I turn back to the lounge to take in the details I missed on my first scan – including a parade of silver lanterns and an impressive stack of DVDs.
‘Did you bring all these with you?’ I ask as curiosity drives me to file through them.
He nods. ‘I know most people catch up with their reading on holiday, but there are still so many classics I still want to see.’
‘Onassis, the mini-series?’ I hold up the case, giving him a dubious look.
‘My mum insisted I take that.’ He cringes. ‘She’s got everything Jane Seymour’s ever done – she plays Maria Callas in that. Anyway! Talk to me about Athens,’ Greg requests as he continues with his food preparations. ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’
‘Well, I just have one appointment at noon on Sunday,’ I say, not wanting to distract him with the details now. ‘How about you tell me what you would most like to do there!’
He stops mid-slice. ‘I suppose the Acropolis is old news to you?’
‘Ancient,’ I tease before admitting, ‘Actually, I’ve never been.’
‘Really? Would you want to?’
‘I actually think it’s compulsory,’ I announce. ‘Let me check their website, make sure they don’t have any weird holiday closings or anything.’
I heave my laptop out of my bag. ‘Will I be in the way if I put it here?’ I motion to the kitchen table.
‘No, there’s plenty of room. Besides, we’ll probably eat outside – I thought the weather was going to turn nasty for a minute but actually it’s warming up again.’
‘It is indeed.’ I smile as I scroll through assorted websites. ‘Oh my god!’
‘What is it?’
I open my mouth and then close it. Is this for real? I lean closer to the screen as if this will authenticate the words before me. I can’t believe it – I think I might just have found the ‘event’ that will make Greg’s holiday utterly unforgettable.
‘Selena?’
‘Mmm?’ I stall – I daren’t get his hopes up in case it’s not quite as feasible as it sounds. ‘I’m just trying to find the ticket information.’
‘You’re obviously in the right job.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, your face really lights up when you’re looking up tour stuff.’
‘It’s just the reflection from the screen,’ I lie. In this moment my own personal miseries have been leap-frogged by a burst of altruistic excitement. I want to squeal and do a little dance but I have to keep it all inside – this will be so much better as a surprise.
I tap feverishly, getting as much info as I can on this unique event without arousing suspicion. Talk about synchronicity – we are obviously supposed to be going to Athens together tomorrow. Beyond that I don’t know but right now I’ll take any kind of certainty, however short-lived.
‘So listen. How do you feel about getting one-way tickets there? It’s no more expensive and that way we can decide to come back when it suits us, depending on whether we like or loathe the place.’ I don’t want to alarm him too much by telling him that I’m not planning on coming back at all.
‘I put myself in your capable hands,’ he says smiling.
‘Good man.’
As I look at the hotel options I marked as favourites earlier, I try not to dwell on the fact that this is the second time in a week I’ve taken an impromptu trip with a man I hardly know but assure myself that at least my taste is improving – Greg seems to be one of those mythical nice men you hear about but never actually meet.
‘Accommodation-wise, we could go for the Athens Gate Hotel,’ I inform him. ‘Walking distance from the Acropolis, simple, clean lines, rooftop bar . . .’
He comes and leans over my shoulder. ‘That looks good.’
I reach for my credit card.
‘Did you already get the flights?’
‘Yes,’ I tell him.
‘Well, let me do this,’ he offers, wiping his hands on the tea-towel and switching positions with me.
‘More wine?’ I offer the chef a top-up.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ he says as he intently studies the screen. ‘Do you want to check this over before I click confirm?’
I scan the page. Well, he’s marked two rooms so we are obviously travelling respectably. ‘Er, just one thing, when it says number of children?’
‘Yes?’
‘They mean travelling with you.’
‘Oh-oh!’ He quickly makes the 2 into a 0, muttering, ‘Miss Know-it-all!’
‘Is my dinner ready yet?’ I jibe back.
The meal is delicious – golden flaky filo cheese pie and a couple of zesty salads – though Greg insists it’s more like picnic food.
‘I’d love to have done moussaka or dolmades but they’re an hour in the oven and I thought you might expire if I made you wait that long!’
