Little Men - The E Book (20 page)

Tony suddenly felt a huge rush of euphoria engulf his entire body. Strange. He grinned, feeling slightly dizzy.

“That’s it, mate. You enjoy yourself, we’ll look after you. Me and Si here. Don’t worry about your fucking parents.”

Tony spoke quickly, but it was weird. It felt almost like he couldn’t control what he was saying. He was naturally gobby and opinionated, but this was different. He had a strange urge to tell the others how he loved them and wanted to look after them. Or just talk. About anything.

“This is my fucking favourite bar of the whole holiday so far. It’s fucking great here, don’t you think, Si? You know we’ve only just met, mate, but I feel like I’ve known you forever, you know what I mean? And you, Charlie. What do you think of this bar? I know this is like probably the first time you’ve been out on your own and that, but me and Si, we’ll look after you. You don’t have to worry. Okay? You’re okay, right? You’re with us now, okay?”

Tony looked directly into Charles’s eyes. He looked back and smiled. His grin now seemed to be fixed permanently to his face.

“Yeah, man. You know I’m so glad I met you two tonight. Y’know, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you. You saved me. You saved my life. You two. You did. I can’t thank you enough. Let me buy you a drink. What do you want?”

“No, let me,” said Simon. “I’ll get ‘em in!”

“How generous is this bloke?” Tony put his arm round Simon. “He’s bought drinks all night.” Tony turned to face Simon, pulling him closer.

“I fucking love you, mate!” he said as he planted a kiss on Simon’s cheek.

“I’m going to the bar. I insist!” Charles walked to the bar with a kind of skipping walk, in time to the blaring music.

“He’s a top bloke that one. Poor kid, had a shit life,” Simon said as a rush of pure energy hit him, causing him to almost lose his balance and cling to Tony.

“Top, top bloke,” Tony replied.

“We’ll look after him, eh? Let’s promise. Promise to take care of that kid while we’re here.”

“Oh, fucking yeah. Course we will. No-one deserves that shit, and me and you, Tone, we can help him. We can make sure he’s okay. We can, you know, keep him… er… do it… fuckin’ hell I love this song, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah!” The two men jigged in time to the rhythm. It was a Madonna track, Lucky
Star. The bar was dark save for a small set of traffic disco lights that flashed in time to the music. The two men faced the lights and stared at them, attempting to dance, oblivious to everyone around, completely caught up in the moment and the voice of Madonna as it resonated from the speakers.

Charles returned, drinks in hand. He handed them out and joined the other two, dancing, his body now pulsed with euphoria, his vision blurred, seeing only the flashing lights. He wanted to speak, but couldn’t. He wanted to shout, run, sing, dance, all at once. He was hot, and sweat smudged his mascara, impairing his vision further. He didn’t care.

The music stopped. The three men embraced, and swigged their drinks. They were all sweating heavily.

“Let’s go outside!” said Tony.

“Nah, man! The music’s in here. I wanna dance some more!” Charles replied.

“Yeah, but look at all those people out there! Let’s dance under the moonlight!”

“Okay, come on.” The trio bounced outside, now unable to feel their legs properly. They walked into the street, other people were dotted about. A few turned and stared at the three sweaty men as they grinned inanely and jumped around waving their arms hysterically, dancing to the music that was loud enough to be clearly heard from the bar they had just left.

The rest of the evening was a complete blur for Charles, Simon and Tony. They ran around the streets of San Antonio, holding hands, talking rubbish to puzzled onlookers as they headed home. They would move in and out of bars, most of which contained only a solitary staff member, putting chairs on tables or sweeping the floor.

Eventually there was nowhere else to go. The streets were deserted, birds were singing in the trees and the sun was coming up rapidly. The three men slumped on a bench, exhausted, but still smiling, their perspiring bodies tangled around each other.

Chapter Fifteen

Denise awoke early. She knew something wasn’t quite right. Tony was missing, he hadn’t come home last night. In the UK this was not unusual, but here on holiday, in a strange country? She was worried and felt a surge of panic.

She’d barely spoken to Nicola last night, but she knew she would be feeling the same if Simon had also not returned. She busied herself, tidying the apartment, visualising Tony strolling in at any moment, looking relaxed and happy, full of apologies, explaining how he got drunk, then lost, ran out of money, then had to walk back. Something that was the norm at home in Essex.

