Out of the Blue

by Belinda Jones

  I turn back and give a wave to the ship, blowing a symbolic kiss to Kirby, Lana, Jindrich and Co. Oddly, I suspect I’ll even miss Alekos – his attention, at least. How sad is that? Jules is getting married and all I have to show for myself is an amorous sailor.

  ‘How many are we today?’ I ask the driver, leaning on the front bumper of the bus waiting to take us to the airport.

  ‘Twenty-seven,’ he tells me as he heaves my suitcase into the side storage unit.

  I tip him two dollars and climb on board, scanning the seats for any familiar faces.

  I recognise one of the guys from the reception desk and a girl I think works in the kiddy crèche but no one well enough to sit next to. But then I see a sight that has me tripping up the aisle.

  ‘Aleko!’ I exclaim. ‘What are you doing here? Don’t you have another month?’

  He looks profoundly pained as he mumbles, ‘I have to leave early.’

  ‘Sexual harassment?’ I gasp, spouting the first thing that springs to my mind.

  He spears me with a disapproving look. ‘No, of course not. I have an injury.’

  It’s only now that I notice that his left arm is in a sling. ‘What did you do?’ I frown, picturing the offending limb being slammed in a cabin door as a woman tries to escape his Mr Tickle arms.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ He averts his eyes – for once he’s the one cutting our conversation short.

  ‘Well, is it broken or sprained or severed?’ Curiosity gets the better of me.

  ‘Do you really care?’

  Wow. He’s obviously feeling very sorry for himself. I take the seat behind him muttering, ‘The things you do to be with me!’ but he’s not biting.

  Ten minutes of trundling along pretty, leafy streets and he’s still silent. This is most disconcerting. Last night he was begging for a chance to begin a life together and now he won’t even speak to me?

  ‘At least you get summer in Greece this way.’ I make another attempt to jolly him up. ‘You said you’ve been missing home.’

  He grudgingly concedes a nod. ‘In some ways the timing is perfect – my brother has to go to the mainland to assist our mother so he’s asked me to oversee his watersport business.’

  ‘Well, that’s handy,’ I chirrup. ‘No pun intended.’

  ‘Except what use am I, like this?’ he sighs. ‘I can’t windsurf with one hand, can’t even paddle a kayak – the only thing I’m good for is the pedalo.’

  As demeaning as this might seem to someone so jet-powered as Alekos, his injury could be worse – I mean, he could have groin strain, then where would he be?

  ‘Here we are!’ I announce as we pull up in front of Vancouver airport.

  He motions for me to go ahead of him but as he steps off the bus, the kiddy crèche girl accidentally collides with his arm and I see him blanche with pain. ‘You alright?’ I wince, this time with genuine concern – it’s so strange to see this usually full-on feisty man so wounded and withdrawn.

  He nods gravely, again avoiding eye contact. Obviously he doesn’t like to be seen at any disadvantage and my fussing seems to be making matters worse. I find this surprising in a way – not the machismo, obviously, but I would have thought he would be fully exploiting this opportunity to be fawned over and physically ‘assisted’.

  ‘Well, have a good trip!’ I breeze onward, stopping off at the Ladies and the magazine stand, only to discover five minutes later that he’s there in my check-in line – apparently due to change planes in London before he continues on to Greece.

  As I take a step forward, I watch him struggle to negotiate his luggage as he tries in vain to locate his travel documents. Don’t get involved! I tell myself. It’s not your problem. I go to turn away but then the nudge he gives his leather sports bag sends it swinging too violently around his body and the strap catches at his throat, threatening to garrotte him. Before I know it my human empathy has kicked in.

  ‘Jeez! We’ll be here all flipping day if we wait for you.’ I lunge forward, relieving him of his bag and demanding, ‘Where’s your passport?’

  ‘Jacket pocket,’ he replies, too startled to protest.

  I reach inside and pull out the burgundy booklet.

  ‘Ticket?’

  He hesitates.

  I raise my brows in schoolmarmish warning, just in case he’s tempted to have me rooting around his trouser pocket.

  ‘Front zip of the bag.’ He nods to the hand luggage I have just nabbed.

