As Greek as It Gets: A fun, feel-good romantic comedy

by Sue Roberts

  ‘You mean ’cos you fancy him?’

  Kerry is scrolling through her phone, looking at the films showing at the local Odeon. ‘Maybe, but it’s one of those action thrillers that’s guaranteed to entertain. It might take both our minds off things.’

  The last thing I feel like watching tonight is a romantic girlie film so I say yes, an action movie sounds perfect. I decide to leave a message on Max’s phone, just in case he does have it with him. I tell him I’m worried about him and that I hope he’s alright, and try to keep any anger out of my voice even though I’m bloody furious with him.

  An hour later, having just showered, I receive a message from Molly that simply reads: Home and sleeping like a baby x

  I’m filled with relief that Max isn’t lying in a gutter somewhere, or holed up in someone else’s home, and decide I’ll deal with it in the morning. For now, he can go to hell.

  ‘Alice, it’s gorgeous, thank you.’ Kerry runs her hands over the soft, blue, leather shoulder bag, similar to the one she admired in town before our holidays, but purchased from a sale on a leather website.

  ‘I’m glad you like it. And you can wear it loud and proud this evening, as Hal isn’t here.’

  ‘Stuff Hal. And thanks again, it really is perfect.’

  ‘Oh, and there’s this. Happy birthday!’

  I hand her a shop-bought card with ‘To a Great Friend’ on the front. We’ve stopped making each other home-made painted cards now, as we’ve got so many from each other and the novelty has kind of worn off.

  As we sit in the cinema later, waiting for the film to start, I glance at my phone one last time, before it goes onto silent, but there’s nothing from Max so I toss it in my bag and try to forget all about him. It doesn’t take long for my mind to be distracted, as Gerard Butler, along with a host of other hunky males, ooze testosterone from the cinema screen as they chase the bad guys, hurling hand grenades and blowing up cars and frequently ripping their shirts off to assess the damage from a bullet.

  We finish the evening with a nightcap in a nearby bar and toast Kerry’s birthday, with a promise to go out on the town and celebrate properly with Ria, when she’s recovered from a twenty-four-hour bug she’s caught. I finally take my phone out of my handbag to find three missed calls from Max, who has obviously surfaced and didn’t lose his phone after all. Normally I would ring him immediately, but thinking of how he left me worrying for half the night I decide I’m not going to spoil my evening with Kerry. She’s having her own problems and could use a friend right now.

  I’m furious to think that Max had his phone with him all along, yet couldn’t even be bothered sending me a text to let me know he was staying out for the night. I think of Gail’s comments about me being too soft and decide that I’m not going to run to him as soon as he’s contacted me. This time, Max can wait.

  Surprisingly, I sleep like a log in Kerry’s spare room and after an early breakfast of coffee and a bagel, decide it’s time to head back home. The weather has dulled a little this morning and the boat is quiet as it makes its way along the Mersey with only a few passengers aboard. I imagine it’s quite a nice way to travel to work in the morning and think of the movie Working Girl, in which the office workers of New York travel to Staten Island every morning by ferry, although I suppose it would be pretty chilly in the winter months.

  I put the key into the front door a little after eleven o’clock and find Max standing in the kitchen making coffee.

  ‘Alice, hi, are you alright? You never answered my calls,’ he says quietly, barely able to look at me.

  ‘Why, were you getting worried about me?’ I’m finding it difficult to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. ‘I thought you might have lost your phone, but obviously that wasn’t the case. Why didn’t you tell me you’d be staying out all night two nights ago?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I was drunk.’ He retrieves another cup from a cupboard and pours me a coffee. ‘We ended up in a nightclub drinking shots. I’m not much of a drinker anyway, as you know. I ended up going home with one of the blokes who has a flat down near the Albert Dock. I can’t remember much about it, to be honest. I got home here just after ten.’

  Which I calculate was just after I left yesterday morning.

