Out of the Blue

by Belinda Jones

  ‘Lately . . .’ he repeats.

  I can’t look him in the eye so I stare out to sea as I say, ‘I’ve thought about stopping but I’m not sure I know how to. In fact, I may have passed the point where I could.’ My eyes flick to him for just a second. ‘I understand your bond with this place but nowhere feels like home to me any more. And I don’t mean that in a self-pitying way!’ I try to shrug off my emotion. ‘I just think, ultimately, I belong in transit.’ I conclude with what I hope is a confident smile but I know I’m not convincing.

  ‘So long as you’re happy,’ he says, before husking: ‘Are you?’

  I take an elongated breath. Alekos is the last person I’d expect to get deep and meaningful before noon.

  Nevertheless, I look him in his green eyes and say in all honesty, ‘I have no idea.’

  7

  ‘You can discover more about a person in an hour of play than in a year of conversation.’ – Plato

  ‘Melon!’ I suddenly exclaim.

  ‘What?’ It takes Alekos a second to realise I am urging him to resume his demonstration. ‘Oh, yes.’ He picks up a fork. ‘Are you ready?’

  ‘Absolutely!’ I chirp, keen to move on from the soul-searching. ‘If the melon’s ready, I’m ready!’

  Having reminded himself which plate the magic card was under, he bids me taste the untampered section first.

  I concentrate hard – ‘Mmm-hmm, juicy, nice . . .’ – wondering if I’ll be able to spot any difference on cue.

  ‘Now try this one.’

  I do so with a degree of suspicion.

  ‘Well?’

  I speak cautiously. ‘I could be imagining this but the flavour seems stronger, more intense.’

  He looks delighted. ‘Exactly! It’s called a vitalisation card and it restores the fruit to its original freshness, as if it had just been picked.’

  ‘How is that possible?’ I gasp as I inspect the groovings etched on the metal card.

  ‘Well, it is encoded with the harmonising frequencies of oxygen and sunlight . . .’

  The second he starts talking biosystems and reactivation, all I hear is blah-blah-blah. But I can’t deny what my tastebuds are telling me.

  ‘So does it just work on melon?’ I want to know.

  ‘No, all fruit and salad – you can put it in the fridge to keep vegetables fresh, it even revives flowers, keeps them blooming longer. You can really taste the difference with wine, white especially, it makes it smoother somehow. We’ll have some later and you’ll see.’

  ‘What about water?’

  ‘Yes, we can try that now,’ he says, slopping out two samples.

  ‘And this is really how you see yourself making your fortune?’

  He doesn’t strike me as a high-tech Del Boy type. But then he explains that he’s really just helping a friend spread the word.

  ‘If you discover something good, you want to share it, don’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ I nod in agreement. ‘And for the record – I’m sold. Aside from all the revitalising properties, it makes a great party trick!’

  ‘Excusez-moi?’ a French voice interrupts us with a modicum of concern, probably wondering why we are staring so intently at a glass of water. ‘We would like the boat ride to Spinalonga?’

  ‘Of course!’ Alekos jumps at the first business of the day. ‘You alright holding the fort?’ he checks with me as he grabs the appropriate set of keys.

  ‘Of course, but are you alright driving a speedboat with one hand?’ I ask out of the corner of my mouth.

  ‘The ride won’t be so smooth but I’ll get them there.’ He turns to find the girl strapping on a lifejacket. Did she hear our exchange?

  ‘Are you planning to waterski on the way?’ Alekos enquires.

  ‘I don’t swim,’ she explains nervously. ‘Is okay, yes?’

  ‘Bien sûr,’ I assure her, stepping forward to find her a better fit.

  ‘You could learn right now,’ he says, motioning to the water. ‘It’s very shallow here, no waves. Want to try?’

  ‘Non, non.’ She backs away, plainly terrified.

  ‘Go on,’ he says, reaching for her.

  ‘Aleko, leave her alone!’ I tut, knowing all too well how intimidating he can be in persuasion mode. ‘I’m sorry about him.’ I roll my eyes at the boyfriend, telling him in French that sometimes Alekos’ enthusiasm can come across a little bullish.

