by Various
I disagreed but said nothing. My hand was still tingling from his touch.
At dinner that night, I ordered gazpacho and chicken, the least expensive starter and main course on the dining-room menu. I thought the gazpacho was going to be some kind of Spanish cheese, but it actually turned out to be cold vegetable soup. It was gross! Chloe and her mum and dad all had gambas – which it turned out was a worse choice.
First of all Norma left the table to be sick, followed shortly by her husband. Chloe wasn’t long after her parents – which left me at the table on my own. I didn’t know what to do. Should I stay and wait to see if they came back or go back to our room and check on Chloe?
Just as I was getting up to go, Chloe’s dad came in, looking green.
“I’m afraid we all seem to have food poisoning,” he said. “Please go ahead and order dessert and anything else you fancy. Chloe’s upstairs in bed. I’m sorry about all this. I’m disgusted with the hotel for serving bad—” Before he could finish his sentence, he had to rush off and be sick again.
Carlos, the waiter from the beach, appeared in front of me like a vision. “Good evening, señorita, how are you?”
“Oh, hi,” I said, trying not to blush, and thrilled to see him.
“I am sorry to hear your friends are all sick. It’s very bad luck.”
“Yes, it is, really awful.”
“Would you like to order a dessert?”
I hesitated. I knew Mum would have said not to, especially with the others sick, but I had seen the most amazing chocolate tart on the menu, and I really wanted to try it.
Carlos winked at me. “Go on, señorita, you are on holidays, no? Have a dessert – the chocolate one is fantastic.” He kissed his fingers to demonstrate how delicious it was. “I will ask the chef to give a very big portion to my special friend.”
How could I refuse that offer? So I ignored my mother’s voice in my head telling me not to and ordered the chocolate dessert.
Carlos came back with a very large slice of tart and a scoop of cappuccino ice cream on the side. I picked up my spoon and tasted it. It was amazing.
“Wow!” I exclaimed.
Carlos grinned. “I tell you it’s fabuloso.”
“It really is,” I said, shovelling another spoonful into my mouth.
“Carlos know this will make you happy.” He smiled.
I wanted to smile back, but I knew I had chocolate all over my teeth so I just nodded enthusiastically.
“I made this myself,” he announced.
“Really?” I was impressed.
“Yes, I am learning to be a pastry chef.”
“Wow, that’s brilliant. Well, this is incredible. Well done.”
He beamed at me. “Gracias.” Then he leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I am finishing the work in ten minutes. Do you want to go for a walk with me on the beach? Look at beautiful moon?”
I almost choked on my dessert. Was he really suggesting a moonlight walk? Just the two of us? My mother’s voice popped right back into my head. “Never go off with strange men. No good will come of it. All men want is sex, especially Spanish men. They’re all sex-mad over there. Sex and bullfighting, that’s all they’re interested in. Stay away from them. Stay away from all boys until you’ve finished school.”
I looked up at Carlos. He didn’t look sex-mad. He didn’t look like he spent all his time watching bullfights and seducing girls. He looked nice and normal and friendly and kind. I hesitated…
Sensing my uncertainty, Carlos added, “We will be like two friends, just walking and talking.”
What the hell!
“OK, that sounds nice,” I said.
“I meet you outside in ten minutes.” He walked away and I admired his bum as he went.
I couldn’t believe it! A gorgeous Spanish man who made incredible chocolate desserts had asked me out. This was the best holiday ever!
We sat side by side on the beach, very close but not actually touching, and stared up at the star-filled sky. Carlos pointed out the stars and constellations to me. He got most of them wrong, but I didn’t want to contradict him. I liked listening to his deep voice, and so what if stargazing wasn’t his strong point? He had a gorgeous face and a body to die for.
I asked him about his cooking.
“I want to be the best pastry chef in the world,” he said. “I am going to study in France. I just need to save the money to go and then I will show the world what I can really do.”
“Good for you. My mum says it’s important to have goals. I bet you’ll be amazing – that chocolate dessert was unbelievable.”
