by Mandy Baggot
‘I’ve got to go,’ she told her friends. ‘I’m not sure what time they serve dinner until and I’ll need an early night before the flight tomorrow.’
‘You will not have an early night,’ Shelley ordered her. Becky could imagine the expression on her face. ‘You will head to the luxurious bar with the expensive liqueurs and you will get royally five-star off your face on everything from the top shelf.’
‘I don’t think it’s all-inclusive. Particularly for those of us who are getting the room for free.’
‘Well then, get royally shitted on the cheapest, strongest booze they have.’
‘But don’t have too much ouzo. It can be quite potent if you’re not used to it,’ Hazel said.
‘By not much, Hazel means not quite a whole bottle…’
Becky smiled as she said goodbye to them. They were excited for her trip and she needed to start getting properly excited too. Tomorrow she would be on the island of Corfu about to spend a few weeks in the sunshine being a home caretaker. The only thing to make it more perfect would be for the homeowner to respond to her emails. But there was nothing she could do to make that happen more quickly. At this stage she may as well indulge in that drink Shelley was so insistent on. After all, when on holiday…
Thirteen
Mesoghaia Restaurant, Sofitel Hotel, Athens
‘I have to say,’ Petra said through a mouthful of her third dessert, ‘as good as the free noodles were in Thailand, this gig is even better.’ She scooped another spoon full of berries and thick yoghurt into her mouth. ‘I know the drinks aren’t all-inclusive, but this free nosh makes up for it.’
The food was good, as you would expect from a five-star hotel. It wasn’t completely Greek, but it was completely divine. From oversized white ceramic bowls of salad leaves mixed with croutons and seeds, quinoa and couscous, to thick sizzling medallions of meat in rich sauces, perfectly cooked pasta and roasted potatoes, there was something to tempt even the fussiest of eaters. Becky had opted for some beef in a rich red-coloured gravy with a few potatoes and a little salad on the side. She had indulged in a large glass of a sweet white wine though and it was slipping down extremely well.
‘Are you having pudding, Elias?’ Petra called across the table.
Becky sipped at her wine and watched Elias turn his head away from his phone. He was sitting a little way along from their table – no laptop this time – but seemed engrossed in his mobile phone. He had changed out of the corporate jacket and was wearing a pink-coloured shirt that went wonderfully with his olive skin tone…
‘No,’ he answered. ‘I am heading out when I have finished this beer.’ Instead of the sumptuous feast she – and particularly Petra – had devoured, Elias had picked at a meze of olives, cheese and what looked like cucumber.
‘Heading out?’ Petra queried. ‘Out where? Because there doesn’t seem to be much else but runway around here.’ She winked. ‘Or do you know some secret hotspots not on the traditional tourist trail?’
‘I know Athens,’ Elias replied nonchalantly.
‘You’re going in?’ Petra gasped like he had announced he might be set to knock on the front door of Number 10 and run for Prime Minister.
‘It is a while since I have seen the Acropolis or taken time to admire the view of the city.’
‘He’s going in!’ Petra exclaimed, all excitement and swinging plaits now the bun had been unfurled. Becky’s hair was still a little damp from her shower, but it did feel good to have washed the air travel – and sweat – from her skin. She wasn’t sure she did travel glam quite as well as Petra did though. Petra seemed to look fresh and good-to-go in pretty much any scenario. She was wearing a different T-shirt now, neon pink with palm trees and the word ‘Swingers’ written in electric blue – presumably, or rather, hopefully, the name of an exotic bar. Becky had changed into one of the dresses she hadn’t expected to be wearing quite this soon into her trip. It was pale lemon in colour with a scooped neckline and an A-line skirt that grazed her knees. The espadrilles had been swapped out for a pair of flat gladiator-style sandals Hazel had made her buy from Matalan.
‘We’re in!’ Petra announced. ‘I couldn’t eat another thing anyway and I want to drink Greek beer in a Greek bar up a dirty alleyway no one but the locals know about.’
