The Summer Switch-Off, page 17
‘What does that even mean? What do I do?’
‘You’ll see.’
Being Larry, as I’d now discovered, mainly meant waving my limbs around in slow, exaggerated gestures, and letting the kids clamber all over me, and saying whatever Zoe prompted me to say.
‘Isn’t that right, Larry?’ she’d ask.
‘That’s right, Zoe,’ I’d say, putting on my most exaggerated cartoon voice, my own personal parody of SpongeBob.
‘And we never push someone, do we, Larry?’
‘No, Zoe, we never push someone.’
‘We all know how to wait in a nice line for a drink, right, kids? Even Larry knows how to wait in a line.’
‘That I do, Zoe. Line up behind me, kids.’
It should have been easy.
It was, I guess, but it was also hellish.
(And did I mention the suit smelled funky?)
I’m in no position to complain, on balance. This way, my family remain oblivious to the fact that I broke the hotel and incurred several hundred euros’ worth of damage (at least), I’m not responsible for having to actually pay that money back, or fight Esteban over it, and everything will be hunky-dory.
Correction: funky-dory.
As the morning wore on, I kept expecting Esteban to burst back in and say, ‘Ah, Miss Rory, I am so sorry, but I made a mistake. This will not work out, after all. You’ll need to pay the money, señorita.’
I kept hearing a phantom phone ring, imagining Hannah demanding to know why she’d just received a massive bill, or my dad’s voice as he asked how I could be stupid enough to try to plug a hairdryer into a flooded room, and I could hear Mum’s eyeroll over the fact I did something as basic and incompetent as leaving the bath running.
As shitty as being Larry the Lobster is, it’s not quite enough to distract me from the crushing anxiety of this entire situation.
Now it’s our lunch break, I give Larry’s suit a wary look.
‘Do I have to put that thing back on again?’
‘Only for a bit at the end of the day,’ Zoe reassures me. ‘The kids like to say goodbye to him before they go.’
That’s a relief, at least. Esteban had given me my own Casa Dorada polo shirt and some shorts that are just a bit too small: the button cuts into my belly when I sit down, and they’re giving me a permanent wedgie.
Still better than wearing the lobster outfit, though.
(Even if they are currently all sweaty from me having worn them inside the costume for a few hours.)
Zoe has glitter smudged on her cheeks, arms and the front of her shirt from the arts-and-crafts session we ran earlier. There’s a chocolatey handprint on her shorts, and her hair is forming a frizzy halo around her face.
She doesn’t seem in the least bit bothered by it.
I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tidy it up, but I keep snagging on knots, so I quickly give up and pull it up into a bun instead, hating that I must look a gross, sweaty mess.
I’ve never been so glad this place doesn’t allow phones. I think I’d die if someone caught me on camera right now.
With Larry the Lobster set carefully in his place in a back room of the Kids’ Club area, Zoe leads me through the hotel to a staffroom near the restaurant where there’s a small kitchen and some tables.
‘I brought lunch with me, but the restaurant will still be open for you to get something from there. You can just bring your plate back here; nobody will mind. Or, if you want to head out and find your friends, go for it.’
I tell her I’ll be back soon, and go and load up a plate with chicken Caesar salad and some of the freshly made, still-warm baguette that’s so to die for I could eat a dozen sticks of it. (If there’s one thing I’ve done right this week, I think, it’s giving into my craving for carbs.) I get in and out of the restaurant quickly, not even pausing to look around for Luna or Jodie. I really don’t want people seeing me in this state if I can help it.
Back in the staffroom, Zoe is flicking through a magazine and eating some pasta from a Tupperware container. She throws me a smile when I come in and sit down.
‘So Esteban said you were the one who tripped the electrics yesterday and caused our little blackout – and that you’re responsible for the Niagara Falls coming down through the first floor.’