  ‘Why so late?’ I find myself imagining all kinds of scenarios, including one where an attractive woman makes him breakfast in bed before he sets off.

  ‘I was wasted. I didn’t wake until after nine yesterday morning. Chris made me two coffees, as I chucked the first one up. Alice, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.’ He turns to face me and I can see genuine remorse in his eyes.

  ‘Well, I guess I’ll have to trust you, won’t I? Can we please put all this behind us now?’

  Max hands me the coffee and I notice bags etched under his eyes, which I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. It seems the last few days have taken their toll on him, along with the drink-fuelled evening.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ I go to the cupboard and take out a loaf of bread, but he tells me he isn’t hungry.

  ‘We could go for a pub lunch later this afternoon though, if you fancy it?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’ I fill a glass with water and hand him a couple of dispersible tablets before heading upstairs for a shower. As I feel the warm water cascade over my body, I’m hoping we can finally put things behind us and move on. Max put me through all kinds of emotions yesterday and the night before. I know I’ve probably done the same to him. I know I’ve hurt him. I also know that I love him with all my heart.

  Twenty-Four

  We end up having a Sunday roast in a local pub around five o’clock, which is perfectly pleasant but not like the usual jokey afternoons we have when we chat to the other regulars who we’ve got to know quite well. Occasionally, Hal and Kerry would come over and join us, Hal piling his plate with vegetables, and I’d laugh at Kerry, who would furtively bury a generous slice of roast beef under her Yorkshire pudding.

  That evening, at home, we watch an action movie and I tell Max all about the Gerard Butler movie, which he says he quite fancies seeing himself. Later, we lay side by side in our huge bed and, as we get comfortable, Max gently lifts his arm for me to snuggle into and I thank the Lord. Perhaps everything will be alright after all.

  On Monday – the following day – I do something I’ve been talking about doing for a long time. I make a call to the local Community Centre to ask if it would be possible to arrange a meeting with someone to outline my idea for running an art class. I’m promised someone will call me later that day and luckily they do, just as I am on my lunch break. A lady called Mrs Harper tells me they always welcome new classes at the centre because, if the council thinks it isn’t being sufficiently used, it could face closure. We agree to meet on my next day off and I put the phone down feeling positive and a little bit excited.

  I have a text from Kerry telling me that Hal has returned from London and they’ve had a long chat and she’s told him she is leaving. I give her a quick call before I return to work and she tells me he barely reacted, confirming to her that it was the right thing to do.

  ‘Oh, Kerry, are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine, really. If I’m honest, we’ve just been like mates for a long time now, nothing more. He’s told me I can stay here as long as I want until I find a place, which is a bit of a relief. I’m moving into the spare room though.’

  We finish chatting, with a promise to meet up soon, and I head into the shop just as a delivery of flowers is being made.

  ‘Wow, they’re gorgeous,’ I say to Gail, who has taken receipt of a huge bouquet of red roses.

  ‘They’re not for me,’ she says, handing them over.

  I turn a card over that simply reads: Love you. x

  ‘Are they from Max? Have you two made up then?’ Gail asks me. ‘Or has he been up to no good himself?’

  I haven’t told Gail anything about Max staying out all night and bat away a flicker of doubt. We’re making a
fresh start, whatever has or hasn’t happened between us, and I’m not going to let anything spoil that.

  ‘Does a man have to have been up to something to send his fiancé a bunch of flowers?’ I plaster a huge smile on my face as I inhale the scent of the fragrant blooms.

  ‘Of course not, I’m only jealous. I can’t remember the last time a bloke sent me a bunch of flowers.’

  She goes to serve the next customer at the till with a cream bedroom clock fashioned inside a birdcage and I think it’s a shame that no one sends her flowers. She’s a strong, outspoken woman and perhaps her husband feels she isn’t the type who would appreciate flowers. Yet I saw how she smiled when she took receipt of the blooms from the courier, feeling the petals and inhaling their scent.