In reality Tony, Simon and Charles were sitting in the living area of Simon and Nicola’s apartment in San Antonio, trying to piece together the events of the previous night. ‘Trying’ being the operative word, as they were having little success, constantly collapsing into fits of giggles. Nicola sat watching them, perplexed.

“So you met a hippy. Then what happened?” The three men looked at each other, smirking.

“He… er… started talking shit, didn’t he?” said Simon.

“Yeah, he was cool, man,” Charles said as he lay on his back on a sofa, staring at the ceiling.

“He helped Charles out,” Tony added. “You’d had a few, eh kid?”

“Sounds like you all did.”

The three men tried to recall what had happened after they’d met Mike. Their thoughts were confused. Simon felt vaguely guilty as he had been out all night and he knew Nic would’ve been worried. He knew she wanted an explanation and it would make his life easier if he could give her one. But his brain struggled to make sense of anything. He could only see colours and music and his friends in happy togetherness.

“He gave us something! That’s it! We swallowed it. Do you remember?”

“Oh yeah, he did. He was a top bloke, that Mike.”

The penny dropped with Nicola, being able to think a lot clearer without the fug of alcohol and chemicals destroying her thought processes.

“The hippy gave you drugs?” She was shocked, but she knew Simon. He was wild. He was capable of anything when he was with his mates. He knew no fear.

For the first time that morning, Simon looked uneasy. He looked at his friends. They grinned back. They suddenly realised what had happened in the early hours of the morning.

“Shouldn’t you let Denise know you’re okay?” said Nicola, looking at Tony.

“She’ll be alright. I’ll go back later.” Tony’s eyes were closing, he dozed, blissed out.

The men slept for most of the day. When they awoke, Nicola was gone. By the pool, Simon assumed. He fixed drinks for his friends, glasses of water. They drank readily, dehydrated.

“We’ve gotta find that guy Mike,” Tony said eventually.

“Yeah. I’ll help you. Last night was fucking magic!” replied Charles. Simon looked at Tony and smirked.

“We better get a move on,” said Simon.

“Nic will be back soon. She’ll never let me out. Let’s just go before she comes back.”

“What now?” Charles said. They looked at each other blankly. They stood on the narrow beach on the edge of San Antonio. They had looked all over the resort for Mike. It had been an anxious experience for Charles. The perpetual fear of bumping into his parents was constantly on his mind.

They hadn’t seen anyone who remotely resembled Mike. Sunburnt English tourists, yes; enigmatic, spiritual hippies wearing orange, no. The men were close to giving up when they suddenly noticed a crusty-looking old man approaching them. He spoke with a Spanish accent, but his English was fluent.

“Spare any change, mate?” He addressed Simon, probably the most wealthy-looking of the three with his designer clothes and jewellery. Simon looked at the man. He wore rags, and his skin was deeply tanned. His hair grey and straggly. He was hunched over. Simon never normally gave to beggars, but this one had caught him slightly off-guard. He fished a coin from his tight jeans.

“Here you go, mate. Listen, do you know a guy by the name of Mike? We think he lives on the island.”

“Well, what does he look like? I know a lot of people here, I live here myself.” The old man was curt, but friendly.

“Long hair,” said Charles. “Er… wears orange…” he tailed off realising it sounded fairly ridiculous.

“Like a hippy?” the old geezer said.

“Er… yeah, I suppose so.”

“There’s loads of ‘em here. Go to Benirras. Ask around. Someone’ll know ‘im.”

“Okay,” said Charles. “What’s it called again?”

“Benirras. Benirras Beach.” The old man wandered off.

“What shall we do, chaps?” Tony asked. “Fuck knows where this place is.”

“It’s only a small island. It can’t be very far.” Charles was loving the adventure. He couldn’t face his parents yet, and he was desperate to re-experience the amazing high. It was exactly what he needed. What the old man had said was something and nothing, sure, but that was the fun of it. Christ, his mother still expected him to go on treasure hunts with the resort kids’ club! It felt great, doing his own thing for once.

“I’m not sure. Sounds a bit vague for me…” Simon thought of Nicola, probably again wondering where he was.

