by Emma Nichols
‘And what would Miss Ariana like to eat?’ he asked with a broad grin, his dark hair slicked back, the dimples showing beneath his bristly cheeks, a white cloth over his arm, and bowing as he spoke.
Ariana giggled, her feet dangling from the chair, swinging restlessly, the fizzing in her stomach reminding her that she’d better not get caught. She looked up to the white house, hoping her mother was still asleep. Grandma Sophia had said not to worry, that it would be their little secret, but that didn’t make the tingling feeling go away.
‘Can I have calamari?’ Nikki asked excitedly, staring at Pops with a big toothy grin. Usually, she ate in the kitchen with him, or at the apartment; she hadn’t been waited on like this before, but then Ariana had never visited before, and she rarely saw any other children on the island.
‘Miss Nikki would like calamari,’ Manos repeated, pulling out the pad from his pocket and scribbling a note.
‘I’ll have calamari too,’ Ariana said, but she wasn’t quite sure what it was.
‘That will be two calamari for the young ladies at table number 5,’ Manos said, with a warm smile. He wandered into the bar and returned with two glasses of orange juice and two blue straws.
‘Thank you,’ Ariana said, politely, dipping the straw in the drink and sipping eagerly. Nikki was watching her with dark eyes and a broad smile. She looked pretty with her dark wavy hair and light coloured eyes.
Nikki jumped up from the table. ‘Want to collect shells?’ she asked.
Ariana looked concerned.
‘It’s okay. We can play until the food comes,’ Nikki said, with a shrug.
‘Really?’ Ariana questioned. That would never happen in her mother’s presence and the wave of guilt that churned her stomach told her she probably shouldn’t be getting up from the table until after she had eaten.
‘Come on,’ Nikki insisted, grabbing her bucket from the sand and running towards the water, squealing with delight.
The urge was too strong, and Ariana leapt from the table and chased Nikki to the water’s edge. Nikki was already picking at something in the soft, wet sand.
‘What are you doing?’ Ariana asked.
‘Finding new shells,’ Nikki said. ‘I haven’t got one like this,’ she said, holding up a smooth, oval-shaped shell that shone like a rainbow. She rubbed it against her t-shirt, inspected it, and put it in her shorts pocket, her eyes eagerly seeking out more gems from the sand.
Manos watched the two girls playing, and waited.
Ariana hadn’t known how long they had searched for, but with a half-full bucket of shells and stones and grumbling tummies they made their way back up the beach and tipped the contents onto the table to inspect them. Moments later Manos appeared with two plates of calamari and a bowl of fries.
It had been the best day ever.
Ariana sighed, a warm feeling bathing her chest. Driven by an overwhelming desire to repeat the experience, she wandered out of the house, ambled down the slope, and meandered across the beach.
‘Ariana!’ Manos greeted, sporting a welcoming smile. ‘The blue looks good,’ he said, his eyes indicating to the bedroom shutters she had painted.
She turned to look, smiled at the shiny, fresh colour, standing out from the untreated shutters at the other windows. ‘Yes, they do,’ she agreed. She was still smiling as she turned to face him. ‘Can I get a table, please?’ she asked.
Manos’ grin widened. ‘Of course.’
Whether by intent or fluke she couldn’t decide, but he led her to table number 5, held out the chair she had sat on as a child, and handed her a menu. ‘Calamari and fries, please,’ she said, without looking at the options. ‘And a glass of white wine, please,’ she added, grinning broadly.
The sparkle in his eyes and the slight twirl in the hair on his dimpled cheeks told her he had remembered. She sat, in the shade of the awning, and it dawned on her, she had stopped worrying. It was a liberating experience, and, for a brief moment, she felt like the ten-year-old child who had played on the beach, collecting shells and dining like royalty. ‘Thank you,’ she said with a soft smile, as Manos placed a glass of wine in front of her.
