five, going via the shop to pick up some supplies, as he rarely cooks, I've found that there is almost never anything more than basic bread and cheese stocked in Carlos's kitchen.
We decide on a simple dish of chicken with tomatoes and salad, easy to knock up and little to clear up after.
We shower together again, it's surprising how dirty you get just hanging out around the resort. My hair and skin are covered in a layer of salt water, making them both dry and oily at the same time and there is sand stuck everywhere. When we've showered I change into a pair of Carlos's shorts and an old T-shirt to save unpacking anything, plus I love being cocooned in things that smell of him.
I can wear my dirty clothes from today to catch the plane in the morning, as it's not like I'll have anyone to impress, I shake them out and hang them off the back of the chairs on the balcony in a vague attempt to air them a bit.
Once we are done we head downstairs and under my instruction we begin prepping dinner, it's really just a case of searing the chicken then shoving it all in a pan in the oven for an hour, but from watching Carlos, you'd think it was rocket science. That's definitely something I will have to fix about him at a later date, I laugh to myself. All in all he is pretty well trained, very polite and impeccably chivalrous, but I still believe a man should know how to cook more than scrambled egg on burnt toast!
Blair and John arrive right on time, seven on the dot, “Something smells good” John compliments us as he walks in.
“It's almost ready, we were thinking of eating in here if that's OK with you two, it's still a bit warm outside to be eating a hot meal” I suggest. They both agree that's fine, Blair moves to the kitchen to find a bottle opener for the wine they bought, “I love what you've done with this place” she says, perusing the cupboards, I'm betting that was the immediate reaction Carlos was hoping for when he first bought me here. Blair is ideal in every social situation, knowing exactly what to say, without any prompting and saying it in an entirely genuine manner.
When the wine is open we all sit round on the sofas, surprisingly it's John who breaches the elephant in the room “So, you're off home in the morning, are you guys going to keep in touch?” he asks innocently, Blair quickly kicks him in the ankle, obviously more aware of the sensitivity of the subject.
“It's OK” I wave off the awkwardness, “Yes we're keeping in touch, hopefully Carlos will be able to come to England in the next few weeks” I down play the reality, because if I told them how it actually made me feel, I'd probably burst into tears.
“That's great” Blair chips in, “will you be in your new home by then?” she asks, subtly changing the subject.
“I hope so, my friend Caz has been handling it and she seems to think it will be a done deal within a couple of weeks” my words are hollow, I speak because it's expected of me, but inside all I can think of now is having to leave. I take Carlos's hand and squeeze it in my own, somewhere deep down in the area he sends things in denial, he must be feeling the same.
When he squeezes back a lump forms in my throat, hold it together Kaitlin, you've done enough crying in public throughout this holiday and tonight is meant to be a nice night, not another one filled with you sobbing.
To take my mind off it and to remove the pressure of having everyone’s eyes boring into me, I stand and walk to the kitchen, opening the oven door to make it look like I'm just checking on dinner.
“Do you need a hand?” Blair calls after me.
“No, it's OK” I call back, just loud enough for her to hear, but not so clearly that the grief is apparent in my voice.
As it happens, it looks pretty much done, in fact the garlic bread we shoved in last minute is almost starting to turn to the dark side, so I have a good excuse to keep out of the way for a minute.
I take everything out and start to dish up, every time I spoon out a portion