by Mandy Baggot
‘Beth,’ he whispered. Shit, she had forgotten quite how sexy his voice was. Or maybe, the ten years that had passed had simply made it sexier. She needed to say something. Otherwise this moment was going to feel more awkward. Heidi was looking at her now, then back to Alex, then to her, until…
‘Fuck me! You’re the DJ!’
Beth was unmoving. She should go closer, say a polite hello. But for some reason – probably to do with the fact she was now doing a head-to-toe reconnaissance of Alex’s body – she couldn’t. Jeans shaped his waistline and thighs, a tight dark-blue T-shirt over his torso. He looked barely any different to that last mental snapshot she’d kept of him, naked, over her. She coughed. ‘Hello, Alex. This is a… surprise. That you’re here and… that you remember us.’
‘He didn’t remember me,’ Heidi answered with a pout.
‘Your hair is a little different, straighter I think,’ Alex said first to Beth. Then he turned to face Heidi. ‘Now I remember… you were the one who danced with the man wearing the purple wig when I played Groove Armada on your last night here.’
‘Derek,’ Beth stated. She bent down to pick up her towel.
‘I really wish I could remember him,’ Heidi mused.
‘You really don’t,’ Beth said.
‘So, you are here again. After so long,’ Alex said.
Beth didn’t know where to look. She was fussing with the towel now, folding it up then unfolding it again. If she carried on doing this, she might have made it into a swan by the time she got herself together. It was just a coincidence that he was here. Corfu was a big island, wasn’t it?
‘Yes, two weeks in the sun, relaxing from our very stressful, very super-important jobs,’ Heidi continued.
‘The jewellery business is going well?’ Alex asked, all excited dark eyes and interest. Beth felt her stomach plummet. The jewellery business. He really did recall almost more about her twenty-one-year-old self than she did.
‘Investments. Helping rich people make even more money,’ Heidi elaborated. ‘And they definitely don’t pay us enough.’ She laughed.
‘What do you do now?’ Beth jumped in, discarding the towel on the edge of the kitchen worktop to her left. ‘Apart from fixing ceilings.’ She swallowed. ‘Do you still DJ?’
‘Yes,’ he answered immediately. ‘But I also have my own business.’
‘The building work?’
‘No,’ Alex replied. ‘The maintenance work is… like a hobby.’
‘Gosh,’ Heidi exclaimed. ‘A real restoration man.’
‘So, what is your business?’ Beth asked.
‘I produce… natural health and healing products.’
‘Oh my God!’ Heidi exclaimed. ‘That is amazing! Well, you must tell us more. I want to know everything! I’m totally into the detox and recharge mindset. And what’s good for the body is good for the soul, right?’
Natural health and healing? That wasn’t the man Beth recollected. Their nights together had been fuelled by local wine and spirits, pumping music that vibrated through her bones and the only healing that had been performed was the sexual kind. At that thought her libido limbo-ed and she picked up the towel again.
‘The products are made with kumquats. Kumquats are known for their ability to aid digestion and boost the immune system. They are also good for teeth, hair and the skin.’
Her crush had turned from a hot DJ into a sizzling scientist. Beth looked up, hoping for a whiff of breeze from the open front door. Anything to bring the burning sensation on her face under control.
‘We are making a juice, a nutrition bar and cream.’
‘Isn’t that amazing, Beth! An entrepreneur right here.’ Heidi winked.
‘I thought you wanted to work in Ibiza,’ Beth said. ‘Be the next Sash.’
She watched him swallow before he answered. ‘That was ten years ago.’ He smiled. ‘Dreams… they evolve.’
‘Don’t they just,’ Heidi interrupted. ‘So, can I get you a drink? I think we have one sachet of coffee we can share.’
‘No, but thank you,’ Alex replied. ‘I have to go. I will call someone about the ceiling. A builder with experience of a job this big.’
‘Well, is it safe?’ Heidi asked, as Alex stepped towards the door. ‘I mean, the rest of it isn’t going to come down anytime soon, is it?’
‘I will call him tonight. He will maybe come tomorrow.’
‘Oh… well, I suppose that’s OK.’