He took my hand and stared into my eyes. I tried to open them as wide as possible, so he wouldn’t think they were tiny little crappy eyes.
“Thank you, Jennifer. You are a lovely girl with a big heart. Your eyes are like the green jewel – how you say it?”
“Emeralds?” I almost shouted.
“Yes, this is it – your eyes are like emeralds sparkling in the night. So beautiful.”
I blushed from my toes to the top of my head. I was thrilled to pieces. No one had ever used the word “beautiful” to describe anything about me. “Do you really think so? You’re not just saying it to be nice?”
He looked offended. “No! I only say things I am meaning. I am not a boy who says lies.”
“Oh, OK, sorry. It’s just that I never thought my eyes were anything to look at, and as for the rest of me – well, I’m just so plain and no boy has ever—”
I never got any further because Carlos leaned over and kissed me, mid-conversation. Softly at first, just on the lips, and then he put his hands up and cupped my face and began to increase the pressure slightly. Slowly and gently he opened his mouth and kissed me deeply, wonderfully, amazingly, divinely, incredibly… I did not want it to stop EVER.
My body turned to jelly, and I leaned into the kiss and allowed the sensation of it to sink down to my toes. Irish boys did not kiss like this. My previous experiences of kissing had involved a lot of excess saliva, and whirling, twirling tongues that went so fast I couldn’t keep up. Some tongues went clockwise and some went anticlockwise. And I had certainly never had my face cupped. I felt as if I were falling into space. This was kissing on a whole new level! Carlos had to be the Spanish champion kisser. He was incredible. And he didn’t grab my boobs or try to put his hand up my skirt. He just kept kissing and stroking my cheek and then running his hands through my hair.
When he finally stopped – when we finally came up for air – my head was spinning. He pulled back and smiled at me.
“You are very beautiful girl to kiss. You have the sweet lips.”
“Right back at you,” I said, catching my breath. I wanted to pinch myself. Was I dreaming? Things like this never happened to me.
“I have very much enjoy spending time with you.”
“Me too,” I gushed.
“We have good conversation, no?”
“Yes, we did,” I answered enthusiastically. I didn’t remember much conversation at all, but then again, I think my brain had stopped working after the kiss.
He looked at his watch and winced. “Ah, lo siento, I must go. I am working the breakfast tomorrow. I see you there? Yes?”
“Yes, definitely, yes, I’ll be there. I’ll be up early for breakfast. I will be the first there. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”
He smiled. “I hope your family is feeling better soon. OK, muy bien. Maybe tomorrow when I am finished my work we can be together again.”
I stifled the sob rising in my throat. This drop-dead gorgeous guy wanted to be with me. Me?! Jenny of the fried-egg boobs and reddish-brown hair and raisin eyes.
I managed to whisper, “That would be lovely,” before he turned to go and I began to cry with joy.
Viva España!
The next morning I sprang out of bed at seven. Chloe was still feeling awful from the food poisoning, but I asked her if she wanted any breakfast.
“Urgh, are you
trying to make me vomit again? I couldn’t look at food. I’m sorry, Jenny, but I can’t even lift my head off the pillow. I’ll try to get up later. Enjoy the beach. I’ll text you when I’m up.”
I was secretly delighted. Now I could sneak off with Carlos without having to explain anything to Chloe. I put on my nicest dress – it was a red and white striped sundress with a halter neck and a very low back. My fake tan was still unstreaked so the dress looked good on me. I put on tons of mascara and some lipgloss. I was going to add some liquid eyeliner but decided it might look a bit too much for nine o’clock in the morning. I strapped on my really high white wedge sandals and tottered down to breakfast.
Carlos was on the terrace, serving breakfast to a large family of Germans. He winked at me when I walked by. My heart soared. He looked even hotter than I remembered. Unfortunately I was put at a table in a different section, so he didn’t serve me. But I spent all of my time watching him from behind my sunglasses. I barely ate any of my croissant or fruit. I was too nervous.