‘Quite right!’ I say as I reach for a slice of watermelon, even though I’m already fit to burst. ‘Are these your girls?’
Greg nods and hands me the photo I have spied. ‘Lily,’ he says, pointing to the eldest. ‘And Daisy.’ He shakes his head and sighs. ‘You know the thing she was most peeved about when we explained the divorce?’
I shake my head.
‘That she wouldn’t be getting a baby brother or sister to play with. She said Lily got to cuddle her and push her round in the pram when she was tiny and she couldn’t believe that she wasn’t going to get her turn.’
‘You know you can get those dolls that are the same size and weight as a baby? They even come with this weird rash . . .’
Greg chuckles. ‘I know just the one you mean! Tried that. Didn’t fly.’
‘Or . . .’ I say, on a bit of a fix-it roll, ‘my friend Roxy is about to give birth and she’s not so very far from you. It’s her first and I’m sure she’d welcome a little pram-pushing assistance once a month, not to mention your child-rearing expertise! I’m going to give you her phone number . . .’
As I start rooting through my bag in search of my phone, Greg gazes back at the photograph.
‘It’s strange,’ he muses. ‘It’s like I don’t really know who I am without them. I’m so used to being in father mode and now I’m here and there’s no one to keep a watchful eye on or wipe ice-cream drips from their chins, well, at least not now my mates have gone.’
I chuckle and then tell him, ‘As uncomfortable and unfamiliar as this all must be, it’s probably just what you need. You’re going to have more time apart from them – weekends, alternate Christmases, that kind of thing; this is a good chance to remember what you like to do.’
‘You’re right,’ he sighs as he reaches to open our second bottle of wine. ‘Lately, when she’s had them for the weekend, I’ll just lose hours on the Internet. I justify it as research for work – I’m in webpage design – but, really, I’m just idling away the hours.’
‘Easily done. And all the more reason to find something to do that gets you out of the house, away from the screen.’ I scroll through my address book and jot down Roxy’s number, determined for him to have it whether he wants it or not.
‘Been reading up on your Greek myths?’ Greg picks up the book I’ve set on the table.
I roll my eyes. ‘Yes, well, I’m sure it’ll come in useful for a pub quiz sometime. Or one of those party games – If I were an Olympian, which would I be?’
He starts flicking through the pages. ‘So who would I be? From what little you know of me . . .’
I contemplate him for a while. ‘Would you be offended if I compared you to a goddess rather than a god?’
‘Feel free – according to my friends I was emasculated long ago!’
‘Well, I was thinking of Hestia,’ I tell him. ‘Goddess of home and hearth.’
‘Sounds cosy.’ He grins, until he locates Hestia’s write-up . . . ‘Dedicated to peace and neutrality, didn’t have any notable adventures, rarely roamed – well, that’s me.’ He slumps further as he learns that few shrines were built in her h
onour.
‘Well, that’s not strictly true,’ I inform him. ‘Each and every home is considered a shrine to her.’
His face brightens. ‘Well, when you put it that way . . .’
‘And how did you manage to scoot over the bit that says she’s was the kindest, most virtuous and charitable of all the Olympians?’
‘Now you’re making me blush!’ He hides his face in his hands.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ I sit back in my chair, giving up on finding the phone for now.
‘Of course.’
‘Well, in many ways, you have been living my worst fear and yet, divorce aside, you don’t seem to have too many regrets, I mean about the lifestyle itself?’
‘I don’t,’ he says as he clears the plates. ‘But I suppose it would depend on the individual – what you consider success and failure. I may have led a little life by Onassis standards but I was happy. I hope I will be again. You can’t regret happiness, can you?’
‘Not for a minute,’ I confirm.
‘It seems like domesticity represents something very negative to you. For me it was a choice and, admittedly, it doesn’t come with all the historic baggage of being a woman being chained to the kitchen sink – a man getting to spending more time with his kids? The worst you’ve got to worry about is the perception of being a wuss or not being the main breadwinner. Tough for an alpha male. But not an issue for me.’
‘Alpha is a Greek word, you know . . .’ I hear a voice in my head.
