My Greek Island Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘If you swim,’ Kosmos began, steering their way in the near dark, ‘you might drown like Melissani.’

  ‘Really?’ Petra said, standing up and making the boat sway. She was taking off her T-shirt now and Becky felt sick. Surely, she wasn’t going to jump into the water their guide had said was perilously cold! And in the dark small cave, not the bright illuminated one! Becky held on to the side of the vessel and said a quick prayer to Pan.

  ‘Well, I’m a much better swimmer than any nymph,’ Petra informed. ‘And I’m not scared of death anyway.’ Her shoes were pulled from her feet and she started to wriggle out of her jeans. Was that a bikini or just underwear? Perhaps Petra was always prepared for anything. Becky, on the other hand, wasn’t.

  ‘Petra, please don’t,’ Becky said. ‘The water isn’t like it is in… Thailand.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Petra replied.

  ‘Petra, sit down.’ It was Elias talking now and he had a very stern look on his face. ‘Jumping into that water puts us all at risk.’

  ‘How do you figure that?’ Petra asked, now wearing nothing but her underwear. Kosmos had put one hand over his eyes.

  ‘If you dive into the water, that you have been told is too cold, one of us is going to have to come in after you and rescue you,’ Elias stated.

  ‘I don’t need rescuing by anyone,’ Petra answered, her expression set to defiant. She moved to the edge of the boat.

  ‘Petra, please,’ Becky begged. ‘I know you want to embrace all the new experiences but… I need you to tell me all the things I should know about travelling and… I haven’t told you my favourite Hallmark actor yet and… we need to talk about rib-eye versus T-bone before we go our separate ways tomorrow. Tomorrow, when we finally get to Corfu,’ Becky continued. ‘Not today in this… spooky cave.’

  ‘If I don’t resurface, just leave me for the nymphs and tell my aunt she can have whatever’s left.’

  With that sentence hanging in the damp air, Petra dived off the edge of the boat and into the black water below.

  *

  ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’ Despite the rocking and reeling caused by Petra’s rapid disembarkation, Becky had got to her feet, her eyes scanning the half-light while trying to maintain her balance.

  ‘She’s fucking crazy,’ Elias exclaimed, tearing at the shoes on his feet then shrugging off his jacket. This was not what he had signed up for tonight but what choice did he have? Too cold water and the exuberance of youth was all you needed to create disaster. Despite Petra’s bravado, he couldn’t just leave her to her own devices.

  ‘I will put on my searchlight,’ Kosmos said, reaching into the bottom of the boat.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Becky asked as Elias began to remove his shirt. He wasn’t going to have time to lose his trousers. Once that cold water stabbed at Petra like a thousand of the sharpest of knives, she would start to struggle and here, in the dark cave, she could quickly become disorientated.

  ‘I’m getting her out,’ Elias replied. He didn’t wait to say anything else. He dived into the water and hoped against hope he hadn’t completely misjudged this situation.

  Twenty-Two

  Karavomilos Taverna, Karavomilos

  Becky wasn’t altogether certain what she was drinking, she just knew it was strong. And strong was good. Strong was excellent. Strong spirits would definitely help her recover from the shock of what had happened in Melissani Cave.

  It was a humid evening and the chirruping of cicadas filled the air. Sitting on a green chair at a table for four on decking right next to the ocean, it was taking all the gentle sea noises and soft chatter from the other diners to quell the panic that was still lodged in Becky’s chest. Her and Kosmos in the little boat, both searching the water with torches. One that looked like it had come from biblical times (Kosmos) and an iPhone (Becky). Until finally, heart-stoppingly ages after their initial entry, Elias had resurfaced, a very pale Petra in his arms.

  Becky took another sip of the drink, letting the heat of the alcohol slip over her tonsils and beyond. She had somehow found the strength to pull Petra from the water and into the boat, at first shouting angrily at her in the hope it would be enough to bring her round, the next telling her that Jesse Metcalfe was actually there. Neither seemed to work. Petra hadn’t quite been unconscious, but it was close; her eyes were rolling, she didn’t seem really sure of her surroundings and she had violently shivered. Kosmos had passed over Petra’s clothes and Becky had attempted to redress her, to warm her while Elias, out of breath and dripping wet too, had dressed himself, a furious expression on his face.

