Out of the Blue

by Belinda Jones

  ‘Ewww! Gross!’ I recoil from the sensation of his tongue. ‘What did you do that for?’

  ‘It’s my ice cream,’ he reasons with a twinkle.

  ‘On my arm!’ I protest.

  ‘I didn’t want to waste any!’

  I roll my eyes at him before flouncing off to the water’s edge to clean myself up. There was a time when I would have slapped him for less. Yet in this context his behaviour seems more playful than salacious. Especially when, as I crouch down to swish my fingers in the cool water, I notice a bright red plastic clothing peg sticking out from the side of my shirt.

  ‘What the—’

  I look back and see Alekos tittering. ‘I did that!’ he calls, sounding no more than six years old.

  I turn away so he can’t see my smile. My initial thought is to remove the peg but then I hesitate – something about it has the sweetness of a school playground love token. I sigh and rifle through a handful of pebbles, concentrating on the detailing of each one. This is a little something I do when I’m feeling overwhelmed – I focus on minutiae. It usually helps calm me, stops my mind from racing to places it shouldn’t go . . .

  Business picks up after lunch and already I’m grateful that Ben is here to lift the kayaks in and out of the water, not to mention answer any windsurf questions. Even by Alekos’ admission, that is his brother’s forte, not his. He’s all about monoskiing, another thing he’ll show me just as soon as his hand is better.

  Which reminds me. ‘You never did tell me how you damaged your wrist . . .’ I prompt him as we prepare for the multiple inflatable booking.

  Alekos wipes his brow and heaves a sigh. ‘I wish I had some dramatic story about catching a passenger who fell overboard and for nearly an hour holding them dangling – my powerful hand the only thing between him and the icy depths . . .’

  ‘Not quite so heroic?’

  He shakes his head. ‘It was just a silly accident. Don’t make me tell you.’

  I look at him. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Okay?’ He does a double-take.

  ‘Yeah, it’s no big deal.’ After him letting me off the hook with the speedboat, this is the least I can do. ‘Come on.’ I nudge him. ‘Let’s see how loud we can make these kids scream.’

  Naturally one ride is not enough so each little tinker gets a second turn (with even louder screamage). Consequently, come 4 p.m., we find ourselves dragging. Fortunately, there follows a lull and Alekos intends to take full advantage of it – leaving Ben in charge and positioning two sunloungers under the tree at the water’s edge and inviting me to join him. I notice the metal frames are perfectly aligned, creating a double-bed effect, but accept that this is the only way to fit both in the shade.

  ‘The breeze here is heavenly,’ I acknowledge as I approach.

  ‘It’s the coolest spot at the beach,’ he informs me as he collapses on to the lounger nearest the tree.

  Almost instantly, he’s out.

  I sit down on the edge of mine, wondering if I’ll be able to surrender to sleep in such an exposed environment. At least I can rest my eyes, I decide as I recline, tuning into the lap of the water, the distant sound of children playing and some island commentary wafting in from a pleasure boat. Gradually I feel myself drifting . . . and then something lands on my chest with a thud.

  At first I think one of the lifejackets has dropped from the tree on me but then I realise it’s Alekos’ right hand. Instead of throwing it off me with a karate move and a curse, I study his position – he’s rolled over on to his side and flung his arm over in my direction. As if we were in bed together. And yet the motion is entirely innocent – he’s fast asleep.

  Without wishing to disturb him, I coax his hand upwards, a little closer to my collarbone in the name of public decency, but I don’t remove it. It feels oddly comforting to breath in and out feeling his weighty connection to me. And I don’t have to worry about him reading anything into this because he’s not conscious. For five minutes I lie still and then surreptitiously I turn my head so I can take in his face. We haven’t been this close since the plane.

  Is it possible that I’ve read Alekos wrong and that he’s actually a good guy? He does have his infuriating, brusque side but I was unaware of his other more fun qualities on the ship. I suppose he had to maintain a sense of decorum there, yet I must say I prefer this more relaxed, natural version of him.

  As I shift again, the clothes peg digs in me. A-ha! The perfect chance to get him back. Oh-so-slowly I unclip it and then reach over and pinch it to the cuff of his boardshorts. But as I remove my hand, it falls on to his leg and his eyes flicker open – caught in the act!