He was leaving. Beth put the towel down and followed Heidi to the entrance. She was intrigued to know what type of car a kumquat entrepreneur drove…
‘It was nice to see you again,’ Heidi called after him, waving a hand.
A Fiat Punto. It didn’t really shout success. She checked herself. She wasn’t materialistic. What was the matter with her? And why was she still holding the bloody towel?
‘I will send you a message when I have information from the builder.’
He had reached the car now and had opened the door. He was going and all Beth had said was one stupid comment about a DJ she used to listen to in her youth. What had even happened to Sash the DJ anyway?
‘Alex!’ Beth called on impulse.
He stopped and looked back. He really had got even more delicious. ‘What’s the name of your kumquat company?’
He smiled then. ‘Beth, I do not think any of my products could make you any more beautiful.’
Still as smooth. But her heart had just leapt up to the altitude they had flown half the flight at.
‘What about me?’ Heidi said. ‘And FYI, I’m expecting you to say I don’t need the creams either.’
‘Maybe you will both have to try the juice,’ Alex suggested. ‘For the health benefits. I could bring round a sample.’
He was going to come back. Bringing his dark eyes and fit body with him, obviously, as they were attached to him.
‘That would be fantastic,’ Heidi said. ‘Wouldn’t it, Beth?’ Her friend delivered a sharp elbow to her side.
‘Yes,’ Beth answered. ‘It’s… nice to see you.’
‘You too,’ Alex replied. He waved a hand then dipped down into the driver’s seat of the Fiat. The engine started and then he pulled away, beeping his horn as he departed.
Beth released a breath she hadn’t even realised she had been holding. She couldn’t believe her 21st summer had come crashing right into 2019.
‘Well,’ Heidi said, slipping an arm round Beth’s shoulders. ‘Forget Derek from Pontefract. If there’s one man who might just turn me straight, it’s the hotter-than-hot kumquat magnate there.’ She fanned her face. ‘Shame he’s only got eyes for you.’
Beth tutted and shook her head. ‘It’s a shame he couldn’t fix the ceiling.’ But deep inside, excited butterflies had started to dance like they were pulsating to a Calvin Harris track.
Ten
Pita Pita, Acharavi
Beth had never known that you could lose yourself in a gyros, but the evidence was right here and now. Meat juices were slithering down her chin, she had a combination of tzatziki and chilli sauce on her top lip and in her mouth were succulent pork pieces and hot, not-too-crispy chips together with a light fluffy pita bread the mixture was wrapped up in. If her mouth hadn’t been so full, she would be letting out an orgasmic moan of true appreciation.
‘Jesus,’ Heidi groaned, closing her eyes and sitting back in her chair as if she had inhaled food perfection itself. ‘This is taking me right back ten years.’ She opened her eyes again. ‘We practically lived on these things for two weeks, didn’t we? And before you say anything about the fat content… what happens in Greece doesn’t really count, does it?’ She whispered, ‘Please say no. Please say no.’
Heidi had slipped off the health wagon again already and still Beth could make no reply. Slightly overripe tomatoes were treating her taste buds now as she held her pita with one hand and sought a serviette with the other before the grease hit her clothes. They were sitting at a simple grill house on Ac
haravi main street, having embarked on a relatively long walk in search of groceries. With water, milk, bread, wine, more wine, ouzo and other essentials purchased and pooled in bags at their feet, they’d decided to sample the local fast-food before heading back to the beach house. It was getting dark now the sun had set, but the air was still hot, carrying that promise of anything-could-happen…
‘No, it doesn’t count,’ Beth finally responded.
Heidi sunk her teeth into her gyros and continued to speak with her mouth full. ‘So, we’re getting all the 2009 vibes today. Gyros and your DJ.’ She sighed. ‘A real blast from the past.’
‘I think saying “a blast from the past” shows our age.’
‘Ooo, sorry, Little Miss Popular Culture. Have I hit a nerve?’ Heidi asked.
‘What was it that was supposed to stay in Greece and not be reported to your “Cleanse from Within” group? Remind me, because I’ve forgotten.’