  Thankfully, Agelos had come quickly after that. Once the call had been made and they had again experienced the waiter’s terrible rally-driving, they had all arrived back at the taverna in double-quick time. Then the owners were on hand with towels and blankets and stiff drinks just like this one that Becky had almost finished. It had been quite the circus for a moment, onlookers wondering what had happened.

  While Petra and Elias were spirited away to be offered a hot shower and dry clothes, Becky had come back down to the beachside tables and typed out a text to Megan, fingers shaking as she hit the letters. It was moments like these when you realised the frailty of life and what was really important. She had felt it for a time after their dad had died. Life hung by a fine thread. Each day was a gift. It shouldn’t be wasted on grudges or arguments over catering contracts. Except Becky hadn’t pressed send yet. She didn’t know why. She should. What if she had done something crazy like jump into a cave-lake never to be seen again while she and Megan still weren’t talking? Becky could be dead – nibbled by nymphs – and Megan would be living with the guilt. Or perhaps Megan wouldn’t feel anything. Maybe she would sweep Becky’s demise under cellophane sandwich wrap like she had with the death of their father.

  ‘Agelos has been given the night off.’

  Becky looked up to see Elias stood at the table. He was wearing a white shirt that was definitely a size too small for him. But the buttons straining, the material tight across his broad chest wasn’t a bad look. In fact, it was a hot look that made Becky impulse-swallow. Black jeans covered the rest of him. She was back to imagining what it would be like for him to finger-hold steak dipped in pepper sauce, dangling the hot, juicy slither of sirloin over her more-than-eager lips…

  ‘I’ve been given his clothes,’ Elias replied, sitting down opposite her. His comment was enough to bring a smile to Becky’s face. ‘Someone called Adriana is washing and drying my shirt and trousers.’ Despite removing his shirt before diving into the water, Petra had got it soaking when she’d landed back in the boat like a beached seal.

  ‘Where’s Petra?’ Becky asked. She wanted to know the girl was alright, but equally she wanted to still be cross with her. She was irresponsible and careless and she had worried her. Not to mention she had put Elias at risk with her antics.

  ‘With Agelos,’ Elias answered with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘“Poor Petra being so cold. Poor Petra going through something so traumatic. Let me kiss it all better.”’ He had mimicked the waiter’s voice perfectly and had now pursed his lips into a sarcastic kiss that Becky couldn’t look away from. She had never really looked so closely at a man’s lips before, but Elias had amazing lips. She blinked in a bid to stop herself staring.

  ‘I don’t know how she does it,’ Becky breathed, cradling her glass in her hands. It was idyllic here, next to the shore, under the shade of the boughs of a drooping ancient olive tree, pots of fragrant blossoming bougainvillea surrounding the tables, with subtle globes of light on posts casting a romantic glow. There was even a blue-painted waterwheel if the sea sounds weren’t relaxing enough.

  ‘Does what?’ Elias asked, waving a hand to call a waiter.

  ‘Exactly what she wants.’

  Elias nodded with a sigh. ‘Some people, they are just made that way.’

  ‘But they shouldn’t be! Should they?’ Becky asked him. ‘I mean it’s completely selfish
and stupid and… dangerous and she could have died and you could have died and—’

  ‘Captain Rebecca,’ Elias interrupted. ‘What are you drinking?’ The waiter had arrived and Becky realised she had been ranting and raving while he was stood there waiting to serve them.

  ‘Oh, I’m OK at the moment,’ she replied immediately.

  ‘You are finished,’ Elias remarked, indicating her empty glass. ‘You should have another.’

  She looked at him, feeling ridiculous. ‘I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘It is fig liqueur,’ the waiter told her. ‘My mother makes.’

  Was it? Now she felt awful for not fully appreciating it. It sounded like a local delicacy she should have been savouring.

  Elias ordered in Greek and the waiter left them.

  ‘What did you get?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Two fig liqueurs and a carafe of red wine… and I asked for the menu. I am hungry.’