‘What?’ Becky had suddenly seemed to be included in this idea. An idea that was Elias’s. A group outing he might not be up for. A group outing she wasn’t sure she was up for. She had planned to head back to her room after the wine and get an early night seeing as they needed to be at the airport for 6 a.m. ‘I… wasn’t going to…’
‘You weren’t going to do what?’ Petra asked, turning her body in her seat and scrutinising Becky. Petra did have a skill for putting people on the spot. Perhaps ‘skill’ was too complimentary.
‘I was going to… go for a swim in the pool. Apparently it has views of the runway.’ Now she sounded ridiculous. Who passed up the chance of going into the hub of Athens and seeing the might and beauty of one of the Wonders of the World? For sleep. Albeit in sheets with a super-high thread count. Embracing her inner explorer was what she needed to do. As she’d whispered to herself in the mirror earlier.
‘Anyway,’ Becky carried on, ‘perhaps Elias would rather go alone. I’m sure he has friends in the city. He might want to…’
Petra turned herself and her body back towards Elias. ‘Do you want to go alone? And are you single? Because you didn’t answer earlier.’
Becky coughed at Petra’s brazenness – in shock and slight admiration – and covered her mouth with the rim of her wineglass. How did she just come out with things like that?
‘You have not been to Athens before?’ Again, Elias had made no answer to Petra’s status inquisition.
‘No, I haven’t,’ Petra immediately replied. ‘But I always planned to. When I’m done with the islands. Right now, I’m all about the secret beaches and water so clear you can perfect your make-up in it. But tonight is a bonus, isn’t it? A missed flight that’s going to gift us a night in one of the most beautiful cities in the world.’ She looked straight at Becky. ‘If we can bear to tear ourselves away from runway vistas.’
‘You are welcome to join me,’ Elias told them. As if the poor guy had been given any real choice in the matter! ‘But I will be taking the metro.’
‘Ooo ace!’ Petra exclaimed. ‘I love a dirty train. And who wants to be cooped up in an extortionately priced taxi when you could be side-by-side with real Athenian life?’ She sniffed. ‘Is it true that one time there was a guy who actually took his horse on the metro?’
‘It was not me,’ Elias answered. Becky watched him finish his beer.
‘Will you show us winding streets and white houses where people invite you in for whatever they’ve cooked for the evening?’ Petra had got to her feet now and was shimmying into another backpack that was only slightly smaller than the one she was carting about earlier. And how could she even think about food when she had already eaten bigger portions than a hungry great white shark? Becky finished up her wine and picked up her handbag that was way smaller than Hazel’s travel bag.
‘He still hasn’t said he’s not single,’ Petra whispered, ducking her head into Becky’s space. ‘Did you hear?’
‘I didn’t hear him say he was single either,’ Becky answered.
‘I know, right? Totally a man of mystery. I love it!’ Petra grinned. ‘Come on, Becky, we’re going into the city to see the sights with a hot guy. What’s not to get excited about?’ She linked their arms and giggled.
Bluntly direct or not, Becky couldn’t deny that Petra was absolutely right.
Fourteen
Plaka District, Athens
‘There was a man playing a violin with a cat! I actually can’t believe it! I could die tomorrow and be completely happy now!’
Elias couldn’t help but smile at Petra’s enthusiasm. It had been random, seeing the instrument-playing old man on the train, his furry pet by his side,
ears alert as if listening to every note. But it was typically Greek. Greece was the very epitome of crazy sometimes. There was life and then there was Greek life. The same but slightly madder.
He sucked in a breath as they arrived on the cobbled streets of the Plaka area. It was bustling, it was still humid and tourists congregated to take photos of the narrow lanes filled with shops and the ancient church plumped right in the middle of everything. This church –Panagia Kapnikarea – was one of the oldest churches in Athens and it never failed to impress Elias. With its three different cream brick sections, a domed tower at its centre topped with terracotta tiles, it was a reminder of the city’s ancient past amid the taller, towering newer buildings around it.
‘It doesn’t look like part of a city.’ This came from Becky. She was standing on the cobbles, taking everything in in a little more subdued way to Petra. ‘It looks like a village that’s been put inside it.’
Elias had never thought of it that way before, but she was right. Plaka was the most visited area of Athens for a reason and that reason wasn’t just because here was the Acropolis, it was also because of the quaintness of its streets. It was like a throwback to simpler times. For all of Athens’ business smarts and modern movement, visitors were always drawn to the ancient Greece and the old-fashioned Greece – the home of gods and gyros, where you still couldn’t flush a piece of toilet paper down the pipes.
