by Mandy Baggot
She watched Yan put the brass key fob into a slot on the wall by the door and the room was bathed in light, transforming it from darkness and displaying the five-star luxury straight out of the brochure pages. A low hum from the air conditioning unit started up and Lacey let out a squeal of excitement. Large twin beds dominated the room, with a small table and chairs in the centre. A beautiful urn of orchids rested on the table and there was a dressing table against one wall with an illuminated mirror. Matching wardrobes completed the furnishings.
To the right of the door Ellen could see a reasonably-sized bathroom and at the bottom of the room were patio doors she presumed led to a balcony.
Her feet moved of their own accord, taking her up to the glass. She unfastened the latch and pulled the doors apart, letting in a rush of humidity. She stepped just over the threshold, breathing in the scent of the night. Warmth, sea salt, essence of palm tree. She could hear the ocean, a light rolling of waves and in the distance hundreds of twinkling lights shone from the shores of neighbouring Albania. They were here, the village of Agios Spyridon, Corfu.
Ellen stepped back into the room and closed the doors back up.
‘Breakfast from seven to ten. Lunch from twelve thirty to two thirty. And dinner from seven to nine thirty,’ Yan reeled off, heading back to the door.
‘Thank you and thank you for your help with the bags.’ Ellen produced a five euro note from her purse and held it out to him.
His expression of disgust was evident. In fact she wasn’t sure he could’ve looked any more shocked if he’d been tasered.
‘No, thank you.’ He took a step backwards from her and the money.
She was sure she’d read somewhere that it was customary to give tips. She tried again.
‘Please, I know how heavy those suitcases were.’ She shook the note at him and immediately regretted it. He didn’t move a muscle and she was left with a wavering euro note in her hand. Why did she get the impression she’d insulted him?
He nodded his head. ‘Water exercise tomorrow at ten. I wait for you.’ He opened the door.
Before Ellen could say any more he left, closing the door with a bang. She jumped at the noise and the money fluttered to the floor, unwanted.
Lacey crashed down onto her chosen bed. ‘Fancy not wanting a tip! I thought they were all broke over here at the moment. Mark wasn’t sure about having the wedding in Greece because of the economic meltdown and everything but I said it would blow over. And anyway, if it doesn’t blow over they’ll be back to using the drackmark or whatever they had before, won’t they? It’ll probably be loads cheaper.’
‘We should get some sleep.’ Ellen checked her watch again. Truth be told, she didn’t know why she’d mentioned sleep. She hadn’t been sleeping well for weeks and she couldn’t see that changing here. The air conditioning might keep the temperature cool but it didn’t exactly sing you a lullaby.
Lacey sat up. ‘What?! Sleep?! I don’t think so. I say we open the mini-bar.’
That was actually a good idea.
* * *
Back in his room, Yan looked at himself in the mirror. He looked tired and so much older. It was like the last few months had aged him.
It would all have been so simple if he could have stayed in Brashlyan. He had made a difference there. A small difference, but a difference nonetheless. He had filled a void. He had been there for the children when their parents could not. The villagers knew him and they trusted him. There, his honesty and hard work ethic had been enough. The children adored him and, with every year that passed, he grew in confidence. Playing games, football, running in the fields were all such simple pleasures, but vital to his community. It was nothing formal, just teaching the children about friendship and teamwork, giving them a couple of hours a day to run free and be young.
He swallowed, remembering the looks on their flushed faces as the sun went down in Bulgaria. It seemed so far away now. Why did plans have to change? Why did things have to be taken away? Boyan.
He pushed back the memory and instead looked at the empty bottle of Rakia on the nightstand, a quarter filled with coins and notes.
He shouldn’t have reacted how he had with the holidaymaker and he should have taken the five euros. Saving for something helped keep his focus. He picked up the bottle, observing the contents. How could the bottom have fallen out of his world so easily? Had the life he’d had ever been real or had everything just been paper thin, built on sand?
The situation he had left back home had been half his fault. He might not have chosen to move to the city but he had chosen Rayna. He had carved out a life in Sofia he had no passion for. He had directed his enthusiasm and drive into all the wrong places. He had put his faith in someone too easily. He replaced the bottle and sat down on the bed. Getting burnt like that had taught him a valuable lesson. He would never expose himself like that again. Never.
He looked at his watch. There were only three hours to sleep. He closed his eyes. Sleep never came easy to someone reliving despicable things.
3
[Despite going to bed at just after four in the morning, Ellen was awake before seven. She’d not really been asleep, she’d just dozed, eyes half-open; that irritating state where your lids get heavy, your vision goes blurry and then nothing happens. She’d tossed and turned, counted the fronds in the lilies on the table and waited for the sun to come up.
Lacey was still fast asleep now, her bright, nearly white hair, draped right across the pillow. A protective feeling hit Ellen as she watched her sister breathing, her mouth hanging open, one hand clenching a corner of the sheet, just like it had when she’d been small. She’d often watched her sleeping when they were younger, especially when Lacey had been ill. She had always been the protector, the one making sure everything was how it should be. It was a pity she couldn’t do that for herself.
