Truly, Madly, Greekly: Sizzling summer reading

by Mandy Baggot

  Al had no idea that what he was saying was offensive. His lack of filter usually didn’t bother her this much but now, with every harsh remark, she was getting more and more prickly.

  ‘Because you wanted Lacey to have the best,’ Ellen responded. ‘Because she wanted to make a show of the wedding and you were letting her.’

  Her words had come out hard and loaded with an emotion she didn’t recognise. Angst. Jealousy. Disappointment. These were feelings she’d hidden so well she hadn’t acknowledged, even to herself, that she truly felt them.

  ‘I’m not apologisin’ for wantin’ the best for my girls.’ Al folded his arms across his chest.

  ‘And I’m not apologising for letting Lacey make up her own mind about her marriage.’

  She’d shouted the retort and as soon as the words were out she looked to Mark. He swallowed and turned his head away. This must be so hard for him. All she’d thought about was Lacey’s life, what Lacey would do once she’d made her choice, but there was so much more to it. There was Mark and right now she felt so sorry for him. But she couldn’t make it right.

  ‘I have to go,’ Ellen stated, stepping towards the door.

  ‘Go? Go where?’ Al exclaimed.

  It was tempting to say anywhere because that was the truth of it. ‘Dinner’s from seven until nine thirty and the show’s on straight after. It’s a Celtic night.’

  Both Al and Mark were now looking at her like she was demented. She swallowed. What did they expect? For them all to sit around Lacey’s bed all evening like they were waiting for a priest to give her the Last Rites? She had sunstroke, not malaria.

  Ellen put her hand on the doorknob.

  ‘But, we’ve got things to discuss,’ Al started.

  ‘No, Mark has things to discuss with Lacey.’ She engaged her father’s gaze. ‘And none of this was my fault.’

  Before Al could have the chance of the last word she opened up the door and left.

  * * *

  ‘You do not eat,’ Sergei observed.

  Yan had prodded and poked his meal around the plate for the past half an hour and only a couple of forkfuls had met his mouth. He couldn’t relax. He could only imagine what was happening with Ellen. Her father shouting and being angry for no reason. He put down his fork and pushed the plate away.

  ‘It is nerves for the show. It will be fine,’ Sergei reassured. ‘First time we do new show there are always mistakes.’

  ‘It is not show.’

  He didn’t know why he had said that. It would have been much easier to have Sergei believe it was just pre-performance nerves, now he might ask questions.

  ‘I should be the one not to eat,’ Sergei said, sitting back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. ‘Lacey’s father is here and the man she is to marry.’

  ‘The man she not marry anymore,’ Yan added. He watched for his colleague’s reaction.

  ‘You think this is because of me?’

  He sensed something in Sergei’s tone that sounded almost pleased that he could be the cause.

  ‘You want this girl? For girlfriend?’ Yan spat the words out. He knew what the answer would be and he saw nothing to be smug about.

  Sergei opened his mouth but no words came out.

  ‘Well?’ Yan asked, picking up the water jug.

  ‘No. She leaves in a few days. She live in England.’

  His words hit home. But not in connection with Lacey, with Ellen. He cared for her and she too was going home so soon.

  ‘Yan?’

  It was only when Sergei spoke he realised he had overfilled his glass and water was flowing over, wetting the table. He leapt up, grabbing napkins and pressing them to the spillage.

  ‘You are nervous for the show. I can see this,’ Sergei answered, moving his plate back from the wet puddle.

  Yan wiped the table and gathered up the wet cloths, rolling them into a ball in his hands. ‘Yes, you are right. I am.’

  Why was it always so much easier to lie?

  35

  Alone at a table with four chairs. It was almost like being back at home. The only difference was the temperature and the smell of insect repellent combining with citronella candles.

  Ellen took a sip of her Apricot Cooler cocktail and stared at her phone on the table. It was still switched off and she wasn’t entirely sure why she’d taken it out of her handbag. Mark wouldn’t ring. He was either at the lobby bar drowning his sorrows or locked somewhere with Lacey trying to make sense of the mess of their relationship. But Ross had rung. There was no doubt in her mind about the number. And he could ring again, perhaps already had, maybe he had even left a message. What would it say?

