Wish You Were Here

by Mike Gayle

  ‘Hello there.’

  The pretty sales assistant was talking to me. She was barely into her twenties and was even prettier up close.

  ‘I’m Denise,’ she said cheerfully. ‘How can I help you today?’

  There was a long pause as the cogs in my brain began to rotate, reminding me of several key factors I’d neglected to consider that would considerably hinder any attempt to book a holiday: first, it was three weeks until pay day, second, I hadn’t checked with work when I could get the time off, and third, I didn’t want to go on holiday alone.

  I smiled. ‘I’m afraid I’ve wasted your time. I’ve just realised that I’m in completely the wrong place to book a holiday.’

  Then I stood up and left.

  Camera phone

  Around midday I came to the conclusion that if I was going to enjoy this holiday at all then I was going to have to stop thinking about Sarah. I briefly contemplated going down to the beach with The Da Vinci Code but I was getting tired of reading about religious conspiracies and wanted to do something that required physical exertion of some description. Looking around the room for inspiration, I spotted Tom’s beloved Rough Guide that he’d inadvertently left on the table on the balcony and began flicking through it. There was a whole host of ‘must see’ cultural suggestions from museums and ruins right through to hills and famous birthplaces. Though Tom had circled a number of his favourites in blue Biro, most held no interest for me whatsoever.

  The only place I was even vaguely interested in visiting was Heraklion, the capital of the island. And that was because I thought it might have proper shops and things to buy that weren’t just the usual old tourist tat. In essence what I wanted from Heraklion was a small glimpse of England – a homogenised city centre that despite its architecture, culture and customs would have the same chain stores, brands and regular ‘old tat’ shops of any high street back home. Why? Because what I wanted more than anything was a little retail therapy. And with several hundred pounds’ worth of holiday Euros doing very little other than securing me access to alcohol, ice cream and local cuisine, I was now desperate to exercise my real buying power.

  I took a taxi into Heraklion and my hunch that it might be a modern city, with modern shopping facilities, paid off. It was just as I had hoped. The downside was that once I was there, I couldn’t actually find a single thing I wanted to buy. I visited electrical shops and computer shops, clothes shops and book shops, and I visited a bunch of One-Euro shops and a market and left all of them without buying a single thing.

  Coming to the conclusion that my excursion had been a mistake, I made my way down a back street in a bid to find the taxi rank where I had been dropped off. After a quarter of any hour, it became clear to me that I was well and truly lost. Nothing in my surroundings seemed even vaguely familiar and with the midday sun beating down on my head I was beginning to feel quite disorientated. In a last-ditch attempt to find out where I was, I took a left down a narrow passageway that opened up into a large civic square dominated by a grand-looking cathedral.

  As I edged my way further into the square, the cathedral’s bells chimed twice as if beckoning me towards it. Reasoning that I had nothing better to do I made my way across the shady square and up the steep steps to the entrance to the church.

  In contrast to the intense warmth and brightness of the day outside, the inside of the cathedral was dimly lit and cool and seemed like the perfect sanctuary. Sitting down on an old wooden bench at the back of the church I looked around me. The cathedral was just as I expected. It had grand painted ceilings, colourful stained-glass windows, ageing frescoes and hundreds of ornate woodcarvings.

  Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and as the peace and quiet of the building began to filter into my head I wondered whether I might ever find myself approaching a religious conversion similar to Tom’s. Though it was probably my imagination, for a few brief moments I began to feel as if the weight of my worries was being lifted off my shoulders. Just as I was beginning to explore this new sensation an electronic-sounding camera click broke my reverie. I opened my eyes to see a middle-aged woman armed with a camera phone frantically taking pictures of everything around her as if she was shooting a front cover for What Cathedral Weekly.

