I hold his gaze. ‘Why are you so keen?’
‘Well, if you got to meet up then I could be the hero who reunited two friends, as opposed to the complete twonk who got lost the second he was let off the leash.’
I laugh at his reasoning. ‘Okay!’ I reach for my phone and start scrolling through my address book. How can I advise Greg to embrace opportunity if I don’t do the same myself? ‘It’s ringing!’ I tell him, aware that my heart is now pounding. Could she really be just an anchor away? ‘Voicemail,’ I mouth, preparing to leave a message. ‘Cherry, this is your long-lost shipmate Selena! It’s possible I’m spying on you right now! We’re at Pireas, beholding The World, so if you’re on board get the captain to honk the horn. If not, text me back and let me know where you are. It would be great to catch up.’
I snap my phone closed. Wow. Ordinarily I’d be straight on the phone to Jules, especially since Cherry was her friend first, but I feel decidedly uninclined to speak to her right now. Besides, nothing will probably come of it, so what’s the point?
‘Fancy a coffee?’ I ask as I notice Greg eyeing a passer-by’s polystyrene cup.
‘I’m desperate for one – I didn’t quite have the nerve to go into any of the cafés,’ he admits. ‘Every time I approached they gave me such strange looks.’
‘Well, I suppose it’s the nautical equivalent of walking around with a traffic cone,’ I remind him of his fluorescent appendage.
‘Perhaps I should have dunked myself in the water and pretended I’d just been washed ashore!’
‘We could still try that look if you like!’ I jest, pretending I’m about to nudge him into the water but instead I hurry him back across to the landlubber side of the street.
The chain café with the clearly displayed menu and price list and English-speaking staff is in sharp contrast to the locals’ joint I was too intimidated to enter the last time I was here – another reminder that nothing stays the same, except perhaps the preparation of the coffee – even though the place is doing a roaring trade in café frappé we see several Greeks favouring the traditional coffee prepared in a tiny long-handled copper pot, sitting beside the till in a nest of hot ash. It’s a strange sight – like seeing your mum’s teapot on the counter in Starbucks – but one that intrigues Greg.
‘Let’s try one of those!’ He surprises me, until he adds, ‘That’s what Zorba would have drunk!’
‘You know that would be a fun way to choose your future holiday destinations?’ I begin as we take our moulded plastic seats on the upper level. ‘You write a list of your favourite flicks, look up the filming locations and then retrace the steps of your movie hero! It would be something fun to do with the kids too, like San Francisco for—’
‘Is that your phone?’ he interrupts.
I scrabble in my bag. ‘Oh my god, oh my god, it’s her!’ I squeal. ‘Cherry?’
‘SELENA!’
‘No way!’ I jump to my feet, rushing to the window. ‘Are you really here? We’re just across the road at the little red café on the corner!’
Greg looks baffled by the squeaking that ensues and it’s only when I get off the phone and translate that he understands Cherry is indeed just metres away.
‘I can’t believe we caught her! They sail again tonight but she’s on her way right now – we’re going for cocktails at the bar where Onassis took Maria Callas!’ I zing, reeling. ‘And it’s all thanks to you and your wandering feet!’ I reach across and hug him for the second time today.
‘You mean it’s a good thing I led you here?’ he asks, chin wedged in my shoulder.
‘Absolutely!’ I set him back in his chair. ‘Your feet are obviously guided by destiny! In fact . . .’ I contemplate him for a moment before formally announcing, ‘I hereby relinquish my role as your shore excursions guide.’
‘Wh-what do you mean?’ He looks aghast. ‘Are you leaving me here?’
‘No, no!’ I laugh. ‘I just meant that I am no longer the boss of you!’
‘So we’re a team now?’ he asks hopefully.
‘A team!’ I confirm, as we chink our tiny cups of authentic Greek coffee.
26
‘An open enemy is better than a false friend.’ – Greek proverb
‘There’s going to be more shrieking, isn’t there?’ Greg braces himself as we prepare to meet Cherry.
‘I can’t deny it.’ I smile, straightening his collar. ‘Funny that when men greet each other they get all deep and gruff and back-slappy whereas women flap their hands and squeak.’