At ten thirty, Carlos strolled over to my table. “Hola, señorita!” He grinned at me. “You look lovely today. I have surprise for you. Meet me in half hour at the little cafe outside the hotel. The Siesta Cafe.”
With that, he swung back round and went off to clear some tables. I rushed to the bathroom and reapplied some lipgloss. My phone rang. It was Mum. I knew if I didn’t answer, she’d just keep calling.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Morning. How are you? Is everything all right? Are you having a nice time? Are you behaving? Were you out last night? What time were you in bed? I hope you haven’t had any alcohol. Stay away from sangria. It looks like punch, but it’s very potent. Are you being polite? Did you order the cheapest—”
I interrupted her. “Mum! I’m fine. I was in bed early. I haven’t had any alcohol. Everything is fine. Seriously, stop fussing.”
“I just worry about you,” she said in a hurt voice.
I forced myself to be calm. “I know, Mum. But there is nothing to worry about. Everything is cool here. Look, I have to go.”
“All right, all right. I’ll leave you to it. Mind yourself, pet. I miss you.”
“I will. Bye, Mum.” I hung up and put my phone on silent. I didn’t want any interruptions on my date.
Carlos was waiting for me outside the cafe. He had changed out of his uniform into a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt that showed off his lovely brown arms.
I suddenly felt awkward. “Hi.” I smiled brightly to hide my shyness.
“Jenny, I am taking you to see the real Spain. Not this tourist place,” Carlos told me as he gently took my hand and walked me over to a battered-looking yellow bus. We hopped on. Carlos paid for two tickets and then led me a window seat.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To an incredible restaurant. I want you to experience real Spanish cuisine. Not the burger and chips from the hotel. And the cakes and the pastries are unbelievable. The guy who makes them is the best in Spain.”
“Wow, it sounds great. But I bet he’s not as good as you.”
Carlos grinned at me and put his arm round my shoulder. I snuggled into him as the bus took us away from the tourist cafes, restaurants and hotels. Up we climbed, into the hills behind Marbella. We passed through narrow streets with whitewashed houses. We waved at old ladies dressed in black, sitting on wicker chairs in the shade outside their front doors, sewing and knitting or fanning themselves in the heat. It was fantastic. I loved every second of it. I had never felt so free or so happy. This was about as far removed from my life in a convent school in rainy Dublin as possible. If Sister Katherine could see me now… I giggled to myself.
We eventually pulled up outside a restaurant called La Bodega in a small village square. It looked fancy. Carlos helped me down from the bus and held my hand as we walked into the restaurant. It was quite full: lots of very well-dressed people drinking wine and eating and chattering in Spanish, English, German and French. Carlos spoke to the manager, and we were given a lovely table in the corner. When I opened my menu, I was shocked to see how expensive it was.
Carlos leaned over and whispered, “This restaurant is very famous. Only very cool people know about it. You see over there – it is very famous Spanish movie star. I am wanting to comes here for a very long time, but I am waiting to meet the special girl.” He stared into my eyes, and I swear my heart stopped beating.
As everything was so expensive and I didn’t want Carlos to spend three weeks’ wages on one lunch, I ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, which was risotto. Carlos ordered lobster and a bottle of champagne. I winced when I saw how much the champagne cost – one hundred euros for the bottle!
The food was gorgeous and the champagne was cold, bubbly and delicious. Carlos drank most of it, but the glass I had was lovely. During the meal, Carlos spent a lot of time talking about the food we were being served. I loved listening to his gorgeous accent as he told me about the best way to cook lobster, and that red wine should always be served at room temperature. He talked about the cooking academy he was going to study at in France – Le Cordon Bleu International in Paris. His eyes lit up when he described the training programme there. I was amazed at how much he knew about food and wine. None of the guys I knew in Ireland would dream of taking a girl to a beautiful restaurant. You’d be lucky if you got a cheeseburger and a milkshake in McDonald’s.
In between the many courses – I think there were six in total – Carlos stroked my hand gently and stared into my eyes as he talked. I loved the feeling of being with someone who was so much more grown up than the immature boys I knew back home.