I groan. ‘That so wasn’t –’
‘You don’t have to convince me.’ She interrupts my outrage with a laugh. ‘I know what he’s like, and the plumbing’s been a bit on the fritz, anyway. I’m not surprised he roped you into this. I bet he threatened to make you pay or something, right?’
‘Exactly right,’ I mumble, and stab my fork into a chunk of lettuce.
Zoe nods, her round face all sympathy.
I can see she’s about to ask more questions, and I don’t think I can deal with them right now, so I jump on the offensive, smiling as I ask, ‘How did you get roped into this, then?’
‘It started out as something to earn extra money while I was studying, but I really love this kind of work – so I’ve come back every summer. I graduate this year, but I’m thinking of staying on beyond that. It’s a nice place, and the money’s good. Esteban can be a bit … Well, you know. But everyone’s so great. We’re like a little family. I always thought I’d get a job in a secondary school or something, but working with little kids just felt like my calling.’
‘Makes one of us,’ I mutter.
I’ve quickly remembered why I decided against applying to be a primary-school teacher after that stint doing work experience in a nursery last year. Kids are not my forte.
‘Oh, they’re not that bad! They’re just energetic.’
I look at her like she’s lost her mind – as if I am in any place to judge.
‘You wait – they’ll be sleepy this afternoon. We’ll pop them down in front of a movie, and some of them will doze right off. Piece of cake.’
I bloody hope so, I think, but stuff some bread into my mouth instead of saying it out loud. Zoe has such a great energy, and I feel bad for being such a buzzkill, but these next few days are looking like they’ll be exhausting.
Still better than the alternative, I know, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get to feel bitter.
I am nothing if not a self-indulgent, dramatic bitch, after all.
Lunch done, we head back to Kids’ Club to set the room up for the afternoon. Zoe chats away happily, not seeming to notice (or at least not mind) that I’m being a real mardy arse.
When they get back from lunch with their parents, the kids don’t seem to notice my bad mood, either. The craft table is still set up, and one of the little girls sits there, scribbling away with Crayola while the rest of them settle in front of the large projector screen for a movie. I sit at the craft table, too, slumped forward over my knees and half asleep, my mouth hanging open and eyes drooping.
The girl tugs my arm.
‘Psst,’ she whispers, not very quietly. ‘I made this for Larry when he comes back later.’
‘Uh, what …’ I squint at the paper she holds up, and catch myself before I ask: What is it? The orange scribble on the page has four limbs, with balls on the end of what I think are the arms. ‘Is that Larry?’
She beams, thrilled it’s so instantly recognizable. There is dried tomato sauce smeared around her mouth. Ew. ‘Yeah! Do you think he’ll like it?’
‘He’s gonna love it,’ I tell her, trying to sound enthusiastic. ‘How about you give it to Zoe to look after and go watch the film?’
She shakes her head. ‘No. I think I’ll do another one. I didn’t get his eyes quite right.’
I try not to laugh out loud at that, but don’t discourage her. Hey, my drawing skills used to be pretty bad, too. I find myself picking up a piece of paper for myself and a couple of crayons from the pot. Most of the drawing I’ve done in the last year or two has been for a specific purpose: because it’s the kind of thing that’s popular, and if I post a video of it, then it does well and makes me feel like I’m not wasting my time with it, and if it can just do well enough, then just maybe I can prove something to my parents, my sisters …
I wonder, for a brief second, when it stopped being so fun.
Nope, don’t open that door, Rory. That is a shitshow you do not want to deal with today.
My mouth contorts in a self-deprecating smirk. I know full well that I stopped enjoying it long before my followers and views and likes started their steady decline – the whole endeavour was something I kept pushing, kept trying, because I couldn’t admit to myself that it had failed before it even started.
That’s a door I don’t need to open, because I know exactly what’s behind it.
‘Wow,’ the girl whispers, leaning over my arm after a while. She peers up at me with wide green eyes. ‘What is it?’
‘What do you mean, what is it? It’s Larry.’
