by Ali Harris
‘No, Molly, you absolutely, definitely, did not in any way snog Gerard, that really ugly 18-year-old with the pizza-face and perspiration issues,’ she replies sarcastically, slipping her hand into my bag, which is lying between us, and holding up a piece of paper she’s taken from it that has Gerard’s name, home address and phone number, and email address.
Casey snorts with laughter and then sits up and holds her head between her hands. ‘Ugh. Moved. Too. Quickly.’ She pops on a sun hat and rests back on her elbows making her tummy look impossibly taut. ‘And you absolutely, definitely, did not then proceed to snog his best mate which then caused a fight and resulted in us all being thrown out of the bar.’
I put my hands over my face. ‘Oh God.’ I groan. ‘I blame you both. You’re bad influences on me. This was meant to be a No Guys Allowed trip, remember?’
‘Uh,’ Mia says, wincing as she opens one eye and raises a finger. ‘Firstly, do you really need to speak so loudly?’ She mimes turning a dial down and I reach over and hit her. ‘And secondly. Ouch. Hurts. To speak.’ She lowers her arm. ‘To be honest, Molly, my aim is to get as much horizontal action as I can over the next week. Once I stop wanting to hurl.’
‘Yeah, well, I still think you let me down,’ I grumble. ‘If you hadn’t abandoned me with that pitcher of alcohol, I never would have ended up in that mess.’
‘Correction,’ Mia says, wagging her finger, ‘you let yourself down.’
‘And your knickers . . . ’ Casey adds gleefully. ‘Over there on the sun lounger, remember?’
‘NO!’ I squeal, and sit up, grappling to tie up my bikini straps to protect my modesty. ‘I didn’t! I know I didn’t do that. I’d remember, wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t I?’ They both look at me with falsely sympathetic faces.
‘Chill out, babes,’ Casey says as they start laughing. ‘We’re just winding you up. It’d take more than your body weight in alcohol to make you lose control THAT much.’
‘Well anyway, that’s it,’ I say decisively, picking up my book and smacking Casey with it. ‘No more drunken encounters for me.’
‘So what are you going to have instead?’ Mia says, lifting her sunglasses and arching her eyebrow imperiously.
‘Some beautifully romantic holiday love affair,’ Casey giggles, knowing this is as unlikely for me as it sounds.
‘Nope. Neither. This,’ I point at my now kaftan-covered body, ‘is off limits. Particularly here.’ I point at my heart.
‘Don’t you mean there?’ Casey winks and points at the black triangle of material covering my nether regions, just visible through the full-body cover-up I’m wearing. Mia laughs and I fling my arms out and hit them both.
‘There too,’ I say defensively. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to read my book.’ And I try to drown out Casey’s incessant chatter about the hot Spanish bartender by getting completely lost in Atonement.
Later, I’m laying on my lilo, head turned to one side, eyes half closed. The late-afternoon sun is warming my back and I’m mindlessly watching my fingers create intricate patterns of ripples in the water, listening to the twinkle, ping that the water makes, accompanied by the gentle thwack of the waves against the rubber lilo. I feel like I am in the midst of a grand orchestra of the elements, with the sun as the conductor and the sea as the string section. Over on the distant beach the melodious laughter and chatter has become the background chorus. It’s blissful out here on the ocean, uninterrupted by anyone. I’m alone with my thoughts, drifting in the endless calm of the ocean. Just me . . .
‘ARGH!’ I shout as I am unceremoniously thrown off the side of my lilo by something banging into me. I emerge from under the water and cling on to the inflatable with my eyes still closed, kicking my legs and spluttering as I smooth my hair out of my eyes and wipe my nose. ‘What the—’
‘FUCK! I’m so sorry!’ a male voice gasps. I hear a splash and someone swimming over. Then I feel a pair of hands grab at my body.
‘Get OFF!’ I yell, blinking wildly and rubbing saltwater from my eyes as I try to scramble back onto the lilo, smacking off my invisible attacker’s hands which, to be fair, appear to only be attempting to propel my legs back onto the lilo. I simultaneously try to hit him and grasp my bikini bottoms, which are slipping down in an alarming fashion. ‘Stop manhandling me!’ I splutter as I get another mouthful of sea. ‘I can get back up myself!’
‘OK, OK! I was only trying to help.’
