by Mike Gayle
Good friends
When we finally reached the apartment, the first thing Andy did was raid the kitchen cupboard in search of receptacles for the raki. Failing to find any shot glasses he chose to improvise and brought four white ‘I ♥ Crete’ mugs out to the balcony. Carefully pouring a double shot’s worth of raki into each mug, Andy distributed them out amongst us and then on his cue we raised our mugs in the air and simultaneously knocked back our shots in one. Our reactions were instant: Andy’s eyes began to water, Lisa and I coughed so violently I thought we might choke and Tom gritted his teeth like a tough TV detective and immediately poured himself another glass.
That first drink marked something of a watershed for the four of us. It was as if we had unanimously decided to give our minds a night off from our various individual troubles and just have fun. And with each shot of raki we consumed, having fun seemed to become a lot easier. Encouraged by Lisa, Andy, Tom and I wheeled out all our old favourite stories from the past. Everything from how we’d met during our first week at college, through our post-college years right up to and including the ‘edited’ highlights of our first night out in Malia only a few days earlier. Anyone watching this scene would have immediately assumed we were not just friends, but good friends. People who cared about each other. People who loved each other.
The night is still young
It was just before midnight and we’d been drinking, smoking and talking for well over an hour. Andy was sitting on one of the patio chairs with Lisa lodged on his lap, Tom was sitting on the other chair with his bare feet propped on Lisa’s lap, and I was sitting cross-legged on the table looking round at my friends and grinning like an idiot. This was one of those moments that I wished would last for ever. It was the kind of moment that makes a holiday feel like a holiday.
‘Never let it be said that I won’t admit when I’m wrong,’ I said drunkenly to Andy. ‘You were absolutely right about the raki, mate. This stuff is spot on.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said Andy. ‘For the past half an hour I’ve been shocked by just how entertaining Tom can be when he’s drunk too much.’
Tom raised his mug. ‘And with every double shot of raki, Andy, you somehow become a lot less obnoxious.’ Tom then walked over to me and gave me a drunken squeeze. ‘I’m off to bed,’ he announced. And after proceeding to embrace both Lisa and Andy, he slid back the patio doors and disappeared inside.
‘And then there were three,’ said Andy sharing out the last of the raki.
‘How can we have drunk a whole bottle already?’ said Lisa staring disappointedly into the bottom of her mug.
‘Maybe it’s a sign that we should call it a night,’ I said conscious of the fact that this was the second night in a row that I had drunk too much. ‘Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.’
‘There’ll be no talk of quitting,’ said Andy. ‘The night is still young. Don’t worry, for the greater good I’ll nip out and get some raki and fags, too, as we seem to be running low on B&H. I won’t be long . . . half an hour.’
‘No, mate, don’t,’ I pleaded as I realised that with more raki in the apartment there would be little chance of any of us getting to bed before dawn.
‘Too late,’ said Andy, standing up, ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
Through my raki-addled brain I did a quick calculation: one Tom (already in bed) minus Andy (to get raki and fags) plus me and Lisa would equal an opportunity for an uncomfortable conversation (or two). I did not want this to happen, especially as the alcohol had already done a pretty good job of loosening my tongue. ‘I’ll come with you,’ I said, struggling to my feet. ‘Keep you company.’
‘Charlie Mansell!’ screamed Lisa in mock outrage. ‘Anyone would think you’re scared to be left alone with me.’
‘I’m not scared of anything,’ I lied. ‘I just fancied a walk that’s all. You could come with us if you want.’
‘No way,’ exclaimed Lisa. ‘It’s hard enough walking in my heels when I’m sober, let alone in this state. Nope, I’m staying here and you’re staying too.’
‘You stay,’ said Andy. ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’ He patted his pockets as if looking for something. ‘Have you seen my keys?’
Lisa shook her head. ‘You must have had them earlier because you let us all in.’
‘They must be around somewhere, but I can’t be bothered to look for them right now. I’ll just call you on my mobile when I’m back and you can let me in, okay?’ He leaned across to Lisa and kissed her on the lips. ‘Oh, and make sure he doesn’t sneak off to bed, okay?’
