Out of the Blue

by Belinda Jones

  And then it dawns on me that Alekos could already be on his way over. Immediately I switch to fast-forward. There’s no way I can face seeing him – he’ll read me like a book and I don’t want him knowing the affect he’s had on me. I have to get out of here now!

  I drag my own case over to reception – terribly gauche, I know, but I didn’t want to risk waiting around for a buggy. I’d bundle straight into the car but I can’t go directly to the shack in case he’s still there. Best I find a hidey-hole somewhere in reception then as soon as I see him walking on through I can skedaddle.

  ‘Would you like me to store that for you?’ a super-swift bellboy enquires as I deposit my key at reception.

  ‘Oh, yes please!’ Far easier to be discreet without the giant case appendage. I gabble my details and then dart behind the nearest pillar – Alekos has just walked through the main entrance.

  My god he looks rough. Well, I suppose he didn’t get much sleep last night.

  I watch as a little old man accidentally clips his shoulder in passing and Alekos looks ready to clout him. Jeez. I’m glad I stayed out of his way.

  ‘Miss Selena Harper?’

  What? Who’s calling my name?

  ‘Miss Selena Harper!’

  Oh, for god’s sake – it’s the bellboy with my suitcase ticket. In my haste to hide I’d forgotten to take it.

  ‘Quiet!’ I want to shriek. But it’s too late – Alekos has heard him now and stopped to look around.

  ‘Miss—’

  I reach out and grab the bellboy by his jacket tail, yanking him back behind the pillar with me and sssshhing him manically.

  Alekos makes one more 360-degree turn, looks as if he might have imagined the whole thing, and then goes on his way.

  Finally, I loosen my grip on the bellboy.

  ‘I am so sorry about that!’ I attempt a breezy smile. ‘I actually am ready to go right now!’

  He couldn’t look more relieved.

  I feel weak with sadness as I pull back on to the main road. To lose the man of your dreams and your best friend in one day is phenomenally depleting. I can’t help but suspect I need to become more discerning about both categories in future.

  As I pass through the town square I keep my eyes directly on the road ahead, trying not to look at the bar where I had my firework cocktail or the bakery with the amazing cream pies or the grocery shop staffed by twin Bobby Balls.

  I get all the way to the bottom of Alekos’ road without incident, and then stall. I’m not sure I can do this after all. I edge a little closer but find myself puffing out my breath Lamaze style in a bid to keep from crying again. I’m afraid that if I walk in that door and see the place I mistook for our home I’ll lose it again and this time I might not be able to stop.

  Is this really over? I feel as if I’m experiencing some massive bolt of separation anxiety. Alekos may have been physically dependent on me initially but I’m the one who became emotionally dependent. And, as of now, emotionally abandoned.

  For half an hour I sit there in the car, wondering what I should do for the best. I’m just about to start up the engine when my phone bleeps. Another text.

  For one foolish moment I think it might be Alekos telling me it’s all been a terrible mistake – he’s broken it off with Jules and he’s coming home to me!

  But it’s not, it’s Jules.

  ‘Alekos says he’s already fed Loulou tonight, just give her half a can in the morning.’

  Ah yes. There we are – the coded love message I’ve waited my whole life for.

  Well, at least I don’t have to worry about Loulou this evening. If I want to I could find another hotel room and then nip over and see her for breakfast – I’m sure it won’t seem anything like as daunting in the daylight. Especially when I have a getaway plane waiting . . .

  My intention is to put Elounda behind me and head to Plaka for some comfort eating at the Pinenut, but as I draw level with Driros beach I find myself pulling in before I’ve even realised what I have done.

  Yes, there’s a risk it’ll just make me feel even more woefully nostalgic, but this little nook has offered me so much peace the past few days, I just want to take a moment to say thank you.

  I pull on a jumper and step out of the car. Whoah! If I thought the descent to the beach was perilous by day, it’s even more hairy by night. I end up inching my way down on my bottom, feet first, running my hands over the rubble, ready at any minute to claw my fingers in like crampons. I pause before I step on to the gritty sand at the base. It is just so beautifully still here. For the first time since this morning when I saw Jules’ note, I feel I can breathe.

