SUNLOUNGER 2: Beach Read Bliss (Sunlounger Stories)
Page 66
*
Maggie Murphy hovered outside the dental surgery, her mind in two. She had not wanted to make a fuss to Mr Costas, nor confess that in fact she had never visited the dentist before in all her twenty-seven years. Mother had never seen fit to take her and up until now there had been no need to. Maggie supposed she had been lucky. Now it seemed her luck had run out. The surgery entrance door opened, affording her a momentary glimpse inside at the sterile yellow-cream painted walls and the grim, grey waiting-room carpet as a mother and her young daughter exited and made their way down the steps. The girl was in tears, her mother wearily comforting her. Maggie blinked up at the old Victorian conversion for a moment longer before walking away. On her way home she stopped off at the chemist, purchasing some codeine and oil of cloves. In the safety of her bedroom she took two tablets from the blister pack and swallowed them before rubbing her infected gum with the pungent oil. Then she lay on her bed and thought about Mr Costas’s surprise invitation to accompany him on his business trip to Santorini. She had always genuinely liked her employer. Mr Costas was a kind, well-mannered and intelligent man for whom she had the utmost respect. And she had never been to Santorini, or anywhere abroad before. But doubt and fear had prevented her from saying yes immediately. Mother would’ve deemed it improper for an unmarried catholic girl to go gallivanting off to another country with an older, single man. ‘Tongues will wag my girl…aspersions cast…your good character sullied…’ She could practically hear her mother’s disapproval even now. Maggie missed her mother so terribly that she was convinced her grief had presented itself in the form of this awful toothache. Mother was all she’d had, all she had ever known; still she felt her presence when she pulled the thin blankets up around her chin at night, the slightly sour scent of her skin and the sound of her low, shallow breathing as she had drifted into a fitful slumber next to her. Her death when it came had been a relief, something for which she prayed forgiveness for. Mother had become quite deranged towards the end: blood-curdling screams that went on and on, the thrashing of limbs, her strength surprising for one so frail. It had been such an undignified end, she’d watched her mother die like an animal, and had resulted in Maggie renouncing the church and everything it stood for. She had not set foot inside one since. As far as she was concerned, God no longer existed – but then again neither did mother…
She would go to Santorini with Mr Costas. She would tell him tomorrow she decided, as she finally slipped into a codeine-aided sleep.
*
‘You look…stunning, Maggie,’ Angelos stood to greet her, unable to hide his pleasantly shocked expression as she made her way through the restaurant across the decking towards him. She was wearing a yellow sundress, pinafore style, more feminine than anything he’d seen her wear before, and he tried not to notice the outline of her neat breasts beneath the thin cotton fabric. Maggie blushed.
‘Thank you, Mr Costas,’ she said as he drew her seat. No one had ever paid her such a compliment before and was unsure how to respond. Moreover it physically hurt to smile. That damned toothache had returned with spiteful vengeance and she didn’t want Mr Costas to know she had not visited the dentist and had instead been self-medicating with codeine in a bid to subdue the angry throb to a dull and marginally more manageable ache. Prior to tonight’s much-anticipated dinner Maggie had swallowed six tablets in quick succession, only they had not touched the sharp shooting pain in her jaw, so far at least, and it remained excruciating.
‘I took the liberty of ordering some local wine, some Vinsanto, I hope you don’t mind?’ he tentatively smiled at her, wondering what she was thinking, daring to wonder if she found him attractive, even slightly. He was well aware that he was hardly an Adonis, those days were long behind him if indeed they had ever existed at all, but he had made an effort with his choice of attire this evening: a salmon-pink short-sleeved polo shirt and his favourite beige chinos. He had even dabbed cologne behind his ears, something he hadn’t done since his thirties. He hoped it didn’t smell of eau desperation, or worse that his efforts smacked of attempted seduction, even if he did rather hope they might take a romantic stroll along the black sands of Vlyhada beach after dessert, his favourite on the crescent-shaped picturesque island.
It had been a magical day. They had visited the Akrotiri Archaeological site, strolled around the ancient 17th century BC city ruins like a pair of time travellers, a bona fide couple; he had shown her Fira town, the historic centre of Santorini which hung of the cliffs of Caldera, the relentless Mediterranean sun spitefully beating down on their backs as they navigated the winding cobbled streets.