Lisa nodded. ‘I’ll try my best.’
‘Right then,’ said Andy sliding back the patio door. ‘You two try to be good and I’ll be back ASAP.’
Show me how it’s done
‘Tell me something I don’t know.’ Lisa turned to me with a grin as I sat down in the chair next to her.
‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ I replied. ‘Tell you something I don’t know about what?’
‘About you,’ she replied, ‘tell me something I don’t know about you.’
I was confused. ‘But why do you want me to do that?’
‘Because if you don’t then we’re both going to have to sit here and endure the mother of all awkward silences. Come on, Charlie, you’ve been trying to avoid me since I arrived.’
‘What are you talking about? I’ve done no such thing.’
‘So that wasn’t you practically clutching on to Andy’s leg, yelling, “Don’t leave me alone with this woman?” I know why you haven’t wanted to be around me. The last time we spoke was horrible. I feel terrible about it, I really do. And I know what you guys are like . . . you all hate talking about awkward stuff. You’d sooner chop off your head than talk about how you’re feeling. But one way or another, Charlie, we’re going to have to talk about these things because I need to . . . if only to apologise for my part in them. So for now I thought I’d warm you up – so to speak – with a much lighter conversation.’
‘One where I tell you something about myself that you don’t know?’
‘Anything at all,’ said Lisa. ‘The first thing that pops into your head.’
‘I’m terrible at these sorts of things,’ I explained. ‘Nothing’s “popping” into my head at all. I’m a complete blank.’
‘That’s the second rubbish bloke thing you’ve said in as many minutes,’ said Lisa. ‘I thought you were better than that.’
‘If it’s so easy then,’ I replied, ‘why don’t you show me how it’s done?’
Lisa laughed. ‘You’ve got me there. There are millions of things you don’t know about me: how can I choose just one without you reading too much into it?’
‘My point entirely.’
Lisa took a sip of raki. ‘Okay, here’s one. When I was twelve my parents bought me a Girl’s World for my birthday – do you know what that is?’
‘My best mate’s sister had one,’ I replied. ‘They look a bit like the head of a shop-window dummy and you’re supposed to use them to practise hair and make-up skills.’
‘That’s the one,’ said Lisa. ‘So at least you know what one is . . . because my revelation is a bit tragic really . . . I now confess right in front of you that I used to practise French kissing on mine.’
‘But it hasn’t even got a tongue.’
‘I know, I know, I know,’ said Lisa momentarily burying her face in my shoulder in shame.
‘And did all that practice turn you into an amazing kisser?’
Lisa laughed cheekily. ‘I’ve had no complaints if that’s what you mean.’
Right,’ I said knocking back the last of my raki. ‘So I need a revelation that’s as good as snogging a plastic replica head . . . ?’
Lisa nodded.
‘Haven’t got one I’m afraid.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nope, nothing. You’ve won revelation of the day, hands down with your Girl’s World story. But you can consider me warmed up if
you like.’
There was a long silence.
‘I just really want you to know how sorry I am about what happened,’ said Lisa quietly. ‘I can’t tell you how much I wish I’d kept my stupid mouth shut. You should never have had to hear news like that the way you heard it. I could barely sleep that night for thinking about you and what I’d done. I was really worried about you.’
‘There was no need,’ I replied. ‘I was fine.’
‘And now?’
‘I’m still fine. In fact it was probably the best thing that could’ve happened because it forced me to do the one thing I hadn’t managed to do: move on.’
Lisa reached across and touched my hand. ‘Are you saying you were still in love with Sarah?’
‘I don’t know what I’m saying,’ I replied, aware of the warmth of her touch. ‘When you’ve been with someone for as long as I was with Sarah it becomes quite difficult to tell when love stops being love and starts being habit. Either way, it doesn’t really matter now does it? She’s definitely moved on. And so have I.’
