by Mandy Baggot
The one thing he was certain of was that drinking ouzo in the middle of the day with his father was not going to help either of them solve anything. But the male-bonding had helped him discover that whatever was wrong with his parents’ relationship it hopefully wasn’t terminal. Spiros had talked of Eleni’s boredom and dreams and his father had said it all in such a way that Elias could understand completely why his mother might have got frustrated with him. Spiros was a simple man at heart. He thought that dreams were for other people. His mother however had always been far more ready to experiment with life. Yes, she was big on certain traditions, but she also broke boundaries, albeit in a small way. She was never afraid to be vocal to the mayor about refuse collection or broken streetlights. She organised events to bring the community together. She encouraged the widows of the village to wear colour again and reembrace life. Yes, it was true she might be a little – or a lot – bullish about things, but deep in her heart it was because she cared about everyone.
‘I am walking in a straight line! It’s you who isn’t!’
Elias froze. It was Petra’s voice and he hunkered down into his seat like he was a cop on a stakeout trying not to be discovered. He had assumed they were inside the house. It was well past midnight. He didn’t even know why he had driven up here on his way back to Liakada. Except that half an hour ago he felt looking at the property might make him come to a decision about going in and making an inventory tomorrow. But he knew, if going in was what he decided, he was going to have to be upfront with Becky. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to go behind her back and let himself in when she was staying there. It would be wrong. Her things would be there. Her pad and pen maybe. Drawings of animals with holes in them…
‘You told me you drank tsipouro with those guys. I only drank wine.’
It was Becky’s voice now and Elias lifted his head a little, daring to look out of the open window to see her. The women were walking, slowly, at varying degrees of wobbly, heading towards the gate of the property.
‘The wine!’ Petra exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. ‘It looked like it had come from a ninety-year-old with a bad urine infection.’
‘How do you know?’ Becky responded. ‘How many pots of pee belonging to ninety-year-olds with urine infections have you been witness to?’
‘You really don’t have a clue what goes on in Bangkok, do you?’
‘I don’t seem to have a clue what was missing from that stifado, either.’ Becky stopped walking and let out a sigh. ‘And that means I’m losing my touch. And if I’m losing my touch then that means I really am just someone who butters bread for a living.’
‘Bread is important though,’ Petra replied. ‘Like, you can eat it and you can spend it. You can never have enough of it.’
‘You are definitely more drunk than I am.’
‘Not too drunk to do sailing tomorrow though.’
‘What?’ Becky exclaimed.
Elias watched them. Both still stood outside the gate of the villa, underneath the full moon illuminating them like a spotlight. Swaying a little…
Petra laughed. ‘The guys – the ones I met in the restaurant. They’re meeting us at Avlaki beach tomorrow and we’re going to do sailing.’
‘Oh, Petra, no. I’m not really very good at things like that,’ Becky protested.
‘Things like what?’
‘Anything that involves any sort of coordination.’
‘Like putting one foot in front of the other right now?’ Petra asked, pushing the gate open.
‘Well, if I’m going to be forced to go sailing then you’re definitely going to have to do Dark Dating,’ Becky told her. ‘In fact, I’ve already had to pay for our entry so…’
‘Dark Dating? What the hell is that? Do you have to have dinner with vampires?’
‘You can’t see, and you’re not allowed to speak either,’ Becky explained.
‘What kind of dating is that?’
‘Very quiet dating I’m guessing.’
Petra let out a burp. ‘It’s that stifado,’ she announced. ‘It’s given me all the indigestion.’
‘Nothing to do with the shots with those guys then?’ Becky asked.
‘I think that Eleni put something extra in my meal. She doesn’t like me.’
‘There was definitely something missing from the recipe, I wish I could figure out what it was.’
‘We should have swapped bowls. I probably had what was missing in mine. You could have shared the burping with me.’ Petra held her breath for a few seconds and then spoke again. ‘Now, let me tell you about Atlantis because I think you and he could definitely be a match made in…’
‘Atlantis?’