Facing the empty seat across the table, the absence of Nikki brought with it a wave of sorrow. She sipped at the wine, tuning her into her heart. The ache she found there caused her stomach to flip, the sudden burst of anxiety that would typically have her fleeing, feeling so familiar, so comforting in a dysfunctional way, and so wrong. She couldn’t go there again. She couldn’t allow her life to be dominated and controlled by that kind of fear. She sipped at the wine, and focused on the aching sensation in her chest, for the first time in her life accepting the message her heart conveyed. She was in love with Nikki. The truth was undeniable, painful and incredible at the same time, and she knew she could no longer avoid it, no matter how scary it might feel. She had nothing to fear, except fear itself. She gazed out to sea, hoping to spot the returning motorboat, her heart fluttering at the image in her mind’s eye of Nikki ambling across the beach.
The sea was calm. There was no boat in sight.
Manos approached with a large plate of calamari and a basket of fries and placed them on the table. He stood, gazing out over the beach, the toothpick dancing on his lips. ‘Beautiful day,’ he said, not expecting a response.
The rich aroma, with a hint of lemon and garlic, evoked a pleasant feeling, drawing a soft smile. Ariana hadn’t realised how hungry she was. She popped a battered ring into her mouth and it melted on her tongue, the delicate creamy taste of the soft seafood eliciting a groan of approval. ‘Mmm, that’s so good,’ she said.
‘Good as you remember, Miss Ariana?’ he asked, with a coy smile and a half-bow.
She chuckled. ‘Better,’ she said, dunking a fry into the garlic mayonnaise.
Manos nodded. ‘Aye,’ he said, and turned back to the bar.
13.
Nikki gazed down from the aircraft window, the white surf lining the small rocky islands contrasting with the deep blue sea, thousands of miles below her feet. Dotted across the expansive ocean, some very tiny, they looked spectacular and strangely hypnotic. She settled back into the hard, uncomfortable seat, trying to ignore the irritating, deafening and persistent noise, thankful the flight to Athens was a short one. She released a long breath, her thoughts drifting to that moment with Ariana, the brief kiss they had shared, and the truth revealed in Ariana’s dark eyes as she had held Nikki’s gaze earnestly. She smiled, her mind quieted by the certainty that she had come to believe in spite of the rebuff, that Ariana was in love with her.
She hadn’t reckoned on going to the mainland to source the funding she needed, but the bank manager in Lefkada was limited in what he could offer, and in the end he couldn’t help. He had at least made the call to the business department of Alpha Bank and set up the introduction, and he had also made sure her file had arrived there. But, that didn’t stop the anxious feeling dancing in her stomach, or the tension compressing her head. She hated flying, and she hated the city, and there was a good chance she would have to spend a few days in Athens to get the approval she needed and the contract paperwork signed. A week away from Ariana; the thought didn’t sit comfortably, and she fidgeted anxiously in the seat.
She closed her eyes, hoping the white noise would induce sleep. It didn’t, her thoughts occupied by the procession of illogical doubts passing through her mind. What if her absence caused Ariana to distance herself further? What if Ariana didn’t want to be with her? What if Ariana didn’t allow her to buy the house? She had convinced herself that Ariana hadn’t meant to push her away, but she could be wrong. She had left Sakros before Ariana had woken, how could she be sure that Ariana felt something for her? But Ariana did, didn’t she? Question after question challenging her newfound belief in Ariana, she bolted upright in the seat, her eyes wide open, beads of sweat on her brow in spite of the air-conditioning. She released a deep sigh and turned her attention to the deep blue sky outside the aircraft window.
‘Can I get you a drink?’ the hostess asked, her attention on the trolley in front of her as she passed down the aisle.
‘Coffee, please.’ Nikki took the drink, sipped from the cup and continued to gaze. Catching sight of the mainland, memories of the last and only other time she had travelled to Athens came to mind.
‘You want to buy me a drink?’ the fair-haired young woman asked, her eyes glassy, her stare unfocused.
Nikki didn’t, but for some inexplicable reason she nodded, and the woman ordered within seconds.
‘You come here often?’ the woman asked, her light-blue eyes still trying to assess Nikki through the alcoholic haze that obscured her vision.
‘No,’ Nikki croaked, suddenly unable to find her voice.
‘Shame.’ The girl shrugged disappointedly, and disappeared into the stream of women, lingering and chatting, between the main door and the bar, leaving Nikki to pick up the tab for the drink.