  ‘What are you saying?’ Alekos’ eyes narrow at me.

  ‘I just told them you want everyone to enjoy the water as much as you do.’ I smile sweetly.

  He goes to speak again but I shut him up with a simple, ‘Just drive the boat!’

  That boy needs a taste of his own bossiness and apparently I might be just the person to oblige!

  It’s weird to find myself completely in charge of the business within an hour of arriving at the beach and I set about speed-reading every scrap of literature in the desk drawers before giving myself a quick test on the price list. Got that down at least. I smile encouragingly as a family stroll past but forgo the hard sell, not least because I can’t recognise their accent. There seems to be quite a mix here. Quite an appropriate international setting for me to do some editing.

  I open my laptop ready to get going only to discover that the mature student has prised his nose from his book and is now standing beside the desk.

  ‘Um. Do you speak English?’ he begins uncertainly.

  ‘Pretty well, yes,’ I tell him.

  ‘Great.’ He takes a bolstering breath. ‘I was wondering if I might hire a kayak.’

  ‘Of course. That’s ten euros an hour.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ he says, handing me the money.

  We both stand there. It’s hard to get a proper look at him with his floppy hat and sunglasses – I’m basically addressing a broad, friendly-looking mouth.

  ‘So?’ He looks expectantly at me.

  ‘Go ahead, help yourself.’ I smile encouragingly. ‘Pick any one you like the look of!’

  He hesitates. ‘I don’t want to sound a complete imbecile but I actually haven’t done this before.’

  Ah.

  ‘Okay. Well.’ I walk boldly over to them. ‘Let’s get one in the water and take it from there.’

  We slide in the one featuring the greenish palette and then contemplate it again.

  ‘Is there a best way to mount it?’ he enquires, edging into the water, T-shirt and all.

  ‘We’re very freestyle here.’ I shrug. ‘No rules!’

  ‘You don’t know, do you?’ He susses me.

  ‘No clue,’ I crumple, realising I can fake it no longer. ‘Sorry! It’s my first day.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he smiles kindly, ‘it’s my first holiday so I really don’t know any better.’

  ‘This is your first holiday?’ I gasp. Though I can only judge him by his jawline, he’s got to be at least thirty.

  ‘Well, my first abroad. I mean, obviously you can get kayaks in England, I just never have – my daughters are strictly lilo girls.’

  ‘Are they with you?’ I look around. ‘Your daughters?’

  ‘No. They were supposed to be but they’re in Disneyland. With their mother.’

  ‘Ohh – she made them a better offer?’ I joke, in what I hope is not terrible taste.

  ‘Fairy castles trump sandcastles,’ he confirms.

  I nod. Not sure what to say next; all my follow-up questions seem too nosy and personal. I return my attention to the kayak.

  ‘Perhaps if I hold it steady, you can just clamber on? Let me just do a quick change . . .’

  I nip back to the shelter to drop my skirt – board-shorts at the ready underneath – and then wade in beside him. The water really is so refreshing and this time I even go so far as to splash a little on my arms while I have the chance.

  ‘Right! Let’s give this a go.’

  There then follow several bungled attempts to board. First off he tries to jog himself on, bottom first, but slides
directly off. With increased force he goes right over the other side. He tries to lift one leg over but it turns into an ungainly hopping motion that, too, ends in a dunking and some strainage.

  ‘Do you know, we might be better off waiting until my colleague gets back,’ I decide, concerned at the amount of bruises he could be notching up on my watch.

  ‘Or we could just pretend it never happened.’

  ‘No, no, we’ll get there,’ I insist. I can’t have my first customer going home unsatisfied. ‘So what made you pick Greece for your first outing?’ I try to distract him with chit-chat.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t exactly my choice. My wife, my ex-wife,’ he corrects himself, ‘booked this villa for us last year and then . . . some things changed,’ he says, choosing his words carefully, ‘but she insisted I come anyway and bring some friends, which I did.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘But they found Elounda a little quiet and so they’ve relocated to Malia.’

  ‘Oh no!’ I can’t help groan.

  ‘I tried it for a night but . . .’ He pulls a face. ‘They forget that I’ve spent years being vomited on as the parent of two daughters with delicate stomachs, the novelty of adults spewing up is lost on me.’

