by Sue Roberts
I am sorry to hear that Vangelis is feeling a little down and hope that talking about Louise hasn’t opened up old wounds. Maybe a day spent outdoors with his brother is just what he needs. I wonder, though, why Santos mentioned it to me. I hope Vangelis hasn’t said things to him about me. Looking at Santos now I realise that he has a look of his brother, but is smaller in stature and has shorter hair.
The girls and I enjoy our drinks before heading off to bed. Things between Molly and me seem to be okay, on the surface at least, as we’ve had a perfectly enjoyable evening. But I think I should probably try to clear the air with her tomorrow.
As I climb between the sheets, I find myself wondering about Vangelis and his change of mood. Maybe being present at a wedding yesterday, or talking about the woman who stole his heart, has left him feeling a little flat. It would seem that nothing is ever perfect in life, no matter how beautiful a place you live in. If I close my eyes, I can picture his tall, muscular body and that thick head of hair, that full mouth with a ready smile, and I can’t help thinking that Louise from London must have been crazy to let him get away.
Fourteen
Max has messaged me early this the morning, telling me that my mum’s shepherd’s pie was excellent as usual and saying he hopes my evening dinner was just as good. I tell him all about the tomatoey, oregano flavours of the pork dish I ate and he replies with lots of food emojis and smiley faces. Then my phone rings.
‘Okay, I think you win. That pork sounds amazing, but the shepherd’s pie was really good too. Oh, and she made apple crumble for dessert. It was a surprisingly good evening actually. I thrashed your mum and Lexie at Scrabble too.’
‘Scrabble? I didn’t think that was your thing,’ I say in surprise.
In all the time I’ve known Max, he has never once suggested playing any board games.
‘No, neither did I. Lexie introduced me to it and it ended up being quite a laugh. We should buy it.’
‘Maybe we should. Or I could bring a packet of those playing cards home.’
‘The rude ones?’ he asks suggestively, making me giggle.
‘You’ll have to wait and see… Anyway, it was nice of Mum to invite you over, although you’re hardly hopeless in the kitchen, are you?’
‘I’m better in the bedroom. I can’t wait for you to get home.’ His husky voice sends a thrill coursing through me, as I imagine his strong body pressed against mine in our huge bed.
We finish the call and I feel so happy to have spoken to him. I need to forget what happened with Vangelis and move on. Max and I have complete trust in each other, and I realise that there’s nothing in a relationship if you don’t have trust… and then feel another pang of guilt over that stupid kiss.
We all dress quickly and grab a light breakfast washed down with coffee. It’s a short drive to Heraklion and our taxi driver chats to us easily, pointing out places of interest on the way and telling us a little history with obvious pride. Soon enough, the ancient harbour walls appear before us and we are being dropped off near the port, where we’ll take the catamaran to Santorini.
The boat seems to shoot us through the water in next to no time at all, skimming the waves and making Molly regret the second Danish pastry she ate at breakfast. She seems perfectly friendly with me today, though, so maybe I was overthinking things yesterday. Perhaps she was just suffering from a hangover in the morning after all.
When we finally arrive and step off into the glorious sunshine on the dockside at Athinios, we all gasp in unison. In front of us, a jumble of white buildings and hundreds of steps climb up the rocks, which are interspersed with the occasional blue-domed roof. Balconies from apartments are vibrant with pink-and-blue flowers spilling from pots. Turquoise pools can be seen outside cool, glass-fronted apartments, which seem to be carved right into the rock face.
‘Wow. This looks even better than it does in the brochures, if that’s possible,’ Kerry says, staring at her surroundings with her mouth open.
‘So how do we get up there then?’ asks Ria. She points to the throngs of people walking along a promenade above the harbour, with shops and restaurants in the background. ‘That looks like where all the action is.’
There are a few bars and cafés around us in the dockside area and I notice one restaurant with blue-and-white checked tablecloths on the tables, which seems to be very popular already. A waiter deposits some coffee and omelettes onto a nearby table and my stomach gives a little growl. I only ate a little Greek yoghurt for my breakfast.
