Love, Lies and Lemon Cake

by Sue Watson

  ‘Hey, wanna tick something off my living list today?’ Dan said as we lay entwined in post-coital sheets.

  I sat up, leaning my head on my elbow, intrigued.

  ‘You have to do it too, though,’ he warned, rolling out of bed.

  ‘I need to know what it is before I agree to do it,’ I said, slightly nervous. ‘It might be extreme sex in a public place—and I don’t care if it’s on your list, I couldn’t do that. I just don’t have the lingerie,’ I smiled.

  ‘Who said we’ll be wearing anything?’ he smiled, pulling a sun-faded T-shirt over his brown chest. I watched him, wishing he’d take it off again.

  ‘Come back to bed,’ I urged. ‘Let’s stay here and sleep to celebrate the fact we are finally alone together.’

  ‘Plenty of time for sleep... Come on, Faye, get up. Your life awaits,’ he pulled the covers off me in one dramatic sweep. I screamed, delighting in the freedom to make as much noise as I wanted now everyone was gone.

  Eventually we wandered out into the white-hot day and headed into Oia where we hired a motorbike. I was a little dubious—I’d never ridden one before, and when Dan climbed on and told me I would be perching on the back, I was horrified. ‘I’ll fall off. I can’t just cling to you on the back of that bike—I’ve seen those mountain roads!’ I gasped.

  ‘I’ve helped you with your living list—now it’s time to do mine,’ he smiled, handing me a helmet. I strapped the helmet on and tried to retain as much dignity as possible while mounting the hot, metal beast. I may have come a long way, but co-ordination and balance had never been my strong point and all I could see was me being hurled across the road in front of an oncoming goat truck or, worse still, down the side of the Caldera, dashed on the rocks. Don’t get me wrong; I could see the appeal—high mountain roads, the wind through your hair and spectacular windowless views—it just didn’t appeal to me.

  Once we’d mounted the bike, I closed my eyes and rested my head on his back, desperately trying to blot out what was happening. ‘Well, if it’s on your list,’ I said, clutching him tightly round the waist, ‘let’s get going.’

  He fired it up. ‘Oh, this isn’t on my list—this bike’s going to take us to what we’re going to do on my list.’

  ‘Now I’m worried!’ I yelled in his ear over the noise of the bike, which suddenly took off at what felt like a hundred miles an hour, leaving my legs behind. I was terrified. But he’d been so supportive, I had to go along with this. He loved riding the bike, whooping and yelling, as I screamed along extremely narrow, high mountain roads. My screams weren’t exhilaration; they were screams of bloodcurdling fear as I shook on the back of the bike. My arms were tightly wound around him—there was no way I was letting go—and when he threw both his arms up, my shriek accompanying his whoops of joy must have made quite a racket on those high, dusty roads. My only consolation throughout the tortuous ride was whatever it was on his list couldn’t be any worse than a fast bike ride through hell on mountain roads with no barriers.

  I was wrong.

  * * *

  We finally arrived at our destination, Amoudi Bay, and I was surprised to see we were actually back in Oia, just around the bay from where we were staying.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he said, seeing the realisation on my face. ‘We didn’t need to take the bike, but I love it and just wanted to warm us up first.’

  I was too shell-shocked to answer. I just wanted to get this whole thing over. I climbed off the bike, but the insides of my legs ached and I staggered around on terra firma trying to get the feeling back in my face and thighs. Looking down, my knees were red from the sun and my forehead stung. Oh yes, I was going to look ravishing by the end of today.

  ‘Come on,’ he beckoned, parking up the bike in some gravel and heading off down five million steps to the beach. I followed, slowly regaining my composure and the feeling in my inner thighs. He was as excited as I was scared and I was desperately trying to gather a little courage for whatever was about to come next. But as we walked further down the steps, I heard shouts and bodies landing in the swirling water. Looking up I could see a high ledge in a cliff about twenty feet up and someone standing, waiting to leap. ‘No. No. Absolutely no,’ I said, staggering down the steps behind him.

