by Mandy Baggot
He spoke. ‘You dance very well.’
‘Is that a joke?’ Ellen shot back.
‘A joke?’
‘I was man-handled by a cross-dresser and made to join in.’
‘You would like to be sat back at table poking screen of your phone?’ he asked.
It was annoying to have someone insult you when you were facing away from them. It was even more annoying when the person seemed to have you completely sussed from a few brief encounters.
‘You should come ... to the party on beach,’ he called.
‘The party you don’t want residents to go to?’
She felt his breath on the back of her neck as it released from his chest. In a second her spine was zinging.
‘You look like you need fun,’ came his reply.
‘Really? I thought I looked like someone who had no idea how to enjoy herself on holiday.’
And then he laughed. A deep, chocolate-coated, full-bodied roll of a laugh that came from the depths of him. Her comment hadn’t been that funny. And she’d only made it because she was sick of him making close-to-the-mark remarks about her every vacation enjoyment.
‘Come to beach and I will forget you think I am thief when we first meet,’ he remarked.
Ouch. She really had insulted him with her desperation to anchor down their luggage when they’d arrived.
‘I even stop telling you about your frown face,’ he added.
Ellen moved her mouth subconsciously. Was it on a permanent downward slant here too? She turned her head to look at him.
‘One drink and no stupid animation games.’
9
Bo’s Bar was only about a hundred yards from the Blue Vue Hotel. It was a one level building, open on three sides with pop hits blasting out from speakers positioned around the main room. Lacey and Ellen had taken a table in the centre and were halfway down a cocktail each. Despite the noise in the bar, there were actually very few customers. A couple of old men with a dog sat in wicker easy-chairs by the entrance and a twenty-something girl and boy were entwined in each other’s arms on a corner sofa.
‘Totally loved-up,’ Lacey remarked, her eyes on the same thing as Ellen.
‘Yeah.’ Ellen couldn’t take her eyes from them as the drum and bass pulsed through her body. Either drunk or very much in love, their passion was evident and something in Ellen reacted to the scene. Just how did that feel? To be caught up with someone so intensely the world could stop turning and you wouldn’t know?
As the track changed to something by Ed Sheeran she noticed Sergei, Dasha and Yan enter the building.
Ellen stuck her face into her cocktail glass and watched as they went to the bar.
Lacey propped her elbows on the table and rested her head on her hands. ‘Sergei’s certainly scrubbed up well.’
Ellen closed her eyes. What was she doing here? Why had she gone against everything she knew was sensible and accompanied Lacey on this man-fishing expedition? Lacey was engaged and she didn’t want anyone.
* * *
‘I get us some drinks here and then we go to the beach,’ Sergei said, beckoning the barman.
Yan had noticed Ellen the second they’d walked in. She was sitting on a high stool, her long wavy hair loose, her legs bent up, feet on the footrest, stirring her straw in a cocktail. He saw her look at her watch. Was she bored with attempting to have fun already? Did she want to be somewhere else? Was she waiting for him? The last thought did something to him. He looked away and took some peanuts out of the dish on the bar.
He wasn’t sure why he’d asked Ellen to come tonight. But he did know he wasn’t going to stay back at the hotel and wait for Monica to realise he wasn’t coming to her room. She might have started a search to find him and he didn’t want to take any chances. But why ask Ellen here? A distraction. That was the answer. She was a distraction from everything else that was going on in his life. He could be distracted as long as it wasn’t in the same league as Sergei.
‘Yan, beer,’ Sergei said, passing him a bottle. ‘Everyone, let’s go to the beach.’
He accepted the drink and lifted it to his lips.
* * *
Even in the dark of the night, the beach was stunning. Tealight candles were glowing on half a dozen tables set up just before the water’s edge, creating a warm, hazy atmosphere across the sand.
A makeshift bar was being erected out of beer barrels and planks of wood, underneath two large palm canopies.