  I bite my lip nervously, fearing what mischief this might unleash, but he just smiles sleepily at me and husks, ‘You love me a little bit, don’t you?’

  My heart is beating wildly as I attempt to combat my blush by arching a disdainful brow: ‘You amuse me, I’ll give you that.’

  Revitalised from our kip, we manage to keep our eyes open for the remaining hours of daylight, working side by side without any further spats. I really like having Ben here, he’s a very easygoing presence – kind of like a twelve-year-old version of an old man rocking on a porch – and thus a nice balance for Alekos’ energy surges.

  With the extra pair of hands, closing up is swift and soon my boss and I are stepping out of the car beside the love shack. Only this time Alekos is marching off to his left.

  Here we go again.

  ‘Isn’t the house this way?’ I point to the right.

  ‘I thought you would like to see the puppies,’ he says casually, continuing on his way.

  I am clearly dealing with a man given to spontaneous diversions. Not someone I’m likely to catch saying: ‘But I always have steak on a Monday . . .’

  I chuckle as I think of Shirley V giving the ‘vegetarian’ bloodhound Joe’s dinner in lieu of its usual bowl of muesli. And then gasp out loud at the sheer contrast between that droopy-jawed bounder and the snub-nosed velvet beanbags that await us, swaddled in an orange blanket.

  ‘They sound just like squeaky toys!’ I decide as they snuffle a chorus of whinnies and yelps.

  About to take a step closer, I’m practically knocked over by the mother, a sleek black Labrador.

  ‘This is Loulou’s daughter, Roubas,’ Alekos introduces us.

  My ears must be playing tricks. ‘The scrawny dreadlocked one gave birth to this glossy creature? How is that possible?!’

  Alekos shrugs. ‘Just as one of these puppies is blond and the other two are black,’ he says, handing me a contrasting pair.

  ‘Their eyes are still closed!’ I gawp, amazed at how they look like they’ve been cross-bred with baby seals. ‘How old are they?’

  ‘A week or so.’ He shrugs.

  ‘And they still can’t see?’

  He tilts his head to one side. ‘You have never encountered a puppy before?’

  ‘No, never. Look at their tiny Fuzzy Felt ears!’

  Alekos looks delighted, plumping with pride as he decrees: ‘This is your first time.’

  It really does seem to matter to him that I have a special experience in his hometown! I can’t help but find that endearing and feel sufficiently motivated to record the moment for posterity.

  ‘Can you hold them up for me?’ I ask, heaping two Ebonies and the one Ivory on to his good arm as I reach for my camera phone.

  ‘Of course.’ They squirm adorably, showing off the miniature leather pincushions on the soles of their tiddly paws. I do one shot close in on their suckling faces and then take a step back so I can include Alekos in frame.

  ‘Smile, Aleko!’ a voice instructs from behind me, somewhat giving the game away. It’s his father Petros, laden with groceries.

  ‘Oh hello!’ I greet him shyly.

  ‘Now with the two of you.’ He sets down his shopping and takes the phone from me.

  ‘Oh, well –’ I fluster.

  ‘Come on!’ Alekos beckons me over, offloading t
he squeaky bundle so he can put his now free arm around me.

  ‘Hold the puppies higher,’ Petros directs me. ‘That’s right, now bring your faces closer.’

  I can feel Alekos’ jaw at my temple, his stubble lightly grooving my scalp, although frankly, any form of contact with him has my nerve-endings on hyper-alert. Even in front of his dad it feels dangerous being within kissing distance of him. I just hope none of this is showing in my face. The second I hear the camera click I pull away, and go about gently setting the wee pups back with their mum, watching as they scrabble blindly for the milk source.

  ‘What about you?’ Petros enquires as he returns my phone to me. ‘You hungry?’

  ‘You should say yes,’ Alekos instructs. ‘My father is a good cook.’

  ‘Oh, that’s so kind but I –’ I motion to the door.

  ‘You have a prior engagement?’ Alekos looks bemused.

  ‘No, I just – I think it would be better if you and your father had some quality time together. I’ve got leftovers from lunch I’ll be quite happy with.’

