by Sandy Barker
I groaned under the weight of it all and dropped my head back on the pillow, heavily. Ouch, that really hurt. ‘I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m hungover. Can we talk about this later?’ Chickening out, I blamed the monster hangover, rather than telling her the truth. Of course, I would eventually tell her – but not before a lukewarm trickle of a shower and a hot cup of tea. And maybe some toast.
Hannah harrumphed a little and then made a big show of putting her sunglasses on. ‘Fine. I’ll see you up on deck when you have dealt with this.’
I knew that by ‘this’ she meant my atrocious state, because when she said it, she waved her hand in front of me to encompass all the grossness that was me. She even slammed the cabin door closed after her. I hoped the others were awake already, but as Hannah was usually the last one up, I figured they probably were. I wondered what time it was. Then I realised two things – it didn’t matter, and the boat was moving.
At least that explained why I felt like the cabin was moving – it was. Maybe I wasn’t as hungover as I thought I was. I sort of rolled off the top bunk and made it to a standing position. Oh, yeah, I was that hungover – it had nothing to do with the boat being on the move.
When I finally showed my face, freshly showered but still feeling off, Marie took pity on me, and plied me with tea and buttered toast. I didn’t deserve her kindness for my self-inflicted pain, but I appreciated it – especially because it was a sailing day.
In full sail, we sliced through the indigo waters of the Aegean as we headed north to the island of Syros, the sky a brilliant blue. I braced myself against the rolling of the boat and marvelled at where I was and what I was doing. It was incredible. And despite my queasy stomach and sore head, it was one of those moments when I was in love with my life. It may have also had something to do with the lingering memories of the previous night. Each time I thought of James kissing me, I smiled.
Until …
‘Hey,’ said Josh, sitting down next to me.
‘Hey yourself,’ I said, trying to sound casual. Did I sound casual – or did I sound like I’d spent the last hour thinking about another man?
‘I wanted to show you these,’ he said, holding up an iPad. I couldn’t see what was on it because I could only see the reflection of the sun.
‘What, what am I looking at?’ Snippy, Sarah. That was snippy. ‘I’m sorry, I can only see the sun reflected.’
‘Sorry.’ He angled the screen towards me. ‘It’s my photos from the trip so far. I’ve been uploading them as a back-up, and I thought you might want to see them.’ Wait, a retrospective of our trip the morning after I spent the evening with James? Was Josh manoeuvring? Was he so savvy he would plan a move like that just to get ahead of the silver fox? If he was, it was well played. After all, who knew when I would see James again. And I could hardly blame Josh if he wanted to cash in on a home ground – make that a home boat – advantage.
That said, I wasn’t ready to give up basking in the glow of my evening with James. That said, how did I politely refuse? ‘I’m sorry, Josh, I am a little busy right now reliving another man’s kiss.’ Definitely not that.
What I did say was, ‘Uh, sure.’
He scooched closer to me and deftly flicked through the photos, skipping ones which he said hadn’t turned out well, and lingering on the shots he seemed proud of. There was one of a house that particularly impressed me. ‘This is extraordinary, Josh.’ It was a shot of the sharp-edged corner of a bright orange house – a rare find amongst the whitewashed ones – contrasted against a vibrant blue sky.
‘Thanks.’ He seemed genuinely modest.
‘I mean that. People should see this – it’s really beautiful. You have a lot of great shots in here, but this is my favourite so far.’
‘Well, I’ll be uploading some of the best ones to Flickr when I get home.’
‘Flickr?’
‘Yeah, you don’t know about that?’
‘Nope.’
‘It’s a photo-sharing website. I can show you next time we’re online.’
‘Okay.’
We resumed skimming through the photos, some snapshots – all of us at dinner, or shots of us on the boat – and other more artistic, well-composed shots. There were quite a few of me, including a couple ‘Josh and Sarah’ selfies.
Then we came to a shot that made me say, ‘Wait.’ He lifted his finger from the screen, and the image remained. ‘That’s me.’ It was a silly thing to say, really. There were a lot of photos of me; it wasn’t like I’d made some sort of surprising discovery.