  It’s a very different place without all the energy and sunshine of the day but I’m just as enamoured of its more subdued side. I used to love that twilight phase when the day was winding down, the air cooling, Alekos yawning, me packing up my unused laptop, knowing that I’d actually lived myself that day rather than just observed others.

  I’m just deciding whether to place one of the plastic chairs under the tree or out on the jetty when I freeze. I am not alone – there’s a body on the beach.

  20

  ‘We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink, for dining alone is leading the life of a lion or a wolf.’ – Epicurus

  He doesn’t look like he’s been washed ashore – his clothes are dry and no limbs are skew-whiff. Plus, as far as I’m aware, dead men don’t snore.

  It seems an odd place to sleep, flat out on the grit, but I suppose plenty of people nod off on the beach by day, and he does have a hat over his face so perhaps he was dozing in the afternoon sun and accidentally slept through going-home time.

  I creep a little closer. Hold on a minute – I think I recognise that hat!

  ‘MSV?’ Even though I’m using a nickname he’s never heard, my voice is enough to stir him.

  ‘Selena!’ he startles, quickly shuffling upright and slipping his trilby back on to his crown. ‘You came!’

  ‘You were expecting me?’

  ‘Well, actually, I’d given up hoping.’ He gives his face a reviving rub. ‘I got here just before seven, but you’d already shut up shop so I didn’t really think you’d come back. You probably thought I’d forgotten about dinner, right?’

  Oh no. That would be me. I’m only now remembering the arrangement for him to cook for the Driros crew. Gosh, that seems a lifetime ago. Only yesterday I had him in mind for Jules, and look how outdated that concept is.

  ‘My tour was late back and I couldn’t let you know because stupidly I never took a contact number for you.’

  I nod empathetically. ‘I was thinking the same last night – and I don’t even know your name!’

  ‘Greg!’ He grins. ‘And you’re Selena, right?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, as I reach to shake his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you!’

  We chuckle at our belated formalities and then he asks, ‘So what was going on last night?’

  ‘Oh. It was my birthday and I ended up eating alone,’ I explain, hoping I don’t sound too tragic.

  ‘Really?’ He looks concerned.

  ‘Yes, it’s a long story,’ I say dismissively.

  ‘Well, clearly I have more than enough time to hear it.’

  ‘It doesn’t have a happy ending,’ I warn him.

  ‘Well.’ He gets to his feet, dusting himself down. ‘The night is young. My fridge is full. We could pretend tonight is your birthday if you like?’

  ‘A second chance?’ I smile, liking the idea of pretending the last twenty-four hours never happened.

  ‘Why not?’ He shrugs.

  ‘Why not indeed!’

  I can’t help but give the moon a grateful glance as we climb back up the bank. I won’t have any qualms about telling Greg my pitiful story because he’s certainly a man who has known great heartache, although thinking about it, his situation does make mine look rather trivial in comparison.

  ‘So did you
walk here?’ I ask, noticing I am the only car in the lay-by.

  ‘Yes, I’m so close – just across the road and up the hill. The Elounda Carob Tree Valley Villas.’

  ‘I’ve heard they’re gorgeous!’ I coo, remembering Alekos telling me that they were pretty much his idea of a dream home.

  ‘Well, my wife does have excellent taste.’

  ‘Except in men.’

  ‘Thanks very much!’ he splutters.

  ‘No! I mean, whoever this guy is she left you for. Oh sorry, I’m just making it worse,’ I cringe as I unlock the passenger door for him. ‘You can get me back plenty when I tell you my sorry tale.’

  ‘Does it involve Alekos?’

  ‘Of course. And then we have the surprise arrival of my best friend.’ I hold up a corrective finger. ‘Former best friend.’

  ‘They hit it off?’ He offers me a neat little euphemism.

  ‘While I was sleeping. Not in the same room or anything,’ I hasten to add. ‘But it just felt extremely behind my back. Though really it’s okay because I think she’s just shown me what a bad idea he was.’