  Even though I was pretty sure I didn’t believe in God, on Tom’s behalf and behalf of people like him, I was grabbed by the impulse to smash this woman’s phone into a million pieces. Fortunately for me, a priest approached her and after a brief exchange she left the building. I felt as though I could finally relax and for a short while that’s just what I did. I stared at the characters depicted in the frescoes, I watched a stream of people lighting candles for their loved ones and I thought long and hard about Tom and his situation. And although I felt none the wiser by the time I came to leave, I did at least feel in some small way more at peace with the world. And while I wasn’t sure whether it was the right thing to do or not, I lit a candle for Tom.

  As I turned round to leave, I noticed a young dark-haired woman standing by the bench in front of me. And recognised her immediately.

  ‘You’re Andy’s friend aren’t you?’ said the woman. ‘Charlie, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied shaking her hand. ‘And you’re Nina’s sister Donna.’

  Why would anyone want to kill a pixie?

  ‘Are you Catholic?’ asked Donna.

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I was just . . . it’s a long story.’ I paused and looked at her. ‘You’re not Catholic are you?’

  Donna shrugged. ‘I think the rules say you’re one for life even if, like me, you haven’t stepped foot in a church since you were a teenager.’ She paused. ‘I don’t even know what made me decide to come in. It’s one of those things you do when you’re in a foreign country, isn’t it? I’d never think for a minute to look around my local church just because I was passing by.’ She smiled awkwardly. ‘Are you here alone?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘My mate Tom has gone hiking and I’m guessing Andy’s with your sister. You’re not here with them are you?

  ‘Those two?’ laughed Donna. ‘I doubt they’re even up yet. No, I came in on my own. We fly home tomorrow so I thought I’d buy a few presents and see something other than the beach. How about you? What brings you to Heraklion?’

  ‘Same as you really,’ I replied. ‘Malia can feel a bit small after a while.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there.’

  ‘Where are you off to next?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know. How about you?’

  ‘I’ve got nothing planned as such. In fact I was thinking about heading back.’ I paused. ‘Look, I don’t suppose you fancy getting a coffee or something do you? I haven’t eaten yet and could do with grabbing a quick something.’

  ‘That would be great,’ said Donna. ‘On my way here I saw a café across the square that looked quite nice. It’s in the shade, too, which is a blessing in this heat.’

  With Donna leading the way, we made our way outside.

  ‘You forget how bright it can get,’ she said slipping on a pair of black Jackie O-style sunglasses. They suited her perfectly. With the blue-striped T-shirt and grey skirt she was wearing, she looked like a glamorous sixties film star.

  ‘They suit you,’ I said to Donna as I put on my own sunglasses.

  ‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘I bought them on holiday last year. They’re my favourite thing I own. I love them.’ She peered at me closely so that all I could see was my own reflection in her sunglasses. ‘Yours suit you too. You look like you ought to be in a band.’

  We walked a few steps in silence and then Donna spoke. ‘So do you live in Hove like your friend Andy?’

  ‘Brighton, actually,’ I joked. ‘How about you?’

  ‘North London,’ she replied. ‘Archway to be exact.’

  ‘I know Archway,’ I replied. ‘I used to have a mate who lived there for a while. His place was just on the edge of a really rough council estate.’

  ‘Henmarsh?�
��

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I think so.’

  Donna laughed. ‘That’s where I live.’

  ‘That’s so typical of me,’ I said, wincing. ‘It’s a wonder I haven’t started randomly insulting members of your family.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ replied Donna. ‘It is a bit of a rough estate. But Sadie and I won’t be there forever.’

  ‘Sadie?’ I asked.

  ‘My daughter.’

  As we reached the tables outside the café, some kids behind us rode their bikes towards a large congregation of pigeons, sending them flying into the air. Donna ducked in towards me and instinctively I put my arm around her to protect her.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Donna as she realised that she was clinging on to my T-shirt. ‘I hate pigeons. Can’t stand them. My worst nightmare is one of the vile things getting their feet caught in my hair.’