  She swallowed back the nauseous feeling that lined her throat. What was there to say, really? He’d done what he’d done and so had she. It was just a case of what they were both going to do about it. She hoped he was feeling at least some of the humiliation she had experienced, some of the hopelessness she was still coping with. But it wasn’t just about what he’d done. It was what it meant. He’d taken something from her that was irreplaceable.

  She picked the phone up and dropped it back into her bag.

  * * *

  Yan wasn’t in the right frame of mind for the show. It was the biggest showcase they’d had to do and they’d been practicing every chance they’d had for the last six weeks. He pulled the black vest top he was wearing down lower over his black jeans. Silver swirls of glitter paint were on his arms, his eyes outlined with dark liner. He looked more like a would-be comic crime fighter than a Celt. And, standing in the dressing room, he just felt miserable.

  ‘Don’t you look gorgeous?’

  Monica’s smoky tones had him looking towards the door. She was leaning against the door jamb, one hand on her hip, her eyes roving from his top to the floor.

  ‘You must not be here. This is backstage area for people that work,’ he told her.

  She made a noise, halfway between a growl and a laugh and put one stiletto foot in front of the other, moving closer.

  ‘It’s my last night,’ she purred.

  ‘I know of this.’ He stood his ground but she was already so close he could smell her sickly perfume. ‘I hope you have a good holiday at Blue Vue Hotel and you like to come again.’

  ‘Oh, I’d definitely like to come again.’ She waited a beat. ‘And again and again.’

  Her face was now so close to his, the heat of her breath hit his cheeks. He leant back and grabbed the closest thing to hand.

  ‘You should sit in the crowd.’ He brandished the baton he would be twirling in the show, jerking it towards her like a cattle prod. ‘We are about to start show. With fire.’

  Monica grabbed the stick from his hands and dropped it on the floor.

  ‘Darling, we could make fire together.’ She planted her hands on his chest. ‘I’m so bored of this game of cat and mouse. I’m quite happy to sweeten the deal. Shall we say five hundred euros?’

  Yan put his hands on top of hers, ready to remove them from his body. Then he stopped. Five hundred euros. His mouth went completely dry, like someone had come along and filled it up with sand. What he could do with five hundred euros. The church rental, the money needed to start the refurbishment, the makings of a brand new life once the summer season was over.

  ‘Aren’t I even beginning to tempt you?’ Monica continued, her fingers flexing the thin material of his t-shirt.

  He should stop her, he knew that. He should make her leave before someone came in. He knew what she was asking and it was a vile suggestion. Giving himself to someone he cared nothing for, in exchange for money. It was prostitution. Something desperate people did to survive. Back home he could have done exactly the same. He could have taken the money Rayna’s father had offered him and carried on the work he’d been ordered to do. Turning a blind eye to evil and corruption. This was not as bad. This was one night for the right reasons. For his future, for the after-school club, to live.

  ‘Six hundred e
uros and that’s my final offer,’ Monica purred.

  He swallowed. He could do this.

  * * *

  ‘Ladies and gentleman, we have very new show for you tonight. Please putting your hands together for the Blue Vue Hotel Animation Team 2015 in “Celtic Calling”.’

  Ellen put down her glass of water and clapped her hands together as the lights went up on stage. There was Yan, standing behind Dasha and Sergei, Tanja to his left, dressed all in black with silver patterns on his skin. In any other lifetime she would have thought he looked daft, but here, in the midst of atmospheric lighting and music, it was perfect. He was perfect.

  ‘Get us a pitcher of whatever’s the strongest.’

  She barely had a chance to acknowledge her dad’s presence before he was pulling up one of the empty chairs and lowering his bulk onto it. Mark was drifting towards the bar area.

  ‘Bit small, these chairs, ain’t they?’