  A little after five thirty, I pick up my flowers and head off home, when I’m surprised to find Mum outside the shop. ‘Mum, hi! This is a surprise. Is everything alright?’

  ‘Do you think I only come to see you when there’s a problem?’ she asks.

  Uh, yes, usually, I think to myself.

  ‘Although maybe falling out with Max is a problem. I knew there was something wrong the other day when I bumped into him in the village. Maybe you’ve made up though, judging by the flowers.’

  ‘It was nothing that we haven’t managed to sort out, Mum. Have you really come all this way to ask about Max and me?’

  Has her life really become so boring that she needs to find out everything that’s going on in our life?

  ‘Well, no, of course not. I’ve just been at the hairdresser’s and I ran into Molly in the street on the way out. She told me everything.’ She’s looking at me with that judgemental look on her face, which I knew she would, and my shoulders sink. I really can’t be doing with this after a day’s work.

  ‘I don’t know exactly what she told you, but Max and I don’t have a problem with anything.’

  For a second I wonder whether Molly has simply told her about the catering problem and she’s just asking if everything has been sorted out.

  ‘Honestly, Alice. Did you really think Max wouldn’t find out about you being with another man on holiday when his own sister was there to witness it?’ She shakes her head.

  ‘What? Whoa, wait a minute, Mum. Before you become judge and jury, I should say that nothing happened on that holiday. I spent the evening chatting to someone, that’s all. Not that I should have to explain myself to you,’ I reply angrily.

  I resist the urge to tell her that I was talking about the terrible Christmas when we lost everything, including my relationship with my father.

  Standing here having this conversation with my mother, I wonder what the hell Molly thought she was doing in telling her anything. Although Mum has an uncanny way of extracting information from people, so she probably quizzed the poor girl into submission.

  ‘You’re a fool, that’s what you are. Fancy risking the wedding by messing about like that. You should count your blessings that you have a bloke like Max. Lexie would love to have someone like him in her life.’

  ‘Unless you have something constructive to say, Mum, maybe it’s best that we don’t continue this chat.’

  I think of all the times over the years when I’ve needed her but she’s been off somewhere doing her own thing with her friends, especially when she worked as a hotel receptionist before she retired. A party or a girls’ night out always came first, before Lexie and me. We spent many evenings being looked after by an easy-going Rex, who would keep us entertained by playing board games with us.

  I also think of her comment about how Lexie would love someone like Max. ‘And I know Lexie would like to settle down, Mum, but she’s a grown woman not a child. She’ll do that in her own time; you need to stop worrying and fussing over her. She wants to find the right one and not just settle for someone. There’s nothing wrong with that.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to see your daughters happy,’ she says in a low voice, before fumbling in her bag for a cigarette. ‘And maybe I would like her to find someone successful, there’s nothing wrong with that.’ She blows a cloud of cigarette smoke into the air. ‘I don’t want either of you making the same mistakes I did.’

  ‘You mean spending money that you never had? What are you saying? Find a rich husband and spend all his money? That’s a bit last century, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really, plenty of people live like that if it’s what they both want. And I know I drove your father away, Alice, I don’t need reminding of that. He earned the money alright, but he was tight-fisted. I wanted us all to have nice things.’

  The generosity Dad showed whenever he took Lexie and me on holiday bears no resemblance to the man Mum has just described. And he was always generous on birthdays too, but maybe he liked to keep treats for special occasions, whereas Mum spent money like there was no tomorrow.

  We walk to the end of the road, with me trying to remain calm. I don’t want to argue with Mum any more. Deep inside, I’m still angry that she never really nurtured a relationship with my father. She blamed him for moving so far away, but that was where his job opportunities took him at the time. He returned to his first love – art – embracing a career that used his creative skills and, as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to understand that.