  ‘Oh don’t!’ I shake my head, thinking what a horrendous impression of Brits abroad that would be for a newbie. ‘I think you’re much better off staying here.’

  He nods. ‘I’m ticking off the sights – Lake Voulismini yesterday, Knossos tomorrow, but today I thought I’d humiliate myself with some watersports.’

  I chuckle along with him and then suddenly I feel sad. This is his first ever trip abroad, he thought it was going to be all good, clean family fun but his wife and kids ditched him for Disneyland and so he came with his mates probably expecting some beer and bonding and they ditched him too. I wish there was something I could do to guarantee him at least one memorable day but looking at the unfamiliar props I’ve got to work with I’m stumped.

  And then a thought crosses my mind. ‘How long before you go back to England?’

  ‘I’ve got another week,’ he says, looking slightly daunted.

  ‘Ever been octopus hunting?’ I find myself asking.

  ‘Wh-what? No!’ He laughs.

  ‘Well, if my colleague’s hand gets better before you go we should do that.’

  ‘Really?’ He looks unconvinced.

  ‘Yeah, it’s always good to try something you’ve never done before when you’re abroad, something you wouldn’t get the chance to do when you’re at home.’

  He nods before tentatively offering, ‘We did try some Greek dancing, me and my friends, on the first night we were here . . .’

  ‘How did that go?’

  ‘Well,’ he looks ever more sheepish, ‘they were a bit wrong-footed but I had been practising before I came away.’

  My eyes widen.

  ‘Well, you see all these sportsmen on Strictly Come Dancing . . .’ He looks embarrassed.

  ‘No, I think it’s brilliant!’ I assure him. ‘I’m just curious about how you went about practising, other than mimicking the moves in Zorba the Greek!’

  ‘That’s exactly what I did – that scene where Anthony Quinn teaches Alan Bates to dance? Brilliant! I watched anything and everything set in Greece before I came out here – Never On Sunday, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, Mamma Mia . . . I’m sounding gayer by the second, aren’t I?’ He laughs at himself, giving me the confidence to venture, ‘How about Shirley Valentine?’

  ‘Of course!’ he enthuses. ‘It’s a classic.’

  ‘Did you relate to it at all?’ Curiosity wins over discretion. (I have to know – it sounds like he ended up living the very life I was hell-bent on avoiding – housebound with kids, foreign holidays a distant dream!)

  ‘Well, my situation was a little different,’ he says, expanding. ‘My wife wasn’t holding me back from going abroad, it’s just that she travelled so much with her job she couldn’t bear the thought of any more flights on her time off, which I can understand. And with young kids . . .’

  I nod vigorously; he shouldn’t feel like he has to justify himself to me.

  ‘As far as the rest of the film goes, I guess I’ve been ditched by my mates but I’m still waiting for my female Costas to come along!’

  I laugh delightedly, brimming with a million more questions, but suddenly I become aware of my own Greek bristling beside me.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Alekos asks, so gruff he sounds almost accusatory.

  ‘We were just trying to work out how to board the kayak!’ We both titter at our lack of know-how.

  Alekos does not. ‘You’re in too deep, bring it shallower and hold it steady,’ he orders me, wasting no time on pleasantries. ‘Now you grip here,’ he tells male Shirley. ‘Bring your leg over. There.’ He nods to me to hand over the paddle.

  ‘Is there anything else he should know before he heads off?’

  ‘Just paddle steady, avoid going in front of any boats or swimmers and stay away from the rocks.’

  ‘Okay, see you in an hour!’ I pat the tail to send him on his way. ‘What?’ I squeak as Alekos continues to give me a stern look. ‘He’s all by himself, I was just trying to be nice.’

  ‘When I come back with the boat, I need someone to throw the rope to pull her back in to the jetty. I was calling to you.’

  ‘Oh. Sorry. I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘Also, you’re not going to get much editing done if you chat that much with everyone.’

  Aha! So he is a little jealous. ‘I’m a very service-orientated person,’ I try to explain as we head back to HQ.

  ‘And that’s very nice but just remember, we’ll be away most of the afternoon.’