‘I liked my job but I liked my kids more,’ Greg continues. ‘And it’s not like I gave up a huge social life at work – I gave up a grey padded cubicle and a squeaky chair. And in return I got to hang out with two people who are a source of endless fascination to me.’
‘But what about all those household chores?’
‘Well, all jobs have elements you don’t enjoy. What is it with yours?’
‘The paperwork, the early mornings, the guests who seem hell-bent on finding fault, no matter what.’
‘So for me the equivalent is ironing and plumping cushions. We’ve got a dishwasher and I order most of the supermarket supplies online so that’s hardly a hassle. Things are changing, you know! Only on Big Brother do you have to use a mangle as part of the laundry process!’
We decide to reconvene in the lounge area so we can splay out in a manner befitting our ever-more tipsy state. I get the feeling Greg hasn’t really had the chance to talk through his feelings about the divorce of late, especially not with his Malia mates, so, for better or worse, I encourage him to let it all out.
‘I feel like my life has shrunk,’ he tells me as he rests his head on the back of the sofa. ‘There were four of us, then three when she left, and now it’s just me. And I know it’s temporary and it’ll be back to three in a few days but I had a whole family before and now . . . I don’t.’
My heart is heavy for him. Contrary to what I would have predicted for myself, his sense of loss hasn’t come from a feeling that he’s missed out, it’s more to do with the depleted body count. He was part of a team. He felt complete. And now he’s feeling less than . . . So strange, what people take away from us when they leave.
‘I still expect her to come through the door,’ he continues. ‘I know people say things like that when people have died . . . But I’m having trouble accepting that she’s gone. I don’t understand why the kids weren’t enough incentive for her to stay. It wasn’t like things were bad between us—’ He stops suddenly.
‘What?’ I ask him.
He looks slightly ashamed. ‘I almost wouldn’t mind if she carried on taking him away with her on her business trips if we could still have her at home.’
My heart aches for him. ‘But the difference is that now you’d know . . .’
‘I could block it out.’
I shake my head. ‘You can’t live like that.’ I reach out and give his hand a squeeze. ‘I’m so sorry that you’re going through all this.’
He turns to face me, looking deeply apologetic. ‘I’ve totally depressed you now, haven’t I?’
‘Oh please!’ I tut him. ‘It would be far worse if you were telling me jokes to try and cheer me up! This is just what I need – a good wallow in love’s miseries!’
Greg looks at me and then makes an earnest suggestion: ‘Let’s not take our miseries with us to Athens.’
‘Okay!’ I smile, wishing it were as simple as not packing them. ‘We’ll leave all our tears out to dry on the patio while we swan off to the Acropolis! Actually, I suppose we should talk timings . . .’ I haul myself upright so I can think through the practicalities. ‘Let’s see – we need to allow an hour and a half to get to the airport and another hour and a half before the flight, so we’ll have to leave by seven a.m.!’ I look at my watch. ‘Yikes! That’s only five hours away! I should go!’ I get to my feet, none too steadily. ‘Woah!’ I reach back for the arm of the sofa.
‘You know you’re more than welcome to stay,’ Greg offers. ‘The sheets in the spare room have been changed since the boys left so it’s all pristine and all yours!’
Hmmm. I have had too much to drink to drive. And this is a neutral space. I will miss the chance of sleeping with Loulou one last time but I won’t miss waking up and going down to an empty kitchen – it just wouldn’t be the same without Alekos grinning at me in a state of undress. I mean, who smiles that much first thing in the morning?
‘That’s very kind of you,’ I say, so grateful not to have to be alone tonight. Although the second Greg wends up the stairs, I have a little flash of ‘don’t leave me!’ anxiety.
This isn’t like me. I am one of life’s independents. I don’t cling. What is going on?
I rouse myself sufficiently to get what I need from the car but as I step back inside the villa, I find myself confronted by the word ‘home’. It seemed so comforting when I first beheld it; why does it taunt me now?
‘Don’t dwell, don’t analyse, just sleep!’ I tell myself as I hurry up the stairs, along the corridor, and slide into bed.
But within a few minutes of lying there in the filtered moonlight, I feel my emotions preparing to rush in on me.
