Out of the Blue

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Out of the Blue Page 18

by Belinda Jones


  ‘This is my friend Julie,’ I say, somewhat grudgingly. ‘Jules.’

  He reaches for her hand but she immediately swoops in for a cheek-to-cheek kiss, wasting no time getting the maximum body contact going. Did her boob just ‘accidentally’ touch his pectoral? Nooo! I want to squeal – this is all the wrong way round – it’s my birthday, but he’s the one who’s getting the present!

  I try to give her a discreet ‘back off!’ pinch but she seems to mistake this for encouragement – after all, I did once wish out loud that she could come and torment him . . .

  ‘I hear you’ve been working Selena really hard!’ She purrs mischievously. ‘I’ve come to offer some relief.’

  He looks confused. ‘You’re taking over from her?’

  ‘Not taking over, taking away . . .’

  ‘What?’ I startle. If she’s come to take me to Brighton, she’s too late.

  ‘You don’t need her any more, do you?’ She cocks her head at Alekos.

  He opens his mouth but no sound comes out.

  ‘I mean, your hand is all better now, I see.’

  He flexes his fingers. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘Wait until you see the hotel!’ She turns her attention to me. ‘Total five-star deluxe!’

  ‘But—’

  She links her arm in mine. ‘Come on, let’s get going!’

  ‘NO!’ I blurt suddenly, literally digging my heels into the sand. I don’t care if Nana Mouskouri has come out of retirement just to give us a private concert; this is not what I want.

  What I want is to blink and find Jules back in Mauritius and my day going ahead as planned.

  ‘What do you mean, no?’ Jules laughs. ‘The resort is known as “heaven at sea level” for good reason!’ Then she leans in to whisper, ‘And the sand on their beach is a lot blonder than here!’ She turns her nose up at the grit I have come to love.

  ‘I – I can’t leave now,’ I stammer.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, for one thing I have to translate for Ben, he has a windsurf lesson with this little girl who only speaks French – look, here she comes now!’ I point up the beach as a petite fille in a lilac bandana is waved off by her mum.

  ‘Well, alright.’ Jules shrugs. ‘I don’t mind hanging here for a bit, we’re not due at the spa until five p.m.’

  ‘The spa?’ I can’t believe she’s gone ahead and made all these arrangements without consulting me first! Other than that’s what I normally love about her.

  ‘I booked us in as soon as I got there,’ she explains. ‘You know how I love Espa.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but I don’t finish here until seven p.m., so it’s probably best if you go on ahead –’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Alekos assures me, all too graciously. ‘I don’t mind if you leave early today. But maybe later we could all—’

  I hold up my hand to halt his merry threesome plan.

  ‘Do you know what I think would work best? Jules, you go back to the hotel, have your treatments and an early night, and then I’ll be over first thing in the morning and we can have a good ol’ chat over some Greek yoghurt—’

  She shakes her head. ‘You have to come tonight.’

  Oh god. ‘Surely you’re exhausted after your flight?’ I reason, desperate to not let go of my fantasy. ‘Not to mention all the trauma . . .’

  She steps closer, eyes welling up for maximum guilt-trip effect. ‘I can’t be alone right now, not after . . .’ She trails off. ‘Please, Selena.’

  Oh marvellous. Now I look like I’m trying to ditch my friend in need. The little French girl is waiting patiently for me to do the right thing. As is Alekos. I can’t help but crumple. Look how selfish I’m being – I’m entirely focussed on preserving the possibility of a birthday kiss when poor Jules has just called off her wedding! Imagine how wretched she must be feeling to have flown all this way for some sympathy and support from her best friend, and what does she get?

  ‘Of course,’ I give her hand a reassuring squeeze, ‘just let me take this windsurf lesson and then I’m all yours.’