There was light coming through the cream, linen curtains and Ellen got out from under her covers, drawn to what lay behind them. How different would the view look in the daytime? Would it live up to the colour brochure? She put her hands to the material and waited a second. Taking in a deep breath she held it there, paused, poised. Whatever scene was waiting for her it wasn’t going to be what she was used to seeing out of the much-hated tiny two bedroom apartment back home. And it wasn’t going to be that beach in Majorca either. She closed her eyes. She wasn’t supposed to think back. That time was over. She had to focus on the present, learn from what had happened. Harbour no resentment, Ellen. Lose the anger. The last thought just made her angrier. That was the trouble with therapists, especially cheap online ones, if they hadn’t actually experienced the pain and humiliation themselves, they only knew how you felt from books they’d read. Even non-fiction could be fiction if it wasn’t written properly.
Ellen closed her fingers around the material and got ready to wrench the curtains apart. She let her breath go and it was then, before she could do the grand reveal, her iPhone rumbled into action, the display flashing and alarm bells ringing.
Lacey began to stir and she hurried back across the room to her nightstand. Picking up the phone she saw the reminder she’d set before she got into bed.
McGoldrick – ring Milo.
She checked her watch again. It was only just past five in the UK. She still couldn’t do anything yet. Lacey rolled over onto her side and put her thumb in her mouth, sucking like a contented infant.
She was in Corfu. She needed to chill out, relax, not think about anything but the now. She was away from everything here. She was going to use this holiday as a kick-start, to sort herself out when she got home. She was going to take charge, woman-up, believe and achieve. Find the money for power shoes.
Marching up to the curtains, she ripped them open with gusto and fell back in awe. The ocean was almost close enough to reach out to. The beautiful, gently rolling Ionian water with the Albanian mountains in the background forced out an audible sigh. Quickly she unlocked the doors and stepped out onto the balc
ony, the early morning warmth hugging her t-shirt-clad body.
* * *
From the pool Yan saw her come out onto the balcony. The lady who had tried to give him money just a few hours ago. The one who thought he was a thief. Her brown hair tousled, wearing only a t-shirt that skirted her upper thighs. She was looking out at the scenery as if soaking it all in. He’d done that too. The very first time he’d set eyes on the spectacular view from the incline the rooms were set on.
He watched her smooth her hands along the bar at the front of the balcony as if she was pulling herself into her surroundings. He’d done that also, needing to realise this was his home for the next few months; to know that, if he was sensible, if he didn’t do anything stupid, this could work for him. It may not be perfect, but it was a whole lot better than working for a man he despised.
Yan pulled in a breath and dragged his eyes away, turning towards the Albanian mountains as a flashback invaded his consciousness. If that man knew where he was, what would he do? Was their business settled or would there be some kind of payback? The concern was always there, eking into everything, tainting every experience. But was he even worth the trouble to Rayna’s father? After all the names he had called him, the cold, hard laughter and the taunts. He’d said Yan was pitiful, not good enough for anything, least of all his daughter. And, in some ways, he was right.
He straightened his arms above his head and launched himself back into the water.
* * *
To the right of the view was a lagoon of a swimming pool, exactly as the brochure had depicted. A waterfall rushed sparkling crystal clear water into the pool, palm trees skirting its perimeter. Wicker easy chairs faced the ocean, Greek music played and maids busied themselves, sweeping, cleaning and righting sun-loungers. Ellen could just make out the beach if she stood on her tiptoes. There was promise of golden sand and blue umbrellas.
Over to the left was an outside eating area – white wood tables and matching chairs - and further towards the sea was the wedding-themed pergola and that now infamous water platform. Blue and white drapes, flowers blowing in the breeze, the wooden structure her little sister was planning to get married on.
Thinking about Lacey and Mark making vows of eternal love to each other caused a hit of something close to jealousy to cascade over her. She shivered. She wasn’t jealous of her sister. She was happy for her. Mark was part of their family and Al thought the world of him. The men competed in golf tournaments and drinking contests together. They could even belch in unison. Mark was the son Al had never had.
Looking out at the water, there was just a tiny gnawing inside Ellen, when she thought about the impending celebration, a feeling that made her wonder if she would ever be as happy as Lacey was.
Straightaway she was transported from Corfu to an ill-fated trip to Majorca with her last boyfriend. Ross Keegan had asked her to marry him on a secluded beach near Alcudia and she hadn’t known what to do. He’d got the knees of his chinos covered in sand, the words had come out of his mouth and she hadn’t answered. She’d stood there, looking at the ring, then back at him, then at the sunset. Finally, she’d pointed at a boat on the horizon. Eventually, he’d got up.