  Mum is silent for a few minutes, glancing into a shop window as we walk on, then she says, ‘And you’re wrong, you know. I don’t fuss over Lexie the way you say I do, but even if it were true I only do it to encourage her. She never seemed to know what to do with her life when she was younger, but you had your talent for art; it was all you were ever interested in. I knew you’d make a success of things.’

  So Mum acknowledges that I have a talent for art, but in all these years she’s never actually told me that. In fact, at times, she’s made me feel as though I don’t even have a ‘proper’ job, preferring to gush about Lexie’s latest achievements at work. I feel emotional, knowing Mum thinks I have a talent, but dearly wish she’d told me that before.

  ‘And don’t you think I needed encouragement?’ I say now. ‘I never had a shred of confidence when I was young, because you never seemed to show any interest in my art or praise me for anything, for that matter. Talent alone isn’t enough. A child needs to be supported and encouraged. Dad always did that but he wasn’t around for very long, was he? And whose fault was that?’ I can’t help adding.

  Mum turns to face me and I can see tears pricking her eyes. ‘Well, none of us is perfect, Alice. I’ve made mistakes in my life, which I’ve lived to regret, but you can’t turn the clock back, can you? And whether you believe it or not, I was just concerned about you and Max, that’s all. I think the world of Max. I think I’d better go now.’

  As she walks off, I stare after her for a moment and think about what she has just said. None of us is perfect. I consider running after her and hugging her, but I’m certain she would shrug me off as her heart is so cold. But I must try.

  ‘Mum, wait!’ I race after her, my heart pumping, and when I catch up with her I crush her in an embrace that takes her breath away.

  ‘Those bloody cigarettes,’ she says, coughing slightly, with her arms by her sides and feeling awkward in my embrace. She raises a hand and gently pats me on the back. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t the mother you wanted me to be and I’m sorry I broke my marriage up,’ she sobs. ‘Your father was a good man and you’re right, I screwed it all up. I liked to buy expensive things and keep up appearances, because deep down I thought I wasn’t good enough for him and it turns out I was right.

  ‘But, Alice, I’m trying to make things up to you. I know it might be too late, but I want you and Max in my life, which is why I’m keen to have you both round for dinner. No ulterior motives, I promise. I’m sorry,’ she whispers again, as we stand there, embracing, with Mum’s arms fully around me now as we attract the attention of passers-by.

  When we pull apart, I invite Mum to a nearby coffee shop for a drink and she accepts. I think we probably have a lot
to talk about and we won’t be able to resolve things overnight. But we have to start somewhere. And today seems like as good a day as any.

  Twenty-Five

  Max and I have spent the last few weeks having heart-to-heart talks, promising one other there will never be any secrets in our marriage, and thankfully it’s now full steam ahead for the wedding. I am trying to push away any nerves regarding the number of guests and to stop worrying that I’ll stumble over my vows. I’m determined to just get on with things.

  I’ve decided to shelve the idea of teaching at the Community Centre until the wedding is over, when I will be able to give any students my full attention. That’s if it even happens in the first place as, according to local news reports, the council is cutting services. Besides I’ve been thinking a lot more about opening a little gallery and have been scouring for suitable premises.

  I can hardly believe that it’s just over a week now until the wedding. To my surprise, Max hasn’t spoken about it as much, which makes me wonder if he’s still feeling as excited as he was. Maybe when we celebrate our golden anniversary, I may recall how our marriage was almost put in jeopardy and will thank our lucky stars that we went ahead with it. It’s strange to think that one day we might have children. It’s not something I want right now, but further down the line, who knows? It’s even stranger to think that one day we might have their children – our grandchildren – calling round to our home. It’s really hard to imagine ourselves as an old couple.

  I’m thrilled that Max and I are back on track, although on one or two occasions he’s hung up from a phone call rather quickly when I’ve walked into the room, but perhaps that’s all in my imagination. I must push any negative thoughts from my mind and be grateful that we are okay, as I feel sick at the thought of us not being together and can’t believe a holiday crush almost ruined things.