Gran once told me that everybody in the world gets fifteen minutes of fame at some point during their life.
I have no idea who said it.
I guess they’re not famous any more.
Anyway, Dinu and I got way more than fifteen minutes. We enjoyed almost a whole month of celebrity. Bluzie’s song stayed in the charts and our Mannasoft Games walk-through of Back to Londinium soon had over three million hits.
We went to parties and sat with the cool kids and even our teachers were nicer to us than usual.
For the school’s summer talent show Dinu and I did a kind of stand-up comic routine where I’m the clever geeky one and Dinu’s cool but thick. It was a spoof of our YouTube commentary but instead of Roman London we pretended to go back to when our teachers were young: caveman times. Geddit?
We got a standing ovation.
The adoration made me feel so good that I even grew a few millimetres taller. I was still the shortest kid in Year Eight but at least it meant I was now almost eye to eye with my girlfriend Kiana.
Yes: girlfriend.
Thanks to a mention on one of the most downloaded pop songs in the history of the world, I had a girlfriend.
It’s true that Kiana and I didn’t have many interests in common and that she only allowed me to hold her hand when we were at school and that she hardly ever came to my house and when she did she usually rolled her eyes at my suggestions of computer games to play.
But still …
A girlfriend!
I wasn’t complaining.
When I walked down the corridor I got fist bumps and nods and envious smiles from my delightful fellow students. How could I ever have thought of leaving Wandsworth Academy?
After a month or so our popularity started to fade a little. Kiana always seemed to have an excuse when I invited her over to play a computer game and she stopped letting me hold her hand at school.
But then the ads on our YouTube commentary started to pay out, and this meant that Dinu and I had extra pocket money. We could afford Air Force One trainers and Off White backpacks. And when I bought Kiana a silver heart bracelet with ‘K&A’ engraved on it, she let me hold her hand in public again.
The only bug in my soup was Dinu’s pesky sister Crina, with her annoying green glasses and angry lapel pins.
‘I’m not going to Athens with the rest of you this summer,’ she said every time I went round for dinner. ‘I don’t want to leave a massive carbon footprint.’
‘If you’re not coming to Athens with us, then why are you reading Plato’s dialogues?’ said Dinu one Friday evening as he spooned sour cream on his mamaliga.
Crina’s cheeks grew pink. ‘How did you know that?’
‘You’re not the only one who can spy,’ he said with a smirk.
‘I love Plato,’ said five-year-old Mari. ‘Pink is my favourite colour.’
‘I think she means “Play-Doh”,’ said Crina. She leaned forward and smiled at her little sister. ‘Plato was a famous philosopher in ancient Greece. He wrote about Socrates, another philosopher.’
Mari held up Dodo, the teddy bear she takes everywhere. ‘Dodo has flossy fur.’
Dinu snorted and Crina gave him a stern look. ‘Not flossy fur,’ she said gently. ‘Philosopher. That’s a person who thinks about the meaning of life. And a dialogue just means talking about something.’
I looked at Crina. ‘So why are you reading Plato’s dialogues, if you’re not going to Athens with us?’
Mrs Balan said, ‘Of course she is going. Is rude to say no to this very kind invitation.’
Unlike her three kids, whose English was almost perfect after less than a year in the country, Mrs Balan still had a heavy Romanian accent.
I liked her. She was pretty and petite with big brown eyes. Sometimes she hugged me and kissed my forehead, just like my mum used to do.
I felt a bit sorry for Mrs Balan because Mr Balan was away so much, working on a construction site. ‘Will your husband be able to come with us?’ I asked. ‘He’s invited too.’
‘I don’t think so,’ replied Mrs Balan. ‘He still works hard on those apartments.’
I had only met Dinu’s dad once, at Easter. He was tall and muscular with thinning blond hair and a jaw like a superhero. He always said he would try to show up for Dinu’s football matches or to see Crina play clarinet in the school talent show. But work came first and he rarely made it.
When Mrs Balan said Mr Balan probably couldn’t come to Athens with us everyone looked sad except Dinu, who scowled.
