by Mandy Baggot
‘Um, married, you know. Matrimony, a wedding,’ she attempted to translate.
‘We know what you speak of,’ Yan told her, his response stiff.
That announcement had somehow killed the atmosphere completely. A wedding was supposed to be an occasion filled with joy and happiness, a mention of it shouldn’t have people looking into their cocktail glasses not knowing what to say next.
‘So, she’s having it here, I think. At the Blue Vue Hotel,’ Ellen finished up.
Yan nodded and picked up his glass.
* * *
A wedding. Someone else planning an event to start the beginning of a new future. His stomach turned and it was nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed. He’d given Rayna a ring, promised her forever, before he had known exactly what her father’s business was. He swallowed back a mouthful of bile. This was why he was single and looking to stay that way. It wasn’t just the rules of his job, it was self-preservation.
‘Her fiancé’s called Mark. He’s really nice. He sells cars,’ Ellen continued.
‘She did not say she have a wedding,’ Sergei said.
Yan wanted the wedding talk to stop. He looked over to the limbo, trying to ignore the ugly feeling rising up in him. It was stupid. He couldn’t have a physical reaction every time someone mentioned a wedding, or whenever he saw a couple in a happy relationship. He needed to strengthen up in these scenarios, instead of letting his mind wander back to somewhere he really didn’t want to be.
‘Are you OK?’ Ellen asked.
He turned to her, saw the expression on her face. He realised then he had crushed the plastic cup in his hands, splitting it in half.
‘I am OK.’ He stood up quickly.
‘Limbo, baby! We start!’ Dasha locked his arms around Yan’s waist.
* * *
The limbo appeared as natural as walking to the workforce of the hotel. Their chests flattened, their backs bowed and contorted until they slipped under the pole with ease.
Ellen was going to do her very best not to make a complete idiot out of herself. She could do this. She was flexible. She’d done yoga, proper yoga, before she’d cancelled the classes. The teacher had said her cow was one of the best she’d seen.
She glanced over at Lacey. Her sister was sharing yet another cocktail with Dasha. One of two things would happen in this upcoming situation; either Lacey would be an expert at limbo and win, or she would be useless and not care. Either way, yoga or no yoga, Lacey would be more of a success than Ellen.
‘I think I’ll sit this out. You know games aren’t really my thing,’ she stated, turning to Yan.
‘Sit out?’
‘Yes, sit down. Not take part. No limbo.’
‘No?’
‘No.’ That had sounded forceful. She hoped she hadn’t offended a Bulgarian national pastime.
‘You would rather look to your phone or read giant book?’ Yan asked.
‘Some people might think your knowledge of my behaviour was almost stalking,’ she responded.
‘I do not understand what you say.’ He looked at her. ‘I see you roll from one side of lounger to the other many, many times. Then put book down, pick up phone, drink cocktail, get mad with sister …’
‘And here I was thinking you actually paid attention to those stupid games you organise.’
‘They are stupid? Because you do not want to do them? Many people enjoy this.’
Another insult had managed to fire out of her mouth without her even realising it. But he had started it, commenting on her every move. Just because she wasn’t coated in coconut oil, fanned out in a star position facing the sun, unmoving until her bladder needed release, it didn’t mean she wasn’t having fun.
‘Limbo is fun. We do together.’ He reached for her hand.
The contact took her by surprise but she didn’t have time to think about it. He interlocked their fingers and tugged her out of her seat.
* * *
A woman Ellen recognised from clearing tables at the hotel restaurant bent herself almost parallel to the sand and flicked herself up with style to rapturous applause. Ellen might be able to get herself down into a crescent lunge but this looked more like medieval torture.
‘I’m going to look stupid. I’ll make you look stupid.’
Yan smiled and shrugged. ‘I dress in clown suit for my job.’ He laughed and tightened his grip on her hand. ‘I know all of stupid.’
‘OK! Now we have current limbo champion, Yan from Bulgaria and from England … Miss Ellie,’ Sergei announced.