‘I was going to say “heaven” but—’
‘Atlantis can’t be his real name!’ Becky exclaimed.
‘I met someone called Golem in Ho Chi Minh City.’
‘No!’
‘I swear! Now, Atlantis is tall, but not too tall. Dark hair and lean, but not too lean and he doesn’t smoke. Well, he didn’t smoke at any point during the six or so shots we did and he would have done, wouldn’t he? If he was a smoker. I’m guessing you wouldn’t be into a smoker.’
‘Well… I might not hold it against a guy if he was, but I do prefer—’
‘Ha!’ Petra laughed. ‘You mean you might hold it against the guy. Hold it against him. Get it? Hold it against him, as in your vag—’
‘I get it, Petra,’ Becky answered.
Elias watched the two women open up the gate then, after a few attempts, successfully close and lock it. They had been to Liakada. They had met his mother. Of course they had met his mother. His mother had most likely been here at the villa when they arrived. How crazy was this? His own mother cleaning the very house that belonged to his client from the UK! Except that streak of coincidence was not what was bothering him the most. What was concerning him was the fact Becky might already know he had lied about his occupation. And that she was going sailing tomorrow with someone called Atlantis.
He waited a few moments until a light went on inside the property and then he started up the car and drove away.
Thirty-Nine
Avlaki Beach
‘It’s a great view, isn’t it?’
Becky, wearing a pair of sea shoes she had found in the utility room that were at least a whole size too big, crunched the soles down into the stones. It was another beautiful beach. White stones and small patches of sand in between, leading down to a shore where the waves seemed to be increasing in intensity the more she eyed them up. The sky was still a perfect blue, but it was windy. Petra had claimed it perfect sailing weather and she had bounced around the patio earlier, holding up miniscule swimwear in an effort to get Becky to help her choose an outfit for the expedition. No hangover was evident in the demeanour of the twenty-year-old. Becky, on the other hand, had already downed five super-strong Greek coffees and didn’t feel vaguely normal at all. But the scenery was helping. This beautiful aquamarine bay with the rise and fall of the mountain behind it and again, with the peaks across the water in Albania.
‘The waves are starting to look fierce,’ Becky commented. She was wearing a life-vest and that had worried her from the very outset.
‘I didn’t mean that view!’ Petra remarked. ‘I meant Atlantis and Troy.’ She made some strange feral-cat-style noise. ‘I like a bit of a wetsuit look.’
Except the men weren’t wearing wetsuits. They were wearing nothing on their torsos and some sort of tight-fitting bottoms that stopped mid-thigh. It was all a little bit Aquaman.
‘You have to admit they’re both fit,’ Petra said, continuing to admire the men who were now in the water and taking ownership of two rather flimsy-looking craft. The sail was tall like a yacht and billowing with the force of the wind, but the hull of it was small. It barely looked able to contain a whole person, a bit like the chairs in Eleni’s cafeneon.
‘Becks! Are you listening to me?’
‘No,’ Becky answe
red. ‘I’m concentrating on looking at those boats that are bumping up and down on the waves like they’re made of paper.’ And not a nice, plush thick kind you might make a glossy leaflet out of. No, the really thin printer paper that usually got stuck in the roller.
‘Come on,’ Petra said, swinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her forward. ‘Once you’re on the water you’ll love it. And you can stop worrying about someone nicking the Aston Martin because you’ll be at sea and not able to do anything about it.’
‘Petra!’ Becky hissed. ‘I’m worrying about it again!’
‘We parked it behind a bush!’ Petra reminded. ‘With the cover over it. Which I think makes it look well-dodgier but…’
‘At least it doesn’t quite shout “Hello, I’m worth seven million pounds”.’
‘The latest estimate is nine million,’ Petra told her, walking to the sea’s edge. ‘The value seems to be going up every time I look. Oh,’ she said turning to look at Becky. ‘I found something else out this morning too.’
‘The flamingo isn’t back, is it?’ Becky asked. ‘Because I thought I saw it this morning in the garden.’ But it could have easily been a mirage due to her hangover. She’d been seeing two coffee machines for the first hour…
‘No, but I know that Elias isn’t an estate agent,’ Petra told her with a knowing nod. ‘You were spot on there.’