I heave myself up on the lilo and sit astride it, trying to regain some of my dignity by pulling my bikini bottoms out of my bum.
‘You could at least apologize for crashing your lilo into me,’ the voice says from behind me.
‘Crashing into you?’ I splutter. ‘Are you kidding?’ I look over my shoulder and glare down indignantly as I take my first look at the idiot driver of the other lilo who is treading water next to me.
‘Ryan?!’ I exclaim.
He looks up and bursts out laughing.
‘Fucking hell! Molly Carter!’
His broad, tanned shoulders are glistening above the surface of the water. His blond hair is cropped short, making him look older and more rugged now that he has lost the last bit of puppy fat off his face. His skin is the deep acorn-brown of someone used to spending lots of time in the sun, with paler skin just visible underneath the sandy prickles of his stubble. His blond eyelashes are all wet and stuck together, his blue eyes as turquoise as the sea we’re surrounded by and I notice the very tentative beginnings of laughter lines around his eyes.
‘I should’ve known it was you, Cooper,’ I say coolly. ‘You were always showing off in your Golf GTI. No wonder you can’t steer a bloody lilo either.’
‘Hey, as far as I could tell, you had your eyes shut!’ he retorts. ‘I’m pretty sure that would constitute an immediate fail in the Lilo Driving Test. Didn’t you read the Ocean Highway Code before you came out on your vehicle? At least I’m a qualified sailor.’
I’m reminded of our last meeting a year ago when he was about to set sail for Sydney. I’d like to say I haven’t thought about him since then, but I’d be lying. It’s weird. He got under my skin that night on the Bembridge, more than I thought possible. My heart is now racing uncontrollably, I can’t believe that we’ve met here in Ibiza of all places. What does it mean? Are we being drawn together, like the romantic equivalent of tectonic plates? Or is this Casey’s doing again?
I look over to the beach and see a distant figure in a bright-yellow bikini standing up with her arm held out like a sailor’s, looking out to sea.
Hmmm.
Ryan grins at me and then pulls himself back up onto his own lilo with ease. I try not to look but can’t help noticing how his well-defined stomach muscles contract and his biceps bulge as he does so. There is a tiny smattering of moles in the middle of his chest that I have an urge to touch. I put my hand in the sea and splash water on my face to try and prevent any blushing. I think it might be too late.
‘What the hell are you doing out here anyway?’ I say, paddling my hands in the water, mainly to give them something to do, but also to try and encourage us further into shore. I realize that we have drifted somewhat.
‘I’m here with the lads,’ he answers, brushing his hands over his head and leaving diamond droplets of glistening water in his golden hair. ‘We’ve been coming here for the last four or five years, since we were eighteen.’
‘Of course you have,’ I reply sarcastically, glancing down and self-consciously readjusting my plain black bikini top to ensure it’s covering (what there is of) my boobs properly.
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Ryan folds his arms and looks at me.
I stop paddling, framing my eyes as I squint up at him. ‘Nothing, it’s just, well . . . the boys in Ibiza, it’s a bit of a cliché, isn’t it?’
He shakes his head and tuts. ‘You haven’t changed, Molly. You still like getting on your high horse even when you’re straddling a lilo, don’t you?’ he says, flicking his hand into
the water and splashing me in the face.
‘Hey!’ I laugh as I splash him back. ‘You’re only defensive because it’s true!’
‘We come here for the beautiful beaches actually.’
I snort.
‘Oh OK, and the women too,’ he adds. ‘But what’s wrong with that? We’re young, free, single . . . ’
Tick, tick, TICK, I find myself thinking as I’m reminded of my updated secret Things I Want From a Boyfriend list. So secret, I haven’t even shown Mia or Casey. It is squirrelled away in my diary. I’ve been honing it for years.
Things I Want From a Boyfriend
• Young. Not toy-boy young, but a couple of years older is OK
• No ties, can do whatever they want, go anywhere, travel the world etc.
• Single. No boyfriend-stealing allowed EVER (See BFF List)
• Hot. So I’m shallow, shoot me
• Exciting career (What goes well with a photographer? Roadie? No they’re always old, sweaty and overweight. Music producer? Maybe. Artist? No needs to be a job that’s . . .)
