‘You like octopus?’ I gawp.
‘Love them!’ she pips, yanking down the shoulder of her top to reveal a simple black tattoo. ‘You know octopus is a Greek word? Means eight legs,’ she mimics Alekos without even realising.
‘Okay! So put on your mask and flippers and we’ll go catch one,’ he instructs.
‘Oh no, no,’ she tuts. ‘You catch it. I’ll sit here, catching rays!’
‘You don’t want to snorkel?’ Alekos can’t believe his ears. ‘Look at this water . . .’ He directs our attention to the jewel-like clarity of the aquamarine depths.
I, too, blink in wonder at the bedazzled surface – a million bright white glitterspots ricocheting from the sun into our eyes.
‘It’s absolutely lovely but I don’t care,’ she chirrups, lowering her shades.
‘Graeme?’
‘I’m happy staying with Emily.’ He also defers.
Which just leaves me.
‘I’m fine too.’ If it worked for them . . .
Alekos leans close to my ear. ‘They might want some privacy.’
I turn back. They are already looking a little cosy. Oh dear. There’s nothing else for it, I’m going to have to jump ship.
‘Man overboard!’ Alekos winks, about to flip backwards from the edge of the boat.
‘Wait!’ I grab his arm.
‘What now?’
‘Well. I mean . . . how big are these octopus exactly?’
I see his eyes roll behind the mask and then he’s gone, tipping backwards into the icy green.
Great. There’s no getting out of this now. My first swim since I’ve been here and I couldn’t be doing it in worse company – Emily may resemble a figurehead but I’m more bulkhead, which, technically, is a partition in a ship but you get the idea.
I shed my outer garments and try to sound breezy as I tell the couple, ‘See you in a bit!’ before making a far less sporting entrance into the water – hobbling over the side, catching my foot on the metal rail and then plunging too deep.
The water is exquisitely refreshing but there’s no time to revel in the sensation – I didn’t put my mask on before I got in so now I’m jiggling my feet like crazy to keep my head above water as I try and stretch the rubber strap around my head and position the mouth-piece, which feels most unnatural and distorting. Have I got it in right? I look around for Alekos to consult but he’s nowhere to be seen, setting me hyperventilating, wondering what dreadful underwater angle he could be viewing me from right now. Vanity is such a debilitating trait.
Puffing in and out of the breathing pipe, I try to remember the procedure I haven’t practised since I was a child. Face in the water, breathe through the mouth. Mercifully, the second I glimpse the sandy bottom of the ocean and take in the flutterings of five or six small black fish quietly going about their business, I’m fine – another world has opened up to me and fascination overcomes my fears.
Until, that is, Alekos looms into view motioning crossly to my flipperless feet. Darn. I knew I’d forgotten something. But instead of having a Greek strop, he reaches for my hand, aligns my body with his, and uses his set of flippers to power us both along. It’s a simple enough act – the waterworld version of taking a stroll hand-in-hand – but from the way I feel, you’d think the Man from Atlantis himself had singled me out for a private swoosh through his kingdom.
I am now officially floating internally as well as externally. I honestly don’t think a more romantic thing has happened to me in my life and he’s not even meaning it that way.
Somehow, within this surge of pleasure, I manage to feel a little bit guilty that this is Emily and Graeme’s paid trip and I’m the one who’s getting all the thrills. Mind you, I don’t know what’s going on in that boat.
Even underwater there is nothing disco-flashy about Greece, none of the technicolour tropicals on view at your local aquarium/Chinese takeaway, just muted neutrals and soft metallics. It’s the simplicity motif again: these fish are designed for the dinner table, not your screensaver. Periodically, Alekos swoops down and scoops up a handful of delicate pumpkin-shaped shells in matt plum, greengage and brick-dust orange, each accented with tiny dots of white.
‘Sea urchins with no more spines,’ he tells me as he makes a rare appearance above water.
They are so pincushion pretty we decide to take a few as keepsakes and he loads up the pockets of his boardshorts and mine.
Watching him move around, as confident in this sub-aqua realm as he is on dry land, I wonder if there are any Greek people who don’t like the sea. They could be on to something – life is just better wet!
