Ibiza Summer (4 page)

I felt so self-conscious that I was afraid to speak and when I tried, a horrible husky noise came from me that sounded almost animal-like. I cleared my throat.

‘Yes . . . hope so,’ I finally managed to say.

Although I couldn’t properly look at him, I knew he was gorgeous, I could
feel
it. I felt intimidated and shy, not to mention painfully embarrassed by the whole ‘toilet
girl’ thing earlier.

He held out his hand and gestured for me to give him the bag so that he could inspect the damage. But my hands were paralysed and I could only stare.

‘Really, it’s fine. It’s vintage,’ I said, because it sounded posher than saying ‘it’s old’. ‘It was my nana’s.’

I winced.
Shut up, Izzy. Shut up!
He doesn’t want to know about your old nan’s handbag.

He smiled. ‘It’s very beautiful.’

‘Yes,’ I said, suddenly feeling grateful that it was dark. It was uncomfortable looking at him so directly so I turned away slightly and pretended to survey the view.

‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ he said, but he didn’t avert his eyes from my face and I felt them on me, watching me closely.

‘Yes,’ I said again, wondering if I might say something with more than one syllable in it.

‘You could never get bored of that view, could you?’

‘No,’ I said, putting an end to that wonder.

I had to get a grip. Now was not the time to mumble my way through a disjointed conversation. I had to charm him with my scintillating, witty repartee.
Don’t blow it, Izzy.

‘I’m lucky, I get to see it every day,’ he continued, moving closer towards me. I felt awkward yet strangely excited by being near him. It wasn’t a feeling I had ever
felt before and, uncomfortable as it was, I didn’t want it to stop. But in true Izzy style I wasn’t sure what to say next so I said nothing and he said nothing and we just stood there
both taking in the view for a moment.

‘You managed to find the toilet then?’ He smiled, his piercing eyes probing my face.

‘Ye— um, yer. Thanks . . . I mean, yes, thanks. I did.’ Oh my God. I had forgotten how to speak.

‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you with the whole “toilet girl” comment,’ he said. ‘It was a bit juvenile of me I know, but I was trying to get your
attention.’

My
attention? Why would he want to do that? He was far too important and cool-looking. Perhaps I had loo roll stuck to my shoe and he had wanted to warn me. I quickly looked down at my
feet just in case but there was nothing there and I felt relieved.

From the fleeting glances I allowed myself, I could see his hair looked honey-coloured and longish, hanging loosely around his shoulders. He was wearing a white shirt that was slightly open and
three-quarter length trousers that had huge patchwork pockets on them. I also noticed he had really cool beads round his neck. He was tall – but then next to me most people were – and
he looked really tanned, as if he’d been on holiday for a while. I would’ve bet my allowance that he had a girlfriend, because he was just about the most gorgeous man I had ever
seen.

‘This your first time in Ibiza?’ he asked, still smiling warmly.

‘Can you tell?’ I replied, thinking that I might just graduate to multi-syllables or – shock horror – even full sentences anytime now.

‘Hmm,’ he said, laughing, and I laughed a little too.

‘Enjoying the party?’

‘It’s OK, yeah.’

He looked at me quizzically, as if he was waiting for me to say something else.

‘Just OK?’

‘No, better than OK. Great. Really cool.’ I tried to sound more enthusiastic because I sensed that he wanted me to.

‘You like the music?’

‘Yeah. I mean, it’s cool . . . I suppose I’m more of an indie girl really though . . .’ As soon as the words left my lips I instantly regretted them. Hadn’t he been
standing behind the DJ booth when he had shouted to me over the mike? This meant in all probability he was either really good friends with the DJ or the DJ himself.
Oh nooooo
.

‘An indie girl, eh? I play guitar a bit. What bands are you into?’

I felt silly talking about it but said: ‘I quite like The Dude Sound . . .’ Which, considering I owned every CD they’d ever released, was an honorary member of their online fan
club and had been to see them four times in the last twelve months, was a bit of an understatement.