After a few wonderful hours, Carlos ordered the bill. When it came, he fished around in his jacket for money. “Oh, mierda!” he cursed. “I am forgetting my money at home. Oh no!”
“Oh God, um … OK … well, I have some money here,” I said, scrambling about in my bag. I pulled out my purse.
Carlos handed me the bill. It was one hundred and eighty euros. I felt sick. All I had in my wallet was sixty euros.
Carlos frowned as I fumbled with my notes. “Where is your credit card?” he asked.
“I don’t have one.”
“What?” He looked furious. “Everybody have the credit cards.”
“Well, I don’t. This is all the money I have.” I was taken aback – why was he so cross?
He glared at me. “But you are staying in big hotel. You must have the credit card. I see your rich daddy.”
I shook my head. “He’s not my father. I’m just staying with my friend Chloe.”
Carlos gritted his teeth. “You have no money and no credit card?”
I nodded.
“Your daddy is not rich?”
“My daddy buggered off to England nine years ago.” I was beginning to get annoyed. My dream date was fast becoming a nightmare.
Carlos covered his face with his hands and groaned. “How we are paying for this?” He waved the bill in my face. “I am thinking you are rich girl.”
As the awful realization that Carlos had charmed me because he thought I was rich sank in, my blood began to boil. “Well, you backed the wrong horse. I’m not rich at all. And I presumed, seeing as it was your idea to come to this fancy restaurant, that you were going to pay.”
“I am a waiter. I am not having money for this place!”
The manager came over then and spoke to Carlos. They had a heated discussion, which got progressively louder. Soon everyone in the restaurant was looking at us. Carlos kept pointing at me and shouting in Spanish. My face was bright red with shame and humiliation. What a fool I was, thinking a guy like him would ever fancy a girl like me!
After ten more minutes of watching Carlos’s and the manager’s arm-waving, chest-thumping, finger-pointing and head-shaking, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Are you all right?” a voice asked me in an Irish accent.
I spun round and found myself face to face with the guy Chloe had seen o
n the beach, the rugby player Dylan. I almost cried with happiness. The words tumbled out as I explained about Carlos being kind of my boyfriend and taking me here and thinking I was rich, and me not being rich at all because my poor mum was trying to support four daughters on her own, and how my friends had all been food poisoned in the fancy hotel, and how now I knew Carlos didn’t like me for my emerald eyes and soft lips but because he thought I had a big bank account … and then I actually started crying.
Dylan handed me a napkin to wipe my eyes and told me not to worry. He began to talk to the manager in perfect Spanish. Then he took out his wallet and paid the bill. Everyone stopped shouting. The manager went away and it was just me, Carlos and Dylan, my knight in shining armour.
Dylan, who was much taller and broader, said something to Carlos in Spanish in a very low, steady voice. Carlos went red and then white. Then he nodded at Dylan and turned to me. “I am very sorry, Jenny. I make big mistake.” And with that my phoney almost-boyfriend scurried out of the door.
I wanted to die. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. I had never been so mortified in my life. What kind of a fool was I?
Dylan offered to drive me back to my hotel. As I had no idea where I was and no clue how to get back, I accepted gratefully.
“How come you’re here?” I asked him.
“I give the owner’s son English lessons,” he said. “My parents have a house here in this village and they’re friends with the owners. I was finishing up the lesson and I heard all this shouting, so I stuck my head in to see what was going on.”
“Thank God you did.” I began to cry again.
“The guy’s a jerk,” Dylan said.
“And I’m a complete idiot.”
“Don’t blame yourself. These guys can be very manipulative.”
I looked out of the window and sighed. “My sister Joan would say I told you so. She said Spanish waiters are a slippery lot. I feel like such a fool. Imagine believing a guy that gorgeous actually fancied me! Duh! How stupid can I be? Joan is right. I do look like a red setter.”
Dylan roared out laughing. “Did your sister really say that?”
“Sometimes she woofs at me.”