  Ah yes, the mystery 3 p.m. excursion. Since reading the tour leaflets I suspect he might be sneaking me off to the sunken city of Olous. It sounds so mystical and romantic – if I was a womaniser, that’s where I’d take me. Of course I do have my editing to be getting on with but technically I have nearly seven more weeks to complete it when I get back to England and, really, a good shore excursions rep has to experience everything her clients might have an interest in first-hand . . .

  The next few hours pass relatively uneventfully: when Alekos returns with the French Spinalonga trippers I make sure I’m there to catch the rope. When male Shirley wobbles back into view I congratulate him on another first and then resume my post at the desk. I do mildly offend one man by offering him pink flippers instead of black but generally things go pretty smoothly.

  Finally, there’s a lull. I’m just watching my laptop screen flick back to life when Alekos kneels beside me with a grave look on his face.

  ‘The time has come.’

  ‘For what?’ I palpitate. Something in his tone suggests skinny-dipping with sharks. But in fact it’s far worse . . .

  ‘The booze cruise.’ His voice curdles.

  I look at my watch – 3 p.m. already! This is our afternoon delight? ‘We’re going on a booze cruise?’ My brows interlock in confusion.

  ‘Not exactly. Well, I suppose technically you are . . .’

  I quickly shut down my computer, aware that I need to be clear about what I’m letting myself in for.

  ‘Basically, the party boat sets out from Malia for an afternoon cruise and then stops in the middle of the bay so we can meet them and offer rides on the inflatables. In a few minutes we’re going to load up the speedboat with lifejackets and head out to the party ship, dragging the mattress and a squid behind us. We tie the one we’re not using to the side of the boat. You board—’

  ‘I board?’ Oh I don’t know if I like the sound of this – do I really want to be left unattended at a floating retsina-fuelled rave?

  ‘Your job is to assign the lifejackets and tell the people when to jump in the water ready for the ride. The rep will take the money – ten euros a person – so you just need to keep a note of how many people take rides and then tally up at the end. Do you think you’ll be able to manage?’<
br />
  ‘What kind of numbers are we dealing with?’

  ‘Well, I don’t have the figures for the passengers on board but we won’t be taking out more than a hundred, total.’

  ‘Oh that’s alright,’ I sigh, relieved, reminding him I’ve dealt with way more than that on the cruiseship – when we gather all the day-trippers in the theatre, there can be up to eight hundred going off in all different directions.

  ‘Of course these may be a little livelier than you’re used to.’

  ‘And a lot drunker. I know.’

  ‘I’m sorry to have to subject you to this but it’s the best money-earner our business has.’ Alekos looks quite earnest in his apology.

  ‘It’s fine, I’ll be fine,’ I assure him.

  ‘Good girl,’ he praises my bravado. ‘Come on, let’s lock up your computer and get going.’

  I feel like a rogue pirate attempting an upgrade to a bigger ship as Alekos aligns the speedboat with the booze cruise ladder and bids me climb aboard. I pause a moment on the top step feeling like I should flail my beaded dreadlocks, brandish a sword and announce that they’re all under my command now, but there’s no time – Alekos has already started hurling the lifejackets up to me in clusters according to size. Next comes a rope attached to the squid.

  ‘Tie it around there!’ He motions to one of the metal girders. I hear him tell me to knot it a certain way but the adjectives are lost to the sea.

  ‘What? How?’ I fiddle around ineffectually until a swarthy Greek man appears and ties it properly for me.

  ‘Epharisto,’ I mumble, getting back in position.

  Only now do I get a proper look at the twentysomethings thronging around me getting booze literally funnelled down their necks by a man in a fluorescent lime Borat costume. I do a double-take – the straps stretching up from his groin to his shoulders are so taut it looks as though he’s planning to slingshot his own genitals into the sky. I’ve never felt more prim or sober. The sound system is already deafening and distorted and now the rep is bellowing into her mike announcing that the joy-riding is about to commence.

  ‘So if you’re going to jump off the boat do it on the right-hand side or you could get mowed down by a speedboat.’

  ‘The speedboat is on the right-hand side,’ one of the more savvy chaps points out.