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‘I once took out a tooth by tripping up the stairs,’ I say pointing to one of my crooked front teeth.

He laughs. ‘My brother and I were in a bullfight.’ I don’t know whether that’s a joke or not as I’m sure it’s important to be morally opposed to such things so I laugh politely.

‘It’s my stag do – stupid really. I’ll now be spending the rest of my time here showering in a plastic bag and talking to travel insurance people. ’

‘Ouch. How is your fiancée going to feel about this then?’

‘We may have twisted the truth a little and told her we fell down an open lift shaft,’ he says through gritted teeth.

‘Well, good luck then…Here…’ I say, reaching into the pa per bag in my basket. I unravel the paper bag of freshly fried doughnuts. ‘These are called bunyols. You need one more than me.’

He seems taken aback by the gesture and balances on the one leg to take one. As he does, I notice his eyes, bright blue like someone I know. Or knew. Or didn’t really know at all.

‘Are you OK?’ he asks me, thoughtfully. Maybe he can see the slump returning to my shoulders.

I give a small smile. ‘Yeah, I hope you get to enjoy the rest of your holiday.’

A friend suddenly appears, strutting up behind him, and looks me up and down. ‘Oi, oi, Maxi Boy. Even though one leg’s broken, glad to see the other two work. You alright, babe?’ he says to me, leching in his dayglo shorts and football top.

‘Yeah, no. I’m good, thanks,’ I say, my nostrils flared widely. Even though I am sad and all my hope and self-esteem is in the gutter, no.

‘Your loss, beautiful. Mate, taxi is here to take you to the hospital to see your bro. Quad bikes at five. You think you’ll be up for that?’

‘Well, obviously,’ he says in return, exasperated.

I furrow my brow at this mate’s stupidity, trying to hold in the laughter.

What happened to his brother? How is he getting in this taxi?

Is his mate coming with him? My bleeding heart wonders whether to help him but I look at my phone.

Meg’s party starts soon. Maybe that should be the priority.

Having put my trust in a complete stranger and nothing coming of it, maybe it’s safer to just head to those who love me without condition.

I put a hand to Max’s shoulder. ‘Look, take care…’ I say, leaving a gap for him to introduce himself.

‘Max. And you?’

There’s no point lying anymore. Being Aurelie was nice for half a day, but it’s time to leave her behind. ‘Suzie. Hope you and your brother get better soon. ’

‘I hope so too.’

Charlie

‘?Senor? ?Senor? How are you feeling?’

Like something is sitting on my head. I open my eyes to blinding white lights, white walls, perforated ceiling tiles and those blinds that we have at work in the office that always get tangled up. This feels like an awful dream.

‘Charlie! Charlie, mate! It’s me, Max.’

I completely open my eyes and look down to see my legs under a lemon yellow blanket, the sound of a machine beeping in the background. I see Max next to the bed beside a shorter lady with her hair slicked back into a bun.

‘Who are you?’ I say in a weak voice.

‘It’s me, Max. I’m your brother,’ he says, the colour draining from his face.

‘Who?’

‘Oh god, has he forgotten me? Is this some sort of brain injury?’ he cries, panicked.

‘I’m messing with you, you idiot. You’re Max Shaw, my brother. Birthday the twentieth of January,’ I say, trying to force a laugh. Instead, my throat feels dry, my eyes heavy.

‘Sense of humour still intact then,’ he tells the nurse, as he throws his body over mine to give me a massive hug. I drape an arm over him to return the gesture.

‘Senor Max, be careful with the leg, please,’ she says, concerned. ‘Senor Charlie. I am your nurse, Elena. I’m going to go and get the doctor. It is good to see you up.’ Elena leaves the room as I try and sit up a bit more to take in my surroundings.

‘The leg?’

‘Fracture in the tibia. I’ve got a cast,’ he says. I glance down to have a look at the large cumbersome cast on his leg. I’ll hazard a guess that the person who drew the large penis and exceptionally hairy balls on it was Andy.

‘Insurance?’ I say, my practical head still on my shoulders.

‘I’m on it. Amy has been helping out too. Brooke and Sam were worried. They were wondering whether to fly in?’

I shake my head. ‘God, no. I’ll be fine. I am fine, no?’ I ask, still straining to focus.

Max holds his phone in front of my face and plays a video of the event, obviously filmed by one of his ever-faithful stags.

In my faint memories of the incident, I thought I was being heroic and an excellent brother but really as I scramble on to the inflatable, I look like a toddler learning to walk, falling on my face and then trying to get to my feet again.