“Come on, are you a man or a mouse?” Tony said. Simon wasn’t good at resisting peer group pressure. Charles hailed a taxi, luckily the driver had heard of Benirras and was willing to drive them the half hour or so to get to the remote area on the north-west side of the island.

The scenery around Cala Benirras was different to anything Charles and Simon had seen on the island so far, but Tony was now getting to grips with the geography quite well. The landscape was rugged and hilly. They drove through small villages, far removed from the gaudy bright lights of San Antonio. There were a few signs of life, small cafés and restaurants, the odd Coca-Cola sign here and there, but the area seemed to be largely untouched by the flourishing package holiday industry that was dominating many of the island’s resorts.

The car turned off the main road and followed a narrow lane, gently sloping downwards towards the sea. They reached a small clearing surrounded by trees.

“Here we are, squire,” said the cabbie. Did they
all
speak with pseudo-London accents? Again Simon delved into his ample pockets to pick up the fair.

With some trepidation the young men walked through the clearing following a worn, dusty path. The sea looked utterly beautiful in front of them, perfectly still. The cove was dappled in evening sunlight as the glade opened onto a golden, sandy beach. They heard the rhythmic sound of drumming somewhere in the distance.

“Look! Over there!” Charles pointed to the far left-hand side of the beach and the bottom of a sheer cliff face. A group of young people dressed in strange clothes were congregated around a fire. Some of them were naked. Some lay on the sand, others smoked, some sat cross-legged staring out to sea.

Tony and Simon felt uneasy. They were not used to mixing with people outside their usual circle. Conversing with scantily-clad Spanish hippies in the middle of nowhere would be an entirely new experience. Charles Caxton, however, was not going to be discouraged.

“Come on.” He hurriedly walked towards the group. Tony, pausing only to look at Simon and roll his eyes, followed suit. Some of the hippies stopped and stared inquisitively. What did the strangers want?

Charles was the first to speak. He had almost taken charge of the little expedition.

“Hello! We’re looking for Mike. We were told he might be here?” It seemed promising. The hippies looked and dressed very much like the man they’d encountered the previous night at Sancho’s
.
But they seemed reluctant to help, eyeing the three tourists suspiciously. There was silence. Eventually, someone spoke.

“Do you mean Swami Anand Michael?” The voice came from somewhere in the middle of the group. It belonged to a middle-aged man sat cross-legged staring into the fire. He wore only tatty trousers and his hair was unkempt.

“Er, yes we do.” Charles thought quickly. He had already noticed the curious jewellery the people wore.

“We were with him last night. He dropped one of his trinkets. We’re trying to find him to return it to him.” Simon and Tony were impressed.

“San Juan,” said the man. He spoke with an American accent, bizarrely.

“Come again?”

“San Juan. You’ll find him at San Juan.”

“Where the fuck’s that?” Tony blurted out without thinking. He was starting to get a little irritated with this wild goose chase. The man glared at Tony.

“Sorry,” said Charles. “Where is San Juan, please?”

“Not far from here. You’ll find him at the ashram in the village, next to the carretera.”

The man returned to his meditation. His stony expression told them he didn’t want to be bothered any further. The three Englishmen felt apprehensive. The drumming had stopped and they were surrounded on either side by foreign-looking hippies, staring at them. The contrast between the clothing of the two groups couldn’t have been starker. They hurriedly turned and headed back along the beach, keen to escape the awkward situation.

Apart from the hippies, the area was deserted. The tourists were silent now, the exuberant mood of earlier had dissipated. Even Charles was questioning to himself the point of what they were doing.

“I suppose we better find a taxi,” he said eventually. He looked at his companions. Tony and Simon were subdued and it made him feel uncomfortable. Although they were complete strangers, they had become his role models. They had shared an experience in the early hours of the morning that was so powerful they had no comprehension of its meaning.

Charles had no intention of giving up. He
had
to experience that high again and he didn’t want to go back to his parents. But he sensed Simon and Tony’s enthusiasm was waning. They were far more worldly and independent and they sought only short-term gratification and laughs. They were fast losing interest in investing time and hassle chasing across a God-forsaken island looking for a hippy who may or may not have the answer to what was definitely a very strange experience a few hours earlier. They waited.