  ‘Got it.’

  ‘Are you travelling together?’ the chap on the desk enquires. Before I can reply he adds, ‘Only, I have a two-seat pairing at the back of the plane – you won’t be disturbed by other passengers there, less chance of your arm getting bashed.’ He looks at Alekos for instruction.

  ‘Are we together?’ he turns to me.

  This is the first time since I’ve known him that he hasn’t been presumptuous. I look at his all-too-vulnerable arm and find myself muttering, ‘Yes.’

  It’s no big deal. I’ll just watch the movies – nothing gets through my noise-cancelling headphones.

  By Security I’m already having regrets – why, why, why is today the day I get selected for an all-too-thorough pat-down by the female official? With Alekos watching this feels like a set-up for a porn movie.

  ‘Legs further apart,’ she barks.

  I’m rigid with mortification. It doesn’t help that Alekos emits an audible moan as she brushes my inner thighs.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ I caution him as we move on.

  ‘What?’ he splutters.

  ‘No “I bet you liked that!” or “Did it feel gooood?”’

  ‘I wasn’t going to say anything!’ he protests before adding under his breath, ‘I just can’t believe she beat me to it.’

  I hang back for a second, wondering at the wisdom of this seating arrangement. I am feeling increasingly trepidatious but at the same time a little foolish at my level of resistance. It’s just a flight. I mean really, how much trouble can you get into in a confined space at thirty thousand feet?

  ‘Would you like the window seat?’ Alekos attempts to be gallant but I decline – his arm will be better protected if I act as a buffer between him and the aisle walkers. Of course, I don’t want to come across as caring, so I snip, ‘No thanks, I’m not sitting next to your good hand with all its fully functional fingers, if you know what I mean . . .’

  ‘Once! I grabbed your boob once!’ he protests.

  The lady across from us looks up, slightly perturbed.

  ‘And look what happened as a result!’ I tease, motioning to his bandage. ‘You don’t want to lose the use of your other arm, do you?’

  We have actually established that Alekos was swatting a bug off my chest – as borne out by the squidge of green left on my shirt – but I think it’s important to establish boundaries, especially when we are going to be in such close proximity.

  ‘Allow me,’ I say as he tries in vain to do up his seatbelt single-handed. As I reach over him I feel like I’m clicking a kiddy into a car seat. An image I don’t think he’d be too happy with.

  ‘Thank you,’ he mumbles.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I say, snatching up the in-flight magazine so I can busy myself with selecting my ideal sequence of movies. I won’t be able to sleep a wink knowing he’s next to me.

  I’m just deciding whether to start with the quality drama that will make me feel grown-up and smart or the crass but prettily dressed comedy, when Alekos’ trousers start ringing. Naturally it’s the left pocket. He tries to reach across but the angle is all wrong for him to burrow within.

  ‘Why did you put it on this side?’ I despair as I am compelled to reach down inside, feeling the hairs on his granite thigh through the silky lining.

  ‘The ship’s doctor helped me dress this morning – we didn’t have a strict masterplan,’ he replies tartly before flipping open the phone and barking, ‘Yassou?’

  He speaks in grumpy,
gruff Greek – a series of staccato exchanges, followed by a brow-furrowing barrage of what I can only interpret as complaint. I am forced to bite back a smile at his excessive manliness. Having spent most of my spare time on the cruiseship with Kirby, the contrast is really quite extreme.

  As Alekos concludes the conversation, he seems resigned to whatever the disappointment might be. But seconds later he gives a frustrated biff at the seat in front – unleashing the clipped tray, which duly smacks down on his injured hand. He turns away to conceal his yelp but I know his eyes are smarting in agony.

  Today is not a good day for Alekos Diamantakis.

  ‘Something wrong?’ I ask lightly.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he sighs heavily.

  ‘You react like that to nothing?’ My eyebrows hoik high.

  He seems in two minds about whether to admit he’s experiencing any further difficulty but finally reveals, ‘My friend, he cannot help me this week.’

  ‘At the watersport place?’

  He nods.

  ‘That’s a shame.’

