Page 46

EIGHTEEN

Suzie

I wake the next morning alone. No Charlie. Just me, lying here in this hostel room, wrapped in a sheet, a teal aquarium T-shirt next to me, the inside of my mouth dry and furry like a hamster has been bedding inside it.

The fierce morning light shines through those gauzy white curtains and I panic for a little knowing I have a professional responsibility for some children in this place.

Did I sleep in? Where’s Charlie? I then worry about the sex.

We had sex. This was not a huge surprise.

It was headed in that direction, but last night felt different.

I felt like myself with him and that’s because the sex wasn’t some slick operation, it was real.

It felt like we could get everything wrong and we just laughed through it.

And it was amazing to feel at ease, like I can lie there, and smile and chat and then have a mega orgasm halfway through all of that.

I mean, I sang Lady Gaga. I’ve not done that, like ever.

But maybe that’s why he’s not here now? How do I check if he’s in the top bunk? Shall I kick the mattress? I think about it but then I get worried it might dislodge some bed bugs who’d come to find me and my sweet blood.

‘Charlie?’ I loud whisper. Nothing. Shit, maybe he went to another room to escape me?

I sit up on the edge of the bed and adjust my eyes.

Maybe he got a glimpse of me this morning and it scared him off.

I reach over to the side table and down a small bottle of water, thinking about the day ahead, herding children.

Must get up. I stumble to my feet and make my way over to the bathroom, having a wee and then heading into the shower.

This will heal my head, wake me up and get me ready for the day.

I stand under the showerhead and let the hot water hit my face, a memory flooding back of us showering together yesterday after the aquarium, the moment where he backed me onto the wall with such urgency.

But then I also think about last night. Last night was messier.

I think about all the potential ways in which I may have embarrassed myself last night.

Maybe he woke up sober and had some flashbacks from the rooftop dancing.

I run some shampoo through my hair, rinsing the suds away and then get out to dry myself, wrapping myself in a white cardboard-feeling hostel towel, the terracotta tiles cool under my feet.

When I get out of the bathroom, I dig through my trolley bag to find clothes for the day, slipping some knickers on, looking at the teal shirt and wondering if I should just wear it for shits and giggles.

It would at least keep the children amused especially as a certain aquarium video of ours has gone viral.

I’ve had texts from Beth because even she’s seen it.

I glance down at my phone, picking it up to scroll through messages and photos.

Besides all the texts welcoming me to Spanish phone networks, naturally, the cousins are all very keen to hear about Seville and what has transpired.

Lucy has even set up a group chat: Suzie’s Seville Sex Chat.

Bet you a tenner they’ve done it already.

On a balcony, with some flamenco music in the background.

It’s a school trip, I doubt it.

I reckon she’s taking the bull by the horns.

Got her hands on his chorizo.

I laugh to see the discussion in full flow.

You realise I am in this chat?

SUZIE! We’re just here because we live for the drama? What’s happening?

A lady never tells. My lips are sealed.

I BET THEY’RE NOT!

LUCY!

You were the one talking about his chorizo!

I send a line of laughing emojis and a picture of a Sevillian sunrise, no other notes, and leave them be as I know that last time, they were less good at being discreet about my sexual escapades.

I then scroll through a few more photos.

Random photos taken on the coach where we caught Mark asleep with his mouth wide open, stained-glass windows, giant olives the size of marbles, group pictures of kids throwing up peace signs, and a singular selfie of two people in Plaza de Espana, drenched in a golden glow.

I stare at the picture, lingering over his arms draped around me.

All that light. It’s all I can see. I close my eyes to think about what it all means, what it could mean, when suddenly a text pings out of my phone.

Paul.

We really need to talk x

Maybe it’s the shock of seeing the notification of that text against the backdrop of Charlie’s photo, maybe it’s the shock of hearing anything from him while I’m here, hundreds of miles away from each other, but I throw my phone up in the air in surprise to see him invade this space and then struggle to catch it with my slippery hands, watching as it falls to the terracotta tiles with the sharpest of sounds.

Shit shit shit shit. I bend down to pick it up, swearing at my own clumsiness, shards of the screen on the phone.

It’s dead. It won’t switch on. I squat there in shock. Wanker. Look what you’ve done now.

‘Oh dear, what happened here?’ a voice says from the door.