• Well paid. So I’m shallow, shoot me (again)
• Well read. I don’t want to date no idiot innit
• Cultured
• Cook? Because I can’t. And I don’t want to starve
• Nice family? (Not all that imp. But would do my head in if they were as dull as mine)
• Hot. ryan Cooper hot
God, Ryan Cooper’s hot.
Stop it, Molly. Stop.
‘And what about you,’ he says. ‘Who are you here with?’
‘Just a couple of girlfriends
‘Oh yeah,’ he teases. ‘The girls in Ibiza, eh? Anyone I know?’
A friend from uni, and Casey . . . ’ I notice Ryan twitch a little when I mention her name.
‘Oh you’re here with Alex aren’t you, I take it things didn’t end that well between them last year.’
He nods. ‘Yeah, I think he thought they were just having a casual thing, but she got serious and it freaked him out.’
Sounds about right. ‘I wasn’t around when they broke up, but I know Casey was pretty upset about it,’ I say as I paddle. ‘She reckons he dumped her for no reason. Do you think we should try and make sure that they don’t know the other is here?’
‘Nah,’ Ryan says, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair, the sunlight catching on his watch and making it sparkle. ‘We’re grown-ups. I don’t want us lads running out of bars as you all come in. Casey and Alex have seen each other around Leigh since. I’m sure they’ll be cool.’
‘I forgot what a small town it is,’ I say wryly, leaning forward on my lilo and paddling more to get momentum. ‘Everyone always knows everyone else’s business. It’s part of the reason why I left.’
‘And part of the reason why I stayed,’ Ryan laughs. ‘I like knowing everyone in the town, I like that people care about my family, help out if we’re in trouble or remember me from school. I like that my mates all still live round the corner from me.’ He pauses. ‘And I especially like that I can get my washing done by my mum whenever I want!’
I laugh and splash him. ‘Found it hard washing your own pants in Australia, did you, without your mum around to do it for you?’
Ryan lies forward on his lilo and smiles cheekily. ‘Not really, I don’t wear them.’
I try not to blush. ‘I’m amazed you came back,’ I say instead. ‘It must have been so hard.’
‘Not really,’ he smiles again. ‘I didn’t go in the end.’
I look at him for signs that he’s kidding, or is at least embarrassed by this admission, but he’s just grinning into the sun, soaking up the rays like a superhero who uses it as his source of power. How could he not have gone? What an opportunity wasted. There must have been a big reason.
‘Oh, that’s such a shame,’ I say sympathetically. ‘Did something happen?’ I pause, waiting for him to tell me about an amazing job opportunity, then realize it could have been something more serious like a family illness, a heart attack or cancer or something, or maybe it was that football injury again. Poor guy.
Ryan glances across at me and shakes his head. ‘Nah, I just decided not to go. I knew I’d miss my family and my mates too much so I just hung round Leigh for the summer. It was brilliant. I trained the sailing cadets and became coach for the under-14 local football team. Did you know I got a job as a teacher back home, too?’
I shake my head.
He gave up a summer in Australia to stay in Leigh? What is this guy on?
‘Where?’
Ryan grins. ‘Thorpe Hall.’
My mouth drops open as he mimes straightening a tie. ‘They couldn’t resist employing a former star pupil. I start in September. Hey – does your mum still work there?’
I nod silently, still trying to digest each statement as it comes.
Ryan laughs and touches my knee with his hand. ‘She’ll be my colleague now, how weird is that?’
Really weird.
‘Yeah,’ he continues, ‘I’ll have to stop myself going into the sixth-form common room instead of the staffroom at lunchtime. Luckily as I’m a PE teacher I don’t reckon I’ll get caught up in too much teacher politics – and I’m planning to be as much a mate to the students as a teacher. I can’t wait.’
I widen my eyes and nod, still in disbelief that Ryan Cooper is actually going to be a teacher.
‘God, this is weird,’ I say, swiftly changing the subject. ‘I mean fancy bumping into each other here of all places!’
Suddenly a thought occurs to me. ‘Hey, do you think Casey and Alex set this up. You know, us both being here, in Ibiza?’
‘Why would they do that?’ he frowns.
‘Well, Casey has always been obsessed with getting me and you together for some reason, I’ve no idea why . . . ’ I am sure I’m blushing. ‘I think she had visions of a cosy foursome when she and Alex were still a couple.’
‘That’s crazy,’ Ryan replies. ‘We barely know each other.’
