Ibiza Nights: A Short Story. Lucy Lord
single-handedly opened the nursery, as so many of the (mainly ex-pat) women who attended the classes were yummy mummies. As a result, Britta’s business had practically doubled in popularity over the last couple of years.
‘Everything’s cool, Mamma! Just a little tired, I guess. How’s Pappa?’
Britta laughed. ‘Gearing up for Easter. You know your pappa – he’s determined that this year’s going to be the best ever.’
Summer laughed too as they said their goodbyes and hung up. Every Good Friday, the Larssons hosted a huge barbecue on the beach that housed the Art Resort, the holistic health centre that they owned and where Britta held her yoga classes. Friends from all over the island would descend on the stunning bay for a day of eating, drinking, smoking home-grown weed and singing along to Summer’s dad’s acoustic guitar.
He liked to go out in his sailing boat to catch the fish for the barbecue himself, putting crustaceans on ice. Invariably he got increasingly excited as they built up to the big day. Britta, who was vegan, busied herself creating various wonderful dishes using aubergine, fennel, tomato and garlic, not to mention fresh, vibrant salads – the wild greens that climbed the hills were delicious at this time of year. Summer, a fantastic cook herself, was on hand to help both parents, as well as bringing along a few things she’d prepared the night before in her apartment.
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