Then Max is thrown off the bull, and I gasp to see us both flying through the air.

It’s like that whole Avengers thing manifesting itself.

The crowd scream, we land with the biggest of thuds, but unlike Iron Man and Hulk, we don’t get up.

‘Holy fuck, are they dead?’ says the person behind the camera.

I can’t wipe the look of horror from my face that someone has caught the whole thing on camera.

‘Well, when I flew off the bull, you took most of the force of my fall. We totally missed the bouncy castle bit. They’ve done some scans.

You really were out cold. They reckon you’ve got a concussion, and they did a small operation to fix your wrist yesterday.

They want to keep you in for one more night. ’

I look down at my wrist bandaged up and in a cast. I’m lucky that Andy and his graffiti has not got to that yet. My mouth and throat, however, feel like they’ve been attacked by razors.

‘Well, that’s my tennis career buggered,’ I say.

‘I hope that’s not your wanking hand,’ Max says, attempting to get some humour out of the situation.

I try and laugh but the movement hurts, everywhere. And I’m starving and need a wee .

‘Tell Brooke and Sam, I fine. I’ll call them later.’ However, a thought suddenly strikes through me.

‘What’s the time?’ I ask Max.

‘It’s just after lunch. Are you hungry?’

I feel something in the pit of my stomach but it’s not hunger.

It’s panic that I will have missed Aurelie.

She would have gone to the beach and I wouldn’t have been there.

She’ll think I’m a flake, an idiot, that I just used her for sex.

Have I missed this chance? Because I got involved in an accident with a mechanical bull? Max can see the confusion in my eyes.

‘Are you alright? Are you having a fit or something?’ he asks.

‘The French girl. I was supposed to meet her…’

‘Well, not now,’ Max says. ‘Oh man. Sorry about that.’

I look up at the ceiling thinking about all that hope, all that potential, all that spark is just gone.

It can’t be, can it? I had plans. I had researched a beach with sea caves and put down a deposit for kayaks.

I don’t have anything to go on. Oh God, we didn’t swap numbers, socials, anything.

A rare thing in today’s age but I think we both liked how relaxed and mysterious the whole thing was.

Or maybe she didn’t want me to know? God, she has a boyfriend, doesn’t she?

Or maybe it was only ever supposed to be this holiday fling situation where we didn’t get too close.

We did get close though. Yesterday, that was as close you can get to another human being.

‘Do you have a phone, Max?’ I ask him.

‘Yeah, do you want to call her?’

‘No, I can’t.’ My head is starting to hurt. I see a cup of water on my bedside table and reach for it.

Max reaches forward. ‘Hold up there, let me.’ He reaches forward and puts a straw into my mouth.

‘Get on Facebook and search for Aurelies who live in Nice,’ I tell him, my voice raspy and dry.

I see Max’s fingers slide over the screen. ‘Charlie, there are hundreds of them. Do you want me to go through them? ’

‘No.’ I try and think about everything she ever told me.

Meg, Emma, Beth, Grace and Lucy. Did I get a last name?

I don’t think I did. I don’t even know what she did for work.

I know her favourite colour is yellow, this was her first time in Mallorca, that when she was little on holiday, she buried her dad’s car keys in the sand and they couldn’t get home.

All the important stuff then. But then I think I can remember the name of the villa.

There might be a pin in the map still. I close my eyes. ‘Where is my phone?’

‘I don’t quite know. Your belongings were in a plastic bag.’

Remember the name, Charlie. Come on. I close my eyes and think about the sign next to the wall. Dream. Suenos.

‘Villa Suenos in Santa Posa. Can you Google it? Is there a number for whoever rents it out? A management company?’

Max scrolls through his phone, side-eyeing me to ensure I haven’t completely lost my mind. ‘Yep, I think I have one. Do you want me to…’

‘Yeah,’ I say immediately, not really knowing what I’m going to say. Max dials the number and a person picks up after three ring tones.

‘?Hola! Palmera Property Management, this is Rosa speaking. Can I help?’

‘Hola. Me llamo Charlie Shaw. Hace poco visité una villa que ustedes cuidan en Santa Posa y esperaba ponerme en contacto con las personas que lo alquilan. Me dejé algo allí.’ My Spanish is hurried but I just want to get in touch with Aurelie and all her cousins, make sure they know I wanted to be there, I wanted to meet Aurelie and see her again. I am not that guy.

‘?Cómo se llama la villa?’ she asks me.

‘Villa Suenos. Era una familia Francesca.’