‘My wife never did that,’ he notes, bemusedly.
‘Well, then, you’re best shot of her,’ I only half joke. ‘All the best girls pogo and get overexcited.’
‘Selena!’ Right on cue a girl with flailing arms hurtles towards me.
‘Cherry!’ I exclaim as we collide in a hug worthy of a WWF smackdown.
‘Oh here we go,’ Greg mutters, no doubt wishing he could borrow a little of the pastry from the next table to wedge in his ears.
Us girls do a merry little dance as we babble busily over each other, ‘I can’t believe you’re here/it’s been too long/you look so fab/this is crazy!’
And she really does look well. Back on the ship her bob was a perfect crimson bubble, all she needed then was a green stalk sprouting from her crown and she really would look like her namesake. Now her hair is more of a shiny oval, as vibrant as ever and an exact match for her lipgloss and nails – I happen to know that she has a selection of ten shades to choose from to accommodate the fickle ways of red hair dye! It’s funny, though Jules is the more model-esque, Cherry has always been more of a pleasure to behold, her greatest beauty secret being her joyful nature – just looking at her makes you smile.
Once we’ve stopped dancing and grabbing each other’s hands, Greg steps back into frame, complete with lifebuoy.
Quick as a flash Cherry quotes our favourite line from Sex and the City, channelling a lusty Samantha: ‘Seamen, twelve o’clock.’ She jiggles her eyebrows.
‘I pray when I turn around there are sailors, because with her, you never know!’ I giggle back.
‘So who’s your man overboard?’ Cherry looks quizzically at Greg.
I duly make the introductions.
‘Wow, you really come prepared for a sea voyage, don’t you?’ She grins at him.
‘Actually we flew here.’ He looks awkward. ‘Do you think it’s time I let it go?’ He gives me a pained look.
‘Don’t worry, we can pop it straight in the car,’ Cherry offers. ‘It’s right outside, if you don’t mind chatting while I run an errand?’
‘Of course not!’ I pip, happy to fit in with her schedule. ‘I just can’t believe you drive here!’
‘Are you kidding? I leave that to Konstandinos,’ she says, introducing us to a besuited man standing proprietorially beside the kind of sleek, black vehicle you have to check for diplomats before you slip on to the leather seats.
‘Wow, The World really is in another league,’ I coo. ‘So where are we headed?’
‘Kolonaki, it’s basically the designer district of Athens. You’re going to die when you see this shoe store –’
‘Is this errand for a billionairess?’ I enquire gleefully.
‘Actually, the shoes are for me – don’t look so shocked!’
I try to tone down the surprise on my face. ‘It’s just that you were always so scathing of label queens!’
‘Oh, I still am, and wait till you see all the clones on the street – high blonde ponytails, huge black sunglasses, right forearm crooked at forty-five degrees to show off the latest designer handbag . . .’ She titters. ‘But Richard has got me into supporting local designers, the point being you can buy Chanel or Prada anywhere in the world but when you come to Greece you want to see their unique vision, right?’
I nod.
‘He’s made me realise that they’ll go out of business if everyone forgoes them in favour of the big-name chains. I mean, we were in Flor
ence the other day, which as you know is tiny, and where there used to be one-off boutiques there’re now three Zara stores a stone’s throw from each other. And that’s a Spanish brand. You go to Spain and it’s H&M every other shop, and they’re Swedish! Now I’m all for international relations but you also want to try and keep hold of a little national identity!’
She makes a good point. I just have one key question: ‘Who’s Richard?’
‘You don’t know, do you?’ Her pupils dilate as she says the words, ‘He’s my fiancé!’
I should be happy for her – and I make all the outward signs that I am – but inwardly I feel a stab of injustice. She casts Dom aside, swans off to The World and within a year is all loved up and proposed to? Not that I want to be engaged but it’s the principle of the matter. Maybe that’s why Greg and I get on so well – I’m so much more comfortable with disillusioned spurnees.
‘So what’s he like, this Richard?’ I ask.
‘I can honestly say I never met a nicer millionaire!’ she giggles.