‘I’m nothing without the smile on her face, my life without the kiss of her lips, empty and out of place . . .’

Oh my God, he was quoting ‘Without Her’, my favourite ever Dude Sound track.

Who
was
this guy?

‘I’m a big fan,’ he said.

‘They’re my favourite band!’ I said, and then worried that it had sounded really childish. ‘I’ve been to see them a few times back home.’

‘Where’s home then?’ he asked.

‘In England,’ I said, laughing. ‘No listen, I’m just being facetious. I’m from London.’ I was chuffed I’d managed to include an adult word like
‘facetious’ into the conversation. I thought it made me sound intelligent and funny, and thankfully he laughed.

I wanted to ask him where he was from too, because I detected a sort of soft, northern-ish accent, but I couldn’t be sure and didn’t have the courage to ask.

‘You been here long?’

Did he mean at the party or in Ibiza?

‘Umm, I’m in Ibiza for three weeks,’ I said, hoping I picked the right answer to the right question. I didn’t
really
want him to think I was facetious.
‘It’s only my second day here today.’

‘Wow! You must be pretty special, getting an invite to one of Alfredo’s infamous parties.’

‘Well, my – my
friend
, she knows him. She’s been to a few of these parties before . . .’ I said, putting on my best ‘I’m always at these kinds of
parties having these types of conversations with devastatingly fit men’ voice.

Something had stopped me from telling him about my sister though. I knew that if I mentioned her he’d probably want to meet her, and when he did he’d instantly fall in love with her
like everyone else did and wouldn’t look at me again. Right now, the thought of that was too much to bear, so I kind of lied. Also, he’d know that if she was my sister, I must be
younger than her, and I didn’t fancy letting on that I was only sixteen (almost seventeen). He looked a bit older and I didn’t want to put him off me in case he did actually like me a
bit – even if that was a remote possibility.

‘So, what are your plans for the holiday then?’ he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

I desperately tried to think of something to say that might make me sound exotic and intriguing so he would want to carry on talking to me.

‘Well, I – aside from the sunbathing, cocktails and clubbing, I’m going to check out the beach tomorrow,’ I said, making it up as I went along.

He looked at me, his head cocked to one side.

‘Ah, a beach babe, huh? The beaches here are amazing: Las Salinas, Cala Carbo . . . Playa d’en Bossa . . . My favourite is Cala Jondal, though. I go for a run there every day, blow a
few cobwebs away, keep fit, you know . . . Who are you going to the beach with?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ I said, lowering my eyes and finding myself uncharacteristically flirting. I wasn’t surprised that he went running every day. He was
so
fit and
I could tell, even through his shirt, that he had an amazing body.

‘I do,’ he said, a smile creeping across his face.

‘Who?’ I asked, shyly.

‘Me,’ he said, matter-of-fact. ‘You’re going to the beach with me.’

I met his gaze for a second.

‘Am I?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘You are.’

‘And do I have a choice in that?’ I asked, clearly flirting now.

‘No,’ he said softly. ‘None whatsoever.’

I felt my stomach flip over and my knees go a bit weak. All this flirty banter, it was
so
not me.

‘Do you dive?’ he suddenly asked, breaking the moment.

‘Dive? Well, er, no not really,’ I said, not wanting to let on that I was a bit scared of heights and that I always held my nose whenever I jumped into a swimming pool.

‘I can teach you if you like.’

I suddenly had visions of myself spectacularly belly-flopping in front of him, making a total prat of myself.

‘I’m a little scared of heights – and water,’ I confessed.

‘I promise not to let you drown,’ he said, smiling.

But I wouldn’t have minded if it meant
him
rescuing me.

‘If you fancy it, we could head down to Cala Jondal beach tomorrow,’ he said.

In my mind I was screaming
Yes! Yes! I’d love to! Let’s go right now!
but instead I said, ‘OK, why not? Although I have to tell you, my running is about as great as my
diving.’

He laughed. ‘No running, we’ll just chill out. I could pick you up on my moped maybe.’

