This is when Alberto interrupted from behind her shoulder. ‘Ten thousand? That was the number in 1999. Can you remember that, Sofía? We were both there, weren’t we? You were young then, weren’t you? You gave a fuck. And we stopped it. That January. We stopped them from turning wilderness into a golf course and instead set it up as a reserve. You remember? Cala d’Hort. “Golf! No!” Everyone had those bumper stickers. So is that what it would take? Ten thousand people?’
Sofía laughed a little. But inside she was suddenly fragile. A cracking egg. ‘There is no way you would get ten thousand people to march in the streets. But even if you did, no, it is impossible.’
‘What about twenty thousand?’ Alberto said, like the world’s worst negotiator.
‘Papá.’ Marta gently pressed an elbow into his stomach. I knew what she was thinking. She was thinking: there is no way on Earth twenty thousand people will turn up to the protest. At that moment she was hoping for one thousand people, and even that was pushing it.
Sofía’s laugh was almost genuine now. ‘Twenty thousand? Twenty thousand people. That is way over ten per cent of the entire population. You seriously think that you will have twenty thousand people? I have seen the social media accounts. No one cares. This isn’t January. This is June. Everyone just wants a good time.’
Alberto was now firm. I saw where his daughter got it from. ‘But what if we did? Would you stop it? You’d have to, right? You listen to the people, right? That’s why you were elected, right?’
‘And in this hypothetical scenario you would pay the legal fees?’
Alberto nodded. ‘Forty thousand euros. I know how much those things cost to undo.’
‘More like eighty thousand.’ Sofía smiled. She knew Marta and Alberto wouldn’t have that sort of money lying around. She noticed another diner was now recording this whole thing on their iPhone. ‘So, yes. Of course. I am someone who listens. I will say it in front of all these witnesses. If you can cover the legal costs that would otherwise come from people’s taxes and if you can get twenty thousand people at your protest tomorrow afternoon, then you have a deal…Then I will withdraw my support.’
‘Well, we can do it,’ said Alberto. ‘We can get the people and we can get the money.’
Sofía’s smile didn’t waver. ‘Very good. And I am a woman of my word. If you manage that, I will honour my promise.’
As we walked away, and Alberto dropped his last ten-euro note onto the table outside the bar, Marta looked at her father.
‘What were you thinking?’
He tried to chuckle it off. ‘Don’t worry. We can do this. I have some clever ideas.’
All the Clever Ideas Presently in Alberto’s Head
Flyer
As we walked past the bar table, I saw the flyer.
‘How popular is Amnesia?’ I asked.
Marta pondered as we passed a busker singing a folk song in Catalan. ‘Around five thousand people every night of the week during summer.’
Alberto shook his head. ‘Five thousand isn’t twenty thousand.’
‘Thanks for the mathematical update,’ I said.
‘Wait, she’s right,’ Marta was thinking aloud. ‘Amnesia on Wednesdays has more locals than tourists. They actually care about things like Es Vedrà. And they know people. There is this thing called social media, Papá.’
Alberto smirked. He even enjoyed his daughter when she mocked him. Especially then. ‘So you are saying you want to go to Amnesia?’
I nodded. ‘Yes.’ And then I did my best Alberto impression to cheer Marta up. ‘This is Ibiza. No one is too old for anything. There is a ninety-year-old who dances at Pacha every single night…’
‘Okay. You are right. You are not too old. I am not too old. And Marta most definitely isn’t too old. We will go to Amnesia.’
He undid a button of his shirt as if in anticipation. His daughter frowned at him. ‘Too much?’ he asked her. ‘Should I save it for my OnlyFans?’
Marta was confused for two reasons. First, the horror of wondering how her father knew what OnlyFans was. And second, she had no idea what I was intending to do.
‘But what is the plan?’ she asked me.
‘Lieke,’ I said. ‘Lieke is the plan.’
Alberto yawned. I caught it too. Yawn telepathy. ‘It will be a long night. We should get a disco nap. We don’t need much sleep a day. But we do need sleep. Or the talents won’t work.’
Marta nodded. ‘Yes. A disco nap. We need a disco nap.’
‘A disco nap?’ I asked.
‘A nap,’ Marta said, with the smiling innocence of a kindergarten teacher, ‘before the disco. Lieke is the headliner so she will be on around two a.m. At the earliest.’
‘What kind of night doesn’t get going until two a.m.?’ I asked.
‘An Ibizan one,’ laughed Alberto. ‘Come on. Embrace la madrugada…It’s time to feel alive, Grace.’
A Purpose
So there I was. Back where I had started. Back at my new tiny house on Carretera Santa Eulalia, with cars swooshing by. It was two minutes past ten. The traffic wasn’t even peaking yet. Something felt different about it now, though, Maurice. I no longer hated it. In fact, it was starting to feel like home.
I don’t know what it was that made the house feel homely. Nothing had really changed about it, except for the beautiful flower on the path obviously. There was still the claustrophobic hallway, the small living room, the old sofa and tattily bohemian throw. The rug still needed cleaning, the large fan in the living room was still visibly clogged with dust, and to my shame I hadn’t yet mopped the floor tiles. The piano near the window filled half the room. The old hi-fi and rows of records and cassettes had the feel of a museum piece. The air remained thick and humid and stiff. But it was different now. It felt, somehow, like a relief to be there.
Home needs a reason. And there was now a reason, a purpose, for my being there. Again I felt what I had felt back at the airport. I understood why Christina had wanted to help people. And now I was, to use Christina’s phrase, a protector. I had to protect the people and the place around me. Wasn’t that the ultimate reason? After so many years of feeling unnecessary to the universe, I felt truly needed.
And it’s nice to be needed. It really is.
