We call each other by our nicknames. We lived together for years. To be together again.
We arrived when it was night and now, on the first morning, we walked onto the balcony to look at the sea, the blue square of clean pool beneath. We keep saying ‘look at it, look at it’. there is no noise but for a generator somewhere, hidden in the black volcanic sand.
The town is washed out, faded paint, murals on the walls – nothing like the glitz and lights of the party strips elsewhere. The roads are steep hills, there are voices behind shutters, closed on a Sunday. Down by the water, the port is painted in turquoise zigzags. We sleep and eat and sleep and lie in the sun, dance to Rihanna, doing a dance move the world seems to be getting worked up about.
Our one night out, we barely do our hair or make-up, dance in a sweaty club, I stand outside and speak French with a guy, wishing my words tied together better.
Next day we sit in squares around tables, lie in columns beside each other. Let the sun take our hangovers. Can we go back please girls?