Alekos turns to me. ‘Obviously you don’t have Echo’s problem,’ he teases. ‘You say exactly as you please.’
‘And unlike Narcissus, you are happy to kiss a lot more than your reflection.’
He shakes his head. ‘This bitterness does not become you.’
‘Excuse me?’ The mood just went from light banter to heavy judgement.
‘These comments that you make,’ he expands, ‘you say them thinking that you expose me, to show that you know what nature of man I am. But you are mistaken. And in truth they reveal a lot more about you. And your mistrust.’
Though I feel I’ve just been slapped, I still muster a retort. ‘Ah yes, it’s all my issues. Nothing to do with your ego.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘You are absolutely incredulous, aren’t you, that any woman could turn you down?’
‘Well, don’t you think you could have any man you want?’ he demands.
‘No! Of course not!’
He looks at me as if to say, ‘Well, that’s your problem!’ and it makes me want to slap him.
Well, that didn’t take long – we’re both all riled up and irritated with each other and not even an hour has passed.
But then comes the wine.
It falls to me to unscrew our individual bottles but Alekos insists on pouring both, as if we’re cosied up in a velvet booth on the Champs-Élysées. ‘Do you feel like we’re on a date?’ he enquires as I take a sip of the blackcurranty Shiraz.
‘Honestly? I feel like a guard escorting a prisoner to his new jail – handcuffs and all.’ I nod to his bound wrist.
‘It’s such a curse!’ He pouts as he watches me peel back the foil from his meal.
‘One person’s curse is another’s blessing . . .’ I mutter under my breath as I cut up his chicken for him. I didn’t realise I had a cruel streak but I do seem to be enjoying the minor humiliations he is having to endure – it feels like the only way I can get back at him. Does he really think I’m bitter? That’s so harsh. And so unattractive. I’ll admit I’ve been hurt. Disappointed. Crushed. And yes, it’s made me a little wary. But bitter? He’s just trying to wind me up, I decide, as I lodge on my headphones.
When the second round of films fires up I choose Feast of Love only to hear Morgan Freeman growl, ‘There is a story about the Greek gods: they were bored so they invented human beings. But they were still bored so they invented love. Then they weren’t bored any longer. So they decided to try love for themselves. And finally they invented laughter, so they could stand it.’
I become aware that Alekos is watching the same film and that everyone in the ensemble cast seems to be getting their own sex scenes so as soon as I’ve finished my brownie desert I release myself from the seat and do a circuit of the cabin. I see a few familiar faces from the ship but no one I think will be using the in-flight phone to send back gossip about the uptight Shore Excursions Manager canoodling in the back row with the sexy Greek officer. Round I go again. People are starting to drop off to sleep now, in various states of rumpled contortion, but when I do finally return to 60B, I find Alekos still perky.
‘I thought maybe the captain made you a better offer!’ he comments as I climb back into my seat.
‘He did,’ I tease, pretending to realign my clothing. See, that’s what I don’t like about being around people like Alekos – it brings out the sleazy side in me. ‘Oh my god, you’re freezing!’ I gasp as my arm brushes his. ‘You need a blanket!’
‘I’m fine!’ Once again he tries to act all manly but I’m already putting in a request with the flight attendant.
‘This is our last one, I’m afraid, you’ll have to share!’
‘You take it!’
‘No you!’ We squabble until I exclaim, ‘Aleko, you’ve got goosebumps the size of falafels!’
‘Falafels aren’t Greek,’ he gives me a withering look, ‘they are Middle Eastern in origin.’
‘Either way, what kind of nursemaid would I be if I let my patient shiver the flight away?’ I reach across him and tuck the blanket around his far shoulder in my most patronising, babying way.
We sit for a while in silence. It’s a strange thing, whenever he stops attacking me I find myself tiptoeing back towards him to prod him with a stick.
‘So, have you got any more stories?’
He gives me a sideways smirk. Apparently he can’t stay sulky either.