  Al was obviously directing the question at her, since there was no one else within range, but she didn’t know what to say. How did you pick up polite conversation after the car crash of their talk only a few hours ago? Besides, she wanted to watch the show. She turned her attention back to the stage. The troupe was dancing, flags whirling around their bodies as the speakers blasted out violins, guitars and drums.

  ‘This it, is it? The five star entertainment?’ Al let out a scoff for good measure.

  ‘Sshh!’

  His voice was louder than the Riverdance music and she couldn’t concentrate on it.

  ‘Did you just sshh me?’ Al’s reply was prickly.

  ‘Sorry, Dad, but I really want to see this. It’s the first time they’ve done this show and ...’ Now she sounded ridiculous. He had no clue how important it was that she watched Yan. Why would he?

  ‘Shall I go and sit somewhere else? I wouldn’t want to disturb you.’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘No, don’t be silly. I’m sorry.’

  She couldn’t bear anymore arguments and confrontation. It was obvious Al was really concerned about the situation between Lacey and Mark. He’d travelled thousands of miles to join in an uncomfortable scenario.

  ‘Any karaoke?’ Al asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she responded.

  She looked at Yan. He was dancing with Tanja, lifting her high up into the air, spinning around, then putting her down and catching her in his arms. Had she been harsh with him earlier? He had been trying to be nice and she had dismissed his efforts and told him she couldn’t see him later. Was that the right decision to make? Did she need to be with Al, Mark and a half comatose Lacey? Before her dad had arrived, she’d wanted to spend the night with Yan.

  ‘The doctor came. Gave your sister somethin’ for the pain. She’s ‘ad a cool bath. Feelin’ a bit better.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Ellen said, nodding. ‘I’ll go and see her in a while.’

  ‘Nah, don’t do that. She needs ‘er sleep. We’re keepin’ ‘er in our room for tonight. There’s three beds so ...’

  She kept on nodding. Of course they were keeping her with them. She couldn’t be trusted to look after Lacey now. She had abandoned her, left her alone for a few hours to get half-fried by the Greek sun. Also, keeping Lacey with them would allow them both plenty of time to brainwash her into putting the wedding back on the table. Her dad wanted her married to take the pressure off. That’s why Ellen had never moved back, even after everything fell apart. She wasn’t Lacey’s twenty-four hour carer and she shouldn’t have to be. With Ellen gone, far too much responsibility had fallen on Al.

  A whoop went up from the audience and she looked back to the stage to see Dasha, Sergei and Yan with flaming torches in their hands.

  ‘Ho, the entertainment just got better.’ Al clapped his hands together. ‘Everyone loves a bit of the ol’ fire.’

  * * *

  The crowd were roaring their appreciation and Yan felt so good. The show had gone well. No one had got burnt and apart from the one near-accident with the accelerant, it had all been completed without a hitch. Dasha pulled his hand downwards for another bow as the audience continued to clap. It was their best reaction yet. Small moments like this, when he felt worthwhile and appreciated, were what made everything a little better.

  Without really realising it, he looked for Ellen. He hadn’t seen her at the beginning of the show, with the lights on him and the crowd in darkness, but now he scanned the tables. There. There she was, halfway back, sitting with her father and a younger man. Before he could think logically a wave of jealousy rode over him. He bit it back, shook sense into his thoughts. This had to be the man Lacey was to marry. Not someone with Ellen. He swallowed, hot and concerned about someone else being with her.

  His eyes found another person in the audience. Monica. Sequinned from mid-thigh to mid-breast, moistening her slick lips as she smiled at him. His stomach lurched and he dropped Dasha’s hand as if it were contraband, bolting for backstage.

  * * *

  Ellen saw Yan leave the stage and sat back in her seat. There was little hope of speaking to him with her dad and Mark here, even if he managed to get some time in between entertaining. So much for this being the night. It was like the Greek gods were conspiring against them.

  ‘I fancy a Jager, Markie. Do they ‘ave any?’ Al piped up, pumping his plastic cup down on the table.

  Mark was looking into the mid-distance and didn’t appear to hear Al’s raucous baritone. Ellen got to her feet.

  ‘I’ll get some drinks.’