‘We go up in those.’ I point to our left, where a queue of people are waiting in line for the cable cars. The cars take people up to the paved promenade, where I imagine the view to be spectacular. ‘Or on those.’ I point to a bloke with some tired-looking donkeys, which will take you up to the top of the island.
‘Or even on those.’ Kerry points to some steps that wind their way to the top of Thira. Hundreds of them.
‘Not unless there’s a first-aid station at the top. I’d need oxygen,’ says Ria, taking a fan from her bag and wafting her face.
‘I thought you were always up and down the stairs at the gallery?’ I tease her. ‘Well, anyway, my vote is for the cable cars.’
‘Definitely. We couldn’t do that to those poor donkeys. Not in this heat,’ says Molly. One of the donkeys turns towards us with a forlorn look on its face, so the decision is made.
Today has turned out to be a scorching hot day with not a cloud in sight. The bright sunshine fills my senses with joy and I can’t wait to explore and soak up everything this place has to offer.
Kerry has on a huge, wide-brimmed hat and a long floaty dress, and has covered herself in factor 50. It makes me smile that she thinks she could actually live here in Greece.
We join the queue, which is moving very quickly, and just minutes later a cable car swings in to the station and we take our seats. Its rocking motion makes me a little nervous, but a moment later we are literally shot up to the top of Thira in a matter of seconds. As we disembark, we glance down the sheer drop of the rock face that we have just escalated and Molly’s face turns pale.
‘Oh my goodness, I don’t think I’m going to be able to get back down again.’
‘If I can do it, you can, Molly.’ I breathe deeply, hoping my heart rate will soon return to somewhere near normal. ‘It’s no worse than that ride at Alton Towers that shoots you up in the air.’
‘You mean the one I haven’t been on since I was about eighteen years old?’ she says, grimacing.
We stroll along a pedestrianised promenade, flanked by gently swaying trees, before passing a church with a group of people and a tour guide outside. I hear the voice of an American tourist asking the guide questions about the church and see people nodding with interest at the answers.
The sun is bouncing off the walls of the white buildings, making them seem almost surreal, like part of a magical kingdom high up in the clouds. Before long, we stop to buy ice creams and then head to a viewpoint that’s crowded with tourists, all with cameras around their necks and all jostling for best position. It seems everyone wants a photo of The Three Bells of Fira, the iconic blue-domed church overlooking the sea, which is featured on every postcard from Santorini. As the visitors snap away, I gaze at the jumble of white buildings that seem to slide into the sea below. Beyond the church lies the most picturesque view of the water, glistening in the sunlight. It all looks stunningly beautiful and, for a while, we all just stand and stare in silence, mesmerised by the sights.
‘Now that’s some view,’ Kerry says, sighing.
We all agree that this spot would be a perfect place to paint, although highly impractical with the hordes of tourists.
Moving on, we take a walk along the narrow, ancient streets, passing cafés and upmarket gift shops displaying souvenirs and clothes that are twice the price of anything we have seen in the tourist shops of Crete. Two glamorous women with the most immaculate hair walk past, dripping in expensive clothes and carrying ou
tsize designer bags. Our gaze follows them as they take some steps down into one of the white-washed apartments that are embedded in the rock. All these places have patio doors overlooking private pools that, in turn, overlook the sea.
‘Can you imagine those sunsets… Sitting by your private pool or on your balcony, with a cocktail in your hand, watching the orange sun descend into the sea?’ I say, sighing.
‘Now that would be a scene worth painting,’ Ria says.
We’re glancing down at the water, taking in the stunning surroundings, when we notice a cruise ship slowly drifting into the port. Taking in the view and feeling this island working its magic, I can hardly wait to get home and create something wonderful on a canvas, as this place is pouring inspiration into me.