Only, maybe I had.
In the photo, I was sitting on the top deck of the boat, and we were under full sail. I was holding on with one hand, while the other arm was outstretched. My hair flowed behind me and my face was tipped towards the sun. I knew that exact moment – we had just left Ios and were in full sail for the first time.
I remembered feeling completely unfettered by responsibility, by expectations, by remorse. All I had felt in that moment was joy. He had captured that feeling so perfectly, I was dumbstruck.
A moment later, I found my voice. ‘We didn’t know each other very well then. It was only the second day.’
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘I’m wondering why you took this. I mean, it’s quite an intimate shot.’ I looked sideways and caught his profile. His jaw was tense. Crap, I hadn’t meant to upset him, but the photo had taken me off-guard.
‘You looked so happy. I wanted to capture it.’
‘You did. It’s beautiful.’ I hoped it was enough to make everything okay.
He sighed softly. ‘I guess I knew early on you were going to become important to me, even if I wasn’t sure at the time why – or how.’ It was the same sentiment I’d shared with James the night before, and suddenly, all the breath rushed out of my body and my eyes prickled with tears. I blinked them away. What was happening?
‘You’ll have to send me a copy,’ I said, finally. I didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t know what to feel, to think, or do. I did know I couldn’t look at photos anymore. ‘I need to lie down a bit more. I’m still feeling queasy. Will you please excuse me?’
He looked hurt. He probably was hurt. Dismissing his admission like that was horrible, but I needed some time alone. I got up and moved past him. ‘Sure, no problem,’ he said, but I sensed he didn’t mean it.
I carefully made my way below deck, which was a dumb move because we were sailing and I was queasy, which was exacerbated by the movement of the boat. There was no way I would be able to rest in our cabin, which was in the stern – I’d be tossed around. I made my way over the dining nook holding on to something the whole way, and lay down. It was in the middle of the boat, so if I was going to be below deck – and really, I didn’t feel like facing anyone – it was the best place to be.
As my body settled into the rise and fall of the boat on the water, I thought about what had just happened. And then I went back over everything I remembered about Josh and me together – the things he’d said, how sexy he was, how he made me laugh, what it felt like to be kissed by him, and how it stung to hear him talk about his life of bachelorhood. All of it.
And with tears rolling down my cheeks, I made a decision. As much as I was falling for the cute American boy, I could see there was no future with him. He was too young, too naïve about love and relationships, and too much of a boy. And, a grown man was waiting to see me when I got back to London, a man who wanted me – a man who’d been honest about that.
I decided that for the remainder of the trip, I would keep Josh at arm’s length. I would be his friend – friendly, but not girl-friendly. No more of that. I’d end up hurt, and he probably would too. We had four more days on the trip. I could keep my distance for four days. Better to hurt a little then, than a lot later on.
Somehow, remarkably, I fell asleep. I woke up when the boat engines roared to life. We must have been nearing port, which meant I had been sleeping for hours. Gingerly, I lif
ted my head and sat up. The headache and queasiness were gone. In my mind, I said a quiet thank you to the Greek gods.
‘Especially you, Dionysus,’ I said aloud.
Then I climbed the small ladder to the deck, and watched as the others hurried about hanging buoys off the starboard boat railings to provide a buffer between the boat and the dock. I would have offered to help, but they were almost done by the time I emerged. We were pulling up alongside what must have been the town’s main thoroughfare. Scooters and cars whooshed by on the waterfront street about five metres away.
‘Why aren’t we berthing at the marina?’ I asked.
‘There’s no room for us there,’ replied Duncan. ‘We’re docking here for tonight – maybe tomorrow night too.’ I hoped for the former, as not being docked at the marina meant we weren’t connected to electricity or water. And that meant the water supply we had on board needed to last, and we wouldn’t be able to generate power for hot water. And that meant cold rinses for the foreseeable future instead of hot showers. Bugger.