  ‘Crackin’ stuff. Get a couple, bein’ as it’s all in, will ya?’

  She smiled at her dad and made her way over to the bar.

  The air was so humid that the mosquitoes were out in full force. Ellen slapped at her arm and another one bit the dust. She brushed the body to the floor and joined the queue at the bar.

  ‘Wonderful performance tonight wasn’t it?’

  She turned her head to see Monica joining the line behind her.

  ‘Oh yes, it was very good. I loved the tricks they did with the fire. Quite glad I wasn’t in the front row though.’

  ‘A new way to get your legs waxed, maybe?’ Monica tittered out a laugh.

  Ellen smiled. ‘This is your last night, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes and I’m determined to make the most of it.’ She lowered her voice a notch. ‘I’ve finally managed to pin down the delicious Yan.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had to remember this was all in Monica’s imagination.

  ‘I hope it’s going to be much more than an oh. It’s going to cost me six hundred euros but what the hell? I can do without a designer handbag in exchange for a night of passion with him.’

  Bile flooded Ellen’s throat and she couldn’t respond. Monica was making this up. Yan felt nothing for Monica. She was a resident he had been keeping at arm’s length the entire time she’d been there.

  ‘Those biceps and those eyes! Oh, I can imagine it’s like looking at the ocean and feeling the hard rock of the mountains all at the same time.’

  She had to remain composed if she was going to extract the truth from Monica. As much as she wanted to be sick and burst into tears this wasn’t the time or the place for overreacting. She took a deep breath.

  ‘So how did you manage that?’ She swallowed. ‘Did you just ask him or ...’

  ‘I can be very persuasive, you know. But, to be honest, although it isn’t very flattering, I think the money did the talking.’ She brushed her hands down the front of her dress. ‘These poor boys from these lesser known countries are so desperate for money they’ll do literally anything.’

  He wouldn’t. Yan wouldn’t. She knew him. He’d told her he wouldn’t do that. But he needed money. He’d shown her the church, told her how much it meant to him to work with children. Six hundred euros was a lot of cash.

  ‘I’d forget about taking home any tacky souvenirs for relatives. Spend what you’ve got on one of them.’ Monica pointed towards Dasha and Sergei, who were talking to a la
rge group of people at a table near the stage.

  Ellen wanted to leave. She didn’t want to hear another thing that came out of Monica’s mouth. It had to be a lie. It just had to be.

  ‘Can I please help you?’

  She felt like the humidity was stifling her. She couldn’t think straight. A manicured hand tapped her arm.

  ‘The barman is asking for your order. Don’t be too long about it, I have a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall on my menu.’

  ‘Jägermeister,’ Ellen blurted at the bartender. ‘Can I have the bottle?’

  36

  ‘Beautiful this place is. Isn’t it, Markie? Beautiful.’ Al necked another shot and slammed the cup on the table.

  ‘Stunning. Just like my Lacey.’

  It would have been romantic if Mark’s words weren’t slurred and if Lacey was still his Lacey. As it was, Ellen was too numb to comment. After three shots, that made her throat and stomach burn in quick succession, she was back to water and wondering when she could leave.

  ‘Gets ‘er looks from ‘er mother. That’s all she ‘ad though, Markie. Margarette was much better at looking pretty than she was at getting on in the world.’

  ‘Like Lacey,’ Ellen chipped in without meaning to.

  ‘That’s a bit harsh, Ellen.’

  It was Mark who had spoken up and as he shifted in his chair he knocked his half-empty plastic cup over, spilling alcohol onto the table.

  ‘Sorry, it’s just that you two don’t seem to have really grasped the fact that the wedding’s off,’ Ellen said.

  Al snorted and followed it up with a laugh. ‘Course the weddin’s not off.’ He shook his head as if the very idea of that was preposterous. ‘Your sister ‘as never known what’s right for ‘er. That’s why we came out ‘ere. With Markie ‘ere she’ll soon see sense.’

  Ellen nodded. ‘That was your plan, was it? Not to listen to what she wants and why she feels she has to cancel the wedding, just to bully her into going through with it?’