‘You mean you’re with him for his money?’ I can’t believe how much she’s changed.
‘Don’t be silly.’ She swats me playfully. ‘He’s an absolute riot. I think I’ve finally met my match in cheekiness. I just wish you could meet him but he’s working all day. Oh! Have you guys seen the changing of the guard?’
We shake our heads.
Cherry consults with Konstandinos and the next thing we know we’re stepping on to Syntagma Square outside the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
In front of the carved marble edifice stand two little beach huts, or so they seem, with a pair of matching soldiers in the most distinctive of Greek uniforms: beige jackets fitted at the torso and then flaring to the mid-thigh with a full pleated skirt over white woollen tights with black garters. Their shoes are clompy, almost clown-like clogs sporting outsize pom-poms, and their natty red caps have a long black tassel dangling from temple to waist like a single hair extension.
‘This is the most bizarre uniform I’ve ever seen!’ I whisper.
I suspect that the only thing that stops people giggling is the fact that they are carrying blade-tipped rifles and they themselves look like they’ve been carved from giant tree trunks.
‘Do you think they grow them specially for the job?’ I can’t help but enquire. ‘I haven’t seen any other Greek men anywhere near this height!’
‘Well, they are considered the army elite,’ Cherry informs us.
‘The Evzones?’ Greg enquires.
‘That’s right,’ she confirms. ‘Basically, they are a ceremonial unit here to guard parliament. Here come their replacements now.’ She directs our vision to the left where another statuesque team approach.
My eyes widen as they commence their changeover ritual with a slo-mo step in perfect synchronicity, first lifting their left legs, extending them outward, pointing the toes and then stamping their feet to the ground. The same follows with the right legs. And so on. It looks as if the are imitating a stalk or, more specifically, John Cleese’s Ministry of Silly Walks.
‘Is this for real?’ I gawp.
Cherry nods respectfully, adding, ‘I do like a man in tights!’
As the one nearest us positions himself beside his sentry box he lifts his foot almost to eye level and I notice they actually have nails hammered into the soles of their shoes, for maximum concrete clicking, I presume.
‘Which reminds me . . .’ As soon as we’ve grabbed a few snaps, Cherry bundles us back into the car, taking us from the ridiculous to the sublime in the shoe department.
The boutique she had raved about couldn’t be a better ad for specialist shopping. Even the exterior sets the mood with its scalloped canopy, potted topiary and flat-screen TV running black-and-white movie clips of the female icons of the Fifties and Sixties – Audrey Hepburn, Jackie O, Sophia Loren – whose style is emulated within.
‘The designer used to be a stylist for Greek Vogue,’ Cherry tells me as we step inside. ‘His name is Vassilis Zoulias and he has an amazing eye for detail – I even love the wrapping they use: yellow with herringbone tweed print, isn’t that striking?’
I nod as my eyes dart from the shoeboxes to the framed photos of starlets emerging from planes and swirling in premiere frocks and settle on a magazine cover featuring Elizabeth Taylor at the Acropolis – it gives me quite a thrill to think I was there myself just yesterday!
And so to the shoes themselves . . . each artfully lit wall cube features two or three exquisite designs – sunshine yellow strappies, calamine pink slingbacks, African Queen jungle-print courts and then my favourites – pointy-toed deep emerald-green satin with a black bow.
‘Are they too expensive to touch?’ I whisper.
‘In pounds we’re talking from about a hundred and twenty up – I know people who’ve paid more at Hobbs.’
‘Would you like to try them?’ The assistant tempts me further.
‘Well—’
‘Oh go on, I want to give mine one more go.’ She smiles at the assistant who duly presents her with a glossy red pair with polka-dot detailing. ‘I can’t decide if a matching handbag is a step too far?’ She frowns, stepping over to the display.
‘Erm, do you mind if I have a quick nose in the bookshop across the street?’ Greg asks to be excused.
‘Of course!’ we chorus.
The second he is out the door Cherry grips me. ‘Quick! All the goss, I’m dying to know!’
I take a deep breath. ‘For starters we’re not an item. We just met on the beach a few days ago, but he’s been an absolute godsend.’