Just as I’m feeling at my most dreamy and sublime, Alekos motions animatedly to the seabed. Unable to identify what he’s pointing to, I get a bit panicky. It looks like a rock, but is it about to rear up and start snapping at us? I try to manoeuvre so I can see if his expression is one of excitement or dread but he’s already on his way – making a perfectly streamlined descent through the milky mint waters. How do people do this? Dive with a mask and tube on? I’m utterly rapt and almost expect all the local fish to clamour round to watch the show with me.
As his hand disappears into a nook at the base of the rock there’s rummaging, then a tussle that gets me quite agitated: what if the thing clamps on to him and he becomes trapped down there? There’s absolutely nothing I could do, I wouldn’t even know how to make my body go down so many flights of seawater, let alone transfer any oxygen! Still, he remains there. Does he not need to breathe at all?
Suddenly his body is rushing back towards me. I’d feel relief were it not for the fact I now detect something sinewy and slimy dripping from his hand, in eight distinct strands, with a vile wobbling testicle-like sack on top. I scramble backwards, lifting my face out of the water so I can release a scream, only now of course I’ve taken my eye off the beastie so all I can think to do is start doggy-paddling away like crazy.
‘Come back!’ Alekos calls after me.
With his flipper power he’s upon me in a second and I instinctively recoil, thrashing around blindly. ‘Get it away from me!’ I beg, revulsed.
‘Selena, calm down!’
‘Do they bite? Do they sting?’ I gasp, still back-paddling.
He gives me a weary look. ‘Touch it.’
‘No way!’
‘Touch it!’
‘Just let me look at it first!’ I beg.
From a safe distance I can take in the proportions a little better. At full stretch its legs are no longer than my forearm. Alekos seems to have a fairly firm grip on its head. I take a steadying breath. I wouldn’t do this for anyone else, but something about this man is so commanding, he makes me want to overcome my fear. Tentatively – or should that be tentaclely? – I reach out, but my hand springs back before I make contact. I can’t do it! I’m squirming more than the octopus itself! Still Alekos holds it out towards me. I tell myself I might never get an opportunity like this again – though why I’d want one is another matter – and this time I do it. It’s slippery and gel-like on the surface, the arms are firmer than I imagined, and more serpentine, but the freakiest sensation is when its suction cups adhere to my skin.
‘It’s tasting you now,’ Alekos tells me.
‘Let’s go and show the others,’ I say, as an excuse to pull free and have a good shudder.
Back at the boat Emily astounds me further by cooing and stroking our friend like it’s a little tinkerbell of a kitten. Appropriate behaviour considering her next comment: ‘Did you know that intelligence-wise octopuses are considered to be on a par with a domestic cat?’
‘I did not,’ I tell her as I rhythmically tread water.
‘Aside from marine mammals they’re the smartest thing in the sea.’
‘Not counting me and Alekos, obviously,’ I tell her.
‘Obviously.’ She grins.
‘And they have three hearts,’ Graeme chips in. ‘That’s my favourite fact.’
‘Really?’ I look at
the octopus with new-found curiosity. I could do with a couple of spares myself. ‘Do they fall in love?’ I find myself asking out loud.
‘I don’t know about that.’ Emily frowns. ‘But their mating process is pretty bizarre – the male uses one specialised arm to insert the sperm into the female and then the arm detaches! Imagine if your wotsit dropped off after insemination!’ she addresses Graeme, who looks suitably uncomfortable. ‘You wouldn’t be so keen then, would you?’ she chuckles. ‘Plus males can only live a few months after mating and females die once their eggs are hatched.’
‘Wow. No such thing as “casual” sex in their world.’ I give Alekos a significant look.
‘You do it, you die,’ Emily confirms.
Alekos’ eyes remain upon me. ‘Ahhh, but what a way to go . . .’
‘Let’s take a picture!’
Alekos attempts to get the octopus to pose and in response it inks us – a big black pouff of liquid splattering us full in the face, a trick no doubt a few celebs would like to pull on the paparazzi. Emily and Graeme hoot delightedly and snap away. At least now I feel like we’ve put on a good show. Our work is done.