‘I can’t tell you how shocked I was when she told me,’ said Lisa, still touching my hand. ‘She and Oliver had only been together five minutes.’ She paused and added: ‘I’m not sure I should tell you this, but at one point she actually asked me if she was doing the right thing having this baby.’
‘And what did you say?’
‘What could I say?’ replied Lisa. ‘I told her she had to do whatever she thought was right.’
Momentarily lost for a response, I chose to stare into the bottom of my empty mug in the vain hope that it might have replenished itself. The only thing I found lurking at the bottom of the mug was a change of subject.
‘It must be weird for you,’ I said looking out towards the sea. ‘Yesterday you were in Brighton in the cold – today you’re in Crete in the sun.’
‘It’s been great to get away,’ said Lisa. ‘I’m loving every second of it. I know I seem to be doing a lot of apologising but I really am sorry if I’ve spoilt your holiday. It’s not enough that I’ve been calling you and sending you text messages about Andy, now I’m here in person spoiling things up close.’
‘You’re not spoiling anything. In fact it’s been nice having you around today.’
Lisa squeezed my hand. ‘That’s really sweet of you.’
‘Well, it’s true.’ I was silently willing Lisa not to release my hand. ‘How are things with you and Andy now you’re here?’
‘Okay, I suppose,’ replied Lisa. ‘It’s funny, but my first reaction when he told me he’d bought me a ticket to come over was that he was trying to make up for something. Isn’t that a horrible way to think?’
We both stopped talking for a moment, content to look out towards the sea where a far-off ship was passing by. Meanwhile underneath us we could hear a group of girls – all clicking heels and laughter – passing by the pool.
‘So, what about this girl that you met at the airport?’ asked Lisa with a mischievous tone in her voice. ‘The girl-with-the-cowboy-hat? Andy said she was a bit of a babe.’
‘She was, and right now she’s probably getting chatted up by some tall, dark, handsome twenty-year-old bricklayer with abs of steel.’
‘I think you’re doing her a massive injustice,’ said Lisa. ‘Girls don’t always go for the physical . . . not that there’s anything wrong with you like that, but you know what I mean.’
‘Come on, Lisa, which would you rather have – me or the bricklayer?’
Lisa grinned. ‘Abs of steel you say?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Personality?’
‘Of a house brick.’
‘But he’s got abs of steel?’
‘Steel covered in burnished bronze.’
‘And then there’s you?’ said Lisa pulling a face.
‘Less abs of steel and more abs of custard.’
‘But a great personality.’
‘I can definitely tell a joke or two if that’s what you mean. Two fish walk into a bar—’
‘That wasn’t a question,’ replied Lisa, cutting me off with a grin. ‘It was a statement. And on top of that you can talk on the phone without resorting to a series of grunts, you’re a good listener, especially when the person at the other end of the phone is in tears . . . and to cap it all you’re nigh on perfect at making insecure girlfriends feel that bit less insecure when their useless boyfriends decide to go on an all-boys’ holiday. You won’t know this but I’ve always said to Andy that you really would make some girl the perfect boyfriend.’
‘I doubt that strongly.’
‘Because of Sarah?’
‘No,’ I replied, ‘because . . . oh . . . it doesn’t matter.’
‘Is this to do with this other girl you met out here? Donna?’
‘And they say that women are the worst gossips! What did he say exactly?’
‘Well, this is all through an Andy filter so I’ll take some, if not all, of it with a huge pinch of salt, but he said that you had some sort of an intense twenty-four-hour thing with her where nothing actually happened.’
‘That’s pretty much it.’
‘I bet it wasn’t.’
‘She was still getting over her ex.’
‘A pretty big obstacle, I’ll grant you but not an impossible one.’
‘She told me that holiday romances never work out . . . maybe she was right. After all, technically speaking that’s what Sarah and I were.’
‘Maybe they do work out and maybe they don’t,’ replied Lisa, ‘but they can be a lot of fun while they last.’
As Lisa’s words echoed around my head I realised that there was a certain inevitability about what was about to happen. It was as though everything in the past week had been conspiring to bring about this moment. Everything from our embrace in my kitchen, to the easy intimacy of our text messages, to the news about Sarah’s pregnancy had had the effect of bringing us closer together. But it had been Andy himself who had ultimately united us through his friendship and through his lies.