He could have come here alone. It would have been as easy to refute Petra’s eagerness as it had been to go along with it. But what would coming here alone really have been like? No matter what he might have told himself, he would have moped. He would have gazed up at the proud monument glowing amid the skyline and he would have thought about Hestia and all the hurt he’d endured. Even now, all this time having gone by, he still thought back to the workings of his relationship with Hestia. Had there been signs he had missed? Were there critical moments he should have noticed, times maybe when Hestia had eluded to what was going on beneath her surface? More than the being left, what hurt Elias the most was his lack of realisation, the utter shock at what had transpired so quickly. He had been completely clueless to something his wife had no doubt been struggling with her whole adult life.
The day Hestia had told him she was leaving, she couldn’t have sounded or looked more devastated. She had wept and apologised over and over, physically reeling from saying the words, while he had instantaneously solidified into stone. The complete bolt from the blue, the impact of her words sinking into him, had turned him cold. Cold and oh so angry. He’d had no capacity to feel anything else. He had simply never seen this coming.
Yes, being here with Petra and Becky tonight was giving him a purpose he only just realised he desperately needed.
‘You think this is like a village,’ Elias said to Becky. ‘You wait until you see the houses along the walk to the Acropolis.’
‘White-washed walls, Greek-blue shutters, hopefully more men playing violins with cats. Cats that dance to the violin would be amazing, I’m not gonna lie,’ Petra told them both. She danced a jig on the spot.
Elias shook his head, a smile on his lips. Maybe this was exactly what he needed before he returned to Corfu. Reconnecting with his heritage first, creating a new Plaka experience by showing its charms to two people who had not been here before, then seeing his parents might not be as awkward as he felt it was going to be. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘It is this way.’
*
Becky couldn’t believe she was in Athens. The inside of the terminal had obviously always been the plan from the moment she found there were no direct flights out of London with space at this late notice, but she had never in a million years expected to be walking the streets of vibrant yet cosy, Plaka. It was amazing. It was exhilarating. It was like nowhere she had been before. Restaurants full to bursting, their tables and chairs spilling out onto the street, glowing table lamps amid diners nibbling on crusty fresh bread or skewers thick with grilled chicken, purple red onion and green peppers, and waiters rushing back and forth perspiring in the humidity as they served. There was chatter, rising up from the cobbles, the music of an accordion, carefree smoking and a laid-back ambience that wafted from every eatery and bar. Becky wanted to imbed everything into her mind in case she never got to come here again. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime visit. That made it even more special.
‘Come on!’ Petra called from a few yards away. ‘We’re going to be walking the path that actual gods have trodden.’
Without any doubt this was so much better than a swim in the hotel pool with views of a landing strip. She stepped on to catch up her companions.
‘Why are you going to Corfu?’ Petra asked Elias. Becky stayed a step behind them, happy to admire everything they were passing. Leafy vines grew up crumbling buildings, mopeds whizzed up narrow lanes and alleyways and men tried to sell braided bracelets with the promise of late-night African music…
‘I am on business,’ Elias replied. ‘And you?’
‘I’m on business too,’ Petra answered. ‘The business of seeing the world. It’s tough AF, but someone has to do it. What’s your business?’
‘Petra,’ Becky said. ‘Has anyone ever told you you ask quite a lot of questions?’
Petra went quiet for a minute and briefly Becky wondered if she had offended her. She hadn’t meant to do that, but she wasn’t used to sharing the miniature of life with anyone and she knew, after Elias, it was likely she would be investigated next. And what would she have to say? She was here because she had more or less lost her friend Tara to a Sagittarius who apparently cooked better and swore a lot less than Gordon Ramsay and she’d had a monumental falling-out with her only sibling to rival anything the Gallagher brothers could serve up in the angsty stakes?
‘No, actually,’ Petra responded. ‘Although there was this one woman in Morocco who objected to me asking what her tattoo was meant to be. But, in fairness, you really couldn’t tell what the fuck it was and I looked from literally every angle trying to work it out before I asked her.’