  ‘Yes. It is.’ He flips open his phone again and starts scanning through alternative names to call but before he can press dial, out blares the tannoy announcement requesting passengers to turn off their mobile phones for the duration of the flight.

  ‘Perfect!’ He pouts.

  ‘You’ll still have time to call ahead when you get to London,’ I suggest in my most appeasing voice. Yes, it is high season in the Greek islands, but how busy can the locals be?

  During take-off Alekos stares pensively out the window. I’m now on to the Duty Free magazine wishing the perfume section had scratch-and-sniff patches and wondering why Sarah Jessica Parker’s Covet ended up in such an uncovetable bottle when I become aware that he is now looking at me. In a very particular way.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What are you doing this week?’

  ‘Oh no.’ I retreat as far as I can within the confines of my seat.

  ‘But—’

  ‘No!’ I chortle, amazed that he would even consider asking me.

  ‘You have plans, of course.’ He turns away, dejected.

  I say nothing. I’ve done my good citizen bit. Anything more would be way beyond the call of duty.

  ‘What are they exactly?’ He turns back. ‘Your plans?’

  I thank my lucky stars I have a ready response. ‘Not that I need to justify myself to you,’ I begin, ‘but I shall be very busy editing reams and reams of video footage.’

  ‘Of what?’ He looks confused. ‘Your excursions?’

  ‘Actually, it’s a kind of side project I’m working on,’ I explain somewhat reluctantly. ‘I’ve interviewed couples from all over the world and their stories need cutting down to ten-minute segments.’

  ‘Oh. Is this digital?’

  ‘Yes,’ I reply. Typical man interested in the technical side rather than the stories themselves.

  ‘And you have to go into a studio editing suite to do that?’

  ‘No, it’s brilliant, I can do everything on the iMovie package on my laptop now,’ I pip.

  His face changes. ‘Really?’

  Oh no! What have I said?

  He leans closer. ‘So on a practical level, you could do that anywhere?’

  ‘In theory,’ I grant, ‘but obviously I need absolute peace and quiet to concentrate.’

  ‘Crete is peaceful.’

  I give him a patient smile. ‘I’m sure it is. But I don’t see water and computers being too compatible, do you?’

  ‘Most of the time we would be on dry land. You could be all of the time if you prefer. We even have a big desk you could sit at. In the shade, overlooking the bay, very inspirational, very peaceful . . .’

  ‘Until a parade of holidaymakers comes by, all clamouring for a ride on your inflatable banana.’ I give him a knowing look.

  ‘There are not so many.’ He tries to play down the success of the business. ‘And it would really help to have you there – my brother’s girlfriend Birgit has gone away with him so I am without a French-speaker . . .’

  My eyes narrow. ‘How do you know I speak French?’ I don’t remember doing any ‘ooh-la-la’s in front of him.

  He gives me one of his hefty shrugs before enquiring, ‘So, what do you say?’

  I shake my head – giving a decisive. ‘I don’t think so’ – and then turn to watch the woman ahead of me snagging the complimentary socks on her gnarly feet, while wondering if I could ask the air steward to pluck my eyebrows as expertly as he has his own.

  ‘So what are these stories that have been told to you?’ Alekos is not so easily distracted.

  ‘Love stories,’ I say, bluntly, without looking at him.

  ‘Love stories?’ he repeats, all too intrigued.

  I don’t really want to get into this with him so I just give him the run-through of the countries I shall be featuring – Japan, Russia, Croatia, South Africa, Argentina, etc. etc.

  ‘And Greece?’

  I blink back at him. ‘Actually, so far, no.’

  He looks scandalised. ‘How can you speak of love and not of Greece? What of Aphrodite, Eros . . . ?’

  I smile, ready to enrage him more with my dismissal: ‘Those are just mythical figures, Alekos. I need real people. Besides, those tales of gods and nymphs, they’re all a bit acrimonious and tragic, aren’t they?’

  I half expect his breathing apparatus to unravel from the ceiling in response to the stricken look on his face. ‘So you are only interested in happy endings?’ he splutters.

  ‘Honestly? Yes. That’s what people want to hear.’

