Wish You Were Here

by Mike Gayle

  Last night. What. A. Total. Disaster. Tom and I had watched slack-jawed as Andy had kissed, fondled and generally manhandled the tall girl with the dark hair for a good five minutes before we finally managed to tear our eyes away from the car crash that had occurred right in front of us. I really couldn’t believe that he had so unambiguously crossed the line. I knew that Andy liked to flirt with members of the opposite sex like most people liked to breathe, but I’d always assumed that when it came to The Line – between being technically faithful and technically unfaithful – he had enough sense to remain on the side that would bring least trouble. And yet there he’d been standing right in our line of vision, kissing a girl I’d never seen before only moments after I’d assured his teary live-in girlfriend that he would be faithful to her for the entire holiday.

  Neither Tom nor I had any idea what we should do. It wasn’t as if we could have dragged him forcibly from her clutches – although that was actually the first suggestion I’d come up with. So after taking time out to assess the situation over a stiff drink, we came to the conclusion that the only thing we could do was let him get on with it in the hope that he would come to his senses and return to the fold. After some time it became clear that Andy and the girl weren’t going to come up for air any time soon. Just as we’d reassessed the situation and made the decision to issue Andy in his absence with a toothless NATO-style sanction (‘If he doesn’t stop snogging that girl in, say . . . the next hour or so I think we should register our protest by going back to the hotel’) Andy and the girl stopped kissing.

  ‘Finally,’ I said, relieved, ‘his conscience is kicking in.’

  ‘He hasn’t got one,’ said Tom. ‘I suspect he had it surgically removed years ago to make room for his ego.’

  Tom was right. As the girl disappeared in the direction of the ladies’ toilet Andy didn’t look the slightest bit repentant. In fact he looked incredibly pleased with himself, as though he deserved a round of applause. Returning to our table, he picked up his beer and downed the remains of his Budweiser in one go.

  ‘Now that hit the spot,’ he said, setting down the bottle firmly on the table in front of me.

  ‘Are we supposed to be impressed?’

  Andy sighed wearily. ‘I knew you’d make a big deal out of this. It’s nothing, Charlie, okay? Just a bit of fun. There’s no need to be concerned.’

  ‘Come on, mate,’ I replied. ‘You don’t have to do this. You’ve made your point. She was gorgeous and you’re the king of pulling birds. Let’s just leave now and call it a night before you get yourself in any more trouble.’

  ‘Leave now?’ said Andy. ‘You must be joking. There’s no way I’m going anywhere tonight without her. Have you seen her, Charlie? She’s amazing.’

  ‘You’re right. She is amazing. And I can’t believe that you’re making me remind you but here goes: you’ve got a girlfriend.’

  ‘Will you try and be a bloke just for one second?’ snapped Andy. ‘This is the kind of thing I’d expect from church boy Tom, not you. Come on, mate, we’re blokes. This is what blokes do. Especially when they’re on holiday.’

  I looked over to see if Tom had any words of wisdom that might back me up.

  ‘You want me to say something to stop Andy going off with this girl?’ said Tom, reading my face. ‘Maybe something about his girlfriend, and how he’s risking losing her for a meaningless fling?’ Tom shook his head. ‘No, I’m afraid I won’t be doing that.’ He gave Andy a wink. ‘Do whatever you want, mate. Just leave us out of it, okay?’

  For a brief moment I was sure that I saw a faint flicker of doubt spread across Andy’s face. And it might have taken hold had that not been the exact moment that Andy’s kissing companion chose to stride across the bar and join our table.

  ‘Are these your friends?’ asked the girl, slipping her fingers between Andy’s.

  ‘Nina, this is Charlie and Tom,’ said Andy neutrally. He then gestured to Nina. ‘Charlie and Tom, this is Nina.’

  Tom didn’t take his eyes off the cricket during the whole exchange and as I felt bad on behalf of everyone involved I ended up issuing an overly enthusiastic hello.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, shaking her hand. ‘It’s really good to meet you.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you too,’ replied Nina.

  Even in an ill-fitting Club Fun T-shirt there was no disguising how attractive Nina was. ‘How long are you here for?’ I asked.

  ‘A week,’ she replied. ‘I’m here with my sister and some friends. You guys are only here for a week too aren’t you?’

  I nodded. ‘Having a good time so far?’

  ‘Great. It’s just nice to take a break isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it is,’ I replied. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘London. East Finchley to be exact. Are you from Brighton too?’

  I nodded. ‘Although I’m originally from Derby.’ I paused and asked the six-million-dollar question. ‘When do you go back home?’

  ‘Wednesday,’ she replied, even though I’d been willing her to go first thing in the morning so at least I could be sure of this nightmare not dragging on too long. ‘And I’m back at work on the day after. It’ll be murder.’

  ‘Right then,’ interrupted Andy, clearly bored with me and my small talk. ‘I’ll see you guys later.’

  ‘It was nice to meet you,’ said Nina, giving Tom and me a little wave which Tom dutifully ignored. ‘Maybe I’ll see you again.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘That would be nice.’