The crux of it was, she hadn’t thought it was a real moment. And that had spoken volumes. They’d never talked about the future further than whose turn it was to stay the night. Marriage, being together forever, had never been on her radar with Ross. He was a career guy like she was a career girl. He liked her, she liked him, they cross-sold their services and they both worked long hours. She told him her dreams of owning her own business and he hadn’t thought she was crazy. He’d sat up. He’d looked interested. He’d said encouraging, supportive things. Accepting a proposal would mean changing things, being together. All the time. Every time she’d thought of sharing her life like that she had visions of her father and Lacey’s mother. The shattered relationship, the clothing store bills long after she’d gone. But one thing Al and Margarette had had was passion. Most of the time it had involved fighting long into the night, fuelled by alcohol, but it was passion all the same. The only thing she and Ross had got passionate about was interest rates.
But did she see herself being alone forever? Getting her kicks from chick-lit novels and trial balances? It was fine being a determined, lone wolf, full of ambition and big plans, but was that all she wanted? Because here she was, thirty, single, broke, a chief bridesmaid at her younger sister’s wedding, with rubbish hair and an obsession with the accounting needs of a horse trainer. There had to be more. She wanted there to be. But what extra something would fit with her 24/7 work ethic? Because work was all she knew and she wasn’t about to give up her everything for something with no guarantees, was she?
Ellen shook herself, sending a flying beetle off her forearm and down over the balcony. It was then, as she continued to soak up the scenery, that she saw an even more pleasing view than the Albanian mountains. Pulling himself up the pool steps was a Greek Adonis. Ducking her head slightly, to get a better view and to make her voyeurism less obvious, Ellen watched as the man got out of the water. All taut thighs and abs, he grabbed a towel from the nearest sun lounger.
He had dark hair, wet from the pool and shorn fashionably close to his head. He was tall, with a broad chest, nipped in at the waist followed by very small black trunks.
The man rubbed at his body with the towel, droplets of water bouncing to the ground and changing the terracotta tiles from a dull auburn to a bright orange. Then he raised his head and she found herself looking directly at him. It was him. With fewer clothes on. The man who had helped them with their bags. The one she had shied away from like he was a mugger.
* * *
She was looking down at him from the balcony, watching him dry himself off. She probably thought he had been up early checking under the sun loungers for lost watches or loose change. He shook his head. He was overreacting. This was about his perception of people, not hers. He had to remember this wasn’t Bulgaria and these weren’t the type of people he had been forced into associating with over the past year.
He looked up at her. She averted her eyes, as if she was suddenly finding the tiled floor a more interesting stimulus.
Last night she had been a newcomer, a woman alone on foreign soil and he hadn’t introduced himself straightaway. She’d been cautious and he’d been rude. He shouldn’t judge too soon.
He raised a hand to her.
‘Hello, lady!’ he called. ‘Do not forget, water exercise here, at ten. I wait for you!’
* * *
Ellen froze, still watching him rub himself dry with his towel. He waved again and she fled, stepping back inside the doors and closing them up. The air-conditioned atmosphere restored her temperature and she took a deep breath, trying to bring her heart rhythm back down. Relax. Breathe. Focus.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Lacey asked.
She jumped. Lacey was sat up in her bed, staring over at her.
‘Nothing.’ Ellen moistened her lips. ‘I just had a look outside. Shall we go to breakfast? I really fancy some toast.’
‘Are you serious? It’s only just gone seven. It’s all inclusive. They aren’t going to run out of food or anything.’ Lacey flopped back down on her pillows.
‘I know but we need to check out all the facilities, don’t we? See how they operate. See if Dad’s going to cope with hard-boiled eggs and hams when the wedding’s here,’ Ellen continued.
‘They do full English, Ells. It says in the brochure,’ Lacey yawned. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re acting really weird.’
‘I’m not, I’m just hungry.’
‘It’s work isn’t it? You’ve been on the phone to work already! What did I say, Ellen? You shouldn’t even think about work when you’re on holiday, especially when you’re on holiday with me!’ Lacey threw back the covers and got out of bed.
‘I haven’t. I’m not and I definitely won’t.’ Apart from the one call she was going to make as soo
n as Lacey was caught up talking to someone in management about seating plans.
‘We’re not getting up at seven every day. I might be here to organise my wedding but I’m also here for a good time and I intend to make sure you have a good time too,’ Lacey announced. She pinged the elastic waistband of her Little Miss Naughty pyjama shorts to emphasise the point.
That meant one thing. Ellen would be drinking her dad’s eighteen stone body weight in cocktails and being made to do party dances. She never remembered all the moves to ‘Agadoo’.
She nodded rapidly at Lacey in an attempt to end the conversation.
‘Good, well, I’ll just have a shower, do a recovery and rescue pack on my hair, choose a bikini and an outfit … I should be ready by nine,’ Lacey informed.
‘Fine, I’ll read.’ Ellen smiled, picking a paperback up from the nightstand and hugging it to her.
‘And no calls to work,’ Lacey said, pointing an accusing finger.
‘No.’ Ellen shook her head. ‘None.’
It was going to be a very long week.
* * *
‘Hello, handsome.’
Yan looked up from his bowl of cereal and met with the green eyes and over-tanned face of Monica. The woman snaked an arm across his shoulders, reached into his bowl and plucked out a chocolate cornflake, popping it into her mouth with overemphasised lip action.