It’s just after one thirty when we find a pretty taverna off the main street. We all sit down in the outdoor area, which is dotted with colourful pot plants, and take a look at the menu, and I think once again that I could get used to this life. Kerry and I are chatting about our artwork and which aspects of the island we would like to paint, when I notice that a man on the next table appears to be half listening in to our conversation.
Presently he turns to face us. ‘Forgive me, but am I right in thinking that you are artists?’
I guess our conversation about morning light, refraction and shade kind of gave it away.
The man introduces himself as Frederik, on holiday here from Denmark, and he recommends a little gallery several streets away.
‘Some of the pieces there are really rather special. Unique, in fact.’
After a delicious lunch of fragrant fish and Greek salad with slabs of feta and huge juicy tomatoes, washed down with ice-cold beers, we stroll along and pass another group of tourists, huddled together, listening to a tour guide as he points to the dormant volcano in the sea. We hover in the background, listening to him describing how the island was the site of one of the largest volcanic eruptions in recorded history.
‘Some people believe that the eruption is the source of the legend of Atlantis,’ the guide states theatrically, as the crowd listens with interest.
We move on, feeling slightly voyeuristic, since we hadn’t paid for the privilege of listening to the commentary.
Cutting down a narrow side street, we are thrilled to stumble upon the art gallery that the man in the restaurant told us about. A metal sculpture of a shark pokes theatrically out of the rough, white stone wall of the gallery and makes us all smile. Once inside, the ocean theme continues, with sculptures of various sea creatures. Magical sea horses fashioned from driftwood and colourful glass artwork are displayed on shelves, using every available space. There is some exquisite jewellery on sale, too; semi-precious stones twisted around silver and pewter are made into stunning bracelets. We chat to the owner of the gallery for a while, who tells us he began by selling a variety of things at a stall on a beach before his business really took off.
‘This is absolutely gorgeous,’ says Ria, turning over a twisted silver bracelet set with a single topaz in her hand, before sneakily taking a photo of it on her phone.
‘I could copy something like this,’ she whispers to me.
When we’ve finished looking around, I buy myself some earrings and a metal fish skeleton painted in a metallic dark blue that has an almost haunting feel. I could spend forever browsing in the gallery, appreciating the skill of the artist, who has created so many unique pieces, and envying him being able to work in such a beautiful space. Standing here makes me think about how I might one day display things in my own gallery, impressed with how the owner has made use of the small space.
Continuing our walk, presently we come across a tiny chapel on a headland and I catch my breath. The view of Santorini below is striking from such a high point, and I literally feel on top of the world standing here. What an absolute dream it would be to marry in a place like this.
‘How about this for a wedding venue, Alice?’ Ria says, as if reading my mind.
‘It’s spectacular. I bet there are all kinds of legalities attached to marrying in a place like this though.’
‘Plus, there’s that small matter of you having booked and paid for a wedding in England,’ Ria reminds me. ‘Although,’ she adds, ‘it really is romantic here. Maybe you should forget about the Lake District and elope here. That would shut your mum up and stop her inviting any more horrible cousins.’ She gives me a wry smile.
Standing outside this gorgeous, whitewashed chapel, the pink wedding house and garden in Crete, as pretty as it all was, seems to pale into insignificance compared to this place. We step inside and it’s so tiny that the four of us can only just manoeuvre our way around. There’s a welcome coolness inside the stone building and we all take a minute to absorb our breathtaking surroundings. Despite the chapel being tiny, it’s stunningly beautiful. There is a richly decorated gold altar and paintings of the Virgin Mary are dotted about the chapel walls. I fall into step with Molly, who is admiring the ornately decorated altar, and we start chatting about the wedding.
‘Molly, can I talk to you, please?’ We’ve stepped outside the chapel into the searing heat once more and I turn to face her. ‘I need you to know that nothing happened between me and Vangelis the other night. I hope you believe that, despite what you think you might have seen.’
‘Think I might have seen? I saw you coming out of another man’s bedroom in the middle of the night and you were hugging each other. I know exactly what I saw.’ She bites her bottom lip, which is something I know she does when she is irritated.