  They both protest but I don’t want them forced to make small talk in English when they could be having a proper catch-up in Greek so I insist that I have work to be getting on with, until they finally let me off the hook.

  ‘If you’re sure?’ Alekos seems reluctant to let me go.

  ‘Absolutely, just bring a little doggy bag home with you!’ I wait for him to get the pun. ‘Doggy bag?’

  ‘I get it.’ He smiles and I can’t help but wonder if he also noticed that I said ‘home’ just like he did yesterday.

  ‘Oh!’ He catches me turning to leave. ‘Would you mind feeding Loulou? Her food is on the side.’

  ‘No problem,’ I chime, feeling a little lift in the knowledge that there will be a friendly face waiting for me.

  Having had our respective dinners, we settle on the sofa and I show Loulou the pictures of her three gorgeous grandkids.

  ‘I’d say they had your eyes but I don’t know yet,’ I say as I tousle her.

  She pants appreciatively and then loses interest and rests her head on my thigh as I start flicking through the previous non-canine shots. My snaps literally take me from one of the Seven Wonders of the World – the Great Wall of China – to one of the seven deadly sins – the Norwegian. Look at those devilish eyes! I’ve tried so many times to delete his face but something always stops me.

  Until now.

  I can’t believe it! I’ve pressed the button before I’ve even fully registered my intention to do so. Finally, finally, he’s gone!

  I get up to pour myself an eggcup of wine to toast his departure and then, as the next picture comes into view, my heart gives a little squeeze – it’s my mum, dad, sister and her husband and baby Betsy. Five faces crammed into one frame. A family portrait. Flicking directly from that back to the most recent shot – me and Alekos and three furry, squealing faces – I find myself smiling unexpectedly and decide to text it to my mum. It may be a less conventional ensemble but you’ve got to work with what you’ve got.

  For a second I think about forwarding the image to Jules but she’ll think I’ve gone all Andrex-puppy soppy and lost my mind. I can just imagine her responding text: What next, the two of you drawing each other’s names in the sand?

  Right. Tea. Laptop. Editing.

  Suddenly I feel incredibly tired.

  Perhaps I’d be better off having a wee peruse of my mythology book? I mean, it could vaguely count as research for the interview with the Greek couple. I must give them a call in the next day or two, to see if they’re up for being filmed. Nice of Alekos to sort that out. In some aspects he is a man of his word. Unlike Hermes who apparently was a terrible fibber before he got into the handbag and silk scarf trade.

  I also read about the pre-brand-name existence of Ajax and Nike. (I didn’t realise until now that the personification of victory was a woman! Excellent!)

  Every time I hear a noise I get a little internal flurry thinking that it’s Alekos and prepare to jump up and have a little nightcap chat but it’s just the wind or a neighbour or Loulou moving around.

  So I return to my book and turn another page.

  10

  ‘Pray thee, o god, that I may be beautiful within.’ – Socrates

  I’m half awake, half dreaming of Apollo, appealing to him as the Greek god of medicine to ease the pain in Alekos’ hand, when I sense a presence beside me in the room. With my eyes still closed I extend a foot to the end of the bed and meet matted fur. It’s not Loulou, she’s still in position.

  ‘Aleko?’ I croak.

  ‘Did I wake you?’ He sounds concerned.

  ‘What is it?’ I daren’t look in his direction – his naked groin could well be at eye level.

  ‘There’s something I want to show you.’

  Oh here we go. ‘Please tell me you’ve got some clothes on.’

  ‘Of course! Come with me . . .’ His hand locates mine beneath the sheet and draws me from the bed, knocking my mythology book to the floor.

  In my mind it’s roughly 3 a.m. but as he opens the French windows I am instantly infused with the burnished glow of sunrise.

  I move in a trance to the furthermost edge of the roof terrace and behold the searing globe of gold as it hovers above the horizon, diffusing a peachy light into the air-force-blue sky. ‘Mmmm!’ I murmur, breathing it all in.

  Turning to face my early morning caller, I notice he has a very specific look in his eyes. Only then does it dawn on me that, backlit by sunlight, my nightdress now has all the silhouette-shielding properties of cellophane. I’m about to clutch at myself and run inside when I realise his eyes are not roving lasciviously over my body, but simply studying my face.

