Wish You Were Here

by Mike Gayle

  ‘I’m Tom,’ said Tom uncomfortably. ‘And I’m, er . . . from Coventry.’

  ‘I’m Charlie,’ I added nervously, wondering if all this personal information would be used against us. ‘And I’m from Brighton.’

  ‘I’ve been to Hove,’ she said ignoring Tom and me and focusing her attention on Andy. ‘I’ve got an auntie down there. I’m from Chorley in Lancashire. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Andy. ‘I’ve got family there too.’

  ‘That’s brilliant.’ Without any hesitation she reached out and held his hand. Unable to believe my eyes I looked to Tom to reassure me that this whole exchange was as weird to me as it was to him. He flashed me a puzzled look by way of return that said: ‘Surely it can’t actually be this easy to go on the pull in Malia?’

  ‘How long are you here for?’ asked the girl, still holding Andy’s hand.

  ‘A week or so,’ said Andy coolly. ‘Maybe longer if you’re lucky.’

  I couldn’t believe it. Andy was recycling the lines that he had used on Susie from Newcastle right in front of us.

  ‘So is this your first night out?’ asked Tasha.

  ‘We arrived late last night,’ said Andy. ‘I would’ve gone out last night but these guys weren’t up to it.’

  ‘Well at least you’re here now,’ said Tasha confidently. ‘And as this is your first night out then you lads should kick things off tonight in style . . . at the Eclipse, where we’ve got a two-drinks-for-the-price-of-one promotion going on all night.’ Without pausing for a reaction, Tasha started dragging Andy in the direction of a dark, empty neon-clad cavernous bar. I could see the dilemma writ large on Andy’s face. On the one hand he was flirting with one of the most attractive girls we’d seen so far but on the other she was only talking to him in order to drag him and his hard-earned money into an empty bar. Though he was clearly offended that she was so openly exploiting her sexuality (and his own), at the same time it was quite clear that there was part of him that just didn’t care.

  Andy looked at Tom and me forlornly as though he couldn’t bring himself to walk away without our assistance.

  ‘I think we’re going to have to give your bar a miss tonight, Tasha,’ I said, wrestling Andy’s hand away from her. ‘We’re going to Pandemonium. Maybe another time, eh?’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Andy in a voice that registered genuine disappointment. ‘Maybe another time, eh?’

  It was as though Tasha had just flipped a switch. In the blink of an eye she went from sex kitten to ice queen. The flirting stopped. The smile turned to a grimace. And Andy’s face free-fell into disappointment. If we hadn’t forced him to start walking away I’m sure he would’ve rushed back to Tasha and begged her forgiveness. In fact, even when we were well out of her reach he couldn’t help turning around to watch as Tasha waylaid a group of lads coming the other way using the exact same technique that she had so skilfully employed on him only moments earlier.

  The situation was so tantalisingly ripe for Tom and me to use as ammunition against Andy that we didn’t have the heart – it would’ve been too easy. Instead, taking into consideration the fragility of his ego, we made the decision to move briskly on without further comment. This was difficult, because in the space of the next three bars we were stopped by two bikini-top-wearing girls from south London offering us free introductory vodka shots on behalf of Bar Go-Go, virtually manhandled into Galaxy bar by three Scottish girls in pink sparkly hats who offered three drinks for the price of one, and nearly lured into Club H2O by a gorgeous girl from Birmingham with huge false eyelashes and an offer of a free fruit cocktail.

  ‘It’s quite insulting really,’ said Tom as we extricated ourselves from the grip of the girl-with-the-false-eyelashes. ‘These girls think just because they have great bodies and are drop-dead gorgeous that they can get us to do anything they like.’

  ‘Well they can,’ said Andy. ‘The only reason I’m not standing in that first bar drinking the second of my two-for-the-price-of-one beers is because of you guys. Alone, I’d have folded like a pack of—’ Andy stopped and pointed across to the other side of the road. We were here. We’d finally reached our destination: Pandemonium. Yet another neon-lit bar that, while not exactly empty, wasn’t all that full either. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that I was convinced that it would be here where my luck would finally begin to change. Here I would rid myself of the spectre of my ex-girlfriend. Here I would meet the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat.

  ‘Are you ready, Charlie?’ asked Andy.

