‘Mind if I join you guys?’
Jon stands topless and proud, his strapping legs in stripy tailored shorts and his bare feet beige from the sand. He holds his lymph flush juice in one hand and a wedge of bound paper in the other.
Maya is somewhat thrown. And mortified. It’s day three of their detox and, having just done her third colonic of the week, she and James decided to leave the sanctuary of their bedroom – too close to the scene of the atrocities in the stark en suite (no Matchbox car today for James, just green sludge; Maya’s had a greyer hue) – and escaped to the cafe area with a mural made of shells on the wall behind the bar. Maya doesn’t want to go through the contents of her bowels with Jon. Yesterday’s yoga was awkward enough. Today she’s even less keen for another such encounter, and James has become unusually grumpy.
It’s a good job Maya filed her first column before she Skyped Nena, her head is now way too fuzzy to write anything Amy Appleyard would deem acceptable copy. In fact, all she and James have been able to manage is to lie on the beach or play board games on the terrace by day and watch chick flicks in the common room before an early night, without the energy to even touch each other.
Despite his growing migraine and malaise, James has been trying: gamely attempting the reverse warrior at dawn; lightly chuckling at romcoms with Maya, fifteen women, and Canadian Justin (who is shrinking by the day) at sunset. James even welled up during The Devil Wears Prada last night, but when Maya asked him if he was crying, he blamed the lack of carbs for making him emotional.
Jon hasn’t partaken in early-evening chick flicks. He’s preferred to stick to mindfulness and meditation; using the downtime to read scripts in the bar or have a massage on the beach. He’s always had a charming smile for Maya and James though, as they pass each other in the common room or on the shore. No one has mentioned That Thing They Haven’t Talked About.
Maya and James look up at Jon with slow moves and sallow cheeks. They feel so tired and listless that their eyeballs hurt. Even the turquoise sea at sunset isn’t lifting their spirits: James has the worst headache he’s had in years. And it’s not even alcohol-induced.
‘You said it got better by day three,’ Maya scolds. ‘My chocolate cravings have never been worse.’
James gestures for Jon to pull up the vacant chair, even though he doesn’t want him to.
Jon laughs as he puts his glass on the table and pulls the chair back, not realising that the scraping sound of wood on wood is boring into James’ head.
‘Yeah, sorry about that.’ Jon turns the chair the wrong way around so he can straddle it. ‘Works for me by day three. I’m a day behind you, so just you watch. Tomorrow I’ll be cartwheeling through here. Maybe it’s tougher your first time, I can’t remember.’
Maya studies the menu wedged into a wooden block on the table. One side has raw food delights, the other is Thai vegetarian. There is no menu of course for those who are fasting, so they both nurse a bottle of water, wishing they could order a ‘rawsagna’ – even though layers of courgette, fermented almond cheese, aubergine mock bacon and fig pâté would ordinarily make them heave.
‘Well, in two days’ time we can move onto the raw menu, baby,’ Maya says, as she clumsily leans into James’ arm, just to make it clear it were he she were calling baby. The impact of Maya’s nudge makes James look like he might fall off the table. Or throw up.
‘I can’t look,’ he says, slumping his head into his hands. ‘I don’t think I can even face broth tonight. I might just go to bed.’ He rubs his hands up through his brown hair, making him look more despairing.
Maya feels panicked. She doesn’t want to be left alone with Jon, but she doesn’t want to miss her broth. She’s looked forward to it all day, which is saying something.
‘But what about Moon’s lecture?’
James shakes his head gently.
‘And Miss Congeniality starts in twenty minutes, you’ll like that one.’
‘Nah, I can’t, honey. You have my broth. Double helping; you’ll need it. I feel like shit.’
James stands and scrapes his chair back, cursing himself internally for doing the exact same thing Jon did and making his head even worse. He goes to kiss Maya on the lips but misses as she turns her head up at the same time. They are both self-conscious under Jon’s gaze, but James is too poorly to care.
‘Shall we catch the news?’ Maya asks, but James looks puzzled.
‘Huh?’
‘Want me to come with you?’ Her eyes widen as if she’s trying to tell James something.
James frowns. Now he’s irritated, as if there’s a reason he shouldn’t leave Maya alone with Jon.
‘No, you’re fine. See you in a bit.’
James snakes down the path from the bar to the sea and turns left up another path to find their room between the trees. He feels so wretched, he walks slowly, swaying like a man trying to conceal he’s drunk.
‘Poor guy,’ Jon shrugs, throwing his ream of paper onto the table with a thump. He rests his chin on a palm, propped on his elbow on the table, leaning further in towards Maya, who is still watching James walk away. ‘I guess some people can’t tolerate it as much as others – it’s insane how every person’s detox journey is different.’
Maya gazes, from the trees in which James disappeared, back to Jon, to the stack of paper on the table.
‘What are you reading?’
‘Oh, it’s something I’m writing actually.’
‘Writing?’
‘Yeah, a script I’m writing. I had Hiddleston in mind for it at first, but then I thought fuck it, it’s perfect for me.’
‘Oh right.’
‘Weird isn’t it – I was writing this character – a slightly damaged spy, gone a bit rogue but finding the right path – and I connected with him so much I thought “Dammit, this can be me!” It’s so good, I can’t give it up. So I have to go back to the producers to drop the bombshell, persuade the heavies in Burbank to take a chance on me. I’ll do it when I’m back.’
‘Oh, OK, good luck with that.’
Jon picks up his lymph juice and takes a sip. ‘Thanks,’ he says with a deep green moustache, before he wipes it away on a bare arm. ‘Hopefully I can make them understand. My passion will speak volumes.’
Maya looks at his arms and remembers how they held her.
‘I’m sure it will.’
Jon looks at Maya, her kind and encouraging eyes, and smiles.
She smiles back, ruefully.
‘Strange isn’t it? Sometimes the best and the most obvious thing is right under your nose. It takes a while to see it.’
Maya unscrews the lid of her water and takes a sip, looking out to sea beyond her bottle, as if it’s a telescope scrutinising the horizon. She doesn’t notice Jon looking at his fancy watch.
‘Anyway, shall we head over to the common room for the movie?’
‘I didn’t think you liked chick flicks.’
‘No, but I love Sandy.’
‘Sandy?’
‘Bullock. Met her at an amfAR event in New York. She’s a hoot. I’d watch anything with her in.’
Maya shrugs as if to say OK.
‘Come on then, better get a good position…’