‘He’s not,’ Becky said. She didn’t know whether to feel pleased that her suspicions about him had been correct or to be disappointed that he had been lying to her since they first met.
‘I Googled him this morning. The right spelling of his name this time.’ Petra waved at the men and urged Becky forward again. She was glad she was wearing the sea shoes. She couldn’t imagine how Petra was gliding over the pebbles so at ease with being barefoot.
‘Well,’ Becky said. ‘What does he do for a living? Who is he?’
‘He’s—’
‘The boats are ready! Come on!’
It was Troy calling. Atlantis, Becky had discovered over the one coffee they had shared at the taverna before they came on down to the beach, didn’t smoke but didn’t seem to talk much either. It had been hard work trying to build on pleasantries when someone didn’t appear willing to get on board with the conversation concept. At first Becky thought it might be because he was Greek and didn’t know much English, but he’d managed to say quite fluently that he hated tea and he hated rain and he hated the colour white because it wasn’t really a colour at all. White was, according to Atlantis, an ‘irrelevant body’. Becky had wanted to say that made no sense at all, but frankly she couldn’t be bothered. Who hated a colour so passionately that they had made up a stupid little phrase to accompany the hatred?
‘Are they getting on the boats with us?’ Becky asked, sea shoes meeting the foaming water breaking on the shore. As much as she was apprehensive about the whole sailing thing, she also didn’t want to be too up close and personal with the man named after a fictional island.
‘No, don’t be silly,’ Petra answered. ‘They’re one-person boats.’
‘I’m going to sail it on my own?’ Perhaps sidling up to Atlantis mightn’t be so bad.
‘Yes. But you’ll be fine. We’ll get a little instruction before we sail off and the four of us are heading out together so you won’t really be on your own. And it’s only around the bay. It’s not like we’re going to end up in Albania.’
‘But, Petra, I’ve seriously never done anything like this before,’ Becky told her. She realised she was shivering and in the intense heat of the day, the water around her shins not even tepid, that couldn’t be a good thing.
‘I know,’ Petra said, grinning. ‘And that’s why this is so great. Think of it…’ She looped her arm around Becky’s shoulder again. ‘After this holiday you can add so much more to your CV. Cave-explorer, Greek dancer, sailor, cat-wrangler…’
‘Petra, what does Elias do for a job?’ Becky asked.
‘What do you think he does for a job?’
Not this again. This man had definitely had far too much time spent with people trying to guess his occupation.
‘Just tell me,’ Becky demanded.
Petra smiled. ‘The first thought I had when I found out was “wow, how boring is that” but then I visited his website, and then I read this four-page article in All Life magazine and my tongue seriously hung out of my mouth for the photos and I thought “wow, maybe I should have kissed him harder even though he’s twenty-nine”. I worked out his age from the article.’
‘Petra! What does he do?!’ Becky’s heart was racing. She had no idea what her housemate was going to say. Perhaps he was a model or an international playboy or an heir to a cobalt mine…
‘He’s a big-shot lawyer,’ Petra announced, confidently wading into the sea like she was half-mermaid. ‘Has his own company. Making shitloads of money and having to turn down clients because of his popularity among the elite. The article called him “Mr Divorce”. He only deals in matrimonial cases… oh, and the article also accused him of hating women because he allegedly only takes on men as clients.’ Petra had made quote marks in the air when she had said the word ‘allegedly’.
Elias was a divorce lawyer? He only took on men because he hated women… Becky shook her head. It didn’t sound like the person she thought she had been getting to know a little. This news proved all the things that Hazel and Shelley had warned her about. And she had heeded their warnings, but she had also thought she knew better, had let herself feel an attraction…
‘Come on, Becks!’ Petra called, beckoning her.
Shaking her head to dismiss this new news, Becky stepped into the sea. She had a date with a dinghy to conquer before she did anything else.
