by Mandy Baggot
‘Where is it?’ Heidi asked, hands now desperately rooting. ‘I can’t have lost it, it had a piece of wood on the keyring the size of a tree… ah! Here it is.’
Heidi trotted towards Beth, large wooden keyring in her hand, suitcase trailing behind her. ‘This is going to be amazing! You know that, don’t you?’ Heidi enthused. ‘We are out of that stifling corporate environment. We are out of the frankly miserable-at-the-moment UK. We are—’ she took a deep breath ‘—out out!’
Beth couldn’t help a smile crossing her lips at Heidi’s rainbow disposition. If the only thing this break did was make her friend happier, then it was completely worth the airfare. And any help the environment could give to her hair would be a bonus.
‘OK, hold hands,’ Heidi said, her body giving off the same excited vibes as a child being told they were going to Disneyland.
‘Why?’ Beth asked.
‘So we can cross the threshold together.’
‘I’m not sure the doorway is wide enough. And isn’t that just for married people, not two washed-up thirty-somethings trying to forget their lives are as terrible as Theresa May’s dancing skills.’
‘What?!’ Heidi exclaimed, her expression pure aghast. ‘I hope that was a joke!’
‘Which bit?’ Beth tentatively replied.
‘My life isn’t a bit like Theresa May’s dancing. And neither of us are washed up. That isn’t what you really think, is it?’
Was it what she thought? She didn’t really know much about anything at the moment. Her life had felt pretty much like an avalanche on a rapid move down the mountain ever since the separation.
Heidi waved her hand in the air. ‘Listen, it doesn’t actually matter what you think, because you are going to let me do all the thinking on this holiday. And by that, I mean, I am your best friend, therefore I have enough experience to know what’s good for you right now…’
Beth opened her mouth to protest but Heidi cut her off and took hold of her hand. Tightly. The wedding ring dug in even more.
‘Repeat after me,’ Heidi said firmly.
‘After me,’ Beth responded.
‘Very funny.’ Heidi took a breath. ‘Repeat after me… I am a woman in my prime.’
‘Oh, Heidi, have you been going to those motivational hours at the community centre again? Weren’t you put off for good when the guest speaker was someone who had once worked with Harvey Weinstein?’
‘Say this… I am a woman in my prime,’ Heidi repeated.
Beth sighed. She really wanted to see inside the little house. Perhaps she should just go with this for now. She pulled her suitcase a bit closer. ‘I am a woman in my prime.’
‘I will feel uninhibited by life’s previous difficult pathways.’
‘I will feel…’ Beth blinked at Heidi. ‘What was the next bit?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, I’m wasting my time!’ Heidi threw her hands in the air. ‘Just tell me you’re going to cheer the fuck up before I fall back off the wagon and need more wine.’
‘Hang on,’ Beth said. ‘When were you actually on the wagon? Because we had wine mid-flight and…’
‘And I followed it up with a coconut water to cancel it out.’
‘I’m not sure it works like that.’
‘Beth,’ Heidi begged. ‘Please, let’s just commit to enjoying this gorgeous Greek island like we did when we were twenty-one.’
Twenty-one. Only ten years ago. But it felt like a whole millennium had passed. So much had changed.
‘With just the normal cocktails, not the ones we made up that nearly killed us. You know, when you’re back off the wagon again.’
First Heidi looked appalled at the suggestion her apparent sobriety might be so easily abandoned, but then her friend grinned, holding onto her hat as a breeze drifted under the covered terrace, baskets of blooms swaying gently.
‘Those were the days,’ Heidi said softly, looking as if her mind was flooding back to somewhere between vermouth and Derek from Pontefract.
‘Can we go in now?’ Beth asked. ‘Without the holding hands and threshold-carrying if possible.’
‘Yes,’ Heidi said, putting the key in the lock. She looked back at Beth, as if this unlatching moment was as historic as a blood moon eclipse. ‘So, Beth Martin-formerly-Mountbatten-formerly-Martin, are you ready for a summer of adventure?’
‘No,’ Beth answered. ‘I’m ready for a rest. And a cold drink. And to put my clothes away.’