But I knew he was hurt rather than angry. He once told me that when he lived in Romania he and his dad used to spend much more time together. Quickly trying to change the subject, I turned back to Crina. ‘You still haven’t told me why you’re reading Plato.’
Crina raised her eyebrows and looked at me over the top of her green glasses. ‘You know very well why.’
But to be honest, I had no clue.
5
First Class
‘Ahhh! This is the life,’ I said to Dinu as I looked out the window of BA flight 632 and sipped an iced Coke. It was the first week of the summer holiday and we were on our way to Athens. Our plane was cruising at around 35,000 feet somewhere over the Alps.
Dinu nodded. ‘What makes it especially good is that we’re in business class and my annoying sister has to sit back there!’ He jerked his thumb towards the economy section of the plane.
I suppressed a twinge of guilt. Dinu’s mum and my gran were also back there. And of course Dinu’s cute little sister Mari.
‘I hear economy isn’t so bad.’ I was telling myself as much as him. I finished my Coke, put on my eye mask and plugged in my earphones.
I was dozing to Bluzie’s song ‘Take Me Back’ when I was rudely awakened by a tap on my forearm. I pulled out my earbuds, lifted my eye mask and squinted up at the person lit from behind.
‘How’s first class?’ Crina stood in the aisle with her arms folded. ‘I hope you’re enjoying it.’
I beamed up at her. ‘Loving it. How’s cattle class?’
She sighed. ‘We’ve got screaming babies all around us. Literally surround sound. Wanna trade?’
‘No, thank you,’ I said, putting my mask back over my eyes. ‘We’re the VIPs.’
I couldn’t see her any more, but I could feel her standing there, glowering down at us.
‘Stop moaning,’ I heard Dinu tell her. ‘We only have another hour before we land and then you’ll be in a luxury five-star hotel. All expenses paid and everything. And all because of us. So be grateful.’
‘Do you at least have some earplugs I can borrow?’ came her voice.
‘Here,’ said Dinu. ‘Take this comfort pack. It has earplugs, socks and an eye mask.’
‘Thanks,’ she muttered.
‘Sorry, miss, but you can’t be up here in first class,’ I heard a female member of the cabin crew say.
‘All right, all right. I’m going.’
I couldn’t help giving a wicked grin.
At Athens airport we found one of those golf-cart things to take us to baggage claim. Dinu and I let Gran, his mum and the girls ride in the cart with our carry-ons while we went on foot. It was a long way but it felt good to stretch our legs. I walked on the travelator while Dinu jogged along the one going the opposite direction. Then we traded places. By the time we reached the baggage claim, laughing and slightly out of breath, they were waiting patiently with our suitcases.
Like our entourage.
Sweet.
‘This must be what it’s like to be rich and famous,’ I whispered to Dinu.
But outside in the arrivals lounge my good mood deflated like a month-old balloon. ‘They told me there would be someone here to meet us with our names on a placard.’
‘And where are the screaming fans?’ said Dinu with a grin.
People were swirling around, crying out greetings and hugging relatives.
‘I’ll bet pop stars and millionaires don’t
have to hang around for their rides,’ I grumbled. ‘Where is he?’
‘Maybe over there?’ said Dinu. ‘By that kiosk?’
As I looked at the sweet stall where Dinu was pointing, I noticed a skinny guy in a floppy canvas sunhat and orange mirrored sunglasses facing our way. When he saw me notice him, he moved behind a stand of magazines.
‘I think we’re being watched,’ I muttered to Dinu.
‘By Bluzie fans?’ He looked around eagerly.
‘Dunno,’ I replied.
‘Act cool,’ said Dinu. ‘In case they’re filming us.’
At that moment a stocky guy in a charcoal-grey suit and aviator sunglasses appeared before us.
‘Alex Pappas, Dinu Balan and family?’ he growled.
When we nodded he held up a placard with MANNASOFT GAMES scrawled on it. ‘I am Stavros, your driver. Please come with me.’
Before I could ask where he had been, he grabbed a couple of our suitcases and led the way out into a blast of late afternoon heat.
‘Look, Mummy!’ said little Mari. ‘A stretchy car.’