As he speaks of Muses and Graces, soothsayers and sorceresses, reality is once again suspended and anything seems possible up here amid the clouds.
Talk of Odysseus inevitably leads to our own salty tales. We’ve had our fair share of storms. Alekos tells me about the night everyone lost their dinner – in all senses of the word – as the entire dining room tilted sending china, wine and marinated pork flying across the room, like a fairground ride, but with really messy props.
‘See this?’ He shows me a tiny crescent-shaped scar on his forehead. ‘That was actually from the stiletto heel of a guest – her chair tipped back, leg came up and bam, she branded me for life!’
‘Ouch!’ I wince, mentally tracing the indentation with my fingertip. I noticed it the first day we met; funny that it’s taken this flight together to discover its origin.
‘What about you?’ He looks into my eyes. ‘When have you been most scared?’
I think for a moment. ‘Well, oddly, I would say it was when we were just a few metres away from land in Sorrento on the Italian coast . . .’
I was sent to collect a group who had tried in vain to get the hydrofoil to Capri and were standing drenched and shivering on the pier when the canopy roof blew off. I had to get them back on the ship pronto as the captain had decided that it wasn’t even safe for seventy thousand tons of cruiseship to stay put – he would have to relocate to Naples. It’s not easy identifying passengers when your eyes are so full of rainwater you can’t see out and you can’t raise your voice above the howl of the wind but I managed to get them on the tender, only to spend a full hour attempting to make the five-minute transition back to the ship – the water levels were fluctuating so wildly there was no way we could reach the step to clamber on board. I feared it was curtains for us but being the person in charge you can’t be the one screaming, ‘We’re all going to die!’ or push anyone else out of the way so you can press your mouth up to the crack in the window to suck in some desperately needed fresh air. Anyway, eventually the captain swung the ship around to offer us some shelter (and thus calmer waters) and we made it on board, where we were met with blankets and huddled through to the dining room to get a warming cup of tea. I expected all the other guests to be rallying round us in a state of Titanic-style anxiety but instead they were all chattering normally and tucking into huge plates of local pasta, absolutely oblivious to our peril.
‘Nothing comes between a cruiseship guest and their buffet!’ I conclude.
‘I like hearing your stories,’ he tells me as he pours the last of the wine. ‘I don’t have so much interaction with the passengers as you.’
‘So where do you spend a typical day?’ I ask, realising I don’t really know much about the manoeuvres of an Environmental Officer.
‘Well, I do general walk arounds and check the quality of the drinking water and in the pool but much of my time I am in my office near the bridge, or doing crew training, or visiting the chemical storerooms or incinerator room.’ He pulls a face.
‘If it’s any consolation, it’s not all fun and games for me – a good portion of my time is spent dealing with complaints!’ I grimace. ‘If I could change one thing about my job it would be less accounting and more escorting the actual tours . . .’
‘I saw you on the dog-sledding one, with the huskies.’
I grin. ‘That was amazing, wasn’t it?’ I say, having a recollection of him being there, though in a different group to me. ‘If there’s anything animal – or mammal – related and it coincides with my day off, I’m there.’
‘Do you hav
e any pets at home?’ he asks, twisting to face me more.
‘No, obviously it’s not really practical. I’d like to have a dog. One day . . .’
‘If you came to Crete you could have custody of Loulou for ten days, she’s my brother’s dog. And in fact her daughter has just had puppies . . .’
I give him a sly look. Puppies? Is he for real?
‘I could take you to see them,’ he offers and then gives a wistful sigh. ‘I think you would really love it there. And we’re only talking about ten days out of the sixty you have off . . .’
I give him a dubious look.
‘None of what you call “funny business”. Not least because physically I can’t.’
I smile. I do seem to like him better now that he’s incapacitated.
‘What do you say?’
Our faces are closer now. Our bodies warmer. It’s amazing the bond you can create when you are so unavoidably up in someone’s personal space. I don’t know any other occasion that you would be so physically close to someone for such an extended length of time, other than in bed.
