Bea and I went into town on Saturday leaving the revellers to come out of their alcoholic stupors in their own time. We got back a couple of hours later with lots of presents to find World War Three had broken out at the villa in our absence. Charlie was sitting on the front steps with Serena and a jug of sangria. She grimaced at us – and I don’t think she was passing judgement on the straw donkey I’d bought for Saskia as a joke.
The catfight to end all catfights was going on poolside. Melissa and Luce were bellowing at each other and the rest were taking sides. Janey was refereeing from the pool but in a very biased way. As Bea and I approached she was telling Luce that she “was a total tart” and that she had always known that “you fancy my Darren”. Clearly the row was still rumbling on.
The Bimbola’s (clearly split into two groups, Team Luce and Team Melissa) spent the rest of the day ignoring each other. Maria and Lizzie (staunch members of Team Luce) kept shooting Toria, Serena and Janey (Team Melissa) filthy looks as all five splashed about in the pool. “If they start drowning each other, I’m leaving” Auntie Ivy piped up, somewhat irrationally, from her sun lounger. I read my book and kept my head down throughout the torturous afternoon.
Team Luce headed out at just gone six in the evening – they were off to find “somewhere to eat that we don’t have to look at, like, total and utter losers”. Team Melissa jointly ignored this comment (but I did see Toria gesture rudely in their direction as they swept past us all dressed to slay in all manner of lycra and glitter). Team Melissa planned to get “wrecked by the pool” and drew out many bottles of wine from their hiding places and stayed in their bikinis. Bea was worried that there should be “a sensible person around to monitor the alcohol levels” but was reluctant to be left behind by myself, Charlie Sue, Ivy and Lou as we headed out for dinner at a surprisingly nice restaurant that Sue had found earlier this morning.
The waiters were a little greasy but thankfully the food wasn’t – a good evening was had by all and we didn’t, as Lou predicted, meet any of Team Luce. Well, not until much later anyway. Bea was drinking straight orange juice but, unbeknownst to the rest of the table at the time, Lou was adding vodka to her glass. That woman’s sleigh of hand was amazing. After dinner we went for a walk – the worst of the clubs excesses were clearly still inside their respective venues. We encountered a group of men who were taking it in turns to throw up whilst the others cheered the vomiter on.
As we passed a tattoo parlour (the place was jam packed, obviously the optimum time to have a tattoo in Ibiza is quarter to ten at night) we encountered Lisa perusing the display boards outside and asking Luce, Jackie, Maria and Lizzie if she should have “a Tazmanian Devil or like a normal devil?”. Unfortunately, they spotted us and screeched and catcalled until we approached them, hissing like the old fuddy duddies we’re rapidly becoming. Lou thought it was a good idea to have another tattoo to add to her collection (heart on her hip, rose on her thigh, cupid on her left shoulder and Chinese symbol for “peace” on her wrist) and joined the queue. This was the first sign that Bea wasn’t herself. She suggested that we go over to the bar opposite and wait for Lou. Bea views all tattoo parlours as the “work of Satan”. I still haven’t told her about my own body art. Ivy seemed to be entranced by the tattooist (heavily bearded and covered in tattoos – natch) and stayed with Lou.
We returned to the villa with Bea clutching her stomach and wondering what she’d eaten to make her feel so ill, Sue eating a portion of chips and Lou clutching her right shoulder and moaning about the “agony” she was in. Charlie kept complaining that she couldn’t see which was worrying as she was driving at the time. Team Melissa were all plastered poolside and emptying the contents of Team Luce’s suitcases into the pool. Bottles of Clinique concealer floated alongside flip flops and thongs – one thong had got into the pool filter and it was making a gurgling swishing noise. A mess of make up sat in poolside puddles, Mac eyeshadows mixing with Boots Number seven foundation.
Sensibly, we retired to our rooms and waited for the thunderbolt to hit. We didn’t have to wait long – giggles and swearing heralded the arrival of Team Luce about half an hour later.
And then the thunderbolt hit. Within seconds it was like the villa had been besieged by a herd of elephants. The Team Melissa bedrooms were now being raided by Team Luce in retaliation. “Not my bikini – it can’t get wet!” Janey was screeching. Luce and Melissa were shouting at each other and, all around us, lights in other villas were flicking on and – no doubt – many a tanned hand was reaching for the telephone to call the fuzz. Bea took matters into her own delicately bronzed hands and stormed outside. “Stop this nonsense NOW!” she bellowed, a vision in shimmering negligee and fluffy kitten heels. Lizzie finished upending Melissa’s suitcase into the pool before throwing it in afterwards – Bea was hit by the resulting tidal wave and was drenched. Chlorinated water dripped off her pony-tailed Titian locks and trickled down her negligee covered form.
Silence truly is golden. But then the laughing started, hysterical giggles emanated from the darkened patio. Serena was clutching her stomach and bellowing with laughter. Melissa was choking with laughter. Janey was bent double over an upturned sun lounger. Luce was trying to rescue her thong from the pool filter but couldn’t for laughing so much. Toria sounds even more like a duck when she’s laughing.
And then the police arrived. A very nice moustachioed man and a not so nice moustachioed woman stood sternly at the side entrance to the patio, taking in the scene before them. “And what is a-happining a-here?” Woman Officer said, fingering her utility belt.
Bea stepped forward and immediately Man Officer was transfixed – in her haste to explain the situation she had forgotten that her shimmering negligee was now see-through and clinging. I rescued my sisters modesty with a towel with “Miami” emblazoned across it in neon yellow. A private party that got out of hand, Bea assured smoothly as she led the officers into the villa.
Bea managed to sweet talk the police officers into not arresting everyone in sight and was organising the clean up, nice Man Officer was even rearranging the patio furniture whilst Maria simpered her thanks. “Thank you officers” the girls chorused as we watched them get into their vehicle, lights flashing ominously.
Calm and serenity had been restored. For the time being.