  ‘You are kidding me? I can’t do that. Absolutely no way,’ I said, shaking my head vigorously to emphasise this. People were passing us to go down onto the beach and I made to go back up the steps to safety, tears in my eyes, my chin trembling with emotion.

  He stopped on the step and turned to me, gently holding me around the waist, looking into my eyes. ‘You told me that if you’d known a year ago all the things you were going to do, you would have said, ‘I can’t do that.’ But Faye... you did it.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘Yes, it is. You’ve done far bigger things. This is just about having the confidence to do it—believe in yourself, Faye. You’re fit, you can climb the rocks, and you can swim... just jump. I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘I can’t and you sound like a bloody life coach from Channel 4,’ I said, angry that he’d brought me here, put me in this awful situation. ‘I’ve got a fear of heights and—surprise, surprise—a fear of death!’

  He just looked at me with laughter in his eyes. I wanted to be sick. My feet dragged down the steps and I suddenly wanted to be anywhere but here. But reluctantly I let him take my hand and guide me down.

  We finally reached the beach and stripped to our bathing costumes. I offered to just stay on the beach and sunbathe and watch him dive. ‘I’ll support you,’ I tried, ‘but I don’t have to actually do it.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ he smiled. ‘I did stuff on your list with you. I skated, had sex under the stars, watched the Santorini sunset, swam naked... it was tough but I forced myself to do it all,’ he joked.

  I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s not quite the same as hurling oneself into jagged rocks from a great height before drowning in the sea.’ I was trying to be light-hearted and funny, but it wasn’t easy to do while in the queue for my inevitable doom. ‘Anyway... mine was fun stuff... this is torture.’

  ‘I disagree. This is fun stuff too,’ he said, taking my hand gently, and, just like the night we swam naked, we ran together into the sea, only this time we swam around the bay, stopping every now and then for a word, a cuddle, an ‘are you okay?’ from him to me. I was fine with the swimming; in fact I am quite a strong swimmer—but had no intention of doing anything else. Just watching those bodies hurl themselves from the sky, arms flailing, much yelping and whooping followed by a splash was making me feel dizzy... and absolutely petrified.

  ‘It must be a twenty-foot drop,’ I said, sheltering by the rocks once we’d landed at the foot of the cliff in a quiet, secluded little cove.

  ‘It is... but that’s nothing, Faye. It’s for beginners—which is why I brought you. I dived 136 feet in Acapulco, straight into the Pacific. The waves were crashing... it was the most amazing...’

  ‘Stop. You’re making me feel quite nauseous,’ I said, watching a young, athletic-looking guy scramble up the cliff side and make his way to the ledge.

  I agreed to swim a little further and climb the treacherous rocks and rubble, and after much frenzied discussion from me and soothing talk from him, Dan agreed that if I didn’t want to, I didn’t have to leap. I just had to climb up and face the drop.

  He stayed behind me all the way as my bare feet picked their way through the damp rocks, the sun beating down on my back and my heart beating even harder in my chest. What was I doing here? Had I gone mad? Once at the top he held my hand, guiding me all the way to the ledge, where we stood together in the heat and the blue, looking out onto the endless ocean. He kept telling me it was all fine, and I eventually found the courage to look down at the gently swirling foam. I’d always been scared of heights and looking down made my legs go hollow and I almost lost my balance and went over anyway, but Dan was there, holding my hand.

  ‘I believe
you can do it—all you have to do is believe it too.’

  There was no way I could even contemplate the jump; there were jutting rocks all the way down and that water was too swirly and evil-looking for me.

  I moved back from the edge; ‘I can’t, Dan... I just can’t...’

  ‘You can, Faye.’

  ‘You don’t understand; it’s not me... I can’t do this.’

  ‘It’s not the Faye who used to be scared of doing anything in life, I agree, but that’s not you now. The Faye I’ve fallen in love with can do anything she wants to do. She just has to believe she can.’ I heard my mother’s voice saying, ‘Anything’s possible, Faye. The only thing stopping you is yourself.’

  I took a few steps closer, peered over the edge, still holding his hand, still close to him.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  I turned to him. ‘Not really.’