‘After three,’ Heidi said, hand still poised on the door. ‘One… two… three.’
One swift key turn, a push of the door and then the ceiling came crashing down.
Six
‘Flo… can you hear me?’ Heidi shouted into her mobile as she paced up and down the outside terrace, flakes of plaster falling off her sundress with each step. ‘Honestly, this signal! I may as well be using a paper cup and a piece of string… Flo! Listen… bit of a problem. Half the fucking ceiling of your uncle’s house has come down.’
After the initial shock and a dust cloud to rival nuclear testing had settled, Beth had acted first, shooing Heidi over the pile of rubble at their feet and into the house on the hunt for a brush to start clearing up the damage. Thirty minutes later, the clumps of plaster were stationed in one corner of the room and Beth was outside shaking out throws from the ancient Greek sofa bed in the lounge. Thankfully the beds in the bedrooms were more modern but she couldn’t say the same for the shower. She hadn’t studied it for too long, but it didn’t need a magnifying glass to pick out the tell-tale slow drip.
But outside completely made up for the chaos inside. Through patio doors and traditional wooden shutters painted green, there was a veranda with a little round table and two chairs, plus a wicker seat filled with large striped cushions that hung by a rope attached to the beamed roof. Then there was nothing but soft sand and cerulean sea, leading directly from the property’s boundary.
Beth was watching the ocean now, as she shook the coverings. She was trying to rid them of as much debris as she could before she thought about seeking out the promised washing machine in a kitchen that looked nothing like the website photo.
She had always loved the sea – felt some sort of pull towards it she had never been able to truly fathom. It was powerful and rough but equally calming and inviting. From a very early age she had adored collecting mementos from the sand. Driftwood that looked like animals; soft, smooth stones that felt good in her hands; spotted and striped shells; sparkling pieces of beach glass. All of them nature’s gifts. Perhaps her dad had loved the ocean. She had never thought to ask her mum about that.
‘No, Flo, believe me, I am not exaggerating! I’m going to send you the photos as soon as I’ve finished telling you what a fuck up this is! It doesn’t even look like the same place!’
Beth put the throws down on the wicker hanging chair and hopped up and over the low whitewashed wall. Pulling off her sandals, her feet met the fine, warm sand, her toes almost disappearing. It felt like so long since she had been barefoot, but it also felt achingly familiar. When was the last time she had walked along the beach enjoying the way the silky granules massaged her soles?
Closing her eyes, she stepped on, listening to the rush of waves, letting the rhythm of its movement tap into her soul. This felt good. This felt really good. She held her head a little higher, rolled back her shoulders… perhaps now she could invest in Heidi’s mantra of them being women in their prime.
She opened her eyes now, the sun on her cheeks, the sea breeze in her starting-to-get-wavy-again hair and looked straight into the water as the first flow of ocean rushed over her toes. It wasn’t cold at all, it was only slightly less warm than the sand. But the liquid gliding over her skin felt amazing. Maybe this holiday was exactly what she needed.
Suddenly a hand clamped onto her shoulder and she jumped, fearful.
‘I have good news and not-so-good news.’
‘God, Heidi, you scared the life out of me!’ Beth exclaimed.
‘Sorry – ooh the water’s lovely, isn’t it?’ Heidi stamped her feet up and down like a child in wellies might do in a puddle of cold English rain.
‘Yes, it is,’ Beth agreed. ‘So, what’s the not-so-good news?’
‘Well, it turns out there are two properties called Paralia View. One’s here and the other… isn’t.’
‘And we’re at the wrong one?’ Beth asked. She didn’t know what she wanted Heidi’s answer to be as she paddled further in, ankles now being licked by the salt-water. She liked being right by the ocean, maybe getting to hear it at night…
‘No, we’re at the right one, hence why the key turned,’ Heidi said. ‘I just looked at the wrong one on the website so…’
‘That’s why the rooms don’t look anything like we thought,’ Beth interrupted.
‘And the ceiling has fallen down.’
‘And there isn’t a washing machine, is there?’
