reminds me, her mouth tightening. Joji is not the type you want to overhear your private conversations. I’ve found out the hard way already that he’ll use any whisperings as leverage if it helps extricate himself from a spot of bother – which, when you’re Joji, is every other day.
‘Welcome, welcome.’ Joji waves us in as if he hasn’t just been eavesdropping. ‘Let’s rank guests one to ten hot or not and go from there? Have you seen that new arrival, Tommy from Manchester? Hot. Solid 7.5. His girlfriend, though, 9.5. Thoughts?’
Joji loves people indiscriminately and this sort of talk is exactly what gets him in trouble. I’m sure he only does it to wind up Mariola, who already has a finger raised in the air, her mouth sucking in the amount of oxygen required to give him a stern talking-to. He promptly grabs her hand and pats it, cheeky smile at the ready.
‘Joji, you cannot rate guests hot or not. We’ve had this talk a number of times. And whatever you do, do not proposition them. Don’t suggest a ménage à?—’
‘Boo! You’re no fun!’