I wasn’t bummed out for too long, though. As Duncan expertly manoeuvred the boat alongside the dock, I checked out the town. We were docking at Ermoupoli on the island of Syros, the capital of the Cyclades Islands. Unlike other towns and villages we had seen on our journey, this place didn’t look typically Greek. It was more like somewhere in Italy, or Spain – perhaps Southern France.
And it was spectacular.
Pops of pastels dotted the densely packed hillside, which overlooked the dock. I could see influences from several different types of architecture: classical, Byzantine, French provincial, and a few I couldn’t identify. It was like the European Union of architecture. And we were right in the thick of things. I mean right there in the town. There was a bus stop about three metres away, and the dock was filled with evening commuters heading home after a workday. They ignored us; perhaps they saw a yacht full of travellers docked there all the time.
I was in heaven. Juxtaposed against the sleepy village that had greeted us on Ios and the relaxed marina we’d left on Naxos, Ermoupoli was a thriving, bustling metropolis. I couldn’t wait to get out into it.
I turned to Hannah, who I’d barely spoken to since she taunted me that morning, and she looked as excited as I was. ‘Want to go exploring with me?’ I asked.
‘Oh yeah,’ she said. Without another word, we both slipped below deck. Within minutes, our cabin became a flurry of discarded clothes, as we complimented each other on our choices and competed for the mirror on the back of the door. ‘You look hot,’ she declared. I looked down at my outfit of skinny jeans and a flouncy top. I had my high-heeled sandals ready to slip on once we left the boat.
‘You think?’
‘Absolutely. What about me?’ I loved how she shamelessly fished for a compliment. It was easy to give, though, because she looked great. She was wearing a floaty summer dress, had fluffed her hair, and was wearing a slick of pretty pink lip gloss.
‘Hot, definitely hot.’
‘Well, then let’s go and explore!’ She grabbed her purse and was checking the contents when I got a twinge of guilt.
‘Hannah?’
‘Mm-hmm?’ She was distracted, counting her euros and loading up her bag with a compact and her lip gloss.
‘Should we see what the others are doing?’ She stopped fussing with her bag.
‘You mean, see what Josh is doing?’
‘I, uh, no, I mean everyone. We usually have dinner together. Shouldn’t we wait to see what the others want to do for dinner?’ She was wearing a frown. It said, ‘Sarah, stop being such a wuss.’ And the frown was right.
She slung the purse over her shoulder. Because of the confined space, I was standing in the bathroom, and she was standing in the cabin, but she was still close enough for me to see her nostrils flare in frustration.
‘Sarah Jane!’ Uh oh. She was using my middle name. Why did I ever tell her that? ‘You mean to tell me, we finally get to a town that looks hip and fun and cool – all the things we haven’t seen yet on this trip – and you recruit me to be your partner in crime to explore this town – and then you go all pussy on me because of some misguided sense of obligation to the others? Is that what is going on here?’
I flinched at the word ‘pussy’ – I hate that word – but she had a point. Just because we’d had dinner together most nights, didn’t mean we needed to spend every moment together. We weren’t the Brady Bunch. I also thought it would be good for me to have a night away from Josh – completely away from him. If I was going to keep him at arm’s length – why shouldn’t my plan start immediately?
‘You’re right,’ I admitted. And then I felt it again, the twinge of guilt.
‘Can we at least invite the girls? Girls’ night out?’ I tried to sell it with my best smile. I liked Gerry and Marie, and maybe if they came along too, they could help me keep Hannah out of trouble.
She sighed heavily. She certainly was one for the dramatics. ‘Fine. I’ll be up on deck.’ With that, she left our cabin. I put the finishing touches on my makeup, prepped my own purse with what I needed for the night, and went to find Gerry and Marie.
*
‘We’re going to need cocktails. Stat,’ said Hannah. The four of us – Marie, Gerry, Hannah and I – were seated at a beautiful little bar right off the main drag of Ermoupoli. If we sat up tall on our stools and stretched our necks, we could see the water, but really, after living on a boat for the better part of a week, I was okay with being on solid ground and having a view of the bougainvillaea growing on the wall across from us.