‘Thanks but no thanks.’ I try to sound assertive but the truth is I’m not as sure as I was when I first boarded the plane. The last few hours have passed so quickly and comfortably. I even feel a sense of dismay when we touch down in London. And not just because it’s bleak and drizzly outside. For possibly the first time ever, I don’t want the flight to end.
Everyone else springs to their feet the nanosecond the seatbelt sign pings off but my legs are leaden. I turn to an equally static Alekos.
‘Shall we go round again?’ he asks, almost hopefully.
I smile, first fondly and then awkwardly. All I can think to do now is grab my bag and join the shuffle to the exit.
Once through Customs he stops and faces me. ‘Well, I guess this is goodbye. Good luck with your editing.’
‘You don’t get rid of me that easily,’ I tap his good arm with my passport, ‘I’m coming with you to baggage claim.’
There is the strangest tug of war going on within me. It’s probably just nerves at the prospect of being alone – properly alone – for the first time in eight months. Coupled with the thought of heading back to Jules’ flat in the rain only to be greeted by cupboards full of healthfood – such a grim thought that even touting pedalos with Alekos seems preferable.
I turn to speak to him but he’s on the phone, still trying to arrange a helping hand. He’s getting on with his life. I should look like I am too. So who can I call? I know, Michelle! She’s always perky.
‘Oh my god! It’s so brilliant to hear you! Where are you?’
‘The luggage carousel at Gatwick airport!’ I sing back to her.
‘You’re back in the country! Too exciting! I can’t wait to hear about your travels! In fact, I could do with a cosmopolitan eye to help me pick out some wallpaper samplings . . .’
‘You got the house you wanted?’
‘Yes! We’re moving right now – still got three rooms’ worth of stuff to shift today and all this in the rain, can you imagine?’
All too well. And then I get a stab of guilt. ‘Oh Michelle, have you had to lug my gubbins over there too?’
When my mum and dad moved to New Zealand, Michelle kindly offered to house all my worldly goods in lieu of me renting a storage unit. She said she’d rather I spent the money taking her to a West End musical once every eight months.
‘Don’t you worry about that – Ian’s already got all your stuff up in the new loft. You know it was only two boxes in the end?’
‘Really? I don’t take up much space in this world, do I?’ I can’t help but sound forlorn. ‘So, it’s Jersey Boys you want to see this time, right?’
‘It was but Ian actually fancied that so we went about a month ago. He’s been serenading me ever since, which would be lovely if he could hold a tune . . .’ She groans, adding, ‘I’m desperate to see Wicked again but I honestly don’t know if I’ll have an evening spare . . .’
‘That’s okay,’ I breeze. ‘I’ll just spend the equivalent on cakes when I come by for the wallpaper consultation. How’s Hazel?’ I enquire, considering my other options.
‘She starts her new job on Monday. It’s a fantastic promotion but she’s going to be working all hours.’
Oh. ‘Roxy?’
‘You know she’s about to pop?’
‘Pop what?’
‘Oh my god, did you not know she was pregnant?’
‘What?’ Now that really is shocking. Roxy is party central.
‘She’s moved back in with her parents in Scarborough so she’ll have some help for the first few months. If you can get up there to visit I know she’d be thrilled—’
‘But!’ I cut in. ‘I mean . . . who’s is it?’ I still can’t believe my ears.
‘No idea.’
‘You mean you don’t know or she doesn’t know?’
‘Both! Isn’t she brave, going it alone?’
I nod into the phone but I can’t find any words. I always thought I was the one whose life was skidding along apace, while back home nothing much changed. But everyone seems to be busily getting stuck into the next phase of their life.
‘Roxy. Motherhood,’ I test out the combination. ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘I know! I went to see her last week, you wouldn’t even recognise her. But I’ll tell you all the details in person – how soon can you get here?’
The truth is, I could be with her in a couple of hours but I find myself saying, ‘Hold on a minute, Mish, I think I’ve seen my case!’