How did this happen? Now she was going to be humiliated and sound like a character from Dallas. And Yan had neglected to mention that he wasn’t just good, but brilliant.
‘Lower the bar,’ Yan told Sergei.
‘You want to start lower?’
‘Sure.’
‘Is that such a good idea? I mean this is my first time ...’ she reminded him. Paranoid about making an arse of herself and a limbo virgin - this whole thing was not boding well.
‘Lower the bar,’ Yan repeated.
Sergei and Dasha moved the pole until it was resting only two feet from the sand.
‘I can’t do this. Look at it,’ Ellen said. She could feel the muscles in her back tightening as every second ticked by.
Lacey started to chant like a stand of football supporters. ‘Ellen ... Ellen ... Ellen ...’
‘Hold my hand. Don’t let go,’ Yan instructed.
With her sister whipping the group up into a frenzy and their encouragement ringing in her ears, Ellen stepped towards the pole.
The music was turned up louder, something by Shaggy kicked in and before Ellen could think about it anymore, Yan was pulling her downwards. She inhaled and willed her body to move in ways she’d only ever asked it to move to the sound of whale song. The pole was close. She was nowhere near low enough. She knew she ought to do something bendy with her ankles, but that area had never been the most flexible and she’d torn ligaments once falling off a wall on a mission to rescue Lacey’s Barbie-With-The-Hair-That-Grows.
The firmness of Yan’s grip was kind of distracting too. His hand was warm, heating hers up with the contact, their fingers interlocked tight. It was such an unfamiliar sensation. She wasn’t used to contact like that. Ross hadn’t been a hand-holder. Bloody Ross! Ross would never limbo. He’d be too worried about messing up his hair and getting sand in his Vans.
Ellen needed to do this. She didn’t want to show herself up. For some reason she didn’t want to let Yan down either, even though he’d forced her into it. She had expertly negotiated million pound company mergers before the dawn chorus. She should be able to do this. Perhaps her new start would begin by getting her body under a bamboo cane.
She darted her eyes sideways, watching to see what Yan was doing. He was completely horizontal. She needed to put some more effort into this. Using every muscle she possessed, she straightened herself out, leaning back and trying to keep balance. An inspirational poster of flamingos came to mind.
Ouch! Her spine was going to snap any second. Her face was coming up to the bar and Yan’s grip on her hand was strengthening. His ankles were at ninety degrees, flat in the sand. That couldn’t be right.
Ellen licked her lips, trying to concentrate. This was nothing to do with physical ability, or contortion, this was mind over matter. She ducked her head back as the pole came upon her and then she fell backwards, pulling Yan over with her.
She hit the sand and he fell down on top of her.
Even before she could register the weight of him she was looking into those eyes. Bright, clear, gazing into hers. His breath was ragged, a smile forming on his lips. She felt her mouth move, her lips upturn into a smile, then a laugh escaped her.
‘Oh my God, that was totally stupid.’
‘You smile.’
He hadn’t moved an inch, was still laying over her. She could sense the heat of his body seeping into hers, feel the thud of his heartbeat.
&nb
sp; ‘I can do it. I’m just a bit out of practice,’ she whispered.
* * *
Yan’s hand was still in hers and he had no desire to end the connection.
‘I like it,’ he responded softly.
Adrenalin was coursing through him as he looked at her. Those big, brown eyes, the full lips now widened as she appraised him. He wanted to put a hand in her hair, stroke it away from her face.
Before either of them could react there was an uproar of cheers and applause. Lacey grabbed Ellen’s free hand and began pulling her from the ground.
‘You aced it, Ells! You’re a freaking limbo queen!’
‘What?’ Ellen struggled to her feet, brushing grains of sand from her dress.
‘Lowest height of the night and the pole didn’t even get a wobble on! A cocktail for my big sister! Over here! Right now!’ Lacey yelled.
Yan watched Ellen look back at the limbo station. There was the pole, sat where it should be, unmoved.
