by Lisa Heidke
Tara coughed and, without a hell of a lot of subtlety, poked me in the back.
‘Jack,’ I said, ‘these are my friends, Tara and Sophie. And that’s Levi over there.’ I pointed to where Levi had wandered to get a better view of the cable cars moving down the cliff.
‘Jack’s the guy I was telling you about, the one I met at the airport and then in Athens,’ I explained to the girls.
Tara raised her eyebrows. ‘After you tripped into the sunglasses stand?’
‘That’s the one,’ said Jack.
‘The boat, the boat,’ said Levi, tugging at Sophie’s shorts.
‘How about you give me your address so we can meet for a drink?’ Jack suggested.
I didn’t answer. I was too busy examining his eyebrows . . . then, the whole package. Blushing crimson, I recalled one of my dreams from last night — him whisking me away on a donkey.
‘Great idea,’ said Tara, jotting down our address on an old but clean napkin she pulled from her bag. Totally ignoring my disapproving look, she added, ‘Claud would love that.’
‘Great.’ Jack took the note, folded it, and put it in his shirt pocket. ‘See you soon.’
We watched as, sandals slapping, he walked in the opposite direction.
‘Spill it,’ said Sophie after Jack was out of earshot and we had started on our way again.
‘What?’
Tara rolled her eyes. ‘The bronzed Aussie.’
I shook my head. ‘Nothing to tell.’
‘Nothing my backside,’ replied Sophie. ‘All that hair flicking, it looked like you had fleas.’
I kept walking, ignoring their pleas for more information. Flicking my hair? As if! I must admit, though, my legs were a bit wobbly. I wasn’t sure if it was because my leg was still hurting from the mishap in Athens, or because I’d just noticed how really good-looking Jack was. On the other hand, I wasn’t used to walking so much, so maybe I needed to exercise more. My lack of fitness was a bit unfortunate as we’d only just started down the six hundred stone steps to reach the small port to catch the excursion boat.
A stocky man with burly arms and a jaunty Greek sailor’s cap waited at the boat launch and helped us aboard. Sailing away from Santorini, as the ferry rocked and dipped, I gazed back at the red cliffs and imposing granite rocks that seemed to rise vertically from the surface of the deep blue waters of the caldera. On the edge of the cliffs, hanging over the sea, hundreds of white homes, hotels and churches dotted the landscape.
‘I can just see Marcella’s,’ I shouted over the noise of the boat’s engine.
‘And it looks like it’s about to fall into the sea any minute,’ Tara deadpanned, then returned to her journal writing.
‘Best not to look then,’ said Sophie, closing her eyes.
When the boat arrived at the small island of Nea Kameni, Levi spoke first. ‘Stinky, stinky poo,’ he said, as if trying to get rid of a bad taste in his mouth.
As an overwhelming pong of sulphur filled the air, everyone sat on the boat looking at each other, silently agreeing with him. But after some gentle nudging and sweeping hand gestures by the tour operators, we realised we were supposed to leave the boat and walk around the island, perhaps even hike to the top of the volcano.
‘Hey, I didn’t think this was a walking thing. I thought it was a looking thing,’ Tara said as we stood on black stones and stared up at the largish volcanic cone.
‘Come on, you two. Levi’s already taken off,’ Sophie said, and began sprinting up the hill over the sharp and rocky terrain.
‘Do we have to?’ I stared down at my pretty open-toed red sandals. Not the smartest choice.
‘Look at them,’ Tara said as we watched more than a dozen tourists stream past. ‘Some of those guys must be eighty years old.’
‘Yeah. What if there’s something amazing up there and we miss it because we’re too lazy to use our legs?’
While Tara doubted there’d be anything worthwhile at the top, she didn’t want to risk missing out. So, the two of us, shamed into walking by a toddler and a group of geriatrics, trudged upwards.
‘The air might be better up there,’ I said as we heaved ourselves to the top of the volcano. But as we neared the peak, sulphur still hung in the air.
‘Do dragons live inside?’ Levi asked as we watched hot vapours spew from the crater.
‘Maybe,’ said Tara. She took Levi’s hand and together they went dragon hunting. Meanwhile, Sophie and I sat on a rock and tried not to inhale too deeply.