Better yet, Alekos announces that he’s returning the octopus to its nest. What a nice thing to do, I think to myself, as I attempt to heave myself back on board, feeling like I have twelve anchors attached to my extremities.
‘Graeme! Give her a tug!’ Emily instructs her fella to help me over the final hurdle.
‘Thanks!’ I collapse panting, grateful for the orange soda Emily is offering me. ‘This doesn’t come as naturally to me as some!’ I cast a rueful glance in Alekos’ direction.
‘Don’t worry, I’m a great believer in opposites attracting.’ She gives me a knowing wink.
‘Really?’ I look up at her, eager as ever to peek behind the scenes at a relationship. ‘How long have you two been together? If you don’t mind me asking . . .’
‘Four years,’ she replies, looking suitably impressed with herself. ‘He took a bit of persuading at first but I finally won him over.’
Graeme gives me a sheepish smile. ‘She’s quite a force to be reckoned with.’
‘Sounds like me and Alekos in reverse,’ I reveal. ‘Only we’re still just . . .’ I falter, unable to find the right words.
‘You mean you haven’t?’ Emily looks as shocked as Andreas did last night. ‘What’s holding you back?’
Funny that she knows I’m the issue.
‘Well, I was very wary of him at first. I couldn’t understand why he was coming on so strong, it was all a bit much for me.’
Graeme nods understandingly.
‘But then I got to spend a few days with him here at the beach and . . .’ How embarrassing – I know my face has just gone all teenage besotted.
Emily gives me an impish smile. ‘Now you’re thinking of succumbing?’
‘Don’t do it!’ Graeme suddenly yelps.
‘Are you crazy?’ Emily turns on him.
‘I’m not, but he is . . .’ he says, pointing behind us.
Instead of returning to the boat, Alekos has made for the rocks and is now clawing his way higher and higher up the pale grey-gold surface like a tufty-haired lizard in Hawaiian-print shorts.
‘He’s going to jump,’ Graeme confirms our worst fears. ‘He said something about this on the phone; I didn’t realise how dangerous it would be . . .’
‘Oh no,’ Emily and I groan in unison.
Higher he goes, up angular juttings, hooking his nails into tiny crevices, higher still. I’m starting to get more than a bit apprehensive now. Is he planning to outdo the cliff-divers of Acapulco?
‘I hope he doesn’t injure himself,’ Emily frets. I’m thinking the same thing, quite earnestly, when she adds: ‘I mean, if he smashes himself on the rocks, we’ll be stranded here.’
‘Ready?’ Alekos calls down, making sure he has our full attention.
I hold my breath. It’s all so precarious. He does realise there’s another rock in the water, tucked out of view from the ledge he’s standing upon? Of course he does. He must know every fluid ounce of this water. Right? But what if he hit it? Or what if he disappeared into the water with such force he just kept going? How would I feel if I never saw him again?
The truth is, I’d miss everything – the wild hand movements, the shrugs, the impatience, even our silly bickering . . . Yesterday I virtually accused him of being a sleaze but told him his other qualities redeem him. Well, they do more than that. They send him soaring into a stratosphere of his own creation. I sigh to myself – I am officially ruined! How is any man going to compare with this daredevil merman?
Just when I think he’s lost his nerve he lets go and plunges downwards, creating a perfect hula-hoop of white froth as he hits the navy waters. At the same time as he impacts, I find myself saying, ‘I love him!’
I didn’t mean to. I wouldn’t have even thought it was possible. But I do. I don’t know the last time I felt this feeling, right the way through me, inside and out.
Graeme and Emily are now cheering and whistling so I don’t look out of place hooting wildly as he bobs back to the surface.
‘Okay, Anchor Girl,’ he says as he climbs deftly back on board. ‘Time to pull her up!’
On the return journey Emily and Graeme sit comfortably together at the front of the boat, this time embracing the spritzing and spattering as well as the sunshine. Meanwhile, every icy flick makes me shiver more. I was too long in the cool water and wrap a towel cape-like around my shoulders, hunching against the buffeting breeze, about as un-siren-like as you can get.
