‘Not my right.’ She shrugs irresponsibly.
Ah. I can see there’s going to be a more cavalier approach to safety than I’m used to on the cruiseships. Nevertheless, I smile cheerily as I go to introduce myself: ‘Hi, I’m—’
‘The first five are ready to go,’ she cuts me off, no interest in pleasantries.
‘Right!’ I turn around to greet them but they’ve already started grabbing at random lifejackets. ‘Hold on, that’ll be way too big for you, try this,’ I tell the first girl. ‘You can adjust the buckles,’ I advise the boy who’s about to discard his good fit. ‘Erm, you might want to go up a size,’ I encourage the curvaceous creature whose boobs are up by her chin on account of her lifejacket having a corset effect.
Already I can hear Alekos calling impatiently for me to get them in the water. Apparently this is to be treated as a lifeboat drill rather than a leisure activity. ‘Jump!’ I tell them. ‘Now!’
As they flounder around trying to board the mattress, Alekos reminds me to keep note of the numbers.
‘Could I borrow your pen for a second?’ I ask the rep.
‘I need it,’ she says, without looking up.
‘Literally just for a second,’ I persist.
‘Ask at the bar,’ she gruffs.
I forgive her curtness, deciding she’s probably had the hangover from Hades since the summer season began. Besides, the next five customers are already in line.
‘Medium,’ says one girl, optimistically.
‘Why don’t you try this one, they come up on the small side,’ I say, feeling terrible that I’m having to hand her an XL.
It’s equally awkward when a shrimpy guy can barely fill the children’s size. All his beefy mates tease him and knock him around, in that adorable way men do. I can’t help but wonder if any of them are pals of the male Shirley Valentine – or MSV, as I shall call him until I find out his real name . . .
‘Next!’ Alekos is back and apparently one of the girls from the first ride has taken a shine to him as she has now transferred into the boat for the next round. Naturally she is the one with the jiggliest boobs and smallest bikini. All I can do is congratulate myself on having the good judgement not to have succumbed to the bare-chested temptation of him last night. Being involved with him in this situation would be a living nightmare – he couldn’t be surrounded by more willing, inhibition-free flesh.
I realise just how much they’ve had to drink when one good-looking blond even tries to get a bit frisky with me.
‘Can you do up the buckles for me?’ he asks, oh-so-coyly.
‘Of course.’ I play straight into his hands as he then starts to gyrate and give me a standing lap-dance.
‘Alright, that’s enough!’ I bark.
‘Can you come with me?’ he says wrapping his arms around my back. ‘I need something to hold on to!’
Out of the corner of my eye I see Alekos beckoning to me. Extracting myself, I lean over the side to get my next set of instructions but instead he says, ‘I see you – flirting with him.’
‘I wasn’t—’ I go to protest but Alekos has found the perfect way to get back at me – blowing a kiss at a girl who’s lifting up her tankini top for him. Nice.
‘Listen,’ he calls to me as I turn away in disgust, ‘my father is coming in another boat with the banana. Do the same for him but keep the list separate.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got it. The banana takes six, get them ready now.’
No sooner has he gone, than Petros draws up.
‘Yassou, Selena!’
From this point on its mayhem. Dripping bodies are coming and going, flinging down lifejackets willy-nilly, totally disregarding my size system. I’m trying to get everyone kitted out well in advance but the majority of girls appear to have ordered their bodies from the petite catalogue and there’s rarely enough smalls to go round.
‘You’ll have to wait until the next lot come back and then have one of theirs,’ I find myself explaining to at least one of each group.
‘What?’ they gasp horrified – from the look on their faces you’d think I’d just told them there was no more room in the lifeboat.
As a result I get adept at unclipping those reboarding with one hand and passing the jacket to the appropriate body with the other. Having handled so many sopping items, I am now soaked through.
‘There you go, one extra-small.’ I hand the lifejacket to an Eva Longoria cupcake of a girl in a sparkly thong.
‘Ewww, it’s all wet,’ she complains, apparently having missed the point of a watersport activity.