  I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to midnight. ‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,’ I replied and then, taking a deep breath, I looked both ways and crossed the road to meet my date with destiny.

  Budweiser, okay?

  Even from my short experience of the strip so far I knew that most bars in Malia relied heavily on loud pounding club music to provide ambience. The difference with Pandemonium was that the music was turned up just that little bit louder, as though the extra volume might make it stand out from the crowd. It was only when we reached the bar and were pointed by a barman in the direction of some banquette seating that we discovered that Pandemonium had one further trick up its sleeve: waitresses in bunny-girl outfits.

  ‘Now this is what I call a holiday,’ bellowed Andy as a waitress resplendent in pink fluffy ears, hot pants, fishnet stockings and heels passed by our table carrying a tray of tequila shots. ‘What do you think to that, church boy?’ Tom didn’t reply. ‘The girls in the bunny outfits,’ said Andy this time nudging Tom with his elbow. ‘Fit or what?’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Tom in a noncommittal fashion. He turned his head slightly and gave the waitress a cursory once-over, shook his head and then looked away as if to ponder some higher vision. It was only when Andy and I followed his line of sight that we realised that the higher vision Tom was pondering was the highlights of the England test match playing on a miniature TV screen above the bar.

  ‘I like sport as much as the next man, but how can you be watching cricket when there are women like this . . .’ said Andy indicating yet another waitress slinking by our table, ‘less than three feet in front of you?’

  ‘Leaving aside that I’m happily married with two kids,’ said Tom, ‘. . . fact is we’re doing really well.’

  One of the bunny waitresses approached our table. ‘All right, lads?’ she asked in a pronounced Liverpool accent as she leaned in towards us in an effort to be heard over the music. ‘What can I get you boys tonight?’

  ‘Anything you like, darling,’ leered Andy.

  ‘Three beers will do,’ I replied quickly, giving her an excuse to ignore Andy.

  ‘Budweiser do you?’ she asked smiling in my direction.

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied giving her the thumbs-up. ‘That’ll do nicely.’

  She turned and headed in the direction of the bar to deliver her order.

  ‘Why don’t girls at home look like that?’ wondered Andy as he turned his head to get a better view of the waitress’s legs.

  ‘Because all the girls at home who do look like that are here,’ I replied. ‘I’m guessing they come for a holiday and stay because they can’t stand the thought of going back to another grey summer in England.’

  ‘But do you think it’s in the rules that you have to be a babe in order to be allowed to stay? Pretty much every girl who has spoken to us since we got here has been amazing.’

  ‘Don’t know,’ I shrugged, ‘but I don’t suppose it can hurt can it?’

  We both fell silent as we spotted our waitress wending her way through the now-crowded bar with an almost balletic grace.

  ‘There you go, lads.’ She set the bottles down on the table along with a bill. Andy snatched it up immediately and then, presumably possessed by the spirit of Hugh Hefner, handed her a large Euro note and told her to keep the change.

  ‘What?’ protested Andy once she was out of earshot.

  ‘What do you mean, what?’ I replied.


  ‘So I gave that girl a tip, big deal!’

  ‘No, Andy, you gave that girl a gigantic tip because she was wearing a bunny outfit. You’ve been like a dog on heat since we landed last night.’

  Andy rolled his eyes in despair. ‘For once in your life, Charlie, why don’t you have a go at being a bloke? It’s actually quite a bit of fun when you know how.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘It means stop being such a self-righteous eunuch and grow a pair, because you’re beginning to drag me down,’ replied Andy.

  ‘I’m dragging you down?’ I repeated. ‘I thought this holiday was supposed to be for my benefit?’

  ‘It is,’ replied Andy, ‘but as the saying goes “You can lead a horse to water . . .”’ He paused and looked around the room. ‘I’m just saying instead of moaning about being thirsty all the time why don’t you get yourself a drink?’

  ‘And I will do,’ I replied, willing the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat to choose this moment to walk into the bar, ‘but don’t forget you’ve got a girlfriend.’

  Andy nearly choked on his beer. ‘Are you bringing Lisa into this?’

  I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. I wished Lisa hadn’t asked me to keep an eye on Andy. And I sort of wished this night was over because it was already becoming too much of a strain.

  ‘Forget it,’ I replied, realising I hadn’t got either the energy or the inclination to argue. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. And I’m absolutely in the wrong.’