  ‘So one day you’ll be thanking her?’

  I nod as I turn on the engine. ‘Just not tonight.’

  Greg requests a U-turn and then directs me up a bumpity dirt driveway. I can’t see beyond the beam of the headlamps but there appear to be wild fields all around us and at one point he reaches in his pocket and uses a remote to open a broad metal gate.

  ‘Keeping the riff-raff out?’

  ‘And the goats in,’ he explains.

  We’re on smooth tarmac now and approaching a series of eight or so hip buildings blending cool Cubism with traditional Cretan stone, each with their own cluster of carob trees.

  ‘This really is stylish,’ I comment as he directs me to his driveway. ‘Even your low-life friends must have got a kick when you pulled up here!’

  Greg chuckles to himself, remembering their first night. ‘We actually took the wrong turning into someone’s private driveway, set all these dogs barking and then this crazy Greek lady ran out in her nightie and chased us down the hill!’

  ‘Little did your pals know that that was the best offer they were going to get in Elounda!’

  ‘I know,’ he laughs as we step from the car. ‘By the third night they were thinking of asking her out on a date!’

  ‘Have you heard from them lately?’ I ask. ‘More bacchanalian tales from Malia?’

  ‘Yes, and you don’t want to know.’ He shudders.

  ‘You don’t feel you’re missing out at all?’

  ‘Not with them.’

  ‘But you do feel you’re missing out on something?’ I persist.

  He pauses and picks up one of the shedded carob pods, inspecting its brittle, withered surface. ‘It’s silly really . . .’

  ‘What?’ I encourage him to continue, both out of curiosity and an instinctive need to try and fulfil other people’s holiday dreams. Especially now that I’m so in need of distraction.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose I thought my first time abroad might be a little more eventful.’

  I raise an eyebrow.

  ‘I’ve probably just watched too many movies. And listened to too many Greek myths – they’re not short on drama, are they?’

  I shake my head. ‘Mind you, you have been abandoned by your friends and you’ve met me at the single-most tragic juncture in my life, so that’s a start, isn’t it?’

  He concedes a nod, throwing the pod back into the bushes and continuing up the Flintstones flagstone path.

  ‘Besides, if you’re looking for a story to tell the folks back home, I think they’d probably rather you let your cooking do the talking – how cool that you can prepare an authentic dish for them from the country you just visited?’

  ‘Is that a hint for me to hurry up and get my pinny on?’

  ‘Well, I am a little peckish . . .’ I grin.

  ‘Duly noted.’ He stops suddenly. ‘I’ve just remembered – there is one pre-birthday-dinner requirement . . .’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘You need to make a wish. Upon a star.’

  My head is about to tilt heavenward when he steps aside to reveal a glowing oblong of pale turquoise.

  ‘You’ve got your own pool!’ I gasp.

  ‘Which is just as well, because you need to be floating while you’re wishing.’

  ‘That’s a new one on me!’ I blink at him. ‘Does that make it extra-effective?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, but it’s the best cure for the miseries. I do this every night – come on!’

  Already he’s kicking off his shoes and pulling off his T-shirt in that hair-rumpling way men do. One splosh and he’s in, gliding to the centre. I watch as his facial expression becomes awash with serenity.

  ‘Are you going to join me?’ he asks, swishing water through his fingers.

  The old me would make an excuse to opt out but this feels like an opportunity to hang on to some of the spontaneity Alekos encouraged in me. Besides, I don’t want the last memory of me in a swimming pool to be the one where I’m thrashing around crying . . .

  Because it’s dark and he doesn’t seem the type to stare, I venture in wearing my cotton camisole and knickers, then swill over and float beside him, listening to my own breathing in my waterlogged ears.

  ‘I was going to try this earlier at the beach for the full natural effect,’ Greg explains, ‘but I find there’s a hint of menace about the sea at night.’

  ‘You mean the niggling concern that some slimy beastie might grab your leg and yank you down into the depths, never to return?’ I suggest.

  ‘Exactly,’ he confirms.