As Ellen followed the party she recognised a lot of people from the hotel. The restaurant manager was jigging up and down using a chair as a dance partner, three or four waiters were there, a couple of women who worked in reception, bar staff, the man she’d seen cleaning the pool. It was beach party central for employees of the Blue Vue Hotel.
‘Ellen!’ Sergei called.
She looked across, saw Sergei and Yan sat at a table. And where was Lacey when she needed her? One shriek later and she saw her, a little way away, performing a dance routine to Pitbull with Dasha.
‘Come! Come sit down!’ Sergei beckoned.
Kicking off her sandals, she made her way over to them. The second she got near she noticed the bottle of ouzo and three plastic cups. She put her shoes on the ground and sat down in a chair. She eyed the Greek drink like it was a hazardous substance. Or contained Rohypnol.
‘It was so hot today and I am so tired,’ Sergei said, pouring alcohol out for each of them.
‘I get some lemon and lime,’ Yan offered, making to leave.
‘What for? Come on, a couple of ouzos and we’ll all start to unwind,’ Sergei insisted.
Sergei held a cup out to Ellen. She hesitated as a memory came to the fore. Neat alcohol, not out of a plastic cup, but out of her ‘Accountants never die, they just lose their balance’ mug back home. Morning drinking for a week at her lowest ebb. That was rock bottom. Alcohol past midnight in a plastic beaker was positive sanity. She took the cup.
‘Yamas!’ Yan said. He raised his cup, knocking it with Sergei’s before downing the drink in one.
Ellen threw the drink down and let the burn travel across her tongue to the back of her throat. It would probably eat away at her stomach lining but wasn’t that supposed to be good every now and then? Cleansing – a kind of Greek detox. Ouzo had to be better for her than Aldi’s own brand whisky.
‘I see Dasha is getting into party spirit.’ Sergei rolled his eyes towards his colleague.
Ellen turned to see Lacey and Dasha pumping their arms in the air in time to the music.
‘He is OK. I meet him at training. He is hard working.’ Yan poured the three of them another drink.
‘Did you all train together? Is there some big animation school?’ Ellen asked.
‘We do training, we come together, then we get teams and hotels,’ Yan explained.
‘So, is this what you want to do? As a career?’ She was wide-eyed with interest. She didn’t dare not get involved with conversation when her habitual email refreshing would be scrutinised by Yan.
Sergei let out a loud laugh and poured more drink into his cup. ‘Shit, no! I don’t know what I want to do yet. I am only twenty-three years old. I am too young to know what I want to do for career.’
‘I like to work with children,’ Yan broke in. ‘Maybe with sport. Football or swim. I do this before, in Bulgaria.’
‘Pa!’ Sergei exclaimed. ‘You want to work with children all the time? One afternoon of kids’ club is too much for me. Paint on their hands … they scream … they make mess.’
* * *
Yan swallowed. Perhaps admitting that in front of everyone here was a mistake. The fewer people that knew about him, the better. The more information you gave people the more they had to hurt you with later.
He looked at Ellen then, unsure of her reaction. Would she think it was mad? That someone who organised water aerobics and crazy competitions could be entrusted with the care of children. That he had the ability to achieve it.
�
��I think working with children is one of the toughest jobs there is. You have to have so many attributes to make a success of it,’ Ellen spoke. ‘Getting English tourists to play games is great practice for it.’ She smiled.
He fixed his eyes on her, waiting for the ‘but’, the hint that she was saying what she thought she should, not what she felt. There was nothing else. Just warmth and honesty in her tone.
* * *
‘I think you all work so very hard. I don’t know where you get the energy from,’ Ellen said.
‘From ouzo of course,’ Sergei announced. Laughing, he knocked back another drink.
‘We do not drink ouzo for all of the time. We drink much water in the day,’ Yan added.
‘Who’s for something else? Metaxa cocktail?’ Sergei offered, standing up.