  ‘You look so pretty,’ he sighs.

  I gaze at him in disbelief. First thing in the morning he says this? This light must be ultra-flattering to skin tone as well as scenery.

  ‘Do you think you will return to sleep?’ He tilts his head at me.

  I look at my watch – there’re nearly three hours before we’re due at the beach. ‘I don’t know.’ I look back at the view – the sun itself seems to be sending out a golden runway across the water to meet me. ‘Suddenly I feel like I want to get out and explore!’

  A beam spreads across his face. ‘Good. Then I shall take you to the cave where Zeus got born.’

  ‘Got born?’ I grin back at him. A night spent dreaming in Greek has obviously tweaked his near-perfect English.

  ‘Anyway,’ he shrugs, ‘considering your new interest in mythology, I would think this trip was essential.’

  ‘Essential,’ I echo. Well, how can I resist? ‘I’ll be ready in ten.’

  Ordinarily I’d rush to the mirror to inspect my new-found prettiness but today I avoid the potentially disappointing reality, preferring to go with the look in his eyes – it made me feel so much better on the inside.

  With just a quick stop for pastries, we’re on our way to the region known as the Lasithi Plateau.

  It’s a novelty for me to be on an excursion I didn’t arrange myself – I really have no clue what lies ahead. That said, as we climb the hill taking us out of town, I have a distinct moment of déjà vu.

  ‘Is this where we stopped on the first night?’ I ask. ‘You know, for you to show me the view?’

  He nods.

  ‘Now I get it!’ I coo. This is such a different experience to that initial blackness. Back then I could barely distinguish between land and sea, now I see Elounda Bay in all its languorous beauty, including the necklace-like isthmus reaching out towards the uninhabited island that creates the shelter for our watersporters. It occurs to me that I am also seeing Alekos in a different light. Yes, he continues to infuriate and provoke me but it’s hard not to like someone brimming with such impulse and energy, especially when they seem so eager to please you.

  Of course, like plus fancy could equal a whole lot of trouble so I decide to try to focus on the mythology.

 
‘So tell me all about Zeus,’ I request.

  ‘Zeus?’ he begins. ‘Zeus was the ultimate womaniser.’

  My heart sinks. Of all the things he could have said about him – Most powerful of all Olympian gods! Supreme ruler of the universe! God of thunder and lightning! – did he just choose the quality he identifies with the most?

  ‘He had such an insatiable lust that his mother could foresee only problems for him and any future wife so she forbade him to ever marry.’

  ‘Is that why you haven’t married?’ I ask.

  From the look on his face, I’m guessing it’s a little early for personal interrogations. I attempt to soften my line of questioning by adding, ‘What I meant to ask was, did your mother give you any advice about women when you were growing up?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to hear about Zeus.’

  ‘I do. Kind of. I was just curious, while we were on the subject.’

  ‘She thinks I should try a Greek girl,’ he deadpans.

  ‘You mean you haven’t?’ I gasp.

  ‘Yes, but not so often.’

  ‘Any particular reason for that?’ This is fascinating to me.

  He looks a little awkward as he reveals, ‘When I was at school in Athens I could not get a date; when I came to Elounda in the summer and there were girls on holiday from other countries . . .’

  ‘Better luck?’

  He nods.

  How interesting. There are several ways you could interpret that. Mind you, the same could be said of me: I’ve never fared well with my fellow countrymen. Apparently Alekos and I have something in common after all.

  ‘So, you were saying,’ I try to get back on track. ‘Zeus’ mother banned him from marrying . . .’

  ‘Yes, and he was so incensed he violated her.’

  ‘Oh.’ I recoil, setting down my pastry. ‘That’s not very nice.’

  ‘No, but they were both transformed into serpents at the time,’ he says, as if this makes it less of a crime. ‘His first real lover was a shape-shifter called Metis who conceived the goddess Athena but I’ll tell you more about that when we’re at the cave.’

  He goes on to list a whole catalogue of Zeus’ other conquests, including two aunts and his sister Demeter, resulting in offspring such as Persephone, Queen of the Underworld, and the nine Muses, conceived from nine straight nights of making love.