How to Kill Your Family(8)

We emerge outside, into the blinding sun and what looks like a theme park for adults. There are several linking pools, each with a bar in the middle, where people have swum up and are enjoying cocktails underneath straw parasols. House music blares and waiters walk briskly between loungers, topping up drinks. Some people have whole beds, laid out under canopies, where several people lie around smoking and chatting. Nobody is sporting anything more than swimwear, apart from me and I have no intention of joining them. I spy an actual belly chain of all things. Jewellery for the waist, for when you run out of places to flaunt your diamonds. Coco Chanel would die.

‘Mr Amir is not here yet, please relax and have a drink.’ I’m almost pushed down onto a large white lounger, where I am conspicuous only in my solitude. I order a tonic water, in the hope that Amir will think I’m ‘already on it’, and wait. My new friend is only forty-five minutes late, time I spend watching the bronzed girls rolling down their already tiny bikinis to get more sun, and staring at the men with their shaved chests and mini bum bags preening and showing off – mainly it seems, to each other.

I spot Amir as he walks through the sun loungers. He’d be hard to miss, dressed as he is, in neon orange shorts and surrounded by a posse of lads – all of whom seem to signal that their main aim in life is to look as much like their leader as possible. Waiters appear from all sides, bringing towels, glasses, ice buckets and, bizarrely, a coconut.

Amir reaches the lounger where I’m sitting, and peers down at me over his sunglasses. ‘Hello, gorgeous! This is Stevie, JJ, Fatlad, Cooper, and Nige.’ He gestures to the posse, all of whom nod uninterestedly, already looking at the bikini girls next to us. I wonder why ‘Fatlad’ has been given such a harsh moniker, given that his body fat percentage looks to hover in the single digits. I can only see muscles, more than a person should rightly have unless they have a physical job and I rather doubt that Fatlad has a job of any kind.

Amir grabs the coconut and throws it to the gentleman he called Nige, who bounces it hard against his head to loud roars of appreciation. Not satisfied, Nige tries again, and the fruit breaks open. He climbs onto the sun lounger and holds the pieces high in the air, as bikini girls and muscle boys alike holler excitedly.

‘It’s his best trick,’ says Amir proudly. ‘He practised that for eight summers in a row until he managed it. We’re trying to get him on that talent show where dogs do magic.’ I feel a slight sense of panic spreading through my veins, as I envisage an entire afternoon spent watching these people practise their mating rituals around a tiny swimming pool presumably contaminated by oil, fake tan, and fag ash. I must be sterner in my mission and not allow Amir to dictate my day.

With this new resolve, I reach over and hold his wrist until he turns and focuses his full attention on me. ‘I’m really sorry, but you guys were a bit late, and I only have another hour before the next part of my journey. Did you bring the car here? Only I don’t have masses of time.’

He looks at me for a minute and then throws his head back and laughs. The beefy posse behind him echo his snorts, despite not being near enough to have heard what I said. I guess whoever pays for the drinks commands a full-time rapturous audience.

‘Babes, I don’t even know your name! Calm down speedy. I have a car for you here, but let’s hang for a bit, get into it, mix it up yeah?’ I suppress the shudder I experience upon hearing such nonsensical bollocks, and allow my shoulders to drop slightly.

‘My name’s Amy,’ I say smiling, ‘and I’d definitely be up for mixing it up for a while.’

I end up spending nearly two hours with Amir and his growing group. I try to lean into it, but it’s not easy. Champagne is sprayed, girls are lured over, music is turned up on request. Amir’s attention span is limited, to put it mildly, and I have to wait patiently as he jumps up and down several times, often just to shout ‘Tuuuuuune’ to nobody in particular.

I tell him that I work in corporate events, and emphasise that I just broke up with my boyfriend so I’m not looking for anything romantic. Luckily, Amir seems to be genuinely uninterested in anything like that. He’s clearly a guy who collects friends and chases a good time. Perhaps there’s not much else to it. Makes a change. I check my watch several times, and when I can’t stand it anymore, I tell him I’ve run out of time and really have to go. It’s the truth, I don’t have too long before I need to be in position at Dinero.

He rolls his eyes, but gets up and signals to JJ, who scurries over, practically knocking a bikini-clad lovely into the pool in his haste. ‘Get the Hummer brought round, mate,’ Amir orders, and takes a sip of champagne. ‘You’re a funny one, Amy. I didn’t think you was into our chat on the plane, didn’t think I’d hear from you again. But nobody can resist Amir in the end, haha.’ He puts his arm on my back, and steers me towards the building, where we walk through as waiters back against walls. ‘This car is a sweet ride, darling, but it’s powerful. It’s a beast, will you be OK with that, can you handle the ride?’ I assure him that I’ve got loads of experience with big cars, which is a total lie, and I don’t ask what a Hummer is, which is a wise decision. We wait outside for the car to be driven round, and Amir tells me to enjoy it, and not to worry about bringing it back until Sunday. It’ll be back well before that, but I just smile and thank him.