Heidi gasped, her gyros dropping to her plate. ‘Twenty-one-year-old Beth Martin is back!’
Beth smiled and shook her head. Being back in Corfu was definitely having some sort of effect. The sunshine and the water on her skin earlier, the delicious cuisine and the carefree attitude of everyone on the island they had encountered already. It wasn’t so much a different country, more a different planet. A much more relaxed, less-stressed environment than Planet London.
‘I think I’ve had too much wine,’ Beth admitted, putting the used serviette down on the table and picking up her glass to swig some more. ‘I’m starting not to care that half the ceiling of our holiday home has fallen down.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Heidi answered, picking up her glass of spritzer – because wine diluted with something non-alcoholic apparently made her feel better about the alcohol bit. She nudged their glasses together.
‘Speaking of spirits… we did get ouzo in the end, didn’t we?’
‘We did,’ Heidi replied. ‘A litre of it. Despite me telling you a smaller bottle might be more conducive to the walk back to Almyros.’
‘I’ll carry it,’ Beth offered.
‘And now I really know you’re trying to stop me talking about the DJ.’
Beth couldn’t stop the smile that moved her mouth. Ever since Alex had left the house, her brain had been battered with every recollection she had of their time together. There had been so many moments, all special in their own way. But the overriding memory of that time was how comfortable she had felt in her own skin. How deliciously unburdened and vital she had been. Her mum had been well then, with a job and a book club she enjoyed, and Beth had had options and choices, her life a blank canvas on which to paint whatever she wished. Investments and stock portfolios had never been planned. Coming back from her first visit to Corfu she had wanted to continue with her part-time position at the painting café – learning a little from Anna, the owner, who ran the pottery workshops – and look at other college courses, perhaps something more in-depth on jewellery design and business management. But then everything turned on its head.
‘He looked bloody gorgeous still,’ Heidi stated. ‘I mean, how he isn’t married is anyone’s guess.’
‘How do you know he isn’t married?’ Beth asked.
‘He wasn’t wearing a ring.’
‘You looked?’
‘I always look since you came back on the dating market.’
‘Who said I was on the dating market?’
‘Why wouldn’t you be?’
She swallowed as Planet London invaded her conscience and Stress Central kicked the laid-back Corfu vibe like an experienced rugby player. She had to move on, she knew that. But Heidi, despite all her ‘be the change you want to see in the world’ attitude, still thought Beth’s moving on should involve hitching up to the next single man.
‘Because maybe life isn’t all about being part of a double act.’
‘Tell that to the surviving Chuckle Brother.’
‘I just mean… moving on doesn’t have to mean “moving on top of”.’
Heidi picked up her pita-wrapped meat. ‘If only.’ She sunk her teeth into the food.
‘Well, that’s what I mean,’ Beth said, sitting forward a little, the humid air making the tiny hairs on her arms dance with the sensation. ‘Why don’t I focus on finding you someone?’
Heidi shook her head. ‘I told you. I’m done with one-night hook ups and women who think lesbianism is simply knowing all the lyrics to KD Lang songs.’ She breathed out, a twang of garlic hitting the air between them. ‘I want a soulmate.’
‘And who’s to say you might not find them in Corfu?’
‘We’re only here for two weeks. And I live in London.’
‘That’s being very narrow minded.’ Beth sniffed. ‘I saw how cheap our flights here were. If your soulmate is here it’s not going to break your bank flying over to see her or vice versa.’
‘Long-distance relationships never work. Look at… look at… why can’t I think of anyone I know who has had a long-distance relationship? Oh yes, that’s right, because they never work.’
‘Me and Charles,’ Beth suggested. ‘Half the week he was flying round Europe.’
‘Don’t get me wrong, Beth, but a divorce, no matter how acrimonious, isn’t a success story.’
‘We had some successful years though.’
‘Buying your way through Antiquities R Us and pretending to ski?’
‘We didn’t pretend to ski.’ Beth wrinkled her nose. ‘How do you even pretend to ski?’
‘Hmm, put on all the expensive clothing and pose for photos? Or just about manage to get off the chair lift and then get back on it again without your skis even touching a blue run?’
