"So, how was it?" Brett places a cup of tea down on the table in front of me and sits in his favourite chair.
"Good. I'm so glad I decided to go!" I've been gone nine months, and nothing here has changed. Except Brett's waistline. I sink back into the sofa cushions, glad of the warmth they provide. "Mate, Ibiza was amazing. And warm - I've not missed the cold!"
Brett laughs, belly shaking in echo. "I honestly can't believe you buggered off for the whole summer on your own." Clutching his cup, he leans forward. "Tell me all about it."
"Not much to tell. I worked, partied, slept. Met some interesting people though." Taking a sip of my tea, I realise he's put sugar in it. Typical Brett. "I'm not going to keep in touch with anyone, but god, were they fun to play with!”
More laughter, tinged with jealousy this time. Brett had never even left town, let alone the country. But I'd known him long enough to know he wouldn't hold it against me. "Come on, you have to give me more than that." Widening his eyes, he changes to his serious tone. "You've been gone for almost a year, there has to be something juicy to tell me.”
As I go to put my cup down, I notice today's paper on the coffee table and quickly put my mug over the headline. "Honestly?"
He nods enthusiastically.
"There was this girl... tall, slim, beautiful green eyes. Danced like you wouldn't believe."
He leans further forward; he’s lapping this up. Stifling a laugh, I quickly tell him how I ripped her clothes off and ruined her on the beach. His face grows red, and he shifts on the seat. He'll be using that image later, no doubt.
"And she wasn't the only one." Winking at him, I could feel the desperation oozing from his pores. He’s trying to cover his excitement with a flowery cushion. "Listen, Brett. I have to go. I only got back this morning and promised mum I'd pop in."
Standing up, I gesture to the newspaper. "Mind if I steal this? Got some catching up to do."
"Yeah, that's fine." He stays glued to the chair, looking a bit embarrassed, poor Brett.
"Don't get up mate, I'll let myself out." Waving the paper and considering myself a good friend, I leave and get into my car - a Seat Ibiza of all things - I've chucked the paper on the passenger seat but can't resist another look at the lead story before I drive to mum’s house.
IBIZA PLAGUED BY SERIAL KILLER
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