‘Woohoo!’ Dinu punched the air. ‘A limo!’
Stavros opened the door for Gran and Mrs Balan to get in first. ‘It has a mini-fridge with complimentary champagne, Coke and Pringles.’
Crina scowled as she slumped in the leather seat. ‘Coke is poison,’ she said. ‘So are all those other processed foods. And I can’t believe all six of us have just flown to Greece and now we’re in this giant car. We’re leaving a massive carbon footprint. We should have at least taken the airport bus.’
I glanced at Dinu and he just rolled his eyes: we understood each other perfectly.
As I cracked open a can of Coke I resolved to avoid Dinu’s annoying little sister as much as possible during this holiday.
Fate was having a good laugh at me just then.
6
Five-Star Athens
The five-star Athens Acropole Hotel was well posh.
Dinu and I had our own massive room between my gran’s single room and the big suite occupied by Dinu’s mum and his two sisters. There were connecting doors but we immediately locked them on our side. Crina was less than pleased to have to share with her mum and little Mari, but that was her problem, not mine. Our room boasted a balcony with a view of the Acropolis, a queen-sized bed each and a huge plasma TV, complete with console and games.
‘Hey!’ exclaimed Dinu. ‘They have an alpha version of Back to Athens! And oh my God – look! Ancient Greek Assassins!’
‘Aren’t we supposed to go up to the roof terrace for some introductory banquet?’ I said. ‘Remember? Stavros was telling us about it in the limo.’
But my protests faded away when the first screen of Mannasoft Games’ Back to Athens came up.
‘Wicked!’ said Dinu. ‘Look at those graphics. Right up there with Ancient Greek Assassins!’
‘How do you know? You said you’ve never played Assassins.’
‘I haven’t. But I’ve watched walk-throughs on YouTube.’
‘Dinu, are you riding a chariot through the streets of Athens? I don’t think that was allowed.’
‘Make a note then, dude,’ said Dinu. ‘That’s what we’re here to do.’
We were deeply immersed in the ancient world when we were brought back to twenty-first-century Athens by a ringing phone. It took me a few seconds to find it on one of the bedside tables.
‘Hello?’ I said.
‘Alex, where are you?’ came Gran’s voice. ‘We’re all waiting for you up on the roof. They’ve laid out a special banquet for us with musicians and waiters dressed in ancient clothing and everything.’
‘Sorry, Gran! We’ll be right up!’
‘Don’t forget to wash your hands. I might sniff them to check.’
The bathroom was amazing. The walls were shiny white marble veined with black. The taps looked made of gold and were shaped like dolphins. There were twin hand basins of black marble with a bowl of little shell-shaped soaps nearby.
‘Hey, Alex!’ said Dinu as I dried my hands on a fluffy white towel. ‘What’s this?’
He was pointing at a low white basin next to the toilet.
‘I think it’s called a bidet,’ I said.
‘Bee-day?’
‘Yeah. B-I-D-E-T. I’m not quite sure what it’s for.’
‘Maybe it’s for washing socks and pants,’ said Dinu.
I looked around at the marble walls and the gilded dolphin-shaped spouts. ‘I don’t think people who stay here need to handwash their own underwear.’
But Dinu was already out the door on his way to the lift.
I dropped the towel and gave my hands a sniff. Coconut. Gran would approve.
Up on the roof terrace, you could see the ancient ruins on the Acropolis above us, glowing pink in the setting sun. It was still hot but there was a nice breeze up here. There was even a pool.
Then I spotted our table. I was surprised to see that the six of us were the only diners up there. We were outnumbered by four musicians, a woman singer and three waiters. The waiters looked like Greek gods who spent too much time at the gym and wanted everyone to know it; they wore sleeveless mini-tunics.
Gran and Mrs Balan and the two girls were all dressed up. Even Crina. She had unplaited her hair, left off her glasses and put on some eyeliner. She had changed from her Extinction Rebellion T-shirt and jeans into a bright turquoise dress that looked like an ancient Greek tunic.
I was about to tell her she looked nice when she said, ‘Wow! You really made an effort, didn’t you?’ Her voice was heavy with sarcasm.