‘No!’ I take a defiant breath – I can’t risk another flood of tears so I raise an imaginary shield and prepare to deflect them with as much diligence as if I’m fighting the Trojan War.
‘Joy, joy, joy!’ I whisper to myself.
Just five more hours. That’s all I have to get through and then I’ll be on my way.
21
‘Love is a serious mental disease.’ – Plato
When I awake the next morning it occurs to me that tonight I will be sleeping in my fourth bed since arriving in Greece. But before I do, I need to revisit the first.
‘So, if you follow me there, I’ll run in and feed Loulou, leave the keys and the car, and then hop back in with you and off we go to Heraklion!’
‘Got it!’ Greg heaves a sportsbag on to the table and double-checks he has everything he needs.
‘Excited?’ I ask.
‘I think the technical term is hungover.’ He grimaces. ‘That’s the most I’ve drunk since I’ve been here.’
‘As long as you’re not having any regrets –’
He shakes his head. ‘How can I miss out on the chance to travel with a highly experienced excursions professional?’
I give him a rueful look. ‘You know Athens doesn’t exactly fall into my area of expertise.’
‘Well, then you’d better get studying.’ He grins, handing me his travel guide.
‘I’ll speed-read it on the plane,’ I tell him, taking a last slurp of tea. ‘Ready to go?’
I think I’m doing an excellent job of being chirpy and motivated but then we step outside and the unexpected view of Elounda Bay lurches my stomach.
In the bright morning light the colours seem almost hyperreal: the earth is hot-baked orange, the grass freshest green, the sea such an intense blue. And what is it about those mountains? They always
seem so know-ing. For a second I panic – I can’t leave all this, I just can’t!
‘Alright?’ Greg makes a gentle enquiry.
I tell him yes but my queasiness persists as I slide into the hire car and lead him back on to the main road. Can I really be exiting Elounda without even saying goodbye? Yes. I’ll leave Alekos a note at the house and send Jules a text from the airport. It may seem a bit underhand but, even if my intention was to shock them, I don’t think Jules will be too bothered – she’s at that giddy stage where you just want to be with the man all the time and she’ll be getting the deluxe bed without the guilt of thinking I’m sleeping in the servants’ quarters. I won’t mention Greg to them – seeing as I’m supposed to be the morally superior one, it’ll hardly do to reveal that I picked up a man on the beach and am now running off with him for a dirty weekend in Athens. At least that’s how it would seem to them.
‘No need for you to come any further,’ I call across to Greg as I pull over at the side of the road. ‘I’ll just be five minutes.’
I step out of the car and begin the trek up to the shack. My jitters increase but they are nowhere near as bad as last night’s hyperventilations. I have to admit that some masochistic part of me would like to see Alekos one last time but really, what good would that do? What’s done can’t be undone and it would destroy me if I had to see them together. All the same, I still feel a dip of disappointment to find the house empty.
Except for Loulou, of course!
‘Hello, my darling girl!’ I give her a full body rumple. ‘Ready for some breakfast?’
I open the cupboard and take down a tin of dog food. She makes a dismayed whine.
‘You were hoping for leftovers?’ I guess, opening the fridge to see if Alekos has set aside anything for her.
‘What’s this?’ I say, nosing inside a big cardboard box. The contents are not what I was expecting. ‘Surely not?’ I pull it out and set it on the side as Loulou’s tail wags wildly.
It’s a birthday cake. With my name piped on in Greek.
When did he get this? And why didn’t he give it to me? I frown to myself, trying to remember the sequence of events the day I left . . . We went to the beach, he went to the doctor . . . hold on! Before he left he answered the phone to my mum – there’s a good chance she would have told him she was ringing to wish me a happy birthday. But why didn’t he say something at the time? Perhaps he wanted it to be a surprise. He did try and suggest we meet up that night, but Jules poo-pooed that. Even so, he still could have brought the cake over with my case. I wonder why he changed his mind about giving it to me – apparently he didn’t even want me to see it because he dissuaded me from coming here to pack up my things. Suddenly I’m curious . . . I cross under the arch and head up the stairs to my former room.
Out of the Blue Page 23