Moped! This conversation was getting better by the second. I’d always fancied a boyfriend with his own transport, even though I knew I was getting way ahead of myself even thinking about
him being my boyfriend.

‘Listen, give me your number and I’ll call you,’ he said.

My heart sank a little. I’d been here before with the ‘I’ll call you’ line. Lads would take my number and then I’d wait for a call that never came. Was it something
I’d said? Something I
hadn’t
said? Did they say they’d call because they didn’t want to hurt my feelings, even when they had no intention of actually ever
calling?

‘Give me yours and then take mine just in case,’ he suggested, as if sensing that I didn’t believe him. ‘I’m DJing at another party at Café Del Sol tomorrow
night. It’s more of a chilled thing than tonight – maybe you’d like to come after we’ve been to the beach, you can bring your mates too . . .’ His green eyes were
shining and I found myself wondering what it would be like to look right into them up close. I opened my broken bag and reached for my phone, which was covered in silly glitter stickers and photos
and pink stick-on gemstones, and suddenly seemed really babyish. I went to ‘add contacts’ and realised I didn’t even know his name.

‘It’s Rex,’ he said, ‘Rex Brown,’ which scared me as I really was beginning to think he could read my mind now. I tried to punch in his number, which was proving
difficult as it felt like someone had removed the bones from my fingers, making them all floppy like Pot Noodle, but I made sure I saved it before giving him mine.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you,’ he said, suddenly reaching up towards my face with his hand and very gently brushing a strand of hair from my eyes. Even though I was
sure this was just a friendly gesture, I was taken aback nonetheless and began tingling all over. ‘I’m really glad I did.’ And I noticed he was giving me a funny look which
wasn’t that dissimilar to the look Toby Parker had given me that time I’d told him to follow his heart and his dreams of being a professional footballer. I couldn’t help but take
it to be a bad sign. ‘I’ve got to get back as my next set is up and —’

‘Of course,’ I said, inwardly cringing about the whole ‘I’m such an indie girl’ cock-up I’d made earlier. I reckon I had more chance of winning the next
British Diving Championships than I had of him calling me.

‘I’ll leave you with the view then,’ he said, smiling as he turned and began to walk away.

‘It was nice to meet you too,’ I called out. I watched him walk off for a few seconds and was mortified when he turned round and caught me still looking.

‘Hope to see you soon, Isabelle!’ he called back to me, waving in the distance.

When he was firmly out of sight I wrapped my arms around my chest and hugged myself, unable to stifle the huge grin on my face. I’d just met an amazing, gorgeous boy – well, man
actually – and he was a DJ and owned a moped and was going to call me and take me to the beach. Or so he said. But even if he didn’t, it was nice that he’d said it in the first
place, which was almost enough for me.

I looked out at the view before me again and somehow it seemed even more beautiful than before. The lights seemed to shine even brighter beneath me. I breathed in the air deeply in an attempt to
help me to stop shaking and keep calm. It was getting chillier now, but inside I felt a soft, warm glow, quickly followed by panic.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ Ellie barked, giving me her worried face as she came marching towards me. ‘I’ve been everywhere searching for you! I mean it, Izzy,
don’t do that. I’ve spent half the bloody night asking people if they’ve seen you. I told you not to slope off on your own.’

I said I was sorry and that I just got lost on my way back from the toilet, which was sort of true. I didn’t want to tell her about my meeting with Rex. She’d only tell the others
and they’d all tease me about it. Besides, he had seemed a bit older than me and he had a moped, and I was worried that Ellie would disapprove of both those things.

I contemplated texting Willow to tell her what had happened, but was too busy replaying the whole conversation I’d just had with Rex in my head, like you do a favourite scene in a film:
what he’d said, what I’d said, his facial expressions, the way he’d gone to brush the hair from my face and how it had made me tingle . . . ‘It’s been a pleasure to
meet you . . . Hope to see you soon, Isabelle!’

And it took me a whole five minutes or so of playing it all back in my mind over and over and over again to realise that, actually, I hadn’t even told him my name.