  Becky couldn’t deny that she was hungry too. In fact, being in Greece seemed to be making her hungrier than she had been in her life. Maybe it was the air. Maybe it was the aroma of all the delicious local meats.

  ‘You are OK?’ Elias asked her.

  He was always asking her that. Perhaps what she thought was a resting face really looked like someone on the verge of mental breakdown. She’d have to check in the mirror later. That thought made her put a hand to her hair. She hadn’t looked in a mirror even in the toilets earlier! She probably resembled a damp nymph, covered in sticking up seaweed. Definitely not worthy of anyone with nice lips…

  ‘Try not to think about what might have happened,’ Elias told her.

  ‘But so many things could have happened. She could have drowned. You could have drowned. Kosmos could have—’

  ‘Drowned?’

  ‘I was going to say Kosmos could have had a heart attack. He did look quite pale at one point.’

  ‘But, as I said, none of that happened,’ Elias reminded. ‘We are all here. All that occurred was we… and our clothes… got wet. That is it.’

  Becky nodded. He was right, of course. But he didn’t know how much of a worrywart she was on a day-to-day basis. And she was basically waiting for the message from Ms O’Neill to tell her she was sacked from the housesitting opportunity as she hadn’t turned up yet. She wouldn’t blame her.

  ‘So much adventure in just a few days,’ Elias teased.

  ‘I’m perfectly happy for the rest of my time in Greece to simply involve sun, sea and…’

  ‘Stabbing at animal drawings,’ he replied.

  ‘Quite.’ She smiled at him, feeling a little of the tension drop from her shoulders. His positive attitude was a bit infectious, she had to admit. Plus, Petra had ruined what should have been a tranquil boat ride, Becky shouldn’t let her spoil the rest of their one night in Kefalonia. As if sensing her need to tumble back into chill time, bouzouki music began to play.

  ‘Your friend lives in Corfu all the time?’ Elias asked her.

  ‘My friend?’

  ‘The one you are helping with looking after their house?’ He took the menus from the waiter and passed one to her. ‘I assumed she or he lives there and is taking a holiday?’

  ‘Oh, yes… yes, they do… they are.’ Becky took the menu and used it to cover her now burning-up face. Her stomach groaned as if in appreciation of all the traditional Greek fayre listed.

  ‘Where have they gone? Somewhere else in Greece or…’

  ‘Blackpool.’ It was out before she could stop it. Of all the places she could have created for her fictional friend to have a fictional holiday and she chose the home of the Golden Mile and the Tower Ballroom where her mum and her aunt played fruit machines.

  Elias hadn’t replied. He was looking at her with those beautiful eyes, so intense…

  ‘It’s in Lancashire. The north of England. It has lovely… donkeys.’ Where was more of that fig liqueur?

  Elias nodded. ‘It sounds… interesting.’

  ‘Oh, it is,’ Becky agreed with a heap too many nods. ‘It really is but… I’ve been there and I haven’t been to Corfu so… more interesting for my friend than for me.’

  ‘Shall we order some food?’ Elias suggested. ‘Perhaps some seafood?’

  ‘Well, I usually go for meat dishes but…’

  ‘New experiences, Captain Rebecca,’ Elias said.

  ‘Yes,’ Becky replied. And if she ordered a whole octopus, she could stuff it in her mouth to stop any more random lies escaping. ‘New experiences.’

  Twenty-Three

  Elias watched Becky as she ate one of the giant prawns they had been served as part of their fish platter. Lobster, octopus, crab – she had tried it all – but the prawns seemed to affect her the most.

  Eyes closed, a moan escaping her lips, he had to put his fingers to his wineglass to distract himself. The music, the lull of the sea and most definitely the wine, were all perfect partners in showing him exactly what relaxation was. And Becky’s enjoyment of the Greek food was reminding him what he missed the most about his native country when he was in the UK. Thinking about Corfu he could almost smell his mother’s special stifado…

  ‘I can’t even tell you how good this tastes,’ Becky mouthed, finally opening her eyes but still eating. ‘I source the best prawns I can get my hands on at home and I taste-tested a lot. But they don’t taste like this.’

  ‘Fresh from the sea today,’ Elias told her. ‘That is all it is. From the water to the plate in less than twenty-four hours.’