  The next sixty minutes are nigh on unbearable for me. All my new-found confidence about the bond Alekos and I have forged over the past few days appears to be evaporating in the all-too-intense sun. I’m trying to concentrate on translating Ben’s instructions into French but out of the corner of my eye I can see Jules having a private tutorial of her own. I know she knows perfectly well what to do with a windsurf board but she’s persuaded Alekos to stand behind her so she can jut that perfect stress-ball bottom of hers into his groin and then, yup, classic, tumble back into the water and clamber all over him as she rights herself. I feel utterly sick. Is this behaviour befitting a jilted bride? Of course she will desist the second I get the chance to explain that I actually like him now, but what if it’s already too late? I can’t think of anything more humiliating than informing her that Alekos and I have ‘special’ feelings for each other, only to have to watch him salivate all over her. But I’m being silly. He’s just accommodating her now because she’s my friend. It’s me he likes. Admittedly, he’s stopped propositioning me lately but that’s out of respect, not dwindling desire. Right?

  ‘Selena! Selena?’

  I return to my present position. ‘Sorry, Ben, what was that?’

  ‘Can you just keep an eye on Chloe while I run up to the car to get the rest of the bottled water? I forgot to get it earlier . . .’

  ‘Of course. No problem.’ I give Chloe a little wave. She really is doing a sterling job – she’s only a slip of a thing, no more than eight years old, but she has great strength in her arms and natural control. She’ll definitely be impressing the boys when she’s older.

  Mind you, apparently some girls think it’s best to feign L-plates. My eyes narrow as Jules splashes backward into Alekos again, only this time the sail has landed on top of them. I wait for them to emerge. Nothing happens. Instant suspicion – what’s going on? Why are they still under there? I start to feel all panicky and agitated. What if they’re already kissing? ‘Those are my lips!’ I want to scream. Still nothing. She wouldn’t. She so would! Look how psyched she was on arrival – she’s going to grab the first opportunity she gets and he’s hardly going to turn her down; all he’s had from me is rejection. Oh, if he only knew what awaited him tonight! Though, realistically, even if he did know, would he choose me? Suddenly I’m not so sure.

  ‘Selena!’ I hear my name again but this time Ben’s call is not so casual. I turn to find him pointing wildly at Chloe who’s now way out of her depth, being blasted along the surface of the water by an all-too-hearty gust.

  Merde! I wave my arms but of course she can’t see or hear me, every ounce of her being is focussed on corralling the wind and staying upright – she must be terrified! ‘Get the speedboat ready!’ I yell to Ben, racing him to the platform.

  As we scrabble to untie the rope, Alekos bounds ahead of us and grabs the steering wheel, simultaneously turning on the engine. ‘Get in!’ he barks at me, surging off the instant I’m aboard.

  ‘How did this happen?’ he calls against the wind as we chase Chloe down the bay.

  ‘I – I just looked away for a second . . .’ I flounder. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You must always keep your eyes on them, always.’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry.’ I’d apologise a thousand times more if I thought it would help but, realistically, all I can do is brace myself against the pounding surf and pray she’s not scarred for life – this has got to be the watersport equivalent of a bolting horse. Her mother is going to kill me.

  ‘Ready?’

  We’re drawing level with her now and I need to put our rescue plan into action. ‘Chloe!’ I call, trying to get the little purple bandanaed head to look in our direction. ‘Laissez-tomber la voile!’

  Alekos is ready to dive in after her but as she turns I get a shock – her knuckles may be white but her face is alive with exhilaration. ‘Non, non! Je l’aime!’ she calls
to me.

  ‘What’s that?’ Alekos can’t hear her.

  ‘She says she loves it!’ I marvel. ‘She doesn’t want to stop.’

  I see his shoulders relax and his eyes closing in blessed relief. But my anxiety does not ebb away. Even when we’ve got her safely back to land and she’s pogoing around telling her mother she had the best surf of her life, I still feel wretched. My jealousy put a little life in peril.

  Clearly this crush on Alekos is bringing out the most vile traits in me, just like Hera. I’m even resentful of my best friend. I should be ecstatic to see her, glad I can return the favour and be there in her hour of need, but instead I’m wishing she’d never come.

  It doesn’t help that I then knock over one of the bottles of water Ben brought down from the car and drench a customer’s backpack.

  ‘Ready to go now?’ Jules enquires.

  I nod, defeated. I can’t believe I’ve just shown myself in my worst possible light at such a crucial time. I need to get away before I accidentally puncture all the inflatables with a ragged fingernail.

  ‘Do you have the key to the house, so I can get my stuff?’

  Alekos hesitates. ‘Why don’t I bring it over for you after I’ve closed up?’