Forty
Elias looked at his laptop, re-reading the email for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. He had lost count and now the words were swimming in front of his eyes as he attempted to concentrate. Swimming. That’s what perhaps he should be doing. Calling a day on this case – for a week or so – taking some time for himself? He couldn’t remember the last time he had taken time for himself. Slowing down meant switching off a little and switching off a little meant there was more time to think. Thinking involved re-evaluating, re-evaluating meant considering things other than work. He didn’t have anything much apart from work. And he had made it that way.
He raised his head from the words on screen and took in the view from the taverna on Avlaki beach. Ordinarily calm, the waves were rolling hard and fast, white fizzing foam hitting the stones with force. Most of the holidaymakers were content on loungers under the scorching sun, none of them attempting to cool off in the water just yet. Why was he here? Why this beach? This taverna? Seeing the sails of four small boats rippling into the wind a little way along the beach he knew exactly why he was here. That overheard conversation last night. Petra and Becky going sailing. Becky. Why was this woman dominating his thoughts? He had barely learned the name of any woman since Hestia…
And there she was. Even from this distance he could clearly make out Becky’s outline. Her caramel hair was loose, flying out and around in the breeze and she was wearing a bright blue lifejacket over a swimsuit. She wasn’t like Petra, all lean limbs and tight torso. Becky had curves, a softness, altogether womanlier. He vividly remembered the arc of her waist as they’d danced in Kefalonia. He let out a breath and looked back to the email. Was he going to send it or not?
*
‘Come on, Becks! It’s not that hard!’ Petra yelled across the water.
It was easy for Petra to say it wasn’t hard. Petra had already got into the tiny hull of the boat like she was simply slipping into a bath. For Becky, the boat rocking back and forth untethered, her gripping on, it felt like mounting a moving camel. Not that she had mounted a camel before, but she had seen lots of camel footage on You’ve Been Framed.
Maybe, if she was pathetic enough for long enough, Petra, Troy and Atlantis would get bored, sail off and she coul
d tear off the lifejacket and settle on a sun lounger. Or grab a frappe from the taverna. It looked like a nice taverna here. All of the sea view and none of the waves trying to mash her into the pebbles…
‘Becks! Get in the boat! Come on!’ Petra yelled.
Petra seemed to be actually steering her vessel already, somehow turning the mast so the sail reacted to the wind direction. She looked completely in control.
‘It is the white colour of her boat!’ This shout came from Atlantis. He was the closest to Becky but didn’t seem in any way keen to help. ‘I tell you, white is unlucky.’
Becky took a breath. The sooner she got in the boat, the sooner she could angle it away from Atlantis and head off somewhere he couldn’t be heard. Although she wasn’t sure even Albania was going to be far enough…
As soon as the next wave had passed, Becky jumped, landing flat out on the boat like a marooned cuttlefish. Sprawling, the sea still claiming half her legs, she wiggled and writhed, hauling herself up onto the constantly rising and falling almost-ship. This was completely undignified. She could already feel her swimming costume had ridden up into parts of her even a gynaecologist would have a hard time finding.
‘That’s it, Becks!’ she heard Petra shout. ‘Now get your leg over!’
Becky closed her eyes, knowing the entire shoreline would have heard her friend’s words of encouragement. Where was the hole that was meant to house her? She crawled, backwards, commando-style, immediately thinking about Megan and her assault-course triumph to win the army catering contract, up the length of the boat until she found the niche she was supposed to be sitting in. There was no chance of turning around to face the correct way, she just had to somehow wind her legs underneath her and slot her body where it was supposed to be. When they had explained how the vessel operated, they hadn’t said it was going to take quite so much effort to get onboard. With one final effort, the waves cresting over the front of the boat, Becky pushed herself back and she somehow found the spot, dropping into the oblong opening with a thump. Her half-exposed bum took a hit and she actually wanted to cry. What was she doing here? She wasn’t a seasoned adventurer like Petra. She should simply be sunbathing or learning a few words of Greek while admiring the scenery. Not pretending she was Ben Fogle.