Max looks at me confused. ‘I’ve told her to get a message to the French party who rented the place.’

The lady hears me mumbling in English. ‘Senor, your name is not Spanish. Can I ask about your connection to the house?’ Rosa implores.

‘I was a guest. I was only there the once.’

She pauses. Is she laughing? ‘And can I ask what you left at the villa?’

‘My… shirt.’

She pauses again. ‘Well, Senor Shaw. If you give me a telephone number then maybe I can pass something on.’

My phone is not here. Shit. I look at Max and repeat the digits of his telephone number.

As I do I realise, the jig is up. Aurelie will see the UK codes and realise I’m not Spanish.

I could extend the lie but then maybe now is the perfect time to just be myself.

She may run a mile when she knows, but at least I would have tried.

At least I wouldn’t have lost her forever.

‘Senor Shaw, you say a French party? Not English?’

‘Non. Definitely French.’

‘OK. I will pass that on.’

‘Muchas gracias, senora.’

I close my eyes. Please, please, please.

I should get Max to go down to the beach to look for her but then I look down at the cast. Maybe I should go.

I could get a taxi there now and explain myself.

It’s a good story and I have the scars and cast to prove it.

I try and sit up and feel something inside me creak.

‘Mate, can you just…’ Max says, putting a hand to me telling me to sit down.

‘But…’

‘But it’s just one girl, that you met once,’ he says, frowning.

I see a look of sadness and complete fear fall across his face and realise I’ve not considered how awful this must have been for him, for me to have been in hospital.

This might go down in history as the worst stag do ever.

‘When you were on that restaurant floor and wouldn’t get up, I seriously thought you were dead. ’

‘What a fucking place to die…’ I mutter .

‘Don’t joke. I’ve been in this hospital for twenty-four hours now. I’ve not slept. I can’t even take a proper crap with this thing on my leg.’

I try not to laugh but I see the panic in his expression and immediately feel guilty that I made him so worried. ‘Where are the rest of the stags?’

‘Where do you think? They’re quad biking in three hours and then they’re off to a strip club.’

There’s a real look of disappointment in his face and I don’t think that’s from missing out on the evening’s entertainment. He puts his head down by the side of my bed and I pat it affectionately. ‘Did you keep a vigil?’

‘Obviously. I even went to the chapel and lit a candle.’

‘Really?’

Max laughs. ‘Of course not. I got crap from the vending machines and watched another nineties action movie without subtitles on that chair.’ He points to the corner of the room.

I am curious as to how many paprika Pringles one person can eat.

‘How have you remembered my mobile number after all these years?’ he asks me.

‘I know all three of your numbers by heart. It’s my job.’

‘I don’t know yours.’

‘Because you don’t love me as much.’

He smiles at me. There is something about hospitals that will always strike fear into both of us but I’m glad that we’ve both come out of this relatively unscathed. My wrist starts to hurt and I wince to move it.

‘Do you need any painkillers?’

I nod.

‘I’ll get Elena on it.’

‘I’m also very conscious that it’s a bit airy downstairs,’ I say wriggling around in my paper dress.

‘Pants?’

‘Yeah, that would be good. Maybe a drink, something fizzy.’

‘Anything else from the hotel? I’ll find your phone.’

I stare out the window of the hotel where the blinds mask the tops of some palms poking through, letting me know I’m still on holiday, a brilliantly aqua sky in the background.

Please let that message get through. Please don’t let this be another classic episode in Charlie Shaw’s failed love life.

I put my head back on the pillow, trying to get comfortable.

‘I started reading some book I picked up at the airport. David Nicholls. I think it’s in my rucksack. And maybe something sweet. Like a doughnut or something?’

‘Bunyol,’ Max says in a forced Spanish accent.

‘Look at you speaking Spanish.’

‘Your influence is finally rubbing off on me. Laters, bro.’ He looks at me staring out the window. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out with that girl. I really am. Was she fit?’

‘Super fit. She had eyes like…chocolate buttons.’

‘Poetic. Wordsworthy.’ He stops to study the emotion etched in my face. ‘Do you want me to scroll through those Aurelies? Did you get a picture of her?’

I shake my head. All I have is what I can remember in my concussed brain.

I scan through every bit of information she shared with me.

I don’t even know how long she was staying or what airport she flew in from.

I didn’t even know her last name. Maybe I could research champagne estates in Nice.

LinkedIn? But at what point does this turn me into a stalker?

‘It’s cool. Let’s just hope she gets in touch, eh?’

‘Yeah.’