  ‘Too right you are.’ Andy looked genuinely infuriated. ‘I’m here to have a good time so just leave Lisa out of—’ Andy stopped as two things happened simultaneously: first, the guy behind the bar turned the music down so low that for a few moments we could actually hear the conversational hubbub in the bar, and second, a huge commotion erupted near the entrance.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Tom as the bar was suddenly deluged by a huge influx of revellers dressed in swimming goggles, snorkels and cheap-looking white T-shirts.

  ‘Finally,’ said Andy, rubbing his hands with glee, ‘the entertainment.’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Check out the T-shirts,’ I replied, pointing to a couple of guys standing by the bar.

  ‘The Club Fun Big Night Out,’ said Tom reading the slogan. ‘You’re telling me that after all this time the mother of all bar crawls is still going?’

  ‘Makes you feel sort of proud doesn’t it?’ said Andy. ‘And they say young people have no sense of tradition.’

  The Club Fun Big Night Out organisers ended up commandeering the rear half of the bar near where we were sitting. A young guy wearing a blue version of the white T-shirt appeared to be leading the proceedings and after a short while he turned on the microphone. Tapping it several times to make sure it was working he then jumped on to a raised platform to the left of us and bellowed in a broad Yorkshire accent: ‘Welcome to the Legendary Club Fun Big Night Out! Are! You! Ready! To paaaaaaaarrrrrrrrtttttttttyyyyyyyy!’

  The crowd gave a half-hearted cheer, which wasn’t good enough for the holiday rep. He put the microphone back up to his lips: ‘That’s rubbish!’ he chided. ‘You need to make more noise. Now on the count of three . . . one . . . two . . . three! Welcome to Club Fun! Are! You! Ready! To paaaaaaaarrrrrrrrttttttttttyyyyyyyy!’ The crowd cheered back but the rep still wasn’t satisfied. ‘One more time!’ he boomed into the microphone. ‘Come on! Give it all you’ve got. Club Fun Big Night Out! Are! You! Ready! To paaaaaaaarrrrrrrrttttttttyyyyyyyy!’

  Clearly motivated by the need to have this idiot stop shouting at them, the crowd yelled, screamed and whooped at the top of their voices like game-show contestants.

  ‘That’s more like it! Now let’s get things started with one of my favourite party games and I’m sure it’s one of yours . . . you know what it is . . . the ice-cube game!’

  My jaw dropped.

  ‘How brilliant is that?’ said Andy, laughing uncontrollably. ‘Mate, we should get up and join them for old times’ sake.’

  ‘No way,’ I replied. ‘And neither should—’ I stopped as I realised that the back pocket of my jeans was vibrating. I reached for my phone and looked at the screen. It was a phone number I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Andy.

  I shrugged, wondering if Sarah had perhaps bought a new phone. ‘It’s too loud in here,’ I said to Andy, ‘I’m going to answer it outside.’

  ‘See you in a bit,’ he replied.

  Tom was sipping his beer, still engrossed in the cricket and I whispered in his ear: ‘Keep on eye on Andy for me and make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble, okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Tom, his gaze fixed to the TV screen. ‘Will do.’ I moved away but then returned: ‘Oh . . . and keep an eye out for the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat and her mates.’

  ‘I’ll keep an eye out for everybody,’ said Tom, wincing as one of the England team was bowled out. ‘Go and answer your call, and trust me, everything will be just the same by the time you come back.’

  That’s the problem

  The strip was now so busy it resembled Trafalgar Square on New Year’s Eve. There were gangs of lads singing football chants, groups of girls singing along to Kylie Minogue, young guys in cars blasting out music from their in-car CD players and, watching over the entire proceedings, a small collection of stone-faced police officers. In a bid to get away from the noise I ducked down a side street next to Pandemonium and answered the call.

  ‘Hello?’ I began.

  ‘Charlie,’ said a female voice. ‘It’s me, Lisa.’

  It took a few moments for her voice to register. ‘Lisa?’ I replied eventually. ‘What’s going on? How are you? Is everything all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly,’ said Lisa.

  ‘You had me worried there for a second,’ I replied, ‘I thought something must have happened.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She sounded genuinely apologetic. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have called you like this. It was a bad idea. I’ll let you get back to doing whatever it was you were doing.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ I replied. ‘It’s fine. I don’t mind you calling at all.’ I paused. ‘I take it this is about Andy?’

