Wish You Were Here by Mike Gayle Page A

nightclub that Andy had once got thrown out of for falling asleep on the dance floor, which had now changed its name to Eden. Andy pointed out the once open ground where we had played mini-golf every afternoon, now a new block of holiday apartments. And finally I spotted Ming House, the all-you-can-eat Cantonese restaurant that was now Luigi’s, a takeaway pizzeria.
    â€˜They’ve even renamed the beach,’ said Andy as we finally reached our destination.
    I glanced up at the official-looking sign above Andy’s head. ‘Laguna Beach – this way’. ‘What was it called before?’ I asked trying to recall its name.
    Andy shrugged.
    â€˜I think it was just called “the beach”,’ said Tom. ‘That’s how sophisticated things were back then.’
    Laguna Beach was exactly what I expected of the Malia I had encountered so far. It was less a beach in the traditional sense of the word and more an alfresco nightclub. Two huge speakers were carefully positioned at the top of the beach to ensure maximum exposure of the kind of club tunes that I spent my whole life trying to avoid.
    Resignedly we began making our way across the beach in search of a patch of sand without a sun-lounger parked on it. Ten feet on to the sand, however, we were intercepted by a tall bare-chested bronzed guy wearing black wrap-around sunglasses, cut-off shorts and a bum bag.
    â€˜Five Euros each,’ he said in heavily accented English.
    â€˜We’ve got to pay?’ said Tom incredulously.
    â€˜For that you get a pass, a sun-bed and umbrella.’
    â€˜No thanks, mate,’ I replied. The idea of paying to lie on a beach just seemed wrong on all kind of levels.
    â€˜Come, come,’ he said confidently. ‘I will show you someone who will explain.’
    I looked at Andy and he shrugged and then Tom looked at me and he shrugged too and because we were English and didn’t like to offend people if we could help it, we followed him across the sand to three empty sun-loungers. The man waved across the sand to a pretty blonde in a bikini top and cut-off denim shorts who came running across with all the urgency of a lifeguard in action. When she reached us the bronzed guy gave me a cheeky wink and then disappeared, leaving the girl to introduce herself.
    â€˜Hi,’ she said. ‘I’m Susie.’
    â€˜Nice to meet you, Susie,’ said Andy shaking her hand. ‘Is that a Newcastle accent I detect there?’
    Susie nodded. ‘I’ve just graduated so I thought I’d come out here for the summer. I’m here during the day and then in the evening I work at Eden.’ She paused and smiled. ‘So how long are you guys here for?’
    â€˜A week,’ said Andy. He winked at Susie. ‘But it could be longer if you play your cards right.’
    Even I could see that Susie was merely chatting us up in order to soften the blow when she asked us for money for our so-called beach card but Andy was lost in a fantasy world where he imagined that this girl really fancied him. I was reasonably sure that his flirtatious manner was more out of habit than actual intention. But thankfully before he could get round to proving me wrong she got to the point.
    For the princely sum of five Euros each we would receive a card that would entitle us to three sun-beds and umbrellas for a week, ten per cent off any meal at Spetzi’s Chicken Grill and a free cocktail (choice determined by the barman) at the Cool Breeze beach bar. We all signed up without the slightest hint of struggle. It was pathetic really. The fact that this very attractive girl was even talking to us seemed to render our cognitive faculties redundant.
    Susie thanked us for our money, assured us that she would see us later and then shimmied back across the beach to where the tall bronzed Greek guy was standing with some other tall bronzed Greek guys. Suitably emasculated we arranged ourselves on the