  Hand in hand Andy and Nina crossed the bar, pausing only to kiss at the exit before disappearing from view. Once they had gone I looked at my watch and realised that, thanks to Andy’s antics, I’d been too distracted to realise that yet more bad news had managed to come my way without my even noticing it. The girl-in-the-cowboy-hat was nowhere to be seen. I’d been stood up.

  ‘We can wait a bit longer if you want,’ said Tom, reading my mind.

  ‘No.’ I finished off my drink in preparation to leave. ‘Let’s just go before this night gets any worse.’

  We were about to move when I looked up to see a young woman approaching our table. She was wearing a tight black sleeveless top, dark blue jeans and heels. Three things immediately struck me: first, there was something oddly familiar about her; second, unlike everyone else in the club she didn’t appear to be in her early twenties. Late twenties, yes. Early thirties possibly. Early twenties, definitely not. Third: she was very pretty.

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I know this is going to sound a bit weird but your friend who left a little while ago, is he an all-right-sort of guy?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied as I exchanged baffled glances with Tom. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘He’s with my sister and, well, she sometimes doesn’t have the best judgement in the world, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Believe me,’ said Tom. ‘We know what you mean.’

  ‘So?’ said the girl looking at Tom. ‘Your friend?’

  Tom licked his lips as though already relishing the sweet savour of his answer. ‘Andy,’ he began, ‘is an—’

  ‘Okay sort of bloke,’ I interrupted.

  The girl raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, put it this way,’ she said, ‘is he the “okay sort of bloke” you wouldn’t mind being with your sister?’

  I had to laugh at the thought of my sister Jeanette (minus her husband and her two kids) together with Andy. ‘I think I’d mind pretty much anyone being with my sister,’ I replied. ‘But yeah, Andy really is an okay sort of bloke.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said the girl. ‘Well I’d better get off then. It was nice to meet you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Nice to meet you too.’

  Thanks again for last night

  As I lay in bed still shivering from the cold, having just reviewed the previous night’s escapades, I found myself thinking about the girl from the club whose sister had gone off with Andy. There had been something about her that had immediately marked her out in my
head as different, and it hadn’t just been an age thing (although that did help), or that she had been attractive (although that helped, too). What had marked her out from the other girls in the club was that she looked as though she had a story to tell. Things had happened in her life. Things that had left their mark. I couldn’t tell what that story might be. Whether it was happy or sad. But what I did know was this: I hoped that somehow I would get to hear it this holiday.

  An electronic beep from my mobile signalled the arrival of a text message and broke my chain of thought. My pulse quickened. It had been a while since I’d spent any time contemplating Sarah’s ‘Call me’ text message and I couldn’t help but wonder if this were a reminder. I scrabbled around on the floor with my hands and eventually found my phone wedged in the back pocket of my jeans. I looked hopefully at the screen but was disappointed to discover that it was a text message from Lisa:

  Message Lisa: Charlie, sorry about last night. Do you forgive me? Hope it didn’t spoil your evening. Thanks for being such a treasure. Have a great rest of holiday. L x PS. Did you pull?

  I sat up in bed and read it several times – just to make sure that I was fully aware of every single guilt-inducing nuance of the message – and then sent a reply in return.

  Message Charlie: Hi, don’t worry about a thing. Night out was pretty poor anyway. Your phone call was highlight. C x

  I pressed send and then climbed out of bed and got my things together for a shower. On my return to the bedroom, naked and dripping water over the floor, I noticed that my phone was beeping again to let me know I had another message:

  Message Lisa: Why pretty poor? L x

  Feeling uncomfortable about her question I sat down on my bed and keyed in a response:

  Message Charlie: Everyone here is decade younger than us. Feel like a mature student at university/school teacher. Delete as inapplicable. C x

  I pressed send and then put on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Grabbing my book and sunglasses I decided to sit on the balcony and read until either Andy came back to the apartment or Tom woke up. As I slid back the patio doors I remembered that I’d left my phone lying on the bedside table and went back to get it. As I picked it up, it beeped in my hand once again.

  Message Lisa: Don’t you know that older men can be quite a novelty to youngsters?

  And again:

  Message Lisa: Don’t put your back out though! L x

  I was glad that she seemed to be in such a good mood. And I have to admit I was also glad to be the one helping her not to worry, even though I hadn’t exactly kept Andy out of harm’s way.

  Message Charlie: Never mind mocking the afflicted, young lady. Why aren’t you busy working for a living instead of hassling me? C x

  I pressed send and waited expectantly for a reply. When one didn’t come I decided that she had probably had enough and so I picked up Touching The Void. I’d scarcely got more than a few pages further into the book when I received another message:

  Message Lisa: I don’t leave for work until 8.30 a.m.! We’re two hours behind you lot.

  And another:

  Message Lisa: But I promise am going to stop bothering you now. Okay??? So have a good day and stay out of the midday sun. L xxx

  And another:

  Message Lisa: PS What are your plans for this evening?