Nikki released the breath that had stopped in the presence of the young woman’s alluring light-blue eyes, a sense of relief passing through her, ordered another beer and scanned the room with curiosity, her heart racing with the adrenalin pumping through her veins, the voice in her head questioning whether she should be in here.
She’d never been in a woman only bar before. In fact, she’d never known any other gay women. It was intriguing, exhilarating, and more than a little intimidating, but, she was twenty-one now, nearly twenty-two, and having just taken on legal ownership of the Kefalas businesses, perfectly capable of making her own choices. Why shouldn’t she have some fun? She wondered briefly what it would be like to be in this place with Ariana, and then tried to dismiss the idea for the random thought that it was, but Ariana’s image wouldn’t leave, pulling her attention from the women in the room.
It had been almost six-years since Ariana had left the island, and with no word since. Ariana had got married and had a child, Sophia had told her as they had gathered the ripe-olives from the branches. It had been a hot, sticky day, and the fruit had fallen quickly, the essence of burnt salt filling the air and tingling her tongue. It had been a good harvest that year, but the news of Ariana’s marriage had cut deeply, leaving a gaping wound, the salt stinging and increasing the pain. Sophia had noticed her shaking and wrapped her in the warmest, most comforting embrace, and held her until the tears stopped flowing. Unsteadily, transfixed by the news, she had continued to pick the olives, but something had changed. Hope. The realisation that Ariana had already made a life for herself and would never return to the island had descended like a dark cloud, placing a shadow over her heart, squeezing it, crushing it, until she could no longer breathe. Hope was gone. Sophia had tried to convince her differently, and she wanted to believe her, but Nikki had already died inside, and she needed to find a way to be reborn. She needed to make a life for herself, one that would never include Ariana.
The sombre thought, so final, so surreal to her emotional mind, had shaken her from the memory, but the event had left its mark even six years on. She scanned around the bar, trying to find the optimism that had driven her through the door earlier that evening. She swallowed back the tears that wanted to display themselves, to demonstrate to the world the hurt that lay buried in a shallow grave, hidden by the sturdy veneer she presented to the world, and downed the beer in her hand. The chill against the back of her throat helped; the music from the bar slowly penetrating her awareness.
She had downed the third beer, and then a fourth, in quick succession, until the distant memory faded entirely and her head was beginning to float, her inhibitions abating; she was swaying with the music that filled the small space. A dark-haired older-looking woman, maybe in her thirties, she couldn’t tell, placed another beer in her hand and started to move with her, their eyes meeting, fleetingly, frivolous smiles passing between them, connecting their worlds on a carnal level. Nothing else mattered. Their bodies touched to the rhythm of the music and flames flared through Nikki, captivating her, seducing her. The move was swift, the kiss hard, deep, penetrating, hungry. The sugary taste of the woman’s breath mingled with the heady scent that filled the space, the kiss never ending. She hadn’t needed to come up for air; she hadn’t needed to breathe; she had needed what this woman offered.
Nikki allowed herself to be dragged from the bar, out into the street, down a side alley and pressed firmly against the wall. The anticipation, desire, and need, adding to the thrill of being taken by the older woman, whose mouth consumed her with confidence and assurance, whose deft hands were exploring her legs beneath the skirt that stopped high up her toned thighs. Silently, the message was clear.
Nikki had groaned as the woman parted her with her fingers, their mouths never losing contact, and when the woman entered her, she gasped and froze. The feel of the woman inside her stunned all her senses, her mouth stopped kissing, her mind had forgotten how to process, and her legs unable to hold her weight. Her body had been taken over by a force so strong, she felt paralysed by the sensations emanating from her core, parts of her pulsing, but what scared her more was the craving. The addict starved of the drug, she wanted as much as this woman was able to give, and more.
Her wild screams, piercing the night sky, lost in the cacophony in the city streets, didn’t fill the void though, and she staggered away from the woman with no name, away from the bar, and into the night, more lost and alone, the shadow over her heart even darker than the darkest night sky. She had sobbed herself to sleep, not for the first time since Ariana had left. And when she opened her eyes in the cold light of day, the poison that had infiltrated every cell in her body, causing her head to implode and her stomach to churn, paled by comparison with the feeling of resentment and shame that caused the tears to tumble, again.