  ‘Am I that obvious?’

  ‘Transparent.’

  ‘This is so pathetic.’

  ‘No it’s not,’ I replied. ‘You’re worried and you’re looking for a bit of reassurance. It’s better you call me up and find out what’s going on than sit at home driving yourself mental.’

  ‘So how has he been?’ she asked. ‘I hoped he might call me tonight but I’ve not had so much as a text message to let me know you guys got there okay.’

  ‘Well, let me bring you up to speed,’ I replied. ‘The flight was all right, the accommodation is okay, the weather is glorious and most of today we spent hanging out on the beach.’

  ‘And that’s all?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘That’s—’ A group of lads passing by at the end of the street let off an air horn, cutting me off mid-flow.

  ‘So where are you now?’ asked Lisa. ‘You sound like you’re at a football match.’

  ‘I think a football match would be less crowded than this. I’m outside a bar called Pandemonium. When I left to take your call Andy was staring into space and Tom was watching the cricket.’

  Lisa laughed. ‘So you’re telling me I’ve got nothing to worry about?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, ‘I’m telling you you’ve got absolutely nothing to worry about.’

  ‘And you’d tell me if there was something to tell, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I promise you, Lisa, other than tales of excessive drinking, I doubt that there will be anything to report back to you. And you don’t want to hear about that do you?’

  ‘No,’ replied Lisa. Her voice was lighter now and less anxious. ‘I’m really sorry, Charlie. You’ve been a sweetheart. You really have.’

  ‘Look,’ I replied, ‘it’s no problem
at all.’

  ‘Thanks, Charlie. I’m going to let you go, but just promise me this one thing, will you? Promise me you won’t tell Andy I called.’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied.

  There was a long silence.

  ‘Okay,’ said Lisa finally. Her voice was shaky. She sounded small and lonely. ‘Well, have a good night then.’

  ‘We will,’ I replied. ‘And you can call me as much as you want to. You know that.’

  We said our goodbyes and then I ended the call and made my way back to the main street. For a few moments I stood on the pavement, jostled by passersby in both directions, thinking about Lisa. I couldn’t get over how much she loved Andy. She loved him so much that she couldn’t even bear to think about losing him and despite his many faults her love remained. And I thought to myself that that is what love must be – resilience in the face of opposition; knowing when you should give in and refusing to do so. Andy didn’t know what he had in Lisa. He didn’t know that she had what it took to make love work. He’d taken her for granted and would always do so because, unlike me, he’d never had a Sarah in his life to show him just how tough life could be.

  Still mulling the call over I returned to Pandemonium and worked my way across the crowded bar area to the seats where I’d left my friends. A few feet away from my destination I realised that half of them were missing.

  ‘Where’s Andy?’

  Tom dragged his eyes from the cricket and looked at me. ‘He said something about going to the—’ he stopped abruptly and instinctively I followed his line of vision across the room to the other side of the bar. Andy was frantically kissing a tall, dark-haired girl who was wearing a Club Fun Big Night Out T-shirt while holding a glass full of ice cubes.

  ‘This isn’t going to be a relaxing holiday at all, is it?’ sighed Tom.

  ‘No,’ I replied despondently. ‘I’m guessing this is going to be as stressful as they come.’

  DAY TWO:

  TUESDAY

  Let’s hope it doesn’t last long, eh?

  Déjà vu. That was the feeling I woke up with on the morning of my second day in Crete – the sense that I had pretty much already seen this day begin before. I looked at my watch. It was just after ten o’clock. I sat up in bed and the sheet covering me slipped off my shoulders exposing my skin to the arctic chill of the room. I glared at the air-conditioning unit gurgling happily on the wall as it continued on its mission to turn the bedroom into a glacial wasteland. Sighing, I pulled up my sheet and relaxed into my pillow, listening to the various sounds coming from outside: music from the bar down below, people laughing and shouting next to the pool, the occasional splash of someone jumping into the water. Everything was just like the day before . . . with one glaring exception: Andy wasn’t here. His bed was empty and he was nowhere to be seen – a clear indicator, should I have needed one, that the events of the night before had been no passing nightmare. They were very real indeed.