‘Not for me thank you,’ Ellen said. The ouzo was already taking effect; mixing mysterious Greek drinks together so rapidly was going to be buying a first-class ticket to the hangover from hell.
‘Is good ... we have one,’ Yan said, nodding in suggestion.
Live a little. Baby steps. Small risks. ‘Maybe just a tiny one,’ she agreed.
10
Sergei left them and made his way over to the bar. Ellen adjusted her dress, crossing her legs and leaning back into the sun chair, the strong beat of Rihanna coming from the sound system. The ouzo had made her feel just a little bit blurry around the edges and it was nice. Here she was, on a beach on a beautiful island, drinking after midnight, thousands of miles away from every problem she’d ever had.
‘What do you do for job?’ Yan asked.
The bright blue eyes were studying her and she moved a little before answering. Ellen cleared her throat. ‘I’m an accountant.’ She followed the statement up with a deep sigh.
It was only after her elongated noise of discontent that she realised Yan was looking a little blank.
‘An accountant.’ She stopped to think of other words and a better description. ‘It means I help people with their finance.’ He looked none the wiser. ‘Their money. Taxes?’ she offered, slowing her speech a little.
‘Ah, the bad people.’ He nodded his head.
‘Oh no, not the Revenue. I try to help people avoid giving them too much.’ Laughing, she shook her head. ‘I like my job, well …’ She paused. ‘I’m good at what I do.’
What did she really mean? She liked it? She used to like it? She wanted it back? She cleared her throat.
‘You are ... how you say ... very intelligent,’ Yan concluded, an air of finality in his tone.
‘I wouldn’t say that exactly. These days everything’s computerised. I just have to load the figures into the program and it’s done,’ she told him.
It was only at that point she noticed Lacey next to her chair.
‘She’s lying her arse off. Not only is she clever, she got a hundred percent in her final exams. A hundred percent. That’s not even a full stop out of place! And she won South Wiltshire Business Woman of the Year.’ Lacey plonked a cocktail glass onto the table.
‘Lacey...’ Ellen’s face was alight with embarrassment. She really didn’t want to be clever here. Clever sounded logical and boring. It wasn’t laid-back and fun. It was everything Yan thought of her already, stiff, grumpy, English. She hiccupped.
‘It is good job,’ Yan replied, nodding his head.
It didn’t sound like he really meant it and for the first time she wished Lacey was ensconced somewhere with Sergei and not butting herself into the conversation.
‘Ellen was headhunted for the job she does now at Lassiter’s. She was made an offer she couldn’t refuse,’ Lacey carried on, pursing her lips around the straw.
Ellen had no idea how to salvage this other than to press on. Ever since she had met this man she’d humiliated him – all but called him a bag snatcher, offered him money which he found offensive and said she hated his water aerobics.
‘Listen, I think animation is so much more interesting and you get to travel, to see the world.’
The words had supposed to come out heartfelt, firm and encouraging. Instead, the tone she’d nailed was patronising.
‘Oh yeah, animation is far more interesting. I’d much rather be dancing than adding up. But the clown suit would have to go.’ Lacey cackled.
‘I find Sergei.’ Yan stood up.
‘He’s by the bar. See you in a bit,’ Lacey said, waving her hand.
Ellen watched Yan walk across the sand, away from her and towards a collection of good-looking women at the bar. One put an arm around his shoulders and whispered something in his ear. Ellen turned away but a bubble of anger was rising in her as Lacey threw herself down on a chair next to her, all legs and high shoes.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ Ellen hissed. She took a large swig of her drink and put the plastic cup down with such a thump the bottom crumpled.
‘Do what?’
‘You were boasting about me.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘He was asking about my job and you made out I was the female equivalent of Stephen Hawking.’ She spat the words out.
‘Well, you sell yourself short.’
‘I wasn’t selling myself at all.’ She narrowed her eyes at her sister. ‘I was just talking and you ruined it. How was he supposed to tell me about his job when you’ve just depicted me as the next big financial aficionado? Like, I don’t know, Lord Sugar with breasts!’