‘Feeling okay?’ I asked her.
‘Yeah, no. I love being with Levi most of the time, but I think I need something more.’
‘What, like going back to law? But you hated being a lawyer — the hours, the stress —’
‘— the clients — yeah, I know. No, I don’t want to go back to that. I’ve just been thinking about a few ideas. It would be nice to have my own money so I wasn’t financially dependent on Alex.’
‘I can understand that.’
‘What about you? I was shocked the other day when you said you might change jobs when we get back home. I thought you liked working for Marcus.’
‘Let’s face it, my friend, it’s not ideal, is it, me working with numbers all day?’
Sophie smiled. ‘I guess not.’
‘It was only out of desperation that I took the job in the first place.’
‘Great timing hey, just as George stuck you with that massive debt.’ Sophie shook her head. ‘What a prick!’
‘Yeah, and to think I was planning on a future with him.’
Sophie put her arm around me and nodded. ‘Do you still want . . . children?’
‘I don’t know any more. I might have missed the boat as far as that goes.’
‘You’ll meet someone else.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think I want to.’
And anyway, with my track record, it seemed highly unlikely. The best I could manage was being someone’s part-time, secret shag and that was definitely not what I aspired to.
‘Amazing to think, isn’t it,’ Tara said, returning from her dragon walk with Levi, ‘that this baby could blow at any moment.’
‘Like a real volcano?’ said Levi.
‘Ooh! What was that?’ Tara shouted, jumping up and grabbing Levi around his waist. ‘It’s the volcano dragon.’ Tara and Levi ran around shrieking and laughing, much to the astonishment of the senior citizens.
‘Nice way to go three days before my birthday,’ I said.
‘You just wanted to mention your birthday,’ said Tara, bending over to catch her breath.
The truth was, I wasn’t rapt about turning thirty-nine — it was a whisker away from forty. I couldn’t get away with careless behaviour like sleeping with my boss for much longer. Being in your forties suggested a level of maturity I had yet to reach, so I certainly didn’t want a big fuss made about it.
Two hours later, after our ferryman had successfully manoeuvred past dozens of fishing boats and shiny yachts all bobbing in the water vying for space in Fira harbour, we stepped off the boat and gazed up at the hundreds of steep steps we needed to climb to get back to the town centre.
‘I’m buggered,’ I said. ‘I can’t walk. I’ve just spent two and a half hours walking up and down a volcano. That’s enough. My feet can’t take any more. I have blisters.’ I looked down at my very dusty sandals and charcoal toes and ankles. ‘Damn these beautiful but stupid sandals.’
We gazed at the donkeys, then at the cable cars that had temporarily come to a halt.
‘What do you reckon?’ said Sophie, hugging a weary Levi in her arms.
‘Donkey?’ I suggested. There definitely weren’t any taxis, so a four-legged ride was the only option.
‘Look at the poor things,’ said Tara, walking over to pat one. ‘They’re half-dead.’
‘Tara! We’re half-dead.’
‘They’re exhausted. God knows how many times they’ve already climbed those steps today.’
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Sophie agreed. ‘We can walk.’
‘It’s the donkeys’ job. They won’t get fed unless they take us up the hill,’ I said irritably. ‘Besides, they look happy — enough.’ An outright lie, but I was tired. I had to look after myself, being middle-aged and all.
Twelve donkeys were lined up in front of us, ready for action, their black saddles decorated with multicoloured blankets and harnesses adorned in coloured beads. The beads gave them a soft glow. Or maybe it was the hot afternoon sun giving the weary tourists the soft glow. Either way, I won the battle. We chose three relatively friendly and agile-looking donkeys and clambered aboard. Eventually, they started walking. Very slowly.
‘At least mine knows that the stairs are an inevitable part of his job, even if he is gnawing the lead with his teeth,’ I said to Sophie when her donkey stopped at the second step, blocking all the others behind him. He was happy to fling his tail around, swat flies and pick at nonexistent grass.
‘No doubt trying to bore you off,’ Tara said.
Instantly, a withered old guy with a stick spotted the trouble and came over.
