Sin Tropez by Aita Ighodaro Page B

leaves.’
    ‘Alright, alright, let’s go to Nikki Beach then,’ conceded Tara, getting up and sliding into the pool for a few laps to work off her misery, then emerging twenty minutes later
slightly cheered.
    The girls took their time over the ritual of dressing for the beach, luxuriating in the fresh sea air and bright sunlight shining directly through the patio doors and into the villa.
    ‘Oh fuck, what are you wearing, hon?’ Abena asked, popping her head into Tara’s room. This is more stressful than I imagined it’d be. It’s been far too long since
I’ve had everything on show like this.’
    ‘Dunno, thought I might get into the swing of things and go for my cut-out one-piece, but I don’t want to mess up my tan …’ Tara replied. She had perked up considerably
and was now dancing naked to dodgy music from a local radio station that she’d turned up as high as it could go.
    ‘How about you? Surely you remember the advice we were given by the paragon of elegance and good taste that is Natalya?’ Tara raised an arched eyebrow mockingly.
    Abena thought back to what Natalya had said the night before about the importance of dressing for the beach and chuckled. As mercenary as Natalya had been, she’d kind of had a point when
she’d claimed that ‘it’s at private beach clubs and pools that serious decisions are made’. By the bright light of day at Club 55, she had explained, the owners of the
largest yachts can be seen descending on to the shore for lunch, giving anyone looking to sell – shares, businesses, homes, even their body and soul – access to dozens of potential
business partners and clients. Across the champagne-saturated pool at Nikki Beach, a girl can be seen in all her glory as her bikini-clad body teeters on the brink of deep water, never quite
entering. ‘Anybody who has seen or been seen by day,’ Natalya had said, ‘will make an appearance at Les Caves or VIP by night, and at these clubs, on dance floors and at tables,
the seduction takes place.’
    Abena laughed at the memory. ‘Natalya’s cynicism is terrifying, but somehow I like her. She’s amusing and very, very intriguing. I kind of feel sorry for her
sometimes.’
    ‘Intriguing? Or downright shady? She makes me uneasy.’
    In the end, the girls both settled coincidentally on animal-print bikinis. Black-and-white zebra print for Tara. She wasn’t yet tanned enough to wear the plain white one that made her feel
like Ursula Andress emerging from the sea. Abena wore a leopard-print string bikini, an ostentatious choice considering she felt self-conscious next to skinny Tara. No matter how many times she
told herself that Tara had the body of a peculiarly tall, prepubescent little girl whereas she had a trim, athletic, young woman’s body, she always ended up feeling that her muscular thighs
were too chunky. They threw on floaty chiffon mini-dresses in pastel colours and stepped into flat bejewelled sandals. The bikini-and-high-heels look was for the likes of Natalya.
    Next came full faces of make-up, expertly applied to give the impression of flawless and bare summer skin. Hair slicked into chic top-knots and big sunglasses completed the seasoned jet-setter
look. Abena picked up her phone to text the boys she’d met last night. Just ask for my table at the entrance came the immediate reply. God, these guys are all
so arrogant! she thought. They expect everyone to simply know who they are. Struggling to focus through her hangover, she texted back: My mother told me never to meet boys
whose sirname I don’t know .
    Beep beep and in came the smug reply: And my mother told me never to associate with girls who can’t spell “surname”. Banio.
    Embarrassed, Abena was tempted to reply that seeing as neither of their mothers were likely to approve, they should just call it quits now. Instead she gritted her teeth and typed in a smiley
face, followed by: Ha, ha – you got me! Great, see you in a few