  I smile to myself – this is a man after my own heart. I loved that Alekos was such a fearless merman but I didn’t like feeling a scaredy cat around him. It’s good to be understood.

  ‘So, pick a star, any star . . .’

  ‘Ahhh,’ I sigh as my eyes dart around the assembled constellations. ‘There are so many to choose from!’

  ‘No rush.’

  I take my time locating the one that seems to be twinkling just for me and then take a breath. ‘I wish Greg would come to Athens with me.’

  ‘Athens?’ he chuckles. ‘When are you going there?’

  I gasp, inadvertently splashing him in the face as I flounder myself upright. ‘Did I just say that out loud?’

  ‘Did you not mean to?’ He looks amused, blinking the chlorine from his eyes.

  ‘Well, not really. I mean, wishes don’t come true unless you keep them to yourself, do they?’

  He thinks for a moment. ‘I’m not sure. Sometimes I think it might be easier to just ask for what you want.’

  He’s got a point. I kept my deepest wish regarding Alekos to myself and look where that got me.

  ‘So what do you think? About Athens.’ I dare to test his theory. ‘You said you wanted an adventure and I’d welcome the company . . .’

  ‘When are you thinking of going?’ he asks.

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Now it’s his turn to make waves.

  ‘I know it’s soon but you’ve got no babysitters to arrange, no work to ask for time off,’ I wheedle.

  He looks quite flummoxed but I can see some part of him daring himself to be receptive to the idea. ‘How long are you going for?’

  ‘Two nights, probably.’

  ‘Wow, that’s a long way to go for a quick break – my guide today said it takes nine hours to get here.’

  ‘By boat,’ I clarify. ‘I was thinking of taking one of those new-fangled aeroplanes – they do it in fifty minutes.’

  ‘Really?’

  I nod.

  He thinks for a moment and then suggests we continue this conversation on dry land.

  ‘Preferably in the kitchen.’ I give him another nudge as we pad wet footprints across the decking to the front door.

  ‘Oh wow, Greg! This place is beautiful!’ You’d think I’d stru
ggle to get excited about any accommodation after the elite indulgences of the Elounda Beach, but the villa’s interior styling is so fresh and enchanting I feel instantly revitalised. Amidst all the immaculate white (including shiny Perspex dining chairs and an outsize cotton sofa, plump with ten large cushions) my eye is drawn to the accent wall of softest hyacinth displaying the word ‘home’ in raised white script.

  ‘Oh, I love that!’ I enthuse, discovering the lettering – like the whitewashed chandelier above and the foot-long candlesticks beside the fireplace – is also made of wood.

  ‘There’re more words upstairs!’ Greg leads me to a bedroom painted with the same sugared-almond subtlety, only this time in sheer mint and showcasing the word ‘joy’. I sigh mistily as he opens the door on to the balcony, allowing a gentle breeze to swell the veil-like curtains, and then follow him through to the main bedroom. Its hue is pale Wedgewood with ‘dream’ set at the head of a starkly modern white four-poster.

  ‘Stunning,’ I murmur.

  If my circumstances were a little different, I could live somewhere like this. The Cretan love shack was a tad too rustic. But to me this Greek chic is perfection.

  ‘For you.’

  Though I have numerous clothing options in the car, I accept Greg’s offer of a robe, and even opt for a towel turban so I can feel like a movie star swanning around her Mediterranean hideaway with her private chef.

  I might even feel inclined to cook myself in a kitchen like this – sleek stainless steel appliances, dishwasher, juicer, marble-topped dining table with a teak alter-native al fresco and, most charming of all, a picture window lined with three glass shelves displaying dainty jewel-bright vases of flowers.

  ‘From the garden.’ Greg points through the window to the row of miniature rose bushes and then hands me a glass of wine. ‘So first things first – happy birthday! To the start of a whole new year.’

  I can’t help but pull a face as we chink. ‘And what a start it’s been!’

  ‘Look at it this way,’ he encourages. ‘Things can only get better!’

  ‘Actually, they already have!’ I acknowledge as I take a sip of the chilled liquid. ‘This is all so civilised.’