‘And the ceiling has fallen down.’
Heidi had a point. The ceiling caving in was more of an immediate drama than there not being a washing machine. When had she turned into someone with such first-world problems? ‘So, what’s the good news?’ Beth asked. ‘You said there was good news.’
‘The good news is there’s a handyman who’s going to come and fix the ceiling.’
‘Heidi,’ Beth stated. ‘It’s going to take more than a handyman to fix the ceiling. It’s going to need a proper builder to put up plaster and things.’
‘Since when have you been an expert at what it takes to mend stuff?’
‘I watch The Restoration Man and…’ Beth opened her mouth to continue but closed it again. She had been about to say she had overseen the complete overhaul of their house in Bermondsey but then she remembered she didn’t own a house in Bermondsey any more. She took a breath. ‘And I’m a woman in my prime. Women at that stage know just about everything, don’t they?’
Heidi grinned. ‘And she’s back in the game.’
‘So, what time’s he coming?’ Beth asked, moving through the water, the sea up to her knees now, as she held her summer dress up a little.
‘Flo was going to call him and message me back with a time… oh, this might be her now.’ Heidi patted down the front of her dress then suddenly reached down her top and pulled her mobile out of her bra. ‘It’s her.’
‘Do not drop the phone in the water.’
‘My signal says we’re in Albania!’
‘More importantly, what does the message say?’ Beth asked.
‘Aleko is apparently coming later.’ Heidi smiled, replacing her phone in her underwear. ‘See, it’s going to be fixed up in no time.’
‘When later?’ Beth inquired. ‘Because I think I remember a Greek “later” being somewhere between half a day and next week.’
‘Listen,’ Heidi said, slipping her arm round Beth’s shoulder. ‘So, I admit, it hasn’t been the most orthodox of holiday starts, but things can only get better.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Because look at us. Barefoot, in gorgeous balmy water with the sun on our cheeks, not squished into a meeting room with PowerPoints we don’t really understand, being interpreted into a rude version by Dave.’
Beth smiled then. ‘Dave’s rude version of the last annuities presentation was one of this year’s highlights for me.’
‘See,’ Heidi said, nudging her with her elbow. ‘Smiling is good for the soul.’
‘So is food,’ Beth said, her stomach rumbling. ‘Shall we find somewhere to eat?’
‘An excellent suggestion. I can almost taste the gluten-free bread.’ Heidi kicked up some water.
Seven
Alex and Margalo Hallas’s home, Almyros
‘The pasta does not taste good.’
In their small kitchen-cum-dining room, thick ancient walls keeping out the heat, Margalo was chewing like her teeth belonged to an angry Great White shark, loud and ferocious and obviously emphasised to make a point. Alex didn’t answer. He had finished his bowl of pasta five minutes before, rushing it down because he had to be back at Corfu Motion, the hire car office where he worked. He stood up from the table, picking up his bowl.
‘What are you doing?’ Margalo asked.
‘Mama, I have to go. I need to be back at the office.’
‘I have not finished.’
‘You said you did not like it.’
‘That does not mean I am not hungry.’ She coughed, lungs rattling. ‘I will force it down.’
Alex sank to his chair again, trying not to display his frustration.
‘How is work?’ Margalo asked, her tone a little softer. Immediately he felt this was the beginnings of a trap. Why was that always his first reaction? Perhaps because of past experience.
‘It is the summer,’ Alex answered. ‘It is busy.’
‘It is good to be busy,’ his mother answered, eating a large forkful of the apparently inedible meal.
‘I am always busy,’ he replied a little sourly.
‘What is that meant to mean?’ Margalo snapped back. ‘You think that I should be busy? You think—’
‘Mama, I didn’t say—’ He already knew it was pointless to try and interrupt.
‘You know if my heart and lungs were not weak, I would be out working.’ She drew in a rattled breath. ‘Do not forget that when your father left us, I raised you on my own, working many, many jobs sometimes with you attached to my back. Then I would come home and have to—’
‘Clean the house and make us a meal of leftovers from whatever our neighbours had eaten the day before,’ Alex pre-empted. ‘Mama, I know.’ He paused. ‘I was not complaining. I just said I was busy.’