Wow! Her bottom is minuscule, I can’t help but note as she steps over the side. Mine was never that size even when I was four. And look at that guy’s arms – you could paddle all the way back to the mainland with them.
It’s hard not to check out all the bodies lurching around me. The vast majority of girls have figures I would kill for. I’m always telling myself that I’m not alone in my all-too-human imperfections but the statistics on board don’t bear me out. Mind you, they are a fair few years younger than me. And what of their personalities? I can’t help but register that some of the most stunning girls are also the spikiest and the ones with the sweeter temperaments start to look a lot prettier after a brief exchange. Equally the boys with the hottest bods disappointingly have egos and attitudes in direct proportion to their biceps. With one notable exception – one tall, brown-eyed vision has the best manners on the whole boat. Luke. He’s so darn nice I want to tell him to jump right now – and to keep swimming till he reaches dry land. I can’t bear to think of him being corrupted by the rougher element on the boat, and by that I mean the girls, like this one with a big scab on her chin where she no doubt fell face-first into the kerb last night. Whereas everyone else comes back from the ride bedraggled but exhilarated she loudly declares, ‘That was shit.’
Though judging by the rest of her conversation, I think that’s her idea of an endorsement.
‘Ohhh, I’m so scared!’ whimpers one cute freckle-faced girl. ‘What if I come off?’
‘You’ll be fine,’ I assure her. ‘Just make sure you sit in the middle and get a firm grip on the handles.’
‘Is it as bad as it looks?’
I daren’t reveal I haven’t tried it myself – hardly confidence-instilling – so I tell her instead it’ll be an unforgettable holiday memory.
Rather like the guy with the cropped hair who’s just thrown up to my left.
‘Will the couple who are currently shagging on the top deck –’ the rep pauses for dramatic effect, ‘please carry on so we can all come and watch!’
I imagine the only person in danger of being asked to leave the ship is me – for being over the age limit. As is Alekos, I console myself as I hear two girls commenting on what they’d like to do with him and a tub of tzatziki.
‘Next group!’
Oh god, the banana’s back again. I count my six into the sea and then run back to the bar to write down the numbers, realising I haven’t logged the last outing. Now is it the fifth or sixth round for the mattress? I’m normally so on top of things but I’m not used to working with a soundtrack that is the musical equivalent of the Kama Sutra. If only I had my little clicker with me. And a pair of earplugs.
As I correct my notes, I find myself eyeing the spirits behind the bar. If I had any money on me I’d do a swift shot to un-twang my nerves.
‘Right, ladies, who’s next?’
Two groups of five promptly get into a screaming match, both insisting they’re first. I try to soothe them but it’s like trying to be heard over a double dose of Girls Aloud.
‘Okay, more of the group to my right have got their lifejackets on so they’re going first,’ I tell the group to my left.
‘It’s not fair! We paid first. We’re on the list first!’ they protest agitatedly.
‘It’s just a matter of minutes,’ I reason.
‘No way. We’re first.’ The ringleader reache
s to spring her counterpart from her lifejacket.
It all gets pretty nasty, with one group being a lot more foul-mouthed and aggressive to the other. And then one girl stings me with the cruellest insult, snapping: ‘You need to be better organised!’
Excuse me?
I waste no time signalling to Alekos to give the nice girls extra time, and the baddies a good dunking.
This is fun! I never get to play revenge games on the ship.
My formerly high standards have now settled to a level befitting my circumstance. At one point I have no choice but to kit out a guy in a lifejacket two sizes too big.
‘This doesn’t fit right,’ he complains.
With Alekos baying for bodies, I have no time to cosset him. ‘You can swim, can’t you?’ I ask him.
‘Yes,’ he confirms.
‘Well, then, what’s the problem?’ I say as I nudge him overboard.
An hour later we are done. I am absolutely exhausted.
As I collapse back into the speedboat in a nest of lifejackets Alekos attempts to high-five me but I haven’t the strength. Besides, I don’t feel like completing any action that would fit with the word ‘Dude!’
