Welcome to My World

by Miranda Dickinson

  Neighbours passed by and were dragged into the taverna to meet Harri and Blanche, whilst several cats and dogs wandered happily around their feet. It was chaotic and relaxed at the same time – and this, Harri was to learn, was Greek life in a nutshell.

  After a few days adjusting to their surroundings, exploring the achingly pretty town of Fiskardo, with its beautiful architecture, green-shuttered pink houses, yachts in the harbour and restaurants lining the quayside, Harri and Blanche began to take in more of the island, hiring taxis or occasionally hitching a lift with Milos or one of his brothers if they happened to be passing. As they did so, Kefalonia unveiled its treasures before their eyes: beautiful secluded coves you could only reach from the sea; lively towns like Sami and Argostoli; ancient ruins like the castle of Agios Georgios; and everywhere the uniquely Greek sights, sounds and smells – whole families crammed onto scooters cruising the streets in the evening, the scents of pine, bougainvillaea, and mouthwateringly fresh lemons, and the ever-present sound of goat bells (even though Harri never actually saw a goat during the whole two weeks she spent on the island).

  To her great surprise, Harri learned that Kefalonia had a Venetian past: evidence of their architecture was everywhere, like the Venetian fortress at Assos. The original inspiration for Kefalonia’s Carnival season came from the opulent masquerades Venice became so famous for. Knowing that this island – chosen, it has to be said, on a whim – was so inextricably linked with the city she dreamed about gave Harri a massive sense of peace, as if her world had just opened up to welcome her to its heart.

  Early each morning, Harri would take the steep, winding path that led from the back of the apartments towards a tiny cove. She had found it quite by mistake, rising early on her first morning and venturing out into the lush gardens surrounding the pool. She never discovered its name, but as it seemed like she was the only person who visited it, she decided to call it La Serenissima beach, in honour of the island connection with the place she most longed to visit. Here, as dawn painted the sky with pastel pinks and blues, she would walk slowly along the water’s edge, feeling the sand sinking beneath her toes and the warm waves lapping over her feet. For the first time in years, she felt peaceful – as if she was breathing fresh air for the very first time. She thought about the events of the past few months – of Rob, Alex and Chelsea – and it was as if the small cove afforded her a new objectivity to it all. While she had no idea what lay ahead, Harri knew that her decision finally to get on a plane was the vital first step to whatever came next. In those early morning strolls along the silent shore, the cool shadow of the cliff rising behind her, Harri began to make sense of her emotions, coaxing each one out from its hiding place deep in her heart. On the tiny beach she had infinite time and space to consider everything, and each morning she felt stronger, more resolute in her desire to become more like the Harri in her mind.

  Most of all, Harri was glad of Blanche’s company. The big, boisterous multiple-divorcee, originally from Kentucky but now living in a mansion in New Jersey, was fearless, happily throwing herself headlong into each new experience or challenge that came her way. After days spent exploring the island, they would retire to the coolness of her balcony, gazing out towards the island of Ithaca with the sunset sky arcing magnificently over the Steno – the expanse of sea that separated it from Kefalonia – and talk for hours, usually with a bottle of local Robola wine.

  One thing that Harri quickly learned about Blanche was that it was no use trying to be elusive about your life with her. She had a way of getting to the truth eventually, so it was simpler to tell her everything she wanted to know in the first place. Maybe it was because Harri was so far away from Stone Yardley, or maybe the positive outlook of the Kefalonians was rubbing off on her – but she somehow found it easier to talk about herself here.

  ‘Wait, so let me get this straight: you kissed your best friend and then you didn’t speak to him again?’ Blanche asked, one evening at To Kardiva.

  Harri nodded and helped herself to some Greek salad. Thaddeus and Eleni had outdone themselves tonight, she mused, looking across the blue and white checked table groaning under the weight of so much food. Stifado, thick beef souvlaki, plates of fresh tomato and cucumber slices, tzatziki, spicy, grilled fish – it was a Greek feast fit for a queen.