  I had no idea what my plans would be for the evening but I guessed that if Andy were still with Nina then there would be every chance that he would spend the evening with her. And as Nina had friends who (at least in Andy’s eyes) would need entertaining, Andy would more than likely try to get Tom and me to come along. As I was in no mood to help Andy out like that, it was therefore looking highly likely that the evening ahead would consist of me and Tom moaning about Andy’s behaviour over a quiet pint somewhere.

  Message Charlie: No plans as yet. Will probably go somewhere quiet that doesn’t require the use of ear trumpet to hear conversation as I fear it puts girls off! C x

  I didn’t even get a chance to pick up my book again as a reply came back in less than a minute.

  Message Lisa: Have to go to work now. Thanks again for last night. And remember that you WILL meet someone nice soon. L x

  For some reason the last line of her text message made me feel incredibly sad. Not for me, but for her. There she was, trying to cheer me up, oblivious of the mess Andy was making of their relationship. I think I ended up rereading it three or four times but just as I was about to put the phone away I received one last message from her:

  Message Lisa: P.S. Can you remind Andy to reapply his sun cream too. He always forgets. L x

  As I reached the end of the message I decided that enough was enough. I went through them all one last time and deleted them, because my overactive imagination had created a horrific scenario consisting of Andy picking up my phone by accident, seeing the messages and jumping to the wrong conclusion. That done, I switched off my phone, put my feet up on the railing in front of me, picked up my book and, for a short while at least, escaped into the pages of the true-life snow-covered-mountain adventure.

  My ‘cup-of-tea’ face

  Midday came and went with no sign of Andy. The thought of calling him on his mobile had briefly crossed my mind but I had rejected the idea on the basis that (a) I wasn’t his mother and (b) the last thing I needed was him pointing this out to me. By this time Tom was up, showered and dressed but had yet to show any interest in Andy’s whereabouts. Instead he lobbied constantly for us to go for breakfast despite the fact that one of our number was missing. By this point it was difficult for me to tell which one of my friends was annoying me the most: Andy, because he was being Andy, or Tom because he was annoyed at Andy for being Andy. I’d always felt that part of Andy’s charm was his essential Andyness and to be anything more than moderately exasperated at him for being who he was seemed to be missing the point entirely.

  ‘Come on, Charlie,’ said Tom impatiently, ‘he’s probably still with that girl from last night having breakfast at her hotel while we’re sitting here starving. If he really wants to find out where we are all he needs to do is call your mobile.’

  ‘Okay,’ I finally relented. ‘You’re right. Let’s go.’

  Without further protest I packed a small rucksack with a towel, my book and a bottle of water. Tom and I left the apartment and made our way to the downstairs lobby. We would have gone straight out but there were at least two dozen people crowded around as though a meeting was about to begin or had just ended. When Tom asked a girl standing near the pool table what was going on, she told him it was a welcome meeting organised by a Club Fun tour rep.

  ‘Look at this,’ said Tom, calling me over to take a closer look at a series of forms on the reception desk. ‘They’re doing day trips and organised events. All you have to do is sign your name and you can pay on the day. Leaving aside the stuff like boat parties, barbecues and bar crawls, some of this stuff looks okay.’

  I wasn’t convinced. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well for starters there’s a trip to Agios Nikolas.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘A town I read about in the Rough Guide. It’s got a lake that locals claim is bottomless.’

  Tom looked at me expectantly. I pulled a face that clearly said: ‘Not really my cup of tea.’

  ‘Okay, how about this one?’ continued Tom, reading off the list. ‘A visit to the palace of Knossos.’

  ‘You want to go to a palace?’

  ‘It’s more ruins than anything,’ explained Tom. ‘It was supposed to have been home to the Minotaur.’

  ‘That’s the bull-thing isn’t it?’

  Tom nodded. ‘Half-man and half-bull and liked to devour young virgins.’

  ‘That’ll be Andy then.’

  ‘So what do you say? Fancy it?’

  My ‘cup-of-tea’ face made an unwelcome return. ‘Is there nothing . . . ?’ I searched for the right word. ‘You know . . . a bit groovier?’

  ‘You want groovy? Oka
y, tomorrow they’re organising a sixteen-kilometre trek through the Samaria Gorge, which is apparently one of the longest gorges in Europe. It’ll be great.’

  My ‘cup-of-tea’ face made an immediate reappearance.

  ‘It’ll be good exercise,’ countered Tom.

  ‘It might be,’ I replied. ‘But isn’t sixteen kilometres quite far? I didn’t really pack with hiking in mind.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve done hiking in my trainers before now, you’ll be fine. It says here that a coach would pick us up outside about eight and we’d be back sometime around five.’

  Tom looked at me expectantly but my ‘cup-of-tea’ face was still firmly fixed in place.

  ‘You don’t want to go do you?’ asked Tom.

  ‘Not really,’ I replied.

  There was a long pause.