‘How are you feeling?’ he asks as we whip through the water, heading back to base.
Spent. Sullied. Wronged.
‘Like I need a drink!’ I admit.
‘A strong one?’
‘A very, very strong one.’
‘I think you need raki,’ he opines.
‘Whatever you say.’
He grins smugly. ‘That’s right, I know best!’
‘You know breast, that’s for sure,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘Nothing, it’s just the booze cruise talking. I feel like I need to undergo some kind of purification process.’
‘The raki will do that,’ he promises. ‘It cures all ills.’
And you know what? He’s right.
8
‘Experience, travel – these are as education in themselves.’ – Euripides
‘So let me get this straight!’ Jules is summarising my day back to me. ‘He flashed you before you’d even had breakfast, then he took you on a booze cruise where women were flashing him, and now he’s trying to get you drunk?’
‘No, I’m trying to get me drunk,’ I correct her. ‘He’s trying to get me to take tiny little sips between food, which is really good by the way – there’s this thing called dakus, it’s a bit like bruschetta but the hunks of bread are really coarse and crunchy and they sprinkle feta on top of the diced tomatoes—’
‘Yeah, yeah – if we could just flash-back – pardon the pun – to the nakedness, I need details!’
‘Well, I can’t get too anatomical,’ I say casting a furtive glance around the other diners – I’ve just grabbed this chance to call Jules while Alekos is chatting with the owner of Peuko (meaning Pinenut in Greek), a cute street-corner bar with al fresco tables on the slant leading down to the sea. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing – he has a really sweet tooth.’
‘Only you, Selena, could behold a naked man and be checking out his teeth!’
‘I mean his taste in desserts is impeccable,’ I say, thinking of last night’s kataifi and this morning’s cream pie and now the backlava that has just arrived on the table.
‘Sounds like he’s found your weak spot . . .’ Jules tuts.
‘You don’t have to worry,’ I say, taking another slug of the lethal liquid. ‘I would never succumb. Not that he’s not attractive. Really attractive,’ I say as I watch Alekos weaving through the tables towards me. ‘But he totally knows it.’
‘Is that a crime? I’m gorgeous and I know it and you don’t hate me!’
‘Oop, gotta go!’ I clip the phone closed as he sits back down beside me. ‘Can I have another?’ I hold up my glass to the waiter.
‘Was it really that bad today?’ Alekos looks concerned.
‘I believe I am now officially allowed to use the word harrowing. I’ll tell you something though – it’s made me realise just how much I love old people.’
Alekos smiles, offering me a little toast. ‘Well, I thought you did a great job.’
‘I didn’t. Apparently I wasn’t organised enough.’ I pull a face.
‘Who said that?’
‘The girl with the Shrek tattoo.’
‘The one you asked me to drown?’
‘Not drown, dunk!’ I clarify. ‘You didn’t, did you?’
‘Of course, ditched the whole lot of them.’
‘Oh I love you!’ I exclaim.
‘What?’
Oh no I didn’t. My cheeks instantly rage red.
‘Interesting how people tell the truth after a few drinks . . .’ He gives me a knowing look.
‘That’s not the truth, it’s a figure of speech.’
‘Whatever you say.’
I look away desperately trying to reverse the progress of the alcohol through mind power alone. Perhaps I did drink too much too fast but the warming sensation was so irresistible! When I sneak a look back at Alekos I see him wincing as he attempts to shift his arm.
‘Is your hand hurting?’
‘A little. I jolted it around a bit today.’
‘You probably shouldn’t be doing half of what you are doing,’ I note, a little after the fact.
‘Probably not,’ he concedes. ‘You all set?’
‘Are we leaving?’
‘I thought you said you were exhausted?’
‘I am. To the degree that I was actually planning on sleeping right here in this chair.’ I honestly don’t think I have it in me to get up, not without a stumble at least.
‘Well, I just need to get a newspaper from the store.’ He nods across the street. ‘Join me when you’re ready.’