Beth folded her arms across her chest and looked indignant. It was true she hadn’t enjoyed the piste-life when they had dabbled in it with clients in Switzerland, but she had actually skied and enjoyed the Alpine air, if not the bruises she got from her boots. And Heidi was being very mean about her marriage. It bothered Beth that she was bothered.
‘We were happy… sometimes,’ Beth said.
‘You were as happy as you could be,’ Heidi stated.
Could Beth disagree with that? The answer was no. ‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘Perhaps we were simply that. As happy as we could be.’
‘Because he wasn’t your soulmate,’ Heidi added.
‘And now he has Kendra.’
‘She isn’t his soulmate either,’ Heidi said with a scoff. ‘She’s another passing fancy like…’ She stopped talking.
‘Like I was?’ Beth asked.
‘I didn’t mean that… well, not really,’ Heidi said quickly.
‘I don’t know how you managed to turn the conversation from me finding you a woman in Greece to the technicalities of my marriage to Charles.’
Heidi shrugged. ‘Classic avoidance techniques.’ She put a hand on Beth’s arm. ‘Like you trying to mate me off because you don’t want to talk about the DJ.’
Beth pulled a chip from her pita and put it into her mouth, savouring its texture and the hint of oregano dusting it. Once she had chewed and swallowed, she answered. ‘Can you stop calling him “the DJ”. His name’s Alex.’ Lex. Every time she even said that in her mind it sent a jolt of lust echoing through her.
‘And you’ve remembered that all these years… as if he were your soulmate.’
Beth laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I find it startling that he remembered us at all. I mean, I realise you got naked with him, but he must have got naked with hundreds of holidaymakers back in 2009… and before… and after. And he even remembered you wanted to start a jewellery business.’ Heidi grinned. ‘You must have put on quite a bedroom performance.’
‘Sun lounger actually,’ Beth replied, keeping a straight face and trying not to let her cheeks heat up with the memories. Heidi was always the more adventurous one. That summer in Corfu had been one of the only times she had abandoned all good sense and dived right into everything. Literally.
‘Do you regret not trying with the jewellery?’ Heidi asked.
Beth shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be making as much money as I do with investments.’
‘That wasn’t what I asked.’
She sighed then, her fingers slick with tzatziki as she absent-mindedly pulled her food apart, waving away a mosquito. ‘I didn’t get far enough to have a choice.’ It was hard to have regrets when every decision you had made had been about keeping your mum alive for as long as possible. What was a jewellery dream compared to that?
Heidi nodded soberly, then her expression changed to optimistic. ‘You do now though.’
Two bells chimed followed by a tinkling noise and Heidi looked to her phone before snatching it off the table. She made big eyes and looked at Beth. ‘It’s the DJ.’
Beth shook her head, dipping her cleaner hand into her handbag to retrieve her own phone. ‘Is our ceiling going to get fixed any time soon?’
‘He’s called the builder. He’s going to come and visit first thing.’ Heidi sighed. ‘That means lunchtime at least. I don’t want to wait in all day. We’re on holiday. I don’t want a 10-Minute Day Planner like I have at home.’
‘Text him back. Say we have plans.’ Beth looked at the screen of her phone. She had a message too. It was from Charles.
‘Shall I give the DJ your number instead?’
‘No!’
‘Who’s your text from? If it’s Tilly, tell her to get back to work.’
‘It’s past 6 p.m. in England. I hope she isn’t working.’ Beth clicked on the message and tried to remember the last time Charles had texted her. It had to be almost a year. Although amicable, most of their contact after the separation had been either professionally in the office, via their solicitors, or through the occasional email between them outside of work. It wasn’t like they had children to keep unaffected, or even a pet, although Charles had insisted on keeping the urban botanical plants dotted round the Bermondsey house. And she hadn’t insisted on anything except her mother’s home.
Beth, I met with James Graves today. He asked to rearrange his share portfolio, add in something more ethical. I was thinking solar energy in Africa but wanted to run it past you. He is also looking for a start-up company to really get behind. Something new and exciting. How is Greece? Is it all kebabs and houmous?