She wrinkles her nose and squints at my page again. ‘But it’s blue.’
‘You were using the red and the orange.’
‘Hmm. Well, it’s okay,’ she says grudgingly, and then smiles proudly at her second scrawled drawing of Larry the Lobster. I grin at her, then look at the cartoon lobster on my page. So what if he’s blue? I don’t think it’s too shabby.
I spend the rest of the movie drawing any animal the little girl tells me to, and teach her how to draw a basic cat, which blows her mind and keeps her quiet for a full twenty minutes as she draws a bunch of them in different colours.
And I’ll never admit it to Esteban, but … I’m kind of having fun. I’m willing to concede that maybe I overreacted thinking how awful this was all going to be. But then the movie is over, and the kids are going wild, and Zoe is helping me back into the suit once more.
CHAPTER 21
Jodie
It turns out I really do know nothing about cocktails. Sure, I already knew that, but I thought I had a vague idea from having at least drunk them before.
Not the case.
We stand close, not quite touching, removed from the rest of the hotel – the rest of the world – in that little cabana on the beach. Gabriel’s near enough that I can feel the heat of his body, and every so often his elbow will brush against my arm and send a little zing of electricity through me.
And I’m sure that he goes out of his way to touch me.
‘Excuse me,’ he murmured at one point, one hand braced against my bare arm while he leaned around my back, his chest brushing against me as he reached over to grab a liquor. I’m sure he lingered, just a bit.
I can’t say I minded in the slightest.
‘So what got you into bartending?’ I ask when we’ve exhausted the initial small talk, and he pauses between instructions and explanations.
He shrugs, and it’s a small, contained gesture that looks almost shy. ‘I needed a job, and the rest is history.’
Oh. Not the answer I was expecting. Not that I’m really sure what I was expecting, but it seems closed off and a total contrast to his otherwise easy-going manner, which makes me all the more curious.
‘Did you go to uni? Or, um, do you?’ I’m not even totally sure how old he is.
Gabriel shakes his head, preoccupied with cleaning a cocktail shaker. A faint smile tugs at his mouth, his eyes far away. ‘I wasn’t exactly the, ah … type. More of a free spirit when I finished school a couple of years ago.’ Now he glances at me with more of a twinkle in his eye. ‘I was quite a troublemaker, too.’
‘You’re not anymore?’
He shrugs. ‘A while ago, I signed up for online classes. I am training to qualify as an accountant.’
‘Oh wow. That’s –’ Bland. Boring. Very, very normal.
It must show on my face because Gabriel immediately laughs. ‘I know. It’s not what I saw myself doing, either. My old teachers wouldn’t believe it if you told them. But I’m interested in how businesses operate, and I’m good with numbers. It fits around this job well, and Esteban has been good about moving my shifts to accommodate exams. He’s open to offering me a role here dealing with the hotel’s finances, too.’
I almost snort. That’s the first I’ve heard about Esteban being good at anything.
But I say, ‘Wow. That’s amazing. So is that your plan, then? To stay here?’
I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth, but if Gabriel thinks I sound like I’m putting him through a formal interview, he doesn’t acknowledge it.
‘Sí, quizás. I grew up here, and I never imagined myself staying. But who knows? By the time I’ve qualified, things might be different. I always liked the idea of living in England after my cousin moved there and enjoyed it so much, so perhaps I will look for a job there like she did. Or maybe I will like it here too much with a new job to leave.’
‘You don’t like this job?’
‘I love this job,’ he says, and I can tell he means it. ‘But that doesn’t mean it is my only passion. There are other things out there. I would like to try everything. Isn’t that what it’s all about?’
He flashes me that dashing, devastating smile of his, and my heart gives a little squeeze, making it suddenly hard to breathe.
But – isn’t that exactly the point of a holiday romance like this? I didn’t ask him for this date on the impression that if it went well, he’d chase me to the airport to propose at the security gate, after all.