‘You know, if you looked at the books on cars I got you then your uncle would—’
Before Alex could interrupt her, his phone did the job for him, vibrating on the table. He reached to pick it up.
‘Who is that?’ Margalo questioned.
‘It is…’ Alex read the message quickly, eyes roving over the words. It was from his friend Dimitri who worked at a new club called The Vault in Sidari. Dimitri had managed to get him a set DJ-ing at the weekend. It was only for an hour, but it was something. And he felt that age-old thrill starting to build inside him. This was what he wanted. Not car hire or feeding livestock or even kumquats. This.
‘Aleko,’ Margalo bit. ‘Who is the message from?’
‘It is a job.’ It wasn’t a lie. But he knew he couldn’t tell his mother the truth. This gig was going to earn him fifty euro, but he knew Margalo wouldn’t be interested in the cash once she knew how it would be earned. His mother thought working at nightclubs and bars was like accepting employment from the devil.
‘What job?’ she asked, her fork dropping into the bowl.
‘I…’ Maybe he should tell her. It had been a while since the last argument about his DJ-ing. Months. Perhaps if she realised he was serious about making it in the industry, she might see how it could be lucrative for their future. Then he wouldn’t have to spend his free time under the ground in their barn watching Elektra perfect petri dishes of liquidised kumquats. He swallowed. Except he knew exactly how much time and brainpower his cousin had put into this project. He was going to see it to fruition. He had to. Because they both needed to reap the benefits before they could do anything else.
‘Not the nightclubs again?’ It was like his mother could read his innermost thoughts. There was a click of her tongue followed by a shake of her head. ‘Dirty places. Full of loud music that will make you go deaf.’ She sniffed and touched her nose. ‘And there are the drugs. The places are full of pills and powders and things fizzing in drinks.’
Decision made. ‘No, Mama,’ Alex answered quickly. ‘Not a nightclub. It is a building job. At one of the houses on the beach.’ It was a half-truth. The message about the ceiling work had come in earlier. Yet another thing he had to tick off his list by the end of the day.
‘But you will be home to make dinner tonight?’ She sniffed, scrunching up then unfurling her
hands. ‘The pains in my joints, they are too much today.’
‘Yes, Mama,’ Alex answered. ‘I will be home to make dinner.’ And while he was making another meal later, after he had dealt with hire cars and fixed up plaster work, between helping Elektra in the science cave, he would be thinking up his excuses to ensure he appeared on that billing at The Vault.
Eight
Zephyros Taverna, Almyros
The traditional taverna had been a very short walk from the beach house, set opposite lush green pasture with goats dancing amid the grass. Surrounded by nature, with urns of bright blooms and decorative rocks hidden in the lawn, Heidi sat back in her chair, hands on her stomach like she was nurturing a growing foetus. ‘I have to say, that gluten-free bread is probably the best I’ve ever tasted.’
Beth tried not to let the internal wince show on her face. As soon as Heidi had decamped to use the toilet, she had cornered the waiter and asked him nicely to play along with the gluten-free angle. Her friend didn’t have an intolerance or an allergy, so it wasn’t like letting someone devour pistachios knowing death or at least swelling and breathlessness was a certainty. Heidi just thought it was healthier. And what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, it was only a week ago that she’d had a gob full of bacon maize snacks…
‘The moussaka was delicious too,’ Beth replied. As was the house white wine they were sharing a litre of. Cool, crisp notes of apple and a pleasant woodland twang. Heidi was already slipping off her wagon. Beth ran her finger up and down the stem of her glass, eyes meeting her wedding ring.
‘We need to get that thing off,’ Heidi declared, leaning forward and picking up first the bottle of vinegar and then the olive oil.
‘No,’ Beth said. ‘I mean… it won’t work. I’ve tried oil.’
‘I haven’t tried oil,’ Heidi said. There was a determined look in her eye that Beth didn’t much care for. She moved her hands off the wine glass and into her lap.