  ‘I don’t mind them really,’ I replied, ‘although I admit I get a bit freaked out when I see the ones with missing limbs hopping about. Does that make me evil?’

  ‘No,’ smiled Donna. ‘At least not in my eyes.’

  We sat down and I plucked a plastic menu, sandwiched between a container of sugar packets and a paper-napkin dispenser, and handed it to Donna.

  ‘Are you just snacking or having a proper meal?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s too hot to eat a proper meal,’ I replied. ‘I just want something to fill the gap.’

  ‘I’m going to have the waffles and ice cream then,’ said Donna handing me the menu. ‘They sound really nice.’

  I scanned the menu. ‘I’ll have that too. And I think I’ll have a Coke to wash it down.’

  ‘Good idea,’ said Donna, taking off her sunglasses and resting them on the edge of the table. ‘Full fat or diet?’

  ‘Full fat,’ I replied. ‘You?’

  Donna smiled. ‘Full fat all the way.’

  A waitress appeared almost as soon as I returned the menu to its resting place and took our order. As soon as she left Donna turned to me and pointed at my T-shirt. ‘So you like the Pixies then? I saw them once at the Brixton Academy when I was eighteen.’

  ‘Were they good?’

  ‘They were brilliant. Have you seen them?’

  ‘I saw them back in Brighton when I was at college. They were okay but I wouldn’t call myself a massive fan. I liked the T-shirt more than anything. It just seems like such a mad thing to proclaim don’t you think? “Death to the Pixies”. Why would anyone want to kill a pixie?’

  ‘Maybe it’s like my thing with pigeons,’ smiled Donna. ‘Maybe somewhere in the world there’s a woman wearing big sunglasses who has an acute fear of getting pixies stuck in her hair.’

  There was a brief lull in the conversation as we watched the kids on bikes continuing to harass the pigeons who had regrouped to peck the ground around the cathedral steps.

  ‘What do you do for a living?’ I eventually asked.

  ‘I’m a paediatric nurse at Whittington hospital,’ said Donna. ‘I’ve been there nearly ten years now and I still love it. I just wish it paid more, that’s all, so I could move out of Henmarsh. How about you?’

  ‘Try not to yawn, but I set up schemes to help businesses and housing trusts start up in run-down areas around Brighton and Hove. It’s an all-right job as they go and the people I work with are good to be around so I don’t worry about it too much.’

  The waitress returned with our drinks and set them down in front of us. I hadn’t realised just how thirsty I was and had to stop myself gulping down the entire glass straight away. Donna meanwhile sipped her Coke through a straw in a slow considered manner as though she were savouring every drop.

  ‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Donna setting aside her drink.

  ‘Depends what it is.’

  ‘It’s about your friend Andy,’ she began. ‘He’s got a girlfriend hasn’t he?’

  I studied her face, trying to work out if she knew this for a fact or was trying to trick me into confirming her suspicions but then I realised that I didn’t actually care one way or the other.

  ‘Yeah,’ I nodded, ‘he has.’

  ‘I thought so.’

  ‘Does your sister know?’

  ‘Any time I ask her about it she gets cagey – which is a sure sign of guilt in my family. She keeps telling me it’s just a holiday thing. As if that makes it all right.’ She frowned and bit her lip. ‘It doesn’t does it?’

  ‘It’s hard to say.’ I shrugged. ‘There’s that phrase Americans always say when they go to Las Vegas in a big group isn’t there? Something like, “What happens in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas”. Malia’s a bit like that for us Brits. It’s a place where people go a little bit mental just because they can. I think it must be something that’s hardwired into the human brain – the need to escape the normal rules sometimes.’

  ‘So is it a case of what happens in Malia, stays in Malia with you and your friends?’ asked Donna. ‘Or will you be telling Andy’s partner what he’s been up to?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘It’ll be staying in Malia,’ I replied.

  Donna nodded. ‘And I’m guessing the trade-off is that he won’t be telling your partner what you’ve been up to either?’