‘Please don’t,’ Sophie pleaded. He ignored her and gave the donkey a sharp whack on the rump. Not surprisingly, the old animal took off. Practically galloped up the next ten steps, which came as quite a shock to Sophie and Levi. However, after an initial burst of energy, the donkey settled to a slow walk with his four-legged friends.
I was shaky in the saddle at first but as I got used to the donkey’s height and gait, I relaxed, smiling as we strode past foolish tourists who’d chosen to walk the uneven steps. Ha! Bet they were having second thoughts about that decision now.
At the end of the twenty-minute journey we dismounted, and before anyone could turn and give them a thankyou pat, the donkeys had bolted back down the stairs. Obviously they hadn’t stopped to consider that no sooner would they arrive at the bottom of the stairs than they’d have to carry some lump straight back up again. Donkey logic.
‘My legs won’t work properly for a good hour,’ Tara grumbled, shaking her legs as she stumbled along the pathway.
A few metres away, Sophie and I stepped over a huge turd, evidently deposited by some unusually large donkey with an extremely efficient digestive tract. Even Levi who was half-asleep looked down in amazement and giggled.
‘Watch out for the donkey —’ I called to Tara who was walking behind.
‘Shit!’ Tara screamed as she slid on the donkey droppings and fell straight onto her bum. Soph and I thought it was hysterically funny. Tara was steaming with fury.
‘Shut up and help me. I’m covered in it.’
Unfortunately for Tara, we were laughing so hard we were useless. Tara kept slipping as she tried to get up, covering herself with putrid brown paste. By the time she finally got herself up, she was in no mood for chitchat.
‘Just walk a bit ahead of us, Tara, there’s a good girl,’ said Sophie as she and I fell behind her to escape the stench.
I walked towards the cliff side of the road to avoid Tara’s downwind, half-expecting her to shout at me, she was so furious. And she did too. ‘Get out! Get out of the way,’ she screamed, waving her arms. ‘Watch your bag!’
It happened so quickly — a scooter veering towards me, so fast it almost didn’t register. Just as the driver reached out to snatch my bag, I jumped to the side of the narrow road and in doing so almost threw myself over the cliff. Instead, I ended up in a prickly red bougainvillea.
‘Claud, are you all right?’ Sophie called as she and Tara rushed over to pull me from the bush and onto my feet.
‘I guess so,’ I said, brushing myself off before picking up my battered bag. ‘Bloody bag snatcher. Ha. Well he lucked out this time.’ My right leg had taken the brunt of the fall. The same one I’d mangled in Athens.
‘Why he do that?’ Levi asked.
‘A filthy thief,’ offered Tara.
‘He wouldn’t have gotten far on twenty Euros and a packet of Mentos,’ I said calmly, though my mind was racing. Retrieving my broken sunglasses from the road, I gave them a quick once-over — terminal damage — and tossed them into a nearby bin.
We walked home in silence, exhausted and tired. Once there, I politely suggested Tara use the outside tap to freshen up before having a proper shower inside.
‘Get fucked,’ was her agreeable reply. ‘Don’t you think I’ve been humiliated enough? I need a hot shower, so get out of my way and let me in.’
Tara in a foul mood was one puppy not to play with. Sweeping past me, she slammed the bathroom door.
After an hour reading magazines on the couch, watching Levi run over dinosaurs with imaginary motorbikes, and listening to the clickety-clack of Sophie’s knitting needles, I ventured upstairs to Tara’s room and knocked on her door.
‘What?’
‘You okay?’ I asked.
Silence.
‘Glass of wine?’
‘No!’
I hesitated. Should I go in and try to soothe the savage beast, or stay outside where it was safe? What the hell! A scooter had almost run me down and I’d survived. How much worse could this be? Opening the door, I found Tara lying on the bed, draped over her notebook, tears rolling down her cheeks.
‘It’s pointless,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘I’ve got several first chapters but never seem to get any further.’
‘Maybe your writing style is more suited to short stories.’
Tara shook her head. ‘But that’s not what I want to do. I really thought that being here, away from the magazine, I’d finally find some inspiration.’
‘Give it time, it’ll happen.’
‘You said that days ago.’