A smile spread across her face and she turned to him. He got to his feet, brushing the sand off his clothes.
‘We did it,’ she breathed. He could sense the satisfaction in her tone.
‘You think we do not?’ he queried.
‘Yes.’ She laughed, nodding her head.
‘I know we do it,’ he responded.
* * *
Her heart soared as a feeling of heat and triumph wrapped her up. She knew it was partly the alcohol she’d drunk but it wasn’t just that. For tonight, Yan had managed to make her forget her issues back home. Her shoulders felt looser, her ankles were killing, but that familiar knot of tension she carried around was nowhere near as tight.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
He nodded, putting his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet her eyes. She opened her mouth to fill the silence with something.
‘I …’
‘We are champions, my friends!’ Dasha’s off-key singing broke the moment. He slapped a large hand on Yan’s back and slinked an arm around Ellen’s shoulders.
‘Brandy cocktail. Get it down you,’ Lacey said, pushing a glass at her. ‘I love you, Ells. You’re the best sister in the whole bloody world!’
Now Ellen knew Lacey had drunk too much. The declarations of love came only just before the puking up. It was going to be a long night.
* * *
Yan watched Ellen being made to sway in time to the music with her sister. Despite everything he knew to be right, he’d felt it. A rush. A shot of arousal when he’d got close to her. Her body with his on the sand, their hands entwined. He needed to stay away from her. She could not be a distraction because he couldn’t guarantee his actions. Besides, if his instincts were right, the very last thing Ellen needed was a love affair. She seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
‘She’s getting married,’ Sergei remarked, watching Lacey and Ellen.
Yan shrugged.
‘I do not want her to be getting married.’
‘Why not? You do not look for relationship.’
‘No, but …’
‘What do you want me to say?’ Yan’s anger at Sergei was fuelled up by his own apparent weakness for a beautiful woman. He was going to be sensible enough not to act on it but Sergei was Sergei. He didn’t think of anyone but himself.
‘Hey, Yan, come on, what’s up?’ Sergei put an arm around his shoulders.
‘Nothing. Nothing is up.’ He shrugged Sergei’s arm off. ‘You know what? Do what you like as always. I do not care.’
12
The sun was coming up and Yan hadn’t slept again. So many things were going around in his mind. He’d had ouzo-induced hallucinations spiralling around in his head all night. Rayna, his village, his children, how things had been left. He put his finger and thumb to his forehead and tried to ease the headache. Too much alcohol. Too much talk of weddings. Then, Sergei, asking him about Lacey. Sergei took chances and he didn’t think. In contrast, all Yan did was think. It was slowly driving him crazy. Like thinking about Ellen and the bolt of desire he’d felt for her. That could not happen again.
He sipped water from the plastic cup in his hand and focused on the outlook. He didn’t have a sea scene, they were reserved for paying customers. But he did have a view of Mount Pantokrator. Set against the already cornflower blue sky, rising up towards the early mist of the morning it never ceased to amaze him, its core set amongst the green olive groves and the crags towering upwards. It was two thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two feet of solid rock, knowing its purpose in life, doing exactly what it had been doing for thousands of years. And here he was, Yan Aleksandrov, one hundred and sixty pounds, twenty-eight years old, knowing less now than he’d ever done.
Seeing movement in the car park he squinted his eyes to get a sharper image. It was Monica emerging from a car. Out of the driver’s seat came Spiros from the pool bar. Within seconds they were locking lips. He watched them, shaking his head. He didn’t understand women at all.
* * *
‘This is all your fault. You let me drink brandy!’
‘I let you drink brandy? You and the new drag queen entertainer were practically embalming yourselves with it.’ Ellen’s finger was hovering over the voicemail application on her phone. Should she listen to it now or after breakfast? If they made it to breakfast. Lacey had been vomiting on and off for an hour.
‘Did I do anything stupid? Just tell me now, get it over with.’
‘Let me see … you danced a Conga line into the sea … er … you told someone called Spiros he looked like Bradley Cooper – which he definitely doesn’t by the way – and you tried to bring a stray dog back to the room because you said it had sad eyes.’
