We walk into the 1970‘s style orange and brown reception, drop our bags and bask in the cool waft of air from the huge ceiling fan as Gandalf The Grey (real name Starbeam Night Sky) pushes two shot glasses of green sludge into our hands. Oliver is deliberately not looking my way. Hopefully, our rooms will be at opposite ends of the complex.
‘Leave begs. Begs vee take to vooms 10 und 11,’ he instructs before he misconstrues my disappointed expression, and his eyes widen. ‘Ah, I no realise you couple! You vant same voom?’ He looks Oliver appreciatively up and down. ‘Big, big bed, yah?’
‘NO!’ I blurt out at the same time Oliver says, ‘Absolutely not!’
Which to me is a fraction too forceful and rude sounding, if entirely honest. It causes me to childishly glare at him and add, ‘Never in a million years!’
After a moment’s hesitation, Gandalf chooses to ignore our vehement outburst. ‘Drink these. Vee start in ten minoots. You refresh in vooms. Then you come to Serenity Fountain for evening induction,’ he says, swinging his arm towards the hotel gardens before floating off. ‘Come. I show you fountain.’
I slide my eyes over to Oliver. ‘Well,’ I say, raising the shot glass, ‘Up yours?’ and knock it back.
Oliver stares at me, runs his hand through his thick, glossy hair and suddenly bursts out laughing. It transforms his face. His eyes are twinkling, his teeth are perfect and somehow he’s even better looking. The first thing I’ll insist on is a room change as far away as possible from this distracting beefy-armed giant.
We follow Gandalf out through some patio doors to a delightful terrace, dotted with tables and chairs, white parasols and twinkling lights perfect for fine dining and sipping cocktails under the starry sky. A vision pops immediately into my head of what needs to happen tonight. A luxurious bath. An exquisite, celebratory five-course meal for my birthday. And a crate of delicious wine. Perfect.
While Oliver follows Gandalf to the gardens, I dash back to reception to make sure they change my room. I’m dismayed to see Gandalf has teleported himself, via dark arcane magics, back to behind the reception desk.
‘It’s very important that I am not anywhere near the man I came in with,’ I stress as quietly as I can.
Gandalf smiles serenely at me and hands me an old-fashioned, heavy, brass key from the 1800‘s. There’s a tag hanging from it. It has the number 10 written on it.
‘No, you don’t understand,’ I say out of the side of my mouth. ‘I need to be away from…’
‘Problem?’ Oliver asks, coming up behind me.
Typical.I let out an exasperated sigh, ‘No. No problem.’
I watch Gandalf hand him a similar key with the number 11 on it. He smiles at Oliver, saying, ‘Vee place good energies in your vooms.’
He turns to me and declares that they have placed many, many calming crystals in mine. ‘To combat your frazzled mind und… how you say? Your difficult nature, yah?’
Difficult?This morning I wastoonice. Now, apparently, I’mtoodifficult.
Oliver is visibly trying not to smirk. ‘Don’t worry, I will keep a respectful distance.’
‘Good. Make sure that you do.’
Why? Why am I being so rude?
‘Velcome, velcome,’ says Gandalf ten minutes later, sweeping his arm over the grass to encourage Oliver and I to sit on it.
Oliver walks to the furthest point away from me and settles himself down. He’s still got an annoyingly bemused look on his face. It gives me a chance to study him a bit further. He seems very relaxed and sure of himself. His long, tanned legs are sprawled on the grass, while he leans back on his toned biceps. They’re like small watermelons bursting to be free.
I run my eyes the length of him and take in the whole effect. He has an incredibly taut stomach. I linger over it a while wondering how on Earth a person gets a body like that. I rake my eyes up towards his profile, just in time to see him watching me with a perplexed expression.
Shite.
I tear my eyes from his to concentrate on the horrors that Gandalf is telling us. I’m appalled to discover we will be wifi and phones free – apparently this is a thing at retreats.
What thing? Why?
How the hell am I going to qualify as a Life Coach in the next 72 hours without the internet? How am I to miraculously wake up speaking Spanish like a native without the aid of one of those learn while you sleep dua-lingua apps? I feel my heart rate almost explode. I begin arguing bitterly with Gandalf, but he fails to see the emergency.
‘Fine,’ I say, masking how upset I am. I battle as to how honest to be with him. This is an emergency situation after all. ‘But I’ll need to use it in my room because… there’s something that… I’ll pay extra. Ineedwifi in my room, okay?’
Gandalf looks sceptical.
‘Surely we get some downtime? To do what we want? Alone?’ I plead.