‘Totally,’ I say as breezily as I can manage. ‘Like, I’ve been working super hard at uni, and now I feel like I deserve to have some fun. Let loose a little. Just enjoy myself for a few days.’
Gabriel picks up a couple of bottles, and grabs a lime out of a bowl to set on the counter. And then he says, ‘I understand. So – think you are ready to try making your first drink?’
As he guides me through a couple of measurements and talks about the ingredients and method, I ask him what sort of troublemaker he used to be at school, and he tells me stories about harmless pranks pulled on teachers, an endless string of detentions for being too talkative and disruptive, the party he helped organize after-hours in the school gym and how, when the caretaker almost caught them, he and a few others ran out to cause a commotion to let everybody else get away before they were caught, too.
‘I bet you had the girls falling all over you,’ I say.
‘I broke my share of hearts. But I was young and reckless, then.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘And you’re – what, old and wizened now?’
He blushes a bit. ‘I’m twenty-one. Not quite.’
Before I can ask if he’s still breaking his share of hearts, he tells me about the tattoo he got in secret when he was seventeen, but when I ask where, he just winks, leaving me to wonder.
I’m a little more forward, emboldened by his flirtatiousness, and I pull down the strap of my camisole to let it slip low enough to show off my tattoo.
Gabriel laughs at it, his calloused fingertip tracing lightly along the edge. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. ‘A flower?’
‘What’s so funny about it?’
He laughs again, then drops his hand and leans back to look me in the eye. The sunlight catches his face, making his skin glow and his eyes sparkle. ‘You seem so … so tough, ¿sabes? I would not have expected you to have a tattoo of something so delicate.’
I blush, oddly flattered, and explain, ‘It’s honeysuckle. My grandma’s favourite. Traditionally, it means gratitude and love.’
‘You’re close to your grandmother?’
I nod, smiling. ‘It’s always just been the three of us, you know? Me, Mum and Gran. Mum worked a lot when I was growing up, so Gran was always there to help look after me. She lived with us till I was about thirteen – she moved out because she said we were, and I quote, “cramping her style”. But she only moved down the road, so she was still there if we needed her. And, I mean, Mum still works a lot now. Not that that was ever a bad thing. She was always around when I needed her, same as Gran was. Always showed up to hockey matches and things; she just wanted to give me the best life she could.’
Gabriel smiles at me, looking a little amused – and I realize how snappy and defensive my voice turns as I tell him about my family, when there’s no need to be. I bite my lip.
‘Sorry. Um, yeah. The short answer is, yeah, we’re close.’
I feel like an idiot; he didn’t ask for my life story, after all. So I tell him his English is really good, hoping to change the subject.
It works; or maybe he just senses I’m done talking about my family for now.
‘I watched a lot of British television to improve it. I’m a big fan of Doctor Who.’ He sings a few bars of the theme song, eyes lighting up. ‘I think you would call me a, ah, ¿cómo se dice? A Whovian. I have seen all of the classic episodes, too. But, ah, Ten and Rose … Forget any of this Nicholas Sparks, chica; now that was a romance.’
He teaches me how to make a Harvey Wallbanger, then, because it reminds him of the episode ‘The Unicorn and the Wasp’, with the Doctor and Donna.
I can’t help but laugh when he tells me this, even if I have no idea what he’s talking about. ‘Oh my God, you’re such a nerd. You’re a proper nerd. You know the episode names and everything.’
Gabriel blushes, but his smile doesn’t vanish at all – he knows I don’t mean it in a bad way. I’m not ripping into him for it.
I just … didn’t expect it. At all. The MCU, maybe. Star Wars, sure. But Doctor Who? I watched a few episodes with Gran on a Saturday when I was little, or the Christmas specials, and when I tell Gabriel, he launches into an impassioned speech about just how great the show is. He tells me he will recommend me episodes to watch, and I can let him know what I think of them.
It’s my turn to blush, then: he says it like he’s going to get my number and text me after I leave.