  Blanche whistled. ‘We-ell, that’s one you got on me, missy. I kissed a lot of fellas in my time but I never locked lips with my best friend. So was it really that bad a kiss that you had to go all silent on him?’

  Harri laughed – and it felt good. ‘That was the problem. It was a great kiss.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Blanche took a large forkful of stifado and spoke as she chewed. ‘OK, I gotta hear this, sister. Spill.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly. Anyway, that’s immaterial now. He’s marrying someone else and I need to think about where I go from here.’

  ‘Hey, come to New Jersey, girl! You know you’re more than welcome. I’ll find you a handsome guy who’ll top that kiss for sure.’ Her smile was genuine. ‘I think you’ll be fine, Harri Langton. You’re one gutsy lady.’

  Harri sipped her wine, feeling the spicy warm afterglow working its way to her toes. ‘I don’t feel very gutsy.’

  Dropping her fork, Blanche stared at her. ‘Well, you are!

  Coming all the way out here, all alone, when you’ve never done it before? I call that gutsy! And if you can do that, well, I pretty much think you can do anything. You just have to believe it. Now tell me more about the guy you kissed . . .’

  So Harri told Blanche about Alex, Chelsea, Stella, Dan and Rob – stories that joined together like a patchwork quilt as the days passed by. Blanche’s favourite by far was what happened the night of the Christmas Amble, after Harri returned home.

  Two Trees Cottage had welcomed her back with its warm yellow porch light throwing a beam across the frosted path as she opened her front gate; when she stepped inside its familiar surroundings she was surprised at how weary she felt. Changing out of her Victorian garb into pyjamas, towelling robe and slippers, she made a mug of milky coffee and curled up on the sofa with a blanket, as Ron Howard draped his warm body over her feet. She flicked through television channels until she found something nondescript to drown out the internal din of her thoughts and was just beginning to drift towards sleep when her mobile rang, bringing her sharply back into the room.

  ‘Hey, matey, how’s it going?’

  ‘Al, I just left you an hour ago.’ She willed him to take the hint. Please go away.

  He didn’t. ‘What are you doing right now?’

  Harri closed her aching eyes. ‘Talking to you on the phone.’

  ‘Such a comedian – shall I call Jongleurs and book you in?’ Harri didn’t reply. Undeterred, Alex pressed on valiantly. ‘Well, I’ll tell you what you’re doing, young Harri-me-lass: you’re going to eat ice cream with me.’

  ‘I’m not hungry, Al.’

  ‘Since when do you ever have to be hungry to eat ice cream? Don’t you know all humans have a secondary stomach specifically designed to store emergency Ben & Jerry’s late at night?’

  ‘Mate, look, I appreciate the offer, but it’s late and it will be even later by the time you get here.’

  ‘Not much,’ Alex replied, as a knock sounded at the front door.

  Harri groaned. ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you?’

  The knock came again; a bright dum-dum-dee-dum-dum reminiscent of the sound heralding amusing next-door neigh-bours in sickly sweet sixties sitcoms. ‘Nope. Let me in – the ice cream’s melting.’

  Slightly embarrassed about greeting him in her PJs, Harri made her way to the front door. When she opened it, Alex’s grin lit up the hallway. ‘Phish Food, see? Nobody can refuse Phish Food this close to Christmas.’

  Despite her battered emotional state, Harri couldn’t help smiling at her friend. ‘You are a loon, Al. Come in then.’

  Alex followed her into the kitchen, receiving a disdainful stare from Ron Howard
en route, who was most displeased at being unceremoniously ejected from Harri’s lap.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK? You look terrible.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Harri replied, opening the cutlery drawer and rummaging around for spoons.

  ‘I don’t mean it like that. I’m concerned, that’s all.’

  Harri pushed past him to reach the crockery cupboard over the kettle. ‘Well, don’t be. I’m fine, honestly. It’s just been a really long day.’

  ‘I know,’ he replied, eyeing her carefully. ‘I just couldn’t let you be alone – not after Rob’s latest disappearing act.’

