I had a strange feeling I had seen him before. And it was because I had seen him before. About a minute before, in fact, staring out from the wall.
The photo of Christina and the man with the wild beard and big smile. She knew this man. I went back to look. It was definitely him. I stared at the photos some more. I could see in one of them she was wearing the St Christopher necklace I had given her back in 1979. She had it in the other pictures too. Even at the party where she met Freddie Mercury.
There was a slight fusty smell. Not quite fetid, but far from pleasant. And perfume. Very faint. Her ghost in the air.
My stomach grumbled. I went to the little kitchen and opened the refrigerator and there was nothing except a carton of gazpacho that was out of date. In the cupboard some biscuits. There was also, strangely, an olive jar, minus olives. It was a normal modestly sized vessel – a fraction narrower than a standard jam jar – but it was full of water. I knew it was an olive jar because it had an illustration of green pimento-stuffed olives on the label, along with the words ‘Olivos del Sur’. I twisted the lid and opened it up and gave it a sniff. It had a briny, mildly sulphurous scent but not the kind of brine you normally would get in an olive jar. This water had a lot going on. It had a shifting, complex look to it. Maybe it had some algae in it. I didn’t know, though it didn’t seem like ordinary seawater. But I was pretty sure it was of no use to me, so I walked to the front door, opened it, poured the water onto a parched piece of ground and went back inside and noticed something else.
A card on a little shelf in the hallway.
The card was a drawing of flower petals spelling out ‘MUCHAS GRACIAS’.
A letter fell out of it. Here it is, I thought to myself. Maybe this would tell me everything.
Dear Grace,
If you are reading this you made the right decision. This house isn’t much, but it is everything I own.
I wanted to thank you. Your kindness all those years ago saved my life. I know it sounds melodramatic, but I genuinely think I wouldn’t have made it through that Christmas. I was at my lowest point. Your suggestion that I come to Ibiza helped release me. And now it is my turn to help you untap any unlived potential inside you. I know it won’t make sense to you, why I chose to leave this place to you more than any other person I have ever known. But you have to trust me, because if I explained how I know that you are the right person you would think I was insane. And besides, you will find out in due course why you had to come here. But for now, I will just say that you are a very rare person, and I sense you will find peace here.
I know that I don’t have long left. I am not afraid. I truly know this is not the end. And I feel I am heading to a better place.
I have loved living here. I would never have moved to this wonderful island without you. That conversation we had on your sofa watching Top of the Pops all those years ago led to this moment right here. I never became Blondie. And certainly never became rich, in the conventional sense, as you can see from this modest house. But I have had a rich life, and discovered things I never could have dreamed of.
People will tell you that it is a magical island. And you will hear some strange tales and myths too. Not all of them will be true. But there is more to life than we know. And there is more to our minds than we realise.
Whether you use this house for holidays or to live, try and visit all the beautiful places. Here are my tips:
Get lost in the narrow lanes of Dalt Vila – the old citadel of Eivissa, or Ibiza Town in English, perched high on a hillside behind fortified walls.
Take a hike from cala Sant Vicent along the old pilgrims’ path to Tanit’s Cave.
See the horses at the sanctuary at Es Murta.
Go to the north, surround yourself with pine trees.
See the flamingos at Ses Salines.
Head to Las Dalias hippy market – the daytime one, not the evening one when it becomes a rave – and say hello to my friend Sabine.
Hop on the boat to Formentera and take note of the lighthouse.
Drink a shot of Hierbas Ibicencas at a bar in a hilltop village.
See the drummers at Benirràs beach at sunset.
Get your shopping from the grocery store at Santa Gertrudis. They are very friendly in there.
Drive to the old stone fountain known as the Font de Peralta and catch a traditional Ibicenco ‘peasant dance’ – ball pagès – full of brightly dressed people leaping and twirling to the sound of castanets.
Go dancing yourself. Just once. Age matters not a bit here.
Have fun.
Oh, and most important of all: go to Atlantis Scuba at Cala d’Hort. Tell Alberto I sent you. He won’t charge you. Go and see the seagrass meadow. It is the oldest living organism on Earth.
And please, when you are there, keep your mind open. Any change that happens will be for the better. Trust me.
Your loving and long lost friend,
Christina
X
PS: The white Fiat Panda parked beside the road is yours too. The keys are in the kitchen drawer.
Satisfaction
It was a lovely letter. Any letter that gives you a car in the postscript has its bonuses. But I must admit it made me feel exhausted. And troubled. And even more confused than I had been to begin with.
I don’t have long left…
Well, that answered one thing, I realised, as my heart drummed away.
She knew she was going to die. But she didn’t mention an illness, or give any other reason, and it seemed a very long way off a suicide note.
Someone once told me the way to die happy is to die complete. To live like you eat a delicious meal. To devour and enjoy every course so that when you have finished you are full, and enjoyed every mouthful, but aren’t too sad there is no more. It seemed that Christina, after a mediocre starter, may have had a satisfying main course and dessert, and left this planet content.
I reread her recommendations. I felt, somehow, they were more than recommendations. I felt they were signposts to something I wasn’t yet able to understand. So, even though I was hardly in the mood to be a proper tourist, I thought I would take what she was saying – or half saying – in the letter seriously. I looked again at her advice.