Charlie stands there in denim shorts, a white linen shirt and trainers, sunglasses hung over his buttons and two coffees in his hand.

He rushes over, putting the drinks down to help.

‘Careful, you’ve not got shoes on.’ He goes down to my level, an eye on the towel still wrapped around me and a thigh on show, waves of dark brown hair still damp and clinging to my face.

He picks at little crumbs of glass, pulling a face to look down at my phone.

‘That’ll teach me to check my messages when I’ve just come out of the shower,’ I say, blushing but perhaps for all the wrong reasons.

‘It happens. I can ask around, see if we can get it into a phone shop to get it repaired?’ Charlie says.

We could but that text would still be there. It feels nice to just remain in this little bubble of ignorance. ‘Or it can wait. Might be better to have a digital detox, we leave tonight anyway.’

‘Are you sure?’ he asks, scanning my face, a hand over mine.

I don’t think he can read the emotion. I don’t care for Paul anymore, but I still feel like I’ve just been revisited by a ghost and not in a nice way, like in a horror film where he’s just appeared at a window when I was least expecting it.

‘I just feel like a prize idiot,’ I say, slipping the phone into a pocket of my bag.

‘You’re not. Would a coffee make things better?’ he asks. ‘I also found a churros place. Look how long this is…’

I smile, my eyes widening as he pulls out an abnormally long doughnut from a paper bag.

‘Kids meet for breakfast in five, so hurry,’ he tells me, and holds it to my mouth.

I take a bite, nodding that it is indeed very tasty before dropping my towel to get changed.

He doesn’t flinch. He just watches my naked breasts as I stand there in my knickers, pulling my shorts and bra on and settling for that teal T-shirt, drying my hair with my towel.

‘Whatcha looking at, senor?’

‘Just… you.’

I smile as I turn to the mirror and haphazardly apply some make-up to my face.

I see him through the glass as he takes a seat on the leather armchair and sips at his coffee, his legs crossed, a reassuring smile when our eyes meet.

It makes me a tad giggly but I’ll admit to also feeling a little pang as Paul sits there in my thoughts.

Paul who never bought coffee. Paul who probably never looked at me like that and I just never realised.

I shouldn’t compare. Do I tell Charlie about him?

He’s been amazingly honest and forthright with me about everything in his life, but this feels like it would spoil a moment.

To bring Paul up now just after sleeping together would feel a little distasteful.

Perhaps it can wait, all these details can reveal themselves further down the line. I don’t want to overload him.

‘It is a shame though,’ Charlie says.

‘What’s a shame?’ I ask.

‘You’re going to have to reapply that lip balm in a bit.’

‘Why?’ I ask, turning to face him.

He approaches me, swooping in and makes it all better with a hand to my face and a long lingering kiss, a chance to melt in his arms, feel his body against mine and realise that this is more now than just a coincidence or a one-off, this could mean something.

‘Morning,’ he tells me.

‘Morning,’ I say, our foreheads touching.

‘Shall we do this?’

I don’t quite know what he means. Today or tomorrow or the next day? I’d consider it all if he wanted it too. However, there’s a sudden knocking on the door and the sound of Mark bellowing that it’s time for breakfast and we part, opening the door to find a sea of kids headed downstairs.

‘OI OI!’ Mark clamours, winking at Charlie, who looks mortified at the lack of subtlety around the children. ‘How are you two drunks this morning?’

‘Were you and Miss drinking?’ a voice pipes up from the crowd.

‘No?’ Charlie retorts. ‘Never. Alcohol is not good for you, at all.’

‘We’re very good, Mark. Did you have a good night?’ Charlie and I look at each other, a flashback coming to us of having to tiptoe past his room because of the pretty vocal sex sounds we heard last night.

‘It was alright. When in Rome, you know?’

‘Except we’re in Seville, you plonker,’ Jackie says, appearing behind him, sunglasses and a colourful kaftan top on, her hair a light frizz. He slaps her on the bum and she shakes her head at him affectionately to almost say he can but she’s also hungover and he needs to watch himself.

‘That’s romance that is, Charlie boy,’ Mark tells him.

I laugh because he’s right. Until I see their room door ajar and something hanging from the bunk bed frame. Is that a fan of some description? Maybe a fly swat? Why do they get one? Until I realise there’s something next to it. That’s a whip. Christ alive. Mark. You old romantic, you.

Charlie