  Before I knew it, he’d counted us down from three and, holding hands, we leaped together, flying through the air, an exhilarating, thrilling ride through the endless sky into the foam. I hit the water mid-scream and emerged from the watery depths choking and laughing and crying and feeling like I’d just conquered Everest.

  ‘I’m so proud of you,’ he was saying, hugging me, kissing my face and bashing me on the back to stop me inhaling any more salty water. ‘Me too!’ I yelled between coughs.

  Eventually, when I had my breath back, we swam to the main beach and lay together in the sun. I had done something that afternoon I had never imagined I could do, and now I really did believe that anything was possible and the only thing stopping me all my life had been myself.

  ‘Thank you...’ I murmured, remembering what he’d said on the ledge, ‘Dan, just before we jumped, did I hear you say you’d fallen in love with me?’

  He was lying in the sun, his eyes closed, a smile playing on his lips. ‘Maybe.’

  I lay back down, smiling to myself, and fell asleep on the beach, dreaming of that rooftop in New York. I was waiting at the table, holding a glass of champagne, the city below, the stars above, and when the man appeared from the shadows to join me, it wasn’t Kevin Bacon or Ryan Gosling... it was Dan.

  It’s a cliché, but I felt like we were soul mates; he was everything I’d been looking for all my life and I was finding it hard to imagine a future without him. He seemed to feel the same way, and as our time on Santorini continued, I wondered seriously about the possibility of going back with him to Sydney for a while.

  I missed Emma dreadfully, but was able to call her and text her regularly which helped us to stay involved in each other’s lives. She seemed very happy with her new boyfriend and, although I’d selfishly hoped it might have fizzled out, her relationship seemed stronger than ever. And if she was happy, that’s what really mattered.

  Meanwhile, Dan and I began to live a kind of life on the island. In August we celebrated my birthday; he baked a lemon cake and gave me a silver necklace made of stars. By September, the crowds thinned out and it felt like the island belonged to us, our very own paradise. We’d shop and cook together, drink retsina and eat fresh seafood in tavernas and watch the sky raging sunset. We’d wander through the narrow stone streets of pastel-coloured buildings, stopping every now and then, holding each other and just being. We’d sit on café pavements drinking Greek coffee and eating warm cinnamon pastries, watching other people go about their lives in the bright sunshine. I’d see Emma in the young women with long hair and brown legs, lives before them, voices filled with excitement about what was to come. We’d smile at the other couples walking hand in hand, the sun kissing their shoulders as they kissed each other, the air seemed permanently filled with lust and expectation.

  The evenings were infused with anticipation, like the buzz in a theatre foyer just before the performance. Early evening and the star (the sunset) was still dressing, waiting in the wings for her moment as the audience took their seats. I always found it so exciting, it never palled, and each evening I would wait for the heart-stopping moment and the applause at the sun’s final act.

  There was so much to do, yet so little; we had endless free time and yet our daily lives were full and busy and happy. We’d stroll to the Atlantis Bookshop, where among the densely packed shelves we found all kinds of literary treasures, sharing snatches of poems and beautiful paragraphs with each other. We’d wander through the shops, drink in the bars and considered ourselves natives, often rising early to enjoy the village before the crowds arrived. We’d sip cold frappes under bougainvillea, sharing our pasts, our futures but ultimately enjoying the moment, something I had never done before.

  One day we hired a motorbike again and this time I revelled in the high, narrow mountain roads, the breathtaking near-misses. I still had a fear of heights, but it was somehow more thrilling and I welcomed the fear, like one would welcome icy water in the face on a boiling hot day. We travelled the length of the island, staying a while on the black beach in Parissa, then took a small boat to Kamari, where we wandered through the shops and bars. On the way back that evening we ate fresh fish in a seaside taverna and Dan told me again that he loved me.

  Later we watched the sunset from the road, just sitting together, holding hands, talking as the night fell over us in a warm, dark blanket. We sat high on a cliff edge in the darkness, the black sea edged by twinkly lights scattered through the landscape like clusters of stars.