Nikki jolted out of the graphic memory, her heart racing. She sipped at her drink, her hands clammy, and stared around the cabin. It may have been a long time ago, but some visions were as vivid as if they happened only yesterday. That void had remained with her, until just a few days ago. Ariana had filled that emptiness, and Ariana had the power to create it again. It had always been Ariana, and it always would be. The truth was terrifying.
*
‘Stay for tea,’ Soph pleaded, as they reached the top of the slope, her eyes pining for a few more hours together, her hand squeezing Gianna’s.
Gianna’s bronzed cheeks shone. She didn’t want to go home either, not now, not ever. She nodded excitedly and was instantly swept away as Soph yanked her enthusiastically through the front door and into the more cooling air. ‘Can you cook?’ she asked. There was so much she didn’t know about Soph, and yet she felt as if she had known her forever.
Soph raised her eyebrows and shrugged. She’d never tried cooking. ‘Dunno,’ she said. ‘Not sure what’s in the fridge,’ she added, bounding into the kitchen and opening the fridge door. Three pairs of fish eyes stared back at her, and she frowned.
Gianna glanced over her shoulder and chuckled at the sparse contents and the googly eyes staring blankly at them.
‘Ah!’ Soph shuddered. Her favourite species of all time, not, glared unblinkingly and directly at her and she pondered, clueless as to what to do with them. She could feel Gianna’s breasts pressed against her back, the fingers tracing her spine, and she shuddered again, for an altogether different reason. ‘Do you know what to do with these?’ she asked, her voice challenged by the impact of Gianna’s proximity.
Gianna nodded. She loved cooking, and the thought of presenting something delicious for Soph filled her with delight. Excitedly, she reached across Soph, pulled the plate of fish from the fridge and rested it on the work surface. ‘Drink?’ she asked as if presenting Soph with a task to help her to feel useful.
Soph flustered, opened the fridge again and pulled out two bottles of beer. She flicked the lids with the opener and rested one on the work surface next to the fish, watching Gianna as she searched around the kitchen. She seemed to know exactly where to look and pulled o
ut various ingredients of which Soph only recognised the small onions and garlic.
‘Play me some music,’ Gianna said, dumping the vegetables and herbs on the side and sipping at her beer.
Soph dived out of the kitchen. Gianna started chopping. By the time Soph returned, the pan was sizzling and a gentle aroma of garlic and samphire filled the room. ‘Smells amazing,’ Soph said, perched on the kitchen table and strumming lazily. ‘What shall I play?’ she asked, her attention on the strings, her fingers toying with the tuning pegs.
When Soph was deeply engrossed in putting the words to a tune, creating music, Gianna found it intensely erotic, not that she had told Soph that, yet. ‘Make something up,’ she replied, biting down on her lip, secretly turned on by the idea.
Soph started to tinker with the notes.
The sound caressing Gianna’s ears immediately stirred something exhilarating far lower and she released a soft groan as she worked. Drawing her concentration to the food, she tossed the fish into the hot pan and dived sideways to avoid the spray of burning oil that jumped out at her.
Soph stopped playing and studied Gianna intently, a coy smile appearing at the dancing chef. She rubbed at the light humming sensation beginning to press her temples and yawned, feeling tired.
Gianna swirled the ingredients around the pan with confidence, coating the fish with aromatic oil. Within what seemed like seconds, she had lifted the pan from the heat and rested it on the side. She picked up her beer and sipped. ‘You ready to eat?’ she asked.
Soph beamed, her teeth brighter against her sun-tanned skin. She placed the guitar on the table, jumped up, and grabbed the cutlery from the drawer.
Gianna squeezed fresh lemon onto the fish, served them onto the plates and followed Soph out of the kitchen.
Soph slumped into the wicker chair and studied the fish in front of her, which seemed to have more of a glazed look in its eye than it had done in the fridge, and started to chuckle. The zesty, fresh aroma and her grumbling stomach getting the better of her less-pleasant thoughts about the mullet, she picked up her fork.