‘We know about his job. He dresses as a clown and counts to three in four different languages.’
‘And there’s nothing wrong with that!’ She stood up in a rush, planting her feet firmly on the sand, hands on hips.
‘What?’ Lacey had a childish, bemused expression on her face she always wore when she was being deliberately stupid. Ellen didn’t want to look at it a second longer.
She left, on shaking legs, heading off towards the bar in search of the brandy cocktail she’d been promised, or anything else that was going to help her forget everything. It was always about Lacey. Lacey had to be the centre of attention. Bigging up Ellen’s achievements wasn’t for Ellen’s benefit, it was for Lacey’s. Look at me! I have a clever sister! The reality was she had a spineless, pathetic, sister who was fighting hard to retain her dignity, working a pointless job and trying to work out what to do next. A fist-sized lump arrived in her throat and no amount of swallowing was getting rid of it. Before she was truly aware of it, she was clinging to a parasol, tears rolling down her face.
* * *
He should have guessed she was intelligent. Most of the women who came to the five star resort were smart. They were either rich or successful of their own making or they had rich, successful husbands. Why did it worry him? Because it brought it all back. The beautiful woman he’d fallen for. The one person he’d put his trust in. And the man who’d treated him like a son until he had expressed an opinion, stood up for what he believed in.
He took another ouzo down in one and turned away from the bar. On instinct he looked for her. Lacey and Dasha were standing on a bench, practicing balancing. Ellen was clinging to a beach umbrella, tears rushing down her cheeks. Something in him stirred. What could be so wrong in her life that she was crying on a beach in Corfu?
He turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. It was not his place. She was not his business.
11
‘I have crazy golf score card and drinking straw ... no napkin,’ Yan said.
The deep baritone jolted her and Ellen sniffed loudly. Before she could stop herself she’d wiped at her nose with her bare arm.
‘Go away,’ she said, as firmly as her tear-coated voice would allow. She cleared her throat and shifted her stance, standing up straight and feigning emotional maturity.
‘I could get napkin,’ Yan offered.
‘No, it’s OK. I’m fine. It’s definitely the ouzo not me.’
‘You would like more?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. But, thank
you.’ The damn tears weren’t going away, no matter how hard she blinked.
‘Some lemon and lime?’ he offered.
‘Don’t be kind. Us Brits don’t like it. We’re copers.’ She gave him the best smile she could muster. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
Even to herself she sounded slightly unhinged. And now he was just looking at her, probably not understanding the word ‘coper’, and wishing he’d never invited her to the party.
‘I should probably round Lacey up and go back to the hotel,’ Ellen said, shifting her feet on the sand.
‘It is early,’ Yan stated.
Ellen looked at her watch.
‘In a few moments there will be limbo. Is fun,’ he added.
‘It sounds difficult.’
‘I teach you. Come on, one more drink,’ he suggested, nodding his head towards the bar.
Ellen looked at her watch again, then focussed her gaze on Lacey and Dasha, their arms stretched outwards, balancing on the narrow bench and squealing like girls.
‘Just one more drink, but not ouzo.’
Right on cue, from by the bar, Sergei held aloft an umbrella-festooned drink and beckoned them over.
* * *
‘Come on, Dasha, let’s get this limbo started,’ Lacey said, pulling the man up from his seat by his feather boa.
‘We need people to join in. Come on everybody!’ Dasha announced.
Ellen looked to Sergei as Lacey led the way to where other members of staff were setting up a frame and canes on the sand. His expression gave away all his intentions towards her sister. Before she could think any more she was talking.
‘Lacey’s getting married. That’s why we’re here.’ It was best he knew the score now. There was no place for him in her sister’s life.
Both men looked at her as if waiting for more detail. Perhaps ‘married’ wasn’t a universal word. Sergei’s teeth disappeared behind tight lips.