I touched Lisa’s face with both hands and she didn’t shy away. For a moment I wavered, telling myself that what I was about to do was wrong. But before I could retreat I recalled Andy’s response when I told him not to contact Nina: ‘I wouldn’t be risking anything,’ he’d said. At the time he had seemed so sure of the odds and so confident of the outcome that I wanted to know what it would be like to take the risk. Just as Andy had done. Just as Sarah had too. And that was the moment that thought turned into action.
DAY SIX:
SATURDAY
BBC Breakfast News
Most mornings when I wake up, the first thing that hits me is a strong sense of déjà vu, which is only natural, I suppose, because most mornings are exactly the same. Radio clock alarm goes off, I get out of bed and have a shower. Dripping water over the bathroom floor I shave badly in front of a steamed-up mirror and then return to the bedroom where I finally get dry and pull on some underwear. Clad only in boxer shorts I take out the ironing board and proceed to iron one of the five white work shirts I’ve washed over the weekend. I slip on the shirt, still warm from being pressed, quickly followed by my grey work suit, before heading to the kitchen where I pour myself a bowl of cereal (usually cornflakes but occasionally muesli – I got a taste for it after Sarah moved out). I eat the cereal in front of BBC Breakfast News then return to the kitchen, slip two slices of bread into the toaster and take out the margarine from the fridge in anticipation of my toast’s arrival. Lurking in the living room, I continue watching TV until I hear the toast pop up, then head back to the kitchen, slap the margarine on the toast and return to the TV. Approximately sixteen bites later breakfast is over and so I put on my shoes, grab my coat and I’m out the door. Sometimes I think I hate this routine. It makes me feel that I’m boring. So occasionally I’ll vary it (iron my shirt the night before or buy a different cereal or watch GMTV) and I’ll feel great. Vibrant even. But no matter what happens, the very next day I�
�ll be back to my normal routine with no deviations or variations. It’s almost as if the day before had never happened. And that’s exactly how I felt when I woke up following my raki-fuelled late night.
Staring at the darkened ceiling I strained my ears listening to noises coming from outside: water splashing in the hotel pool, laughter from fellow holidaymakers and the electronic warning beep of reversing delivery trucks. Lying there with all these familiar noises swirling round the room I thought to myself, ‘This is just an ordinary day. A day like yesterday and the day before that,’ and for a few seconds I felt a real sense of relief. That nagging feeling of discomfort was wrong. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach was mistaken. I even smiled at the air-conditioning unit when I realised that once again it had been left on its maximum setting all night.
And because nothing was wrong and everything was okay I reasoned that today was going to be a day just like any other on the holiday so far. We’d get up. We’d have breakfast. We’d go to the beach. In the evening we’d go out, drink too much and go to bed in the early hours. Everything was predictable. Everything was safe.
Just as I finally allowed myself the luxury of relaxing, something – possibly my burgeoning sense of guilt – made me turn my head in the direction of Andy’s bed where he and Lisa lay fast asleep and that was the moment that I knew for sure that this wasn’t going to be a day like any other. This was the day after the night before. And I’d never seen this script before in my life.
Unwilling (or unable) to start thinking too deeply yet, I climbed out of bed and quietly got dressed in my usual holiday attire of shorts and T-shirt. Grabbing my sunglasses and the keys for the hire car, I made my way from the bedroom into the kitchen. Tom stirred briefly on the sofa-bed but soon fell back asleep, so opening the front door as quietly as I could I stepped into the bright morning light and made my way downstairs.
The big question on my mind was where to go. The beach seemed like the most obvious place. It became less appealing, however, once I imagined it filled with its usual clientele flirting with each other against a backdrop of loud club music. Of course, now I had transport I could go anywhere I pleased. And so without thinking about my eventual destination, I made my way to the car, started it up and pulled into a break in the traffic in the direction of the Malia crossroad.