  ‘There’s no partner for him to tell.’

  The information registered on her face. A raise of the eyebrows, some curiosity in the eyes, a small movement in the lips and then . . . gone.

  ‘You don’t look single,’ said Donna matter of factly.

  I had to laugh. ‘So what do I look like?’

  ‘You look like the partners of my friends back home – well turned out and looked after.’

  I sighed heavily. ‘Well, it’s not been that long since that was actually the case.’

  Donna winced. ‘Looks like it’s my turn to put my foot in my mouth. I’m really sorry. I went a bit far there didn’t I?’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ I replied. ‘It’s not like it happened yesterday.’

  ‘So is that what this holiday is about?’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  Donna smiled. ‘Come on, three guys in their mid-thirties in a place like Malia? What could be at all obvious about that?’

  ‘Well, for starters I can assure you that it wasn’t my plan.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ said Donna. ‘It was Andy’s.’

  ‘When he gets an idea in his head it’s difficult to say—’ I stopped mid-sentence as the waitress returned with our waffles and ice cream and by the time she had left it no longer seemed like a sentence worth finishing.

  With the conversational flow between us interrupted we both retreated to our separate corners and tucked into our waffles in a polite silence. I wanted to carry on talking to her. I didn’t want this to end. I decided that the best thing I could do was jump in with both feet.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, after Donna forked the first mouthful of her dessert into her mouth. ‘You know about how I ended up here but you’ve still to explain about you. After all you’re . . . what . . . ?’ The face. The hair. The clothes. I had her pegged somewhere roughly in her early thirties but decided to err on the side of caution. ‘. . . late twenties?’

  Donna grinned. ‘Early thirties – as if you couldn’t tell.’

  ‘Early thirties?’ I laughed. ‘Then you belong in Malia about as much as I do. Shouldn’t you be out renting villas in Tuscany or going on diving holidays in the Maldives or at the very least living it up in Ibiza?’

  ‘I would’ve loved to have done any of those things you mentioned this summer, but beggars can’t be choosers. Nina and I are half-sisters and even though there’s nine years between us we’re really close. Anyway, about a month ago she told me she was planning to come here with her friends and wanted me to come along. With work and Sadie I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like so I thought why not?’

  ‘So who’s looking after your daughter now?’

  ‘Her dad. He’s a teacher. We’re not together any more.’ She paused an
d then added: ‘These things happen, don’t they?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘I suppose they do.’

  We both picked up our spoons and returned to our waffles and ice cream.

  ‘So how old’s Sadie?’ I asked after a while as Donna pushed her empty plate to one side.

  ‘She was six in April.’ Donna reached into her bag, pulled out her purse and took out a passport-sized photo of her daughter. She too had dark hair, big brown eyes and a huge smile.

  ‘She looks just like you,’ I said staring at the photo.

  ‘A lot of people say that,’ replied Donna. ‘But I don’t see it myself. Have you got any kids yourself?’

  Her question took me by surprise. Then I realised that at my age it was a valid question, given that most of my contemporaries were now fathers or at the very least thinking about becoming fathers.

  ‘No,’ I replied.

  ‘Were they ever on the list?’

  ‘I think so,’ I replied. ‘Once upon a time they were, anyway.’

  Donna and I talked in general about the holiday and a bit more about our lives back home but then our waitress returned to clear our table and I could feel that our time together was over. We split the bill and then, tucking the money we owed underneath the sugar dispenser, stood up and made ready to leave.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ said Donna quietly. ‘That was a really nice way to spend an afternoon.’

  ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ I replied. ‘Maybe I’ll see you around later in Malia? Andy was saying that you were all going out tonight as it’s your last night.’

  ‘Nina did mention something like that. You and your other friend should definitely come along if you’re free.’

  ‘Cool,’ I replied. ‘Well, I’ll see you later then, hopefully.’