‘Why don’t you come here?’ Alekos beckons me to sit beside him and then takes my hand and places it over his, on the rod connected to the motor. ‘Pull to the right if you want to turn to the left.’ He demonstrates the counter-intuitive system without letting go.
I like this kind of tuition better. It could just be that after the speedboat fiasco he wouldn’t trust me solo with the controls but, whatever his motivation, it feels so unbelievably good holding his hand I don’t mind. I take a deep breath. How it is possible that a man I used to run from could possibly infuse me with such a sense of unity and harmony with a simple touch? Perhaps it’s the liberation factor of embracing your emotions. I’m not afraid of them – or him – any more. ‘Together’ seems a real possibility. Exhilarating and comforting at the same time.
I know I have new-found confidence in our potential relationship when I emerge from the water and see the ultimate swimsuit bod sashaying towards me and, instead of feeling threatened or gripped by a sudden need to slap my palms over Alekos’ eyes, I am almost tempted to nudge him and say, ‘Check her out!’
She reminds me of Jules – at least five-foot nine with long perfectly tapered legs, boobs that wobble enough to let you know they’re real and a whittled-in skittle-like waist in between. She’s even sporting a twinkly bellychain – and you know there aren’t too many women who want to draw attention to that area of their body . . .
And then she tilts back the brim of her sunhat – oh my god, oh my GOD!
‘Jules?!’ I squint – surely I must be seeing things?
‘Sleee-naaa!’ she whoops, suddenly animated. ‘Where’ve you been?’ It’s then I feel her bionic body upon my soft flesh, squeezing me tight as her breath tickles my ear with the words, ‘I’ve come to save you!’
15
‘Envy is the ulcer of the soul.’ – Socrates
I stumble back, still having trouble believing my eyes: Jules, last heard of picking out tropical corsages in Mauritius, is now standing before me. ‘How . . . ? What . . .?’
She takes a deep breath. ‘I’ve left him.’
‘Dom?’ I gasp. ‘You’ve split up?’
She nods emphatically, if not a little manically.
‘What happened?’
‘I, I can’t –’ she gulps, shaking her head. Clearly she’s not ready to turn the pain into a quick anecdote.
‘No rush,’ I insi
st, still feeling like I’ve been struck on the head with one of our kayak paddles. ‘Talk about a bombshell! Or should that be a Domshell?’ I try to make a little joke.
Jules forces a smile then reaches for my hand. ‘So there I was sobbing my lungs out when I thought what’s the point of you and I both suffering on separate beaches when we could be happy together – so here I am!’
Did I really give the impression that I was suffering? That seems such a long-ago emotion . . .
‘You poor thing!’ I sympathise. ‘I wish there was something I could do to make you feel better . . .’
‘Well, you know what they say – the best way to get over a man is to get under another!’
Apparently Jules is planning to take the bungee approach to rebounding. As her eyes scan the shore for options, I try to process what her presence means to me: I know I should be pleased to see her but I actually feel totally sideswiped – I had plans for today, very particular plans. And now all my attention will be required to go in a very different direction.
‘He’ll do!’ she exclaims with a noticeable dilation of pupils.
I follow her gaze to a dewy and glinting Alekos, bidding farewell to Emily and Graeme. ‘Oh no. No, no, no.’ I shake my head.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Jules insists, eyes locked on her target.
‘No, that’s him!’ I protest. ‘That’s Alekos!’
‘The Heartbreaker? That’s okay,’ she shrugs, still not getting it, ‘I’m not planning on marrying him! I mean, can you see me with a man who drags people around on an inflatable banana for a living?’
I feel a little snubbed on his behalf and remind her of his officer status. But of course this has entirely the wrong affect: ‘Oh yess!’ she gurgles. ‘Does he have his uniform with him?’
I roll my eyes – if only I thought she could be satisfied with a quick Polaroid.
Before I can expand on my protestations Alekos is beside us – ‘Yassou!’ He nods in her direction.
‘Yassou to you too,’ she growls, biting her lower lip in unashamed animalistic desire.
Alekos falters, looking a little bemused. Presumably he can’t believe his luck – for once the chase has come to him.
Out of the Blue Page 17