He’s right. We’ve only met a handful of times over the past few years. But despite this, seeing him would always stir up something unexplainable inside me. Not just lust but something more, it was like he could see inside me.
The day we first went for a coffee and I told him how I felt about my parents, told him my innermost secrets, shared our dreams and our fears, I felt he knew me better than almost anyone else. Despite all the years that have passed, when he looks at me as he’s doing now, it still feels exactly the same. I feel like I’m fifteen years old again; I feel like a teenager. A teenager in . . . love.
I look away, desperate to get back to the girls. All of a sudden I feel out of my depth, but the golden, sun-kissed beach and bay might as well be the moon, they look so far away.
I start splashing my hands desperately, like a dog.
‘We’re not getting anywhere like this,’ I say, looking at the stretch of sea before us.
‘Aren’t we?’ Ryan replies sliding into the water. He pauses and raises an eyebrow. ‘Then maybe we should change direction . . . ’
He swims over to me, one powerful arm rising out of the water after the other, and he puts one hand on the pillow of my lilo.
‘Lie down, Molly,’ he says softly.
‘I bet you say that to all the girls,’ I joke, wobbling a little.
He rolls his eyes, but a smile creeps out. ‘Just do what I say, will you?’
I comply. I am aware as I lean forward, that his gaze lingers longer than entirely necessary on my pale chest as I lie down on my even paler stomach. I don’t complain. Instead I find myself saying, ‘You won’t let go, will you?’
‘Never,’ he answers. There’s a prolonged pause as we look at each other. ‘Are you ready?’ he says, and I nod. Then he turns and with one strong, lean arm he swims and pulls me along and I’m no longer drifting alone in the middle of a great, vast ocean.
The Judas Kiss
Have you ever wanted a kiss so badly t
hat you felt you couldn’t bear the not knowing how it’d feel any longer? Have you spent hours imagining the moment as it will happen; that delicious slowing down of time and the shortening of breath as the space between you lessens, giddy with anticipation and lack of oxygen and desire and expectation? Have you imagined the feel of that person’s lips, their tongue, their breath mingling with yours?
Have you then found yourself in that exact situation only to discover that the anticipation was way better than the act itself? That it was the not kissing that was so intoxicating in the first place?
And then have you ever come to the conclusion that turning a silly fantasy into a reality was the single biggest mistake of your life?
FF>> 11/12/2004 19.07 p.m.>
‘Wooohooooo!’
A loud whoop reverberates around the restaurant as Christie stands up, party hat slightly skew-whiff on her otherwise perfectly coiffed head. She’s grinning widely, lip gloss shining like one of the brightly coloured baubles that adorn the restaurant’s tree. The entire editorial staff of Viva have descended upon The Gaucho Grill, an Argentinian steak restaurant that is tucked away in a basement on a little side street off Piccadilly, for our Christmas lunch. The restaurant is a vegetarian’s worst nightmare – and a Christmas traditionalist’s (there’s not a turkey to be seen – apart from several jokes in the crackers that could definitely be categorized as such). The seats are covered in cowhide and large slabs of steak have been served to each and every one of us, along with creamy mash, thick-cut chips, plump grilled tomatoes and mushrooms on skewers. Endless empty bottles of wine – an excellent Sauvignon from the Norton region that Christie picked, and an even better Malbec, chosen by Seb – are strewn over the long table, along with discarded crackers, and party hats. Dessert has been picked over and Seb and his deputy, Dominic, are even puffing on cigars whilst the rest of us have moved on to Caipirinhas. Seb had made a point of explaining each brand to Dom, and shown him exactly what to do whilst talking passionately about his travels to South America. He’d expertly cut the end off the Cohiba cigars he’d chosen for them both and lit them, then handed one to Dom who managed to cough and splutter his way through a couple of puffs, trying to regain some semblance of cool by proceeding to just hold and not smoke it for the next ten minutes, whilst Seb expertly puffed, chatted, joked, bantered and blew it out like a cigar connoisseur. Not that I was watching him or anything. Oh, who am I kidding. I haven’t stopped watching him, or thinking about him, or imagining what it would be like to kiss him since that day in Vinopolis two months ago. I have tried to focus on Ryan and our relationship, tried to tie the strands of it back together again to work out if I am just having some sort of mid-twenties crisis (it’s an official condition, we did a feature on it in last month’s issue). But still I am drawn to him.