  ‘But they must cook them a special way,’ Becky insisted, finally swallowing, then washing it down with a drink of her wine.

  ‘Simply,’ Elias answered. ‘Grilled, no seasoning, maybe a little lemon juice.’

  ‘Really?’ Becky said, looking a little shocked now. ‘Do you really think that’s it? Because if that’s true it might just change my whole life.’

  ‘I do not understand.’

  ‘Well,’ Becky said, leaning a little over the table towards him, ‘that’s what I do. For a job.’

  ‘You cook prawns?’ he asked. ‘I thought you said you made sandwiches.’

  She laughed and shook her head, hair bouncing. ‘I make sandwiches memorable. And that means all-natural ingredients, but always something added. Combinations you wouldn’t expect to go together.’ She took a breath. ‘That’s what I’m good at. I combine foods to allow the sandwich or wrap to give a whole sensory experience – taste, texture, aroma, a vitamin someone might be lacking they don’t know about… if I get to know them really well, like Milo.’ She took another breath, her words coming out faster. ‘And if you’re telling me that the best tastes are one thing, cooked simply, with nothing added, completely on its own then…’

  ‘Then?’ Elias asked, intrigued to hear the answer.

  ‘Then perhaps what I’ve been doing counts for nothing.’ She stopped suddenly, completely still in her seat, like she had just told herself the Tooth Fairy wasn’t real.

  ‘Nothing counts for nothing,’ Elias said quickly. He wanted to change that expression on her face. ‘What you do must work or it… wouldn’t work.’

  ‘But maybe it would work. Maybe I overcomplicate things.’ She drank more of her wine. ‘Maybe I offer everyone too much choice. Perhaps they would be just as happy with plain prawns.’

  ‘These are Greek prawns,’ Elias reminded. ‘The freshest there is.’ He poured some more wine into her glass. ‘Prawns in the UK…’

  ‘Nowhere near as good,’ Becky replied. ‘I’m already thinking about how I can get the prawn man to source them from here. But I think Megan would have a fit about the shipping.’

  ‘And they would not be as fresh,’ Elias said.

  Becky smiled. ‘Is that how you sell your houses? This one has an unrivalled view of the spooky cave-lake, whereas this one’s view is slightly interrupted by fisherman seeking the best of the day’s catch?’

  He had almost forgotten he was supposed to be an estate agent. Why was he yet to
come clean? He swallowed. He didn’t want to spoil what was left of the evening. They both deserved to unwind after the earlier events and he knew finding out his real occupation would unsettle her.

  ‘Something like that,’ he answered.

  ‘Do you live in the UK or do you live in Corfu?’ Becky asked. ‘Are you going to Corfu to sell a particular house?’

  ‘I live in London,’ he replied. Something he could at least be honest about. ‘I am going to Corfu to see one house, yes. It is a house belonging to one of my long-term clients and he wishes to put this onto the market.’ Half-truths but not too far from the mark.

  ‘Gosh,’ Becky replied. ‘You must be good at what you do to pop over to Greece to sell one house.’

  ‘Well…’ He was good at his job. And he had made being good at his job his entire life’s work, particularly after Hestia. If he hadn’t found professional success in the divorce arena he didn’t know where he would be now. Where would he be? Would he have floundered, sunk into the deepest, darkest depression or would he have found the bravery to stay on the island, face up to the humiliation? Might he have stepped away from law completely? Settled for helping to run the family business? That was a whole world away from where he was now. One room above a cafeneon was not his penthouse apartment with river views…

  ‘Is it a big house?’ Becky asked. ‘Or with views to die for? Or both? Is it near the sea?’

  He smiled at her enthusiasm. The wine was helping her relax. She seemed less buttoned-up now – literally – her top sliding off one shoulder, her hair just touching the skin…

  ‘It is near the sea,’ he answered. ‘With the most incredible view.’ He paused to take a drink himself. ‘It is not too big. There are three bedrooms and it is done in a style that is sympathetic to its surroundings. Thick stone walls, paved outside space with a few borders for plants and colour, a large pool…’

  ‘It sounds heavenly,’ Becky breathed. ‘I hope my friend’s house is as nice as that one sounds.’