  Great, he doesn’t even trust me in his home now.

  ‘Okay.’ I’m too weak to argue. ‘See you later.’

  Some birthday this has turned out to be. I hope this doesn’t set the tone for the year ahead.

  Even in my state of utter despondency, I’m still desperate to know just what happened under that windsurf sail but the second we’re in the car Jules gets a call from her brother and spends the duration of the journey arranging to have the locks changed on the flat back home, presumably so Dom won’t be able to get back in before her. Whatever happened must be serious. Hopefully the spa treatment will act as a salve, not that she looks exactly bereft . . . I suppose everyone handles these things differently. She’s certainly a high-functioning dumpee, I’ll give her that. If indeed it was him that did the dumping. Which seems unlikely considering he was the one who proposed. Either way, I have more pressing concerns – like nipping her Alekos infatuation in the bud.

  Still she yaps on.

  And with every tyre rotation that takes me further away from him, the discomfort in my chest and stomach grows – it’s almost as if the springy band of elastic connecting us is now being stretched to its limit. I stare out at the racing shoreline and try to remind myself that, technically, she hasn’t done anything wrong – as far as she’s concerned he was there to be messed with and is fair game sexually. When I had the chance, my great protestation was, ‘No, that’s Alekos!’ not ‘No, I like him now!’

  The sooner I speak up the better. Wait – is this her rounding off the conversation now?

  ‘Yes, yes, well, just hang on to it until I get back. I’m not sure, I’ll keep you posted. And don’t go nicking any of my Le Mer face cream while you’re there – I know exactly how much is left in the jar!’

  ‘All sorted?’ I ask as she snaps the phone closed.

  ‘It will be by tonight,’ she replies.

  ‘Good, good.’ I feel a little swirl of nerves as I venture, in my most sing-song voice: ‘Sooo, what went on with you and Alekos under that sail? You were submerged a long ol’ time.’

  ‘Oh god!’ she hoots, flicking her hair back. ‘He did this freaky thing where he expelled all his breath and sunk right down to the ocean floor like a dead body! I thought I’d clunked him unconscious with the frame – and then what good would he be to me?!’ she giggles.

  ‘So there was no kissing?’ I confirm, hope flaring within me.

  ‘Give a girl a chance!’ she says as she turns off the dusty main road and begins sloping down a lushly tropical driveway.

  Oh thank god. It’s not too late! It doesn’t have to be him! I can find her a replacement! And soon, judging by the upscale upturn in our environment. Everything within the hotel grounds appears to be saturated with colour and flourishing in the most artful way. As we’re helped from the car, I find myself assessing the broad-shouldered porter and the Desperate Housewives-style gardener trimming the hedges and then, inside the cool of the lobby, I eye the groomed men on reception with their aquamarine silk ties and discreetly check out the potential millionaire checking in beside us. ‘He’s nice!’ I say five times before we’ve even been handed the room key.

  ‘You know, Selena,’ Jules turns to face me, ‘for one night only, let’s not talk about men.’

  ‘What?’ I splutter. This is a first. Besides, surely she’s bursting to get the saga with Dom off her chest? ‘Do you really mean that?’ I can’t help but question her.

  She nods, looking fragile for the first time today. ‘I know I was all bravado at the beach but now we’re here . . .’ she looks around her, ‘I just want our thoughts to be as beautiful as our surroundings!’

  I blink back at her in amazement. And then I consider the bird of paradise flowers and the vivid blue ocean and I think, She does have a point . . . Besides, the last thing you want to hear when you’ve broken up with someone is that your best mate has found the man of her dreams. To tell her tonight about my new-found bliss with Alekos would just be cruel. The least I can do is respect her wishes and hold off until tomorrow.

  ‘I’m really glad you’re here with me.’ She smiles earnestly.

  I’m not quite ready to say the same so I give her what I hope is a comforting hug.

  ‘So!’ she says, releasing me and clapping her hands together. ‘I say we go straight up to the spa, release all our toxins, and then enjoy a champagne dinner and some scandalously calorific dessert.’ She gives my chin a pinch. ‘It is your birthday after all!’