‘Okay!’ I wave him off and then down a whole glass of water and snaffle all the leftovers on the table in a desperate bid to absorb the excess raki in my system. If he needs undressing again tonight I could be in real trouble . . .
When I do make it over to the shop, Alekos is yapping intently to the owner so I start leafing through a book on Greek mythology, getting quite involved in a story about the creation of the world’s first woman – Pandora – though it takes me twice as long to read, what with the words merging in and out of focus.
‘Do you want that?’ Alekos calls over to me.
I nod and then lurch over to the till.
‘Anything else?’
‘Perhaps something for breakfast?’ It’s then I notice his line-up of yoghurt, cereal, juices, et al. ‘Oh. You seem to have that covered.’
He pays for everything and then guides me to the car. I am so ready for bed now, I suspect I’ll be climbing the staircase on my hands and knees.
‘Is this the right way?’ I query as we seem to be turning off way too early.
‘Well, that all depends on where you want to go.’
‘Do you ever take a night off from being a smartass?’ I querie.
‘Not often,’ he admits as he pulls over into a shadowy car park and switches off the engine.
‘Where are we?’ I ask, checking for cars with steamed-up windows, but we’re the only vehicle around.
‘Still in Plaka. I just wanted to show you the beach here; it’s such a lovely spot.’ He gets out of the car and heads towards some trees.
‘What is it with you and sightseeing in the pitch-black darkness?’ I despair as I stumble after him.
‘Tonight is clear so it will be brighter,’ he insists, continuing onwards.
I want to tell him that I’m simply too tired and blurry to care but decide it’ll be quicker to coo a few compliments than argue with him.
‘Careful!’ he cautions my bare feet as I stumble along the wooden slats leading to this most secretive and sheltered cove. As I come to a halt behind him, a few metres from the water’s edge, he sighs, ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
I was planning to say, ‘Yes, yes, lovely, now can we go
?’ but the sincerity in his voice stalls me.
I don’t know many men who pause in awe of nature like Alekos does. So many of my co-workers would barely give our surroundings a cursory glance – once they’ve gone around the block a few times they’re all too blasé. I like the way he takes the time to show due appreciation. There’s a stillness and tranquillity to him now that I was unaware of on the ship. I feel as though my own heartbeat is slowing, encouraging me to take a moment to look around me . . .
With the piercing bright stars, black sky and liquid-platinum waters, I feel like I’m contemplating a monochrome set for an old musical number. I almost expect to look up and see Pierrot swinging his satin pumps from his moon perch.
It’s hard to ignore all the cues that would normally lead to a kiss – there’s even some soft music wending through the leaves of the trees – but I find that picturing all the other women Alekos has no doubt brought here helps to kill the mood.
‘One day I’d like to sit here all night, not saying a word, just waiting for the sun to come up.’ He turns to me. ‘You’re very quiet . . .’
‘I’m fine,’ I grunt. ‘Meanwhile, the yoghurts are going off in the back of the car!’
He bursts out laughing, defeated. ‘Okay. I get it. Let’s go home.’
Home. He said it so naturally, like it was a place we both shared. Which, I suppose in a weird way, we do right now.
‘Are you coming?’ he asks.
‘I’ll be there in one minute.’
Just because I have a ‘no funny business’ policy with the man who brought me here doesn’t mean I don’t want to revel in the romance of this setting. I take a step forward and tune in to the swish and sigh of the waves as they overturn a few pebbles in their wake. Breathing in, breathing out . . .
‘Selena?’
Apparently my sixty seconds are up.
Back at the Cretan love shack, as I like to call it, I quickly check that I won’t be recalled for further duties: ‘You don’t need your bandage changing or anything, do you?’ I squint at him.
‘Not until tomorrow.’
‘And clothing-wise, nothing peeled off or unbuttoned?’
He assesses his outfit. ‘I think I can manage. Unless you have a Velcro fetish?’ He studies his fly.
Out of the Blue Page 10