‘But what were you doing on a beach in Greece in the first place?’ Cherry is impatient for information.
‘Well.’ I bring her up to speed on the situation with Alekos, including my foolish infatuation, but falter slightly as Jules comes into play. Not least because Cherry looks chilled at the mere mention of her.
‘Jules is here in Greece?’ she quakes.
I nod.
She tuts herself. ‘It’s silly. It shouldn’t matter any more, especially not now I’m with Richard, but it still stings to think of her with Dom.’
Talk about greedy! She casts Dom aside but resents it if he hooks up with someone else? I’m glad the assistant is approaching with my dream shoes because I really don’t know how to respond.
‘You know, it took a long time and a lot of therapy to get that image out of my head,’ Cherry says, lowering herself on to the chaise.
‘What image?’ I frown. Did she have some kind of guilt issue from abandoning him?
‘You know why I left the ship, don’t you?’ She looks up at me.
‘Because you got a better offer from The World,’ I reply.
‘Because I caught Jules and Dom together. In the thalassotherapy pool.’
‘Doing what?’
Cherry rolls her eyes.
‘No!’ I gasp.
‘She never told you, did she?’
I shake my head as I sink down beside her. ‘I had no idea.’
‘Well, that explains a thing or two . . .’ Cherry trails off. ‘So where is she now?’
I feel my world tilting even more off-kilter as I say, ‘With Alekos.’
Cherry looks horrified. ‘With the man you’ve just told me that you were madly in love with?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh my god, she’s done it to you too!’
For a second we sit there too shellshocked to even play Cinderella. Until I remember the facts of my situation. ‘Actually, it’s not the same,’ I gulp, trying to get a grip. ‘Jules didn’t know how I felt; I’d sent her all these texts ridiculing Alekos and saying I wished she were there to torment him. Look . . .’
I file through some of my backlog and read them out loud to her.
‘So you never mentioned that your feelings changed?’
I shake my head. ‘Well, there is one here that says: They say everything looks better in the sunshine – is that why Alekos is looking be
tter every day? But that could just be dismissed as lust.’
‘Go on.’
My heart sinks further. ‘I don’t remember sending this one . . .’
‘Read it,’ Cherry urges.
‘I’m having secret thoughts of rearing one of Roubas’ puppies with this man!’ I look up at her. ‘That’s his father’s dog . . .’
The more I read the worse it gets.
Cherry slumps back on to the velvet. ‘My therapist said it wouldn’t be the first or last time she’d do it. Apparently it’s not about the guy, it’s about wanting what you’ve got. She said it’s strangely common among women who are looks-based personalities. Society tells them they can have anything they want because they’re beautiful. And then when they see another woman happy in love when they’re not, they get all indignant – I’m the pretty one! That should be me! And so they set about getting it for themselves, regardless of the cost to the friendship. Their only aim in that moment is to win – to prove that physical attractiveness is the greatest trump card, because without that, they will feel utterly worthless.’
Could this really be true? I’m too dazed to process what Cherry is saying but I get the gist – Jules did it on purpose. She knew how I felt and she did it anyway.
‘Do they not have your size?’ Greg makes a tentative approach, trying to find a reason for our wretched state – when he left us we were all twittery and frivolous.
‘It’s not that.’ I pull him on to the chaise beside us. ‘You know the home-wrecker of Elounda?’
He nods. We’ve just about updated him when the assistant approaches, no doubt curious as to whether any more friends will be joining us on the chaise.
Cherry looks at her watch. ‘I suppose we really should be getting a move on. They’re perfect.’ She hands the assistant her pair. ‘What about you, Selena, are you going to treat yourself?’
I sigh, thinking of New Zealand and how my sister’s lifestyle is more hiking-boot-orientated. ‘I’m not sure I’ll have an appropriate occasion—’
‘Nonsense!’ Cherry cuts in. ‘Your next formal night is only a couple of months away – Oh my god!’ She suddenly grabs my arm. ‘Why don’t you two have dinner on board with us tonight! You could wear them then!’
Out of the Blue Page 28