  She remembered! Suddenly the niggly knotting within me unfurls. I’ve no reason to fret. Jules is not the enemy! I was just having a funny five minutes at the beach. We’re in a safe haven now.

  ‘That sounds perfect!’ I enthuse, as we step forward, this time volunteering to link my arm in hers.

  Tomorrow I’ll explain about Alekos in a way that doesn’t make her feel like I’ve found my love just as she’s lost hers, then I’ll suggest a night out in Ayios Nikolaos where we can mingle with some future prospects. Or, if she’s in a real hurry, we can go to Malia . . .

  16

  ‘Do not speak of your happiness to one less fortunate than yourself.’ – Plutarch

  So many spas I have visited with Jules have been down in the dungeons so I’m pleased to discover the uplifting and expansive rooftop location at the Elounda Beach. The predominantly white design is a wonderful mix of space-age serene and falling-leaf motif with an exquisite touch of amethyst, the hue of which seems to have been selected to perfectly complement the skin tone of the handsome spa manager Yiorgos. He looks like he’s been hand-picked from an aftershave ad and I’m secretly praying he turns out to be Jules’ masseur but then he introduces us to two petite girls who lead us away from him for our respective treatments.

  I’ve opted for the ‘Cretan Experience’ which begins with a foot exfoliation featuring locally gathered sea salts, crushed thyme and rich Cretan olive oil.

  ‘No arches?’ I joke as I survey the pristine room she has guided me to.

  She looks apologetic. ‘Sorry, no, but we can adjust the colour of the lighting to match your aura and we have a selection of soothing music –’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I reassure her. ‘For my last spa treatment I was on a sunlounger wedged between a couple of windsurf sails, so I think you’ve probably got everything covered.’

  I sigh contentedly as she begins cleansing my feet in warm water infused with revitalising peppermint and lemon. With the dimmed lights and her gentle touch, it is delightfully soporific. Even when she moves on to my back massage – using more Cretan olive oil, this time infused with chamomile and lavender – there is no pinching or grinding, just relaxing. I feel myself slip-ping into a state of contented surrender when suddenly I spring up, sending her bowl
of potions flying.

  ‘Oh my gosh, did I hurt you?’ she gasps.

  ‘No! No, I’m so sorry. I just realised something!’

  ‘You’re not allergic?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing really!’ I try to calm myself but can’t stop babbling. ‘It’s just that a friend of mine is looking for a holiday romance and it’s just dawned on me that I have the perfect guy for her!’

  ‘Lucky girl!’ she chimes.

  And lucky MSV. I don’t know why he didn’t pop into my head sooner. I’m not saying that he and Jules are necessarily the best personality match but, in terms of circumstantial needs, they are perfect. She needs a reviving fling; he needs a post-wife-walkout ego boost. Imagine what his pals in Malia will say when they see he’s hooked up with a hottie like Jules. And what’s a first holiday without his first holiday romance? I can’t believe I’m not allowed to talk about men until tomorrow! Not that I’m sure Jules will be able to stick to her rule after the first glass of wine. We’ll only be able to stay Zen for so long . . .

  As soon as I’m done I skip out to reception with silky skin and a new world view.

  ‘I’ll have what she had!’ a fellow guest jokes. ‘You look so refreshed!’

  I beam back. Maybe it’s the Cretan Experience. Maybe it’s the matchmaking. Or maybe it’s that good old-fashioned elixir love. There’s no denying its transformative properties – one minute you’re ticking over, borderline bored, and then suddenly you meet someone who awakens a dormant part of you and if they like you back you feel instantly energised, way more optimistic, even a little invincible! The most mundane chores can be completed with joy because now your life has this fabulous other dimension. And even when you’re not with them it feels as if you are moving with a secret, internal ally.

  My hearts skips a little as I realise that Alekos is all those things to me.

  ‘A little tea while you await your friend?’

  ‘Oh yes please!’ I accept the fragrant cup and step out on to a balcony purpose-built for blissful thinking. Sleek white chaises, rustling bamboo leaves and the almost indistinguishable blue of sky and sea. How can you not believe in the sensual purity of life as you contemplate this? I watch a swallow in free fall swoop and glide and think of the line from the Shirley Valentine theme song – ‘As long as the wind is fair, the sky is always there.’

 

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