  Harri’s hand slipped and a bowl almost fell from the cupboard, saved only by Alex’s quick reactions.

  ‘Why don’t we dispense with bowls and just share a tub,

  eh?’ he suggested gently, taking Harri’s hand away from the cupboard and closing the door. ‘I think our friendship has reached the point where that would be appropriate, don’t you?’

  She smiled weakly and nodded, following Alex back into the living room. ‘I’m sorry, mate. Being tired makes me clumsy.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever,’ he grinned, flopping down on the sofa and patting the cushion next to him. ‘So sit down and let’s show this ice cream we mean business, shall we?’

  Nothing more was said about Rob or the abandoned Scottish trip that night as Harri and Alex sat there: an unspoken understanding between them made further discussion unnecessary. Instead, Alex retrieved the remote control from underneath Ron Howard’s generous behind – much to his disgust – and found an old Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy film on TV. It was already almost an hour into its showing, but that was immaterial: what mattered was that words were rendered unimportant as they watched in the darkness. Harri finally allowed herself to relax, pushing concerns about her unreliable boyfriend away – for tonight at least, everything was good: Spencer and Katharine were still hopelessly in love and there was a half-demolished tub of ice cream to enjoy. Harri closed her eyes and succumbed to the blissful softness of the sofa . . .

  When she woke, daylight was pooling in through the gap between her living-room curtains, and Alex was nowhere to be seen. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, Harri sat up slowly and realised that she had been sleeping underneath the duvet from her bed. Looking down, she saw a pillow resting on the arm of the sofa where her head had lain. She smiled and shook her head. Alex must have tucked her in before he left. As the blurriness left her vision, she noticed a hastily scribbled note propped up against the empty ice-cream tub on the coffee table in front of her:

  Morning sleepy!

  Breakfast in the kitchen (amazing what culinary delights you can source from an all-night garage at 3 a.m.). Sorry I had to dash but I promised Mum I’d take part in the annual Brannan family gift-round before she goes away. I’ve put a couple of pizzas in the fridge if your other (non ice-cream) stomach gets hungry.

  Alx

  Ps. Thanks for last night. Spencer and Katharine send their regards (even though you fell asleep during their film. Tsk).

  Harri stood and walked stiffly through to her kitchen, where Alex had placed eggs, a pack of bacon and two English muffins, together with a large carton of orange juice, a can of cat food and another note:

  Welcome to your breakfast.

  Please treat with respect and do not (a) incinerate on hob; or (b) attempt crockery juggling re: last night. Also please see grub duly provided for RH – even though he hates me.

  Enjoy! X

  ‘Let me get this straight: the guy comes to your rescue, brings you ice cream and leaves you breakfast and you don’t understand why you kissed him?’ Blanche asked incredulously. ‘I’d have married him on the spot!’

  In return, Blanche told Harri all about her own life: marrying an oil prospector when she was seventeen, who then became a millionaire, divorcing him when she found him in bed with his secretary; meeting husband number two – a film director – at an oil baron’s ball and eventually moving to Los Angeles where they had three kids, but filing for divorce when a newspaper exposé revealed a string of his affairs with aspiring actresses. Marrying husbands three and four within the space of five years – number three (considerably older than she was) dropping dead in their kitchen while making popcorn, and number four divorcing her because he decided he wanted to move in with an eighteen-year-old waitress from Tucson; and finally, number five – a university professor at Harvard who, after three blissful years of marriage, calmly announced to her that he wanted a sex change.

  ‘So, that was the end of that,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I got the mansion in New Jersey, he got my wardrobe. Everyone was happy.’

  ‘I bet that put you off relationships for life?’ Harri sipped her wine and closed her eyes to inhale the night air.

  ‘Hell, no, missy! Just like that good-for-nothing ex of yours won’t make you swear off men either. See, I was designed to be loved – and so were you. My mother used to say there are two types of people in this world: those that need somebody and those that are enough of a somebody all by themselves. You and I need to share our lives with somebody else – and that’s why you’ll move on to someone new in time, and so will I.’