‘Oh, God, my head is proper killing me! Why doesn’t this Ibuprofen work?’ Lacey leant her head against the toilet and shut her eyes.
Ellen had ordered her sister to keep the bathroom door open. One time, when they’d both lived at home, Lacey had locked the bathroom door on a vomit trip and passed out. Al had kicked the door down after Ellen raised the alarm and Lacey had been taken to A&E for a stomach pump. It wasn’t happening again here on her watch. Al would kill her.
‘I suppose you’re feeling chipper! Why didn’t you drink more?’ Lacey moaned.
‘I don’t feel quite a hundred percent if I’m honest.’
‘I feel like something marked way low down at a Primark sale.’
‘Well, the only way is up then. Shall we go and get some breakfast?’
Lacey’s answer to that was a gut-wrenching hurl into the toilet bowl. Ellen moved out of the room and onto the balcony for some fresh air.
It was humid and the sun was already high in the sky. Down by the pool there were a few tourists out moving sun loungers into the best positions. She took a breath of the warm air and looked back to her phone. She was being stupid. She was strong enough to deal with whatever Milo had to say to her. Forgetting voicemail, she hit the contacts button and pressed on the Lassiter’s profile.
It connected and began to ring. She checked her watch. It would be just after eight in England. Milo was always in by eight. Unless the coffee shop was busy. He couldn’t start his day without a double espresso.
The answer phone cut in and she ended the call. This was typical. She’d summoned up the courage to ring and no one was there. She pressed the voicemail key and put the phone back to her ear. She may as well hear what the emergency was.
* * *
‘Hi, Ellen, sorry to bother you. Hope you’re having a great time in Corfu. Mrs McGoldrick’s been on the phone. She’s received another reminder from the Revenue. I told her not to panic and I’ve sorted everything. You must have left it out of your holiday notes but fear not, it’s sorted …’
* * *
Ellen shook her head. Trust Milo to make himself out to be the hero who saved her skin. She was grateful he’d controlled the situation, though.
* * *
‘�
�� so you have a fantastic time and we’ll see you when you get back. Oh, one other thing, Ross Keegan from Keegan Manufacturing called and wanted to set up a meeting with me and Brianne. You’ve done most of the work so you should be in on that. Think it’s an ASAP so expect something in your diary the day you get back. It’ll be welcome home and back to the hard graft! Anyway, enjoy your break. Ciao!’
Her hand was shaking so much she couldn’t move the phone away from her ear. He knew. She was positive of it. Ross knew she’d been stealing from him.
* * *
There was a board outside the restaurant. A picture of a rock formation in the azure sea, a perfect blue sky behind. Ellen could almost feel the relaxation draping over her like a cloak. There was a trip that morning, leaving from outside the hotel, it was only ten euros.
‘This is not a good idea. I can’t see us being popular if I puke up in the scrambled egg,’ Lacey groaned.
Ellen turned back to her sister. She had stuck Lacey under the shower, made her dress and marched her down to the restaurant before breakfast ended for the day. Lacey might be too hung over to have something to eat but she needed to do something and the bar wasn’t quite open yet. She looked again at the board on the easel. Sidari. It promised blue skies, pretty beaches and peace once she’d lost the other people on the coach. It would take her away from Lacey’s hangover and the phone call from Milo.
Lacey let out a belch.
‘Oh, Lacey, just go and sit down. I’ll make a pot of tea,’ Ellen said. She indicated a free table behind the glass doors.
She couldn’t cope with Lacey being a pain in the arse today. Ross was coming into the office. Ross Keegan, entrepreneur, the ex-boyfriend who proposed in Alcudia, the one who had ripped up her business dreams, the one she’d stolen from. It was her worst fear come true. He must know. But what was he going to do about it? He was just as guilty as her, if not more so. And that was all the defence she had. She followed Lacey into the restaurant and headed for one of the teapot stations.