‘But it wasn’t how it looked. We just had a really good conversation. He knew I was on my hen party; it was all perfectly innocent.’ I don’t tell her that I spent the evening telling a complete stranger all about my childhood and the Christmas that was ruined.
‘If you say so. Although if it was that innocent, how come you never just stayed downstairs in the public area? Come to think of it, you told us all that you were really tired so why didn’t you just go to bed?’ She’s biting her bottom lip again and staring at me.
I’ve asked myself that question so many times too.
‘I’ve wondered that myself, to be honest, and maybe I should have. But it was a little stuffy in the bar so we went to chat on the balcony where it was a little cooler, that’s all. Vangelis told me had a wonderful view of the bay from the balcony and I found I couldn’t resist.’
‘Was that all you couldn’t resist?’ Molly sneers.
‘Of course it was! Molly, I need you to believe that I’m telling the truth.’ My heart is beating inside my chest and I have to ask her the question. ‘Are you going to tell Max?’ I ask, dreading her reply.
‘No, Alice, it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours. And I’m sorry, but I find it hard to believe that you spent almost the whole night just talking. Didn’t you admit yourself that this holiday was all about having a little fun?’ She has a serious tone in her voice that matches the look on her face.
‘Yes, but…’
‘Or maybe one last fling,’ she mutters under her breath before walking ahead to join the others. My heart sinks. She really thinks I’ve cheated on Max.
The rest of the afternoon passes quickly and, despite the glorious surroundings, my conversation with Molly has soured things for me. I can’t help thinking about what she said. Ria and Kerry don’t seem to notice anything is wrong, though, as Molly is being perfectly friendly and I am trying to stay upbeat. The last thing I want is to ruin the last full day of our holiday with a strained atmosphere.
We continue exploring Thira, climbing dozens of white steps, zigzagging through back streets and stumbling across yet more shops, galleries and cafés, with rough stone walls, sharing the narrow streets. I take a deep breath, inhaling the warm air and wishing I could stay here alone with my thoughts for a while longer.
Around an hour before our catamaran is due to leave the port, we find a seat at a restaurant with an incredible sea view and order a bottle of wine and
some water, and Ria proposes a toast. ‘To friendship and long may it last. Here’s hoping you won’t forget about us when you get married and fill your house with kids.’ Ria chinks her glass against mine.
Perhaps it’s the wine, but her words really touch me. I hope I will never lose touch with my friends, although I wonder whether I might have lost sight of myself recently… I try to laugh it off. ‘Not a chance, Ria. It’s said that if you have a friend for more than seven years then they are officially family, so I guess I’m stuck with you all now. Besides, I have no plans to fill the house with children, at least not for the time being anyway.’
Max has talked of one day building a tree house at the end of a long garden, in a bigger house that would become our forever home. I know that Max would make a wonderful father; his sense of fun would build happy memories for any child. Becoming a mother feels like a huge responsibility to me, and although I would like to start a family one day, I just can’t see it being in the foreseeable future.
Despite having a lovely day, the evening with Vangelis is still on my mind so I realise there’s only one thing I can do. However innocent it was, I’m going to have to tell Max. I know I’d be devastated if he kissed another woman and I want to start our marriage without any secrets. I just pray he’ll be able to forgive me.
On the return journey to Heraklion, I sit next to Ria and, because of our conversation in Santorini, I tell her all about my visit to the wedding house in Koutouloufari village.
‘Surely you’re not really thinking of changing things now?’ she asks in surprise. ‘Isn’t everything booked?’ She looks at me with a puzzled expression on her face.
‘I know, you’re right. I don’t suppose there was much point in looking really, but it was just idyllic. If I’d have known the place existed when we got engaged, I might have persuaded Max to look into having our wedding there and then. But after seeing the chapel in Santorini, I realise there are probably hundreds of beautiful wedding venues in Greece. It’s a pity we didn’t look into it all.’