‘Well, maybe you need more time.’
‘I’ve got notebooks full of ideas and observations, but I just wish I could commit to seeing an idea through rather than giving up when it starts getting hard.’
‘Maybe if you reread some of your —’
‘You don’t understand,’ she interrupted. ‘I can’t concentrate. I need to clear my head but what with Sophie’s noisy needles and Levi’s shrieking —’
‘He’s not shrieking any more. He’s playing.’
‘Hallelujah.’ Tara raised her hands. ‘And the clicking?’
‘Still clicking.’
Tara sat up and closed her notebook. ‘How do you think she is anyway?’
‘Not happy, but I’m sure once she’s spoken to Alex —’
‘Why doesn’t he just ring?’
‘Maybe he really is tied up with work.’
‘Calculated neglect, I’d call it. I used to do it all the time to Anthony and most of the other partners I’ve had. Guaranteed to drive you insane.’
‘I’m sure he’s not knowingly ignoring Sophie,’ I said, wondering if Marcus would do the same to me when I returned.
‘True. Alex isn’t that much of a bastard.’ Tara regarded her notebook and plethora of coloured pens on the bed and took a deep breath.
‘Come on, leave the writing for tonight and come and enjoy the sunset.’ I ruffled her hair and she stood up.
‘You’re right. But don’t ever play with my hair again.’
We joined Sophie on the patio where drinks and mouthwatering appetisers — vine leaves filled with rice and raisins, marinated eggplant and artichokes, and briny olives — awaited us. I loved it, loved listening to the cicadas and the church bells in the distance, watching the lemons on trees sway gently in the breeze. I felt totally relaxed. I could easily stay here for the foreseeable future. Here, where I didn’t have a care in the world.
‘Tara,’ said Sophie when we’d settled. ‘I’ve read about this sort of thing, it’s very common.’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘Writer’s block. You’re forcing yourself. Just relax and take it easy. Why don’t you write a self-help book? People love those. I’d buy it.’
‘It has to be a quirky self-help book, though,’ I said, scooping up a
cracker of baba ganoush. ‘Something like, My Cat Saved my Life and Forty-Nine Other Sanity-Saving Tips. It’d be a bestseller in no time.’
Tara shook her head. ‘Very funny, guys. You love playing that game, don’t you?’
‘Are we annoying you yet?’ I asked.
‘Not overly. Anyway, I don’t think it is writer’s block. I think it’s me not following through. Maybe I’m scared of failure.’
‘How?’
‘I’ve been talking about it for years but never seem to make much progress.’
‘That’s not true,’ said Sophie. ‘What about those fantastic murder stories?’
‘She says they don’t count,’ I chimed in. Tara had been prolific at school and university. She’d written crime fiction, all short stories, but even so they’d been gripping, edge-of-your-seat reading. But her personal writing took a back seat later on when she started writing professionally. She said it was impossible to find the energy at night when she’d been writing all day.
‘Maybe you could look at changing jobs so you’re not exhausted when you get home?’ I suggested.
‘True. When I think about working for Melinda I’m-a-self-styled-visual-publisher Mason for the rest of my years . . .’
‘Yeah, getting out from beneath her should be inspiration enough,’ said Sophie.
‘I’ll say,’ I said. ‘If I were you, I’d have killed myself by now.’
‘You’re a fine one to talk,’ Tara said ‘What about that place Marcus sent you to?’
‘That reminds me, I should call him.’
I moved inside and dialled his number.
‘Marcus?’
‘Claudia, you like ringing me in the middle of the night, don’t you? How’s the holiday going?’
‘Fine, but I haven’t heard from Con yet.’
‘He’s a busy man running an enormous corporation. I’ve left him a message. He knows you’re in Santorini. He’ll call when he gets there. Just make sure you don’t give the information to anyone else, okay?’
‘All right. Marcus —’
‘Yeah?’
‘Nothing. I’ll see you soon.’ I clicked the ‘end’ button on my phone, muttered ‘calculated neglect’ under my breath and resumed my seat on the terrace.
I hated that I liked him so much. I couldn’t help myself. He was charming, kind and generous. What wasn’t to like? Oh yeah, that’s right. He was married.