‘What was it?’ Elias asked.
‘No clue,’ Petra answered. ‘She wouldn’t tell me. I guess that will forever be one of life’s great mysteries. So, do you have any tattoos?’
‘Petra!’ Becky exclaimed. She was cringing now. And she also knew the answer. Elias did have tattoos. Well, at least one, but in this change of shirt it wasn’t as apparent as it had been on the plane. Actually, she wanted Elias to answer this question as tattoos had always intrigued her a little. What could mean so much that you wanted to have it inked on your body forever? Or perhaps some people – namely her – thought too deeply about it. Maybe people just liked a picture or a pattern and simply did it. For fun. Without it getting too deep and meaningful.
‘Do you have a tattoo?’ Elias had turned the question without providing his answer.
‘Of course. Doesn’t everyone?’ Petra raised an eyebrow. ‘Where do you think mine is?’
Oh God. Was this Petra flirting? No wonder she had hooked up with someone called Marathon. She really did have no filter.
‘I think,’ Elias replied, ‘that wherever you have a tattoo, its location is personal to the owner unless they want to share it.’
Petra stuck out her wrist as they continued to walk upwards. ‘Here. Here’s mine.’
Elias looked to her arm and Becky stepped alongside too, reading the ink. ‘Peter?’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Petra said with a laugh. ‘I’ve heard all the jokes.’
‘Is Peter your dad’s name?’ Becky inquired. Or perhaps it was a boyfriend or a hook-up she met over noodles…
‘No such luck,’ Petra answered. ‘It’s meant to say “Petra” but the tattooist was Indian and about eighty and he heard me wrong and, well, I was too drunk to notice until it was a done deal. Still,’ she said, putting her thumbs into the loopholes of her jeans, ‘what’s life without a little bit of variety, right?’
The incline increased and suddenly the streets turn
ed from streets into narrowing lanes. The higher they climbed the slimmer the walkways seemed to become. The buildings also began to change. Gone were the elaborate detailed architecture of below, instead they were replaced with tiny homes, most palely painted, large flagstones with white cement like crazy paving leading the way. It was as if this place was yet another village, dropped into the metropolis and unlike any of the other surroundings.
‘Gosh,’ Becky exclaimed. The walls were really closing in now. This path they were following wound between miniscule houses, some with their front doors wide open emanating food smells that quirked her entirely full stomach into wondering if in fact it did have extra capacity…
‘It almost feels like we could just walk right inside someone’s home,’ Petra said, fair head almost creeping over thresholds in a bid to look into tiny kitchens. You could hear conversations and music from radios.
‘This is Anafiotika,’ Elias told them. ‘A lot of people say that this area reminds them of the villages of the Greek islands.’
‘The white cubed houses are a bit like Santorini,’ Becky replied. The Santorini she had seen in Hazel’s cruise brochures in any case.
‘Yes,’ Elias agreed. ‘This is true.’
Suddenly Becky’s foot skidded on the path and she had to put her hand out to the wall to steady herself. Luckily the walls were so close.
‘You are OK?’ Elias asked, stopping their ascent and looking at her as Petra powered on ahead like she knew exactly where she was going or didn’t really care where she ended up.
‘Yes,’ Becky said with a nod. ‘I’m fine. My foot slipped for a second, that’s all.’
‘The stones, they get worn,’ Elias remarked as Becky stepped up to walk alongside him. ‘When they get worn, they get shiny. It is the same in the Acropolis.’
‘The path is so narrow,’ Becky commented as they rounded a corner. And then she stopped, her body suddenly flush against Elias’s as the path petered out into a walkway with only room for one person to pass. His skin against hers was a surprise and his body was warm. There were no aromas of food in the air now, simply the delicious scent of sandalwood, jasmine and manliness. Becky swallowed, caught between inching her arm back and disconnecting them or leaving it exactly where it was and taking a moment to appreciate all his handsome. He was handsome. And if she was Petra – or Hazel – she might have made a move. What move, she had no idea, and the fact they were literally gelled together with humidity in this tight space meant there weren’t many moves she would actually be capable of making. It was almost difficult to breathe without clashing rib cages…