‘You could at least have put on a fresh T-shirt, Alex,’ said my gran.
I looked down at my pale blue T-shirt. It was smeared with Pringle dust and splashes of Coke from where the can had fizzed over.
‘We got distracted,’ I said feebly, then noticed that Dinu had changed into a fresh shirt. ‘Traitor!’ I muttered under my breath.
We had an amazing feast of stuffed grape leaves and roast lamb and a bunch of other courses and then did traditional Greek line dancing, all except for little Mari, who fell asleep on a sun lounger by the pool. Even usually grumpy Crina joined in the dancing and seemed to be enjoying herself. She picked up the Zorba dance pretty quickly.
I realised I felt happier than I had in a long time, which surprised me because of all the popularity I’d been enjoying at school.
I’m not sure what time we went to bed, just that it was after midnight.
But I do remember the moment Dinu woke me up.
‘Alex,’ he groaned, ‘I don’t feel so good.’
I squinted at the glowing numbers of the bedside clock. ‘Dinu! It’s four in the morning! Go back to sleep.’
‘Urgh!’ he moaned. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Oh, Dinu!’ I gave a deep sigh as he stumbled across the dark bedroom towards the bathroom.
But a moment later my own stomach was churning and I also felt a horrible urge to throw up.
I ran into the bathroom. The brilliant light showed me Dinu with his head over the toilet, heaving.
I looked around desperately for somewhere to be sick.
Then I spotted the bidet. I’m still not sure what its real purpose is, but all that night it served me well.
7
Not Bill and Ted
It turned out that everybody else had been struck down too.
We found out when a doctor arrived at our door around nine in the morning. He was a round-faced man with excellent English. He told us that we must be suffering from food poisoning because everyone who had been at the banquet was ill: Gran, Mrs Balan and the girls.
He couldn’t say if it was the grape leaves or the lamb, or maybe the honey pastries, but he told us not to eat anything and to drink plenty of fluids, preferably water.
‘I’ve seen this before,’ he said. ‘The best treatment is to avoid food for a full forty-eight hours. If you start eating before it’s completely out of your body, the s
ickness could recur.’ He raised dark eyebrows at us. ‘Do you think you can do that?’
We both nodded.
‘Some holiday,’ I grumbled when he had left.
‘It’s a great holiday,’ said Dinu. ‘I have a bed the size of a small room and a plasma TV.’
So Dinu and I stayed in our beds that whole day. Our room was the perfect temperature and also nice and dim after we closed the blinds against the fierce sun.
At first we tried watching TV, but the selection of programmes was bizarre. All the movies were about Greek myths or heroes. Then there were about a hundred documentaries about the history of Athens and how democracy was born here, and the building of the Acropolis and so forth. We watched some of those until I found a Blu-Ray of Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.
We both laughed at the bit where Bill and Ted have to go back to get an ancient Greek philosopher named Socrates.
In the movie, Bill pronounces the philosopher’s name ‘Soak Rates’, and then reads out a quote from their guide book: ‘The only true wisdom consists of knowing that you know nothing.’ Bill and Ted grin at each other and say, ‘That’s us, dude!’
Dinu and I both dozed off and missed the end of the movie, but we felt better for our nap.
‘I could eat something,’ said Dinu, grabbing the menu for room service.
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘But we’re not supposed to for another day and a half. Doctor’s orders.’
Dinu put down the menu and picked up the Ancient Greek Assassins box. He waggled it temptingly. ‘Wimpy?’
‘I don’t think Gran would approve of me playing such a violent game. And don’t call me “Wimpy”.’
‘Don’t be wimpy, Wimpy.’
And when I hesitated, he said, ‘Come on. It will take your mind off not eating.’
I picked up the box and studied it.
A sticker read: ‘Special Complimentary Athens Acropole Edition – not for resale.’
A black-and-white label read: ‘Mature Seventeen Plus. Blood and Gore. Intense Violence. Strong Language. Parental Advisory!’
‘No,’ I said. ‘This is not Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure. Absolutely not.’
Adventure in Athens Page 2