  ‘I feel all poetic... like Santorini is offering us her heart,’ I said, gesturing towards the view of the caldera opening out before us.

  ‘That’s beautiful, babe,’ he smiled. ‘But I only want your heart,’ he was looking straight ahead at the view. I turned to him. ‘You have it.’

  I’d never imagined in all my previous fantasies about film stars and rooftops and Vespas through Rome and pools in LA that real life could be even better. In that moment, I felt lucky to be alive; it was all so wonderful, yet at the same time so tenuous.

  ‘If I hadn’t had goodbye sex with Craig all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here with you now,’ I smiled. ‘Then, years later, I found my rucksack with my living list in and it set me thinking. Then I went into the deli for a sandwich and you set me thinking even more and... on and on,’ I sighed.

  ‘Yeah, the butterfly effect,’ he said. ‘The idea that something as small as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing can ultimately cause a typhoon halfway around the world... it’s called chaos theory.’

  We sat for ages in a comfortable silence and I thought about all the little things in my life that had happened...all those butterflies wings... all leading up to now.

  20

  CASTLES IN THE SKY

  Dan would cook most evenings for the two of us and I was learning so much from him. He fried white aubergines in olive oil, garlic and lemon juice—‘The Greeks call it the apple of love,’ he said, feeding me hot, sweet, juicy forkfuls in bed. He showed me how to make Santorini’s feta and honey pies, salty and sweet, wrapped in the lightest, crispiest filo pastry. I had never tasted anything so delicious. We ate them on the balcony, warm, with chilled retsina during a golden dusk.

  By the end of September, the climate had cooled slightly, but the water was still warm for swimming, and most days we’d visit a little cove or hire a bike and spend time on a beach, exploring Oia’s little idiosyncrasies. We took great delight in discovering her beautiful flaws, her real life beneath the showbiz sunset, sparkly white buildings and blue domes.

  One night Dan received a phone call from his father. ‘It’s bad news. My brother’s symptoms are getting worse.’

  I felt numb. I suppose deep down I’d always known it would happen, I just hoped it might be after the summer was over, this felt too soon.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ I said, knowing what his answer would be.

  ‘I don’t have any choice; I can’t let them struggle on...I need to be present in a way I couldn’t be for mum. I was younger then, I couldn’t deal with it, but I’m a grown-up now.’

  Neither of
us wanted to contemplate parting, and we’d talked vaguely about staying on through October until our money ran out, but this would speed up the end for us.

  That night we sat outside under the stars talking about a time in the future when Dan would be free and we could go to Italy, see the Trevi Fountain and ride that Vespa through the streets. I said it had to be pistachio-green and he said no problem and that we also had to visit Tuscany and a medieval walled town in Siena called San Gimignano.

  ‘I went there a few years back; it has an amazing piazza... gothic architecture and a castle with really high towers. From a distance it looks like a castle in the sky.’ He was excited.

  ‘Castles in the sky,’ I sighed. ‘Is that what we’re building here, Dan?’ I smiled.

  ‘No... it’s real. We will do these things one day.’

  ‘Dan, I realise you will have to go back home sooner rather than later... From what you’ve told me about the disease, John will need physical support as well as emotional...’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. It’s time I stepped up to the plate.’

  I nodded. ‘Absolutely. You have to... We both desperately want to do all the things we talked about, see all those wonderful places, but it’s not just about us is it?’

  He shook his head. ‘No... I always believed that being happy was just about being free, that it didn’t matter about how my freedom affected anyone else; it was about chasing my own happiness. But being with you has made me realise it’s not just about me... us.’ he sighed.

  The end of our time together suddenly seemed so sudden, so final.

  ‘Faye... this doesn’t have to mean the end for you and me. Come back to Oz with me?’ ‘We could start a new life together there, open that little café together. You’re a great cook, we’d be an awesome team. And Emma could come for holidays...’

  It was all very seductive, the idea of eternal sunshine and Dan. He’d even included Emma in the scenario, which made it even more appealing. I flirted with the idea, rolled it around my head a little and felt that new high that came with knowing I could do anything if I wanted to.