  ‘But don’t you want a break? After all those broken relationships and messy divorces?’

  Blanche’s laughter drowned out the cicadas’ song. ‘Darling, I’m having a break, right now. Two weeks here, a month in London and then I’m back out there, looking for the next great love of my life.’

  The more time she spent with Blanche, the more positive Harri felt about her own life. She could feel herself changing as the days passed, and the forward motion felt good. She didn’t care what Rob did next; Melissa was welcome to him. But Alex was a different proposition. What if Viv had been right when she said he was missing Harri? As she mulled it over, walking along Fiskardo’s harbourside, or reading on its olive-fringed beach, she realised that she needed to make peace with him.

  The day before she was due to leave, a text arrived from Viv:

  Hi sweetie. Hope the holiday is going well and that you’re feeling better. You are well shot of Rob. Alex and Chelsea are having a belated engagement party this Friday night at the village hall. PLEASE COME. I know it would mean the world to Alex if you were there. At least think about it. Lots of love, Viv xxx

  ‘Are you going to go?’ Blanche asked as they sat in a restaurant on the promenade at Sami after a morning spent shopping for souvenirs.

  Harri took a bite of sweet baklava and considered it. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

  ‘Well, for what it’s worth, I think you should go.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Most definitely. Show them all who you really are – one gutsy lady!’ She raised her coffee cup. ‘Here’s to life, no matter where it takes us!’

  Harri grinned and clinked her cup with Blanche’s. ‘To life, no matter what!’

  They said their goodbyes to Thaddeus, Eleni, Galen and Zeno that night at To Kardiva, Eleni in tears as she hugged them goodbye.

  ‘You will come back to Kefalonia,’ she sobbed. ‘We are family now!’

  Milos arrived early next morning to take Harri and Blanche to the airport. Harri watched with a heavy heart, fighting the urge to cry as Fiskardo slipped out of view on the winding coast road. The journey south was a quiet one, Harri and Blanche lost in their thoughts as the beauty of the Kefalonian scenery whizzed past. All too quickly, the minibus pulled up outside the airport terminal. Milos hugged them and kissed them on both cheeks.

  ‘Efharistó, Milos,’ Harri smiled, ‘for everything.’

  ‘You are welcome, Harriet. I think pieces of your heart are scattered over this island,’ he grinned. ‘I know you will return.’

  Harri and Blanche caught the transfer flight back to the hustle of Athens Airport and here they said their goodbyes.

  ‘Now promise me you’ll go back looking for the next big love of your life,’ Blanche said, hugging Harri as if her life depended on it.
‘Make me proud, missy!’

  ‘I’ll try. And you have fun looking for Number Six,’ she replied, hugging Blanche back.

  ‘Oh, I intend to!’ Breaking the hug, Blanche touched Harri’s face with her hand. ‘Go to the party, darling. What have you got to lose?’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Raise Your Glasses, Please . . .

  The door to the ladies’ opens and Viv returns.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling. Merv’s being an absolute pain the proverb ial. He’s had way too much wine and he just challenged the caretaker to a duel. I’ve had to sit him in the car to calm him down. Silly man. I think I need to get him home for his own safety. So . . . so I’m going now. Are you coming with me?’

  Inside the cubicle, Harri is less certain about leaving than she has been all evening – the shock from the events leading up to her flight into the ladies’ only now beginning to fully assault her mind. ‘I’ll be fine. Just go.’

  Viv hesitates, torn between protecting Harri and preventing Merv from embarrassing himself any further. ‘Well – if you’re sure?’

  ‘Don’t worry about me. Thanks for the company. I’ll call you tomorrow.’

  The thud of the door closing as Viv leaves resounds with a profound sense of finality. Now Harri knows what she must do . . .

  The flight back to Birmingham seemed significantly shorter than the flight out to Kefalonia – but with Harri trying to make up her mind about the party, conscious of time slipping past like the clouds outside the aircraft windows, it was perhaps not surprising.