‘Why ‘stat’?’ asked Marie.
‘Because, we are four beautiful women out on the town, and we have a lot to talk about, and nights like this start out best with a cocktail – or two,’ she replied, as though it was the most logical thing in the world. The three of us shared a look, then burst out laughing.
‘What?!’ demanded Hannah. She looked annoyed.
‘Hey, we’re not making fun – we all agree with you.’ Marie, ever the diplomat.
‘Oh,’ Hannah said, a little contrite. ‘That’s cool, actually. If you think about it, we didn’t even know each other a week ago, and here we are, girlfriends out for the night.’ She smiled.
‘That’s so sweet, Hannah,’ said Gerry. ‘Now I want a drink so I can cheers to my girlfriends.’
Another endearing mangling of English from Gerry – and I don’t mean that condescendingly. Spanish was her native tongue, and she spoke far more English than I spoke Spanish, that’s for sure. In fact, I still only know about fourteen words of Spanish, and most of those are menu items. What I admired about Gerry was how she charged into the depths of English, fearlessly embracing the idioms – that was the endearing part.
A gorgeous – and I mean Greek-god-gorgeous – waiter came to the table to take our order. Even Marie raised her eyebrows at me and she was married to a Harrison Ford lookalike. Hannah had commandeered the cocktail menu, and she selected four drinks without the three of us having any say. She practically shooed the waiter away to fetch them.
‘So, Hannah, what are we having?’ asked Marie.
‘You’ll see.’ She smiled to herself. ‘Trust me, ladies, this is one of my superpowers – selecting the perfect drink for my girls. It’s one of the things I do back home with my girlfriends.’
‘Do you go out a lot in Vancouver?’ asked Marie.
‘I guess – what’s ‘a lot’?’ replied Hannah.
‘Well, I don’t go out much with my girlfriends – maybe, if we’re lucky, four or five times a year – so I guess, anything more than that.’
I couldn’t work out if Hannah was shocked or if she pitied Marie. Maybe it was both.
‘By those standards, yes, I go out a lot. Usually a couple of times a week. Vancouver has an amazing bar scene. You can choose exactly what kind of night you want – are you going out for a rowdy night drinking beer and eating bar food? Do you want something more sophisticated? Somewhere like
this for cocktails? There are some awesome speak-easies – some with live jazz. So, yeah. I mean, I’m single –’ an edge crept into her voice ‘– and I like to enjoy myself. The friends I go out with are super fun, so I guess I do go out a lot.’
Marie smiled, and there was a touch of sadness in it. I think it may have been her who pitied Hannah – or maybe she empathised. Hannah said a lot about being an independent woman, but I was pretty sure she was hoping to find someone special to share her life with.
The drinks arrived.
As the waiter held up each one, Hannah directed him to put it in front of a specific person. When they were all in place, she raised hers and proposed a toast.
‘To my new girlfriends. No matter what else happens in this world, no matter who screws us over, we can always count on our girls.’ Boy, her ex had done the dirty on her. Talk about a backhanded toast.
‘To my new girlfriends,’ I said. We all raised our glasses, clinked them against the rims of the others, and took a sip of our drinks. Mine was delicious. I could see from the looks on Marie and Gerry’s faces that theirs were too. Hannah looked proud of herself.
‘How did you know, Hannah? That I like tangy drinks?’ I asked, taking another sip of my citrusy cocktail.
‘I pay attention. You like gin and tonic – you like the tang, and the aromatics, but nothing too sweet.’ She was right. The girl was good.
‘Gerry, you love your sweet treats, so lychee for you.’
‘I love it!’
‘And, Marie, something tropical for you – you’ve mentioned how much you’ve loved your travels to Hawaii and Mexico – I figured you’d like it.’
Marie laughed. ‘I’m impressed, Hannah. If only it was the type of skill you could market.’
‘Well, it is, isn’t it? Attention to detail, empathy, listening skills.’
We all laughed. ‘Hannah, you’re absolutely right. I’ll drink to that.’ Marie raised her glass, and we all clinked again.