  ‘Do you really think these myths would have endured if people didn’t want to hear something more dramatic? If they didn’t find them fascinating and meaningful, would they have repeated them and passed them on through generations?’

  ‘Well, there’s a bit of a discrepancy between the listening ears of ancient Greeks and your average cruise-ship guest,’ I explain. ‘I’m targeting people on honeymoons and anniversaries. They want to feel optimistic and encouraged about love.’

  ‘Well, maybe they would hear the stories of Echo and Narcissus or Eros and Psyche and realise how lucky they are to have found it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I concede.

  He gives me a sideways glance. ‘Are you familiar with those stories?’

  I open my mouth to see if a convincing phrase might arise but nothing is forthcoming.

  ‘As I suspected.’ His jaw juts proudly.

  I study my seat-back screen. The first film is about to start, providing me with the perfect get-out clause. And yet I hesitate – I love movies, but what are they if not stories? And there’s a story I haven’t heard sitting right next to me . . .

  I set down my headphones and turn to Alekos. ‘So, this Narcissus . . .’

  ‘Yes?’ He looks hopeful.

  ‘Did you mention him because you feel a certain empathy there?’ I bite my lip at my own cheek.

  He twists around to fully face me. ‘You are deliberately trying to antagonise me, aren’t you, Miss Harper?’

  I grin broadly. I can’t deny it.

  ‘Why?’ he asks, plainly.

  I give a nonchalant shrug. ‘Because, all of a sudden, I can!’

  The truth is, it never really occurred to me before. All my energy was taken up with trying to wriggle away from him. But now we’re committed to sitting together for ten hours and I’ve got him on the defensive, well, it seems a good opportunity to get my own back.

  ‘Do you mind?’ I ask, all wide-eyed and innocent.

  He considers my question for a moment, allows his eyes to rove around my face and then softens his voice as he declares, ‘How can I complain when I have waited so long for the pleasure of your company?’

  Flustered by the twinge of intimacy, I quickly caution, ‘Well, you have my company but I think we’ll keep the pleasure part to a minimum, shall we?’

  ‘You always have to have the last word, don’t you?’ he n
otes, tapping his lips with his forefinger. ‘I think the story of Echo and Narcissus is most apt.’ He clears his throat in preparation.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m sitting comfortably?’ I jump in before he begins.

  He gives me a supercilious look worthy of Simon Cowell. ‘We’re travelling economy, I hardly think that’s relevant.’

  I can’t help but chuckle. He may be opinionated but he’s entertaining, I’ll give him that.

  Echo, Alekos reveals, was a chatterbox nymph whose incessant babbling got her into trouble with the gods. By way of punishment her power of independent speech was removed – she could no longer initiate conversation, all she could do was repeat back what someone else had already said.

  One day out frolicking in nature she spied the handsome but heartless Narcissus and, transfixed by his beauty, followed him for miles, desperate to engage him in conversation but unable to. Eventually, he became concerned that he’d strayed too far from his hunting party and called out, ‘Is anyone here?’

  ‘Here!’ Echo replied, seizing the opportunity to reveal herself, arms flung wide ready to embrace him but he rudely pushed her away, spitting, ‘I would rather die than let you make love to me!’

  ‘Make love to me!’ she wailed but he was already gone.

  So wretched from the rejection she wasted away there on the mountainside, her body withering until it turned to stone, only her voice lingered on . . .

  ‘Unrequited love,’ I rue its cruelty.

  ‘Well, it was to be the ruin of him too,’ Alekos informs me. ‘In arrogance he had spurned so many offers of love that the gods sought to give him a taste of his own medicine . . .’

  Out hunting another day, he stooped beside a pool of water to relieve his thirst and fell instantly in love with his own reflection. But every time he leaned in for a kiss or a caress the image dispersed. His curse was that although he knew he could never hold his love, he could not tear himself away, so he, too, wasted away until he cried out with his last breath, ‘Beloved in vain, farewell!’

  ‘Beloved in vain, farewell!’ Echo called as Narcissus’ beauty was put to better use and made eternal in the form of a flower.