‘Maybe he likes the sick challenge of it,’ said Marta. ‘Seeing it as a game. Pretending to care about the environment while destroying it.’
‘Sometimes people don’t know why they do things,’ I said, thinking of myself and Aidan Jenkins and that school stock room. ‘They are just driven to harm because they think that is what they are there for. It’s a pattern they become trapped inside if they don’t know how to love, properly.’ I snapped out of it. ‘And he has powers. That is how he has killed people. They have agreed to give him not just the rock but the sea around it. And there is something very much not human about him. That is why Christina couldn’t see him. Maybe he had the talents…Maybe he had come into contact with La Presencia.’
Alberto shook his head. ‘La Presencia only helps the good. It would never have helped someone capable of harm.’
‘Aren’t we all capable of harm?’ I wondered.
Marta pinched her own hand, then looked at the imprint the nails had made and smiled with satisfaction. There was something just slightly masochistic about her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not on his scale. But you are right about the politicians. He must have threatened others in the parliament. He must have. There is no way they would have bowed easily.’
I shared something else I had garnered from Sofía’s mind. ‘They announce the hotel is happening tomorrow.’
‘The day of the protest?’ said Marta, in disbelief. ‘Is he insane?’
‘Maybe,’ sighed Alberto. ‘But so are you if you think that protest can still happen. We are the sharks feeling the hurricane before it hits.’
The bar was a hub of activity, a friendly fusion of tourists and locals.
Marta nodded. ‘Yes. But unlike sharks, we can actually stop this hurricane.’
A couple of women walked by, leaving flyers for Lieke at Amnesia on people’s tables. (Alberto had told me that flyers, though still around, were the ‘old-fashioned social media of Ibiza, before TikTok’. In the old days, that is how everyone found out what was happening.)
They spotted Marta. ‘Hola, Marta.’
Marta was pleased to see them. ‘Hey, guys. Do you know about the protest tomorrow? To stop the development on Es Vedrà? We are meeting outside the Mar y Sol.’
‘Ahh, sorry, we would love to,’ said one of them. ‘But my brother is playing at a pool party over near Cala Comte and I’d said I’d go.’
Marta’s smile was closer to a grimace. ‘No importa…chao…’
Once they had walked away Alberto looked tenderly at his daughter and shrugged. ‘Look, it’s going to make no difference. And the stakes are too high. Just call off the protest.’
‘Papá, please. I know you are only trying to keep me safe, but Art Butler getting Es Vedrà wouldn’t be keeping anyone safe. It would just make him stronger. We have to stand up now. Come on…You always say the thing you love about goats is that they stubbornly resist and do the thing that is right for them. Be like a goat, Papá. You always have been. Don’t weaken now.’
Alberto’s eyes glistened with sadness. He so wanted to tell her about his diagnosis. He was going to. He was right on the cusp of telling her he had a cancer that would eventually kill him. He was going to tell her it was the reason his talents had faded.
He realised he had to be on her side. He was trying to keep everyone safe because he couldn’t keep himself safe. His daughter was about to be thirty. He had to let her be the adult she was. He couldn’t try to keep her safe by telling her not to be herself. She knew every risk and she was still prepared to stand up. He was as proud as a father could be. She had always wanted to be chosen by La Presencia but never had been. This was her chance to have the power to make things better, and he wasn’t going to stop that.
It was quite something, feeling that change inside him. It was like when the breeze stops and there is just the sunlight and you realise the day is warm.
‘Tienes razón, mi vida. Let’s make our friend Nostradamus proud. Let’s be goats.’
And Marta turned to her father, with the most complex of smiles. One that contained hope and fear and defiance and love.
‘Thank you, Papá.’
I confess in that moment to feeling a twinge of jealousy at their bond. It wasn’t just the usual pang of grief about Daniel, but a craving for family. For belonging. For not being lonely old Grace.
But also I was in deep admiration of Marta’s courage as she took her cue and stood up and walked over the cobblestones to the restaurant.
‘Mierda,’ cursed Alberto, then followed his daughter. ‘She is crazy.’ And I followed him.
When we got to Marta she was apologising to Jorge and Sofía for interrupting but then plunged straight in.
‘The protest is happening tomorrow,’ she told them, in Spanish, standing there as the diners around fell silent.
Sofía offered Marta a calm smile. Her face and her mind, I realised, were two entirely different entities. Maybe that was an essential part of being a politician. To have a face that bore no trace of the mind inside. ‘It won’t make a difference,’ she said. ‘There is no way there would ever be enough people on the streets to stop this.’
‘When people know Art Butler is behind it, they will be there,’ Marta told them. Especially after he messed up Cala Llonga. ‘Es Vedrà is special. The waters around it are special too. It’s not just an environmental issue, it’s a symbolic one. It is the soul of the island. No one wants Art Butler to steal that soul. Ibiza is not for sale.’
I felt Sofía’s panic. This was the reason why they’d had to withhold that information. To avoid giving the protesters a lightning rod for their energy.
‘Respectfully, Miss Ribas, you don’t quite know what you are dealing with. I strongly advise you to go onto the relevant social media channels and call the whole thing off. For your own good. There is a cross-party consensus that this is going to go ahead.’
Alberto sighed. ‘But you have the influence. On this issue you are the strongest influence. Without your support, this wouldn’t happen. The balance would tip. You are the deputy of the majority party, Sofía, – you are the chief – you could stop this.’
Marta’s left leg bounced with adrenaline. She now had an audience. As Alberto and I were now flanking her, we all had an audience. The whole restaurant was staring at us.
‘How many?’ asked Marta.
‘What?’
‘You said there is no way there would ever be enough people on the streets to stop the hotel in Es Vedrà. I just wondered how many would be enough.’
Sofía’s husband tried to intervene. He opened his mouth to speak, to put Marta in her place. Shut up, Jorge, ordered my mind. And that is what happened. It was a Brian situation all over again. His mouth was clamped like a tightly closed oyster, and his eyes were wondering what the hell had happened.
Sofía’s smile was almost breaking, but not quite. ‘What are you talking about?’
Marta was steadfast. ‘You just said there is no way there would ever be enough people on the streets to stop the hotel in Es Vedrà. So I was wondering what enough was?’