I put the phone receiver against my chest and take a step towards Alekos. ‘Any luck?’
He shakes his head. ‘All my friends are too busy with their own lives.’
I know the feeling.
‘So you still need someone to help you?’ I need to be clear.
He nods.
I put the phone back up to my ear.
‘Ten days,’ I tell Michelle though I am still looking at Alekos. ‘I’ll be there in ten days.’
4
‘For mine own part, it was Greek to me.’ – William Shakespeare
If anyone had waved me off the ship with the words, ‘Have fun in Crete with Alekos!’ I would have thought they had lost their mind. Or stumbled upon a plot to drug and origami me into his carry-on case. But I’ve done this out of my own free will. He wasn’t even begging me at the time. I chose this!
The heat that rushes to embrace us as we step out from Heraklion airport makes me feel like I made the right choice. I need to feel the sun on my skin after months trawling around assorted icebergs with a pink nose and a puffa jacket. Gleefully I shake off all superfluous layers and follow Alekos to where his brother has left the car for him, or more accurately me, to drive.
‘Ah.’ I stall beside the dusty Fiat Bravo.
‘What?’
‘I don’t do gears.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alekos frowns.
‘I’ve only ever driven an automatic.’
He looks at me like I’ve just revealed I have a negative IQ.
‘Frankly, I don’t understand why they still make cars with them,’ I babble. ‘Why make life harder than it already is?’
It doesn’t help any that the driving seat is, of course, on the left with the gear stick to the right which means that in order for Alekos to assist me he would have to contort and reach over his bad arm. Funny how quickly a good mood can be dispelled. He ends up driving, using his knee to steady the wheel when he changes gears. Now I’m the one who feels inadequate and a burden. And not a little anxious – his driving is competitive to say the least.
‘What’s up with the road markings?’ I gulp as we merge on to a motorway painted with lines that look more like an optical puzzle than lane delineation, leading the cars a merry, side-panel-grazing dance.
This merely elicits a grunt so I wait until the traffic thins out and then try a more straightforward approach: ‘So, Mr Diamantakis, where exactly
are we going?’
After all the excitement of making The Rash Decision in London we both zonked out on the four-hour flight to Greece and it’s only now that I am thinking of asking all the practical questions that got shunted in the hustle to get me on the plane.
‘Elounda,’ he replies. ‘It’s a small fishing town on the northern coast. Very popular with a celebrity clientele.’
‘Really?’ I nod, sagely. ‘Is fishing the new rehab?’
Alekos smirks. ‘No. They seem to like the luxury resorts there.’
‘Ah.’
‘You haven’t heard of it?’ He seems almost perplexed.
‘No,’ I claim my ignorance.
‘Agios Nikolaos?’ he tries for the next biggest town along.
‘Actually, I have heard of that!’ I surprise myself. ‘My parents went there the summer before they emigrated.’ I chuckle to myself remembering out loud a story my father told me: every day they would lunch at this same taverna, shaded with a pretty vine-entwined roof trellis, and they’d watch the kittens playing above them like they were doing a kitty assault course clambering over all the leaves and branches and then, one day, one of them slipped through and landed in someone’s soup!
I get the first full grin from Alekos since we left the airport. ‘Well, perhaps we will go there for lunch. See what’s on the menu.’
I chuckle. ‘So how far is that?’
‘From Elounda, just twenty minutes. About an hour from where we are now.’ He looks over to his left. ‘It’s a pity it’s so dark, the coastal aspect is really stunning.’
Personally I’m glad I can’t make out any hazardous cliff-drops and decide instead to engage my other senses: winding down the window, I inhale the warm, thyme-scented breeze and marvel, ‘I didn’t think I’d ever come back to Greece.’
‘You have been before?’ Now he sounds surprised.
‘A few times, actually. Hasn’t every Brit?’
‘But never to Crete?’
‘No. It was Paxos when I was five. Corfu as a teenager. And Athens in my twenties. All harrowing experiences in their own way,’ I breeze.
Out of the Blue Page 5