‘I feel as if I’m walking in a postcard,’ she had commented and it had brought him such joy to see her happy. Tonight’s venue, a rooftop bistro in Imerovigli, had been skilfully chosen for the simply breath-taking views looking down onto Oia Village, the tiny sugar-cube houses scattered below offset by the blue dome rooftops, the sound of crickets singing in the background.
The waiter brought fresh dolmades to the table along with the wine and Maggie shifted a little in her seat, the throb in her jaw preventing her from experiencing the full joy of such an auspicious occasion. She only hoped the tablets she had taken earlier would begin to take effect soon.
‘I can’t even imagine just how wonderful it would be to grow up on such an island,’ she enthused as Angelos raised his glass. ‘It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.’
He beamed, enchanted by her enthusiasm.
‘A toast,’ he announced, ‘to you and I Maggie, and to Santorini… Yamas.’
Maggie took a tentative sip of the pale yellow liquid. It was the first time alcohol had ever touched her lips. It smelled awful and tasted worse but she did not wish to appear rude or indeed socially inept. Mother had always viewed those who imbibed as followers of the devil himself, but Maggie was aware of its numbing effects and welcomed such assistance.
‘Yamas,’ she responded, the alcohol burning her throat as it slipped down her oesophagus.
Dinner had been a new and sensational culinary experience: marinated fresh tuna with guacamole and ratatouille infused with a bouquet of aromatic herbs, moussaka with shrimp and crab meat, seafood dakos and a chocolate fondue to finish. The conversation had flowed; they had discussed Santorini’s historical merits and their respective favourite Greek literature while he regaled her with colourful stories of his childhood on the island as the sun slipped into the sea like melting orange sorbet behind them, tiny fairy lights dancing on the ocean surface as if God himself had waved a glitter wand. Maggie listened with genuine interest though her concentration was thwarted. Oh how she wished she had been courageous enough to have been seen to by the dentist; fact was, she was not sure she could last through the evening in such discomfort. It was as if her mouth contained an insane caged animal desperate to free itself. Barely able to focus, she continued to sip at her wine, her smiles and nods punctuating Mr Costas’s jovial banter, but the noise from the restaurant, a loud phonic sound wave peaking in highs and lows, was drowning him out and she was beginning to feel a little giddy as though she were on a ship. She blinked hard to maintain focus, trying to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘Are you OK, Maggie?’ Angelos was now looking at her with gravitas, concern etched on his brow. ‘Is everything alright?’
She struggled to respond.
He had noticed a distinct change in Maggie’s demeanour suddenly. Her speech had become a touch slurred in places; her gestures a little animated and he wondered if she may be a little drunk.
‘I’ll get the cheque,’ he suggested, ‘perhaps a little stroll along the beach will do us good, aid some of that digestion,’ he patted his stomach, wishing he hadn’t drawn attention to his paunch. He waived the waiter to the table and duly paid up but as Maggie stood up from her chair she stumbled and he rushed to assist her. Heavens above the girl was drunk!
‘Come on Maggie,’ he suggested kindly, ‘let’s get you out of here.’
‘You are so kind, Mr Costas,’ her words bled into each other as she spoke, her eyelids heavy as she clung onto him, shoes in one hand, dress hoisted up above her knees, ‘such a kind, kind man…bringing me here to this…this magical place…’
Her exuberance made him smile even though he felt wholly responsible for her condition. How naïve of him to think that she would have a tolerance for alcohol. Tomorrow she would have a sore head and be embarrassed – and he was concerned that she may surmise his intentions as dishonourable.
‘I think I’m in love with Santorini,’ Maggie giggled, her feet kicking through the black sand, soft and wet underfoot, ‘I have never been in love before, Mr—’
‘Please Maggie, why won’t you call me Angelos? It would make me terribly happy if you dropped the formalities…we’re friends after all.’
‘Yes!’ she beamed, her white smile illuminated in the dark. ‘Friends… Have you ever been in love, Mr Costas? Was there anybody special for you? Mother said I would never marry and have children, that God had decided it was not part of my destiny…that the Lord had other ideas for me…bigger ones,’ her voice trailed off into a melancholy whisper.
‘That’s nonsense, Maggie,’ he replied. ‘You choose your own path in life; a true God would not deny you the love of a good man.’ And by this he meant himself.
‘No! You’re right, he wouldn’t! Damn that God of Mother’s,’ she said, breaking into an unexpected run, ‘What does he know anyway? Hey, God!’ Maggie was shouting to the sky, her head tilted back on her shoulders, ‘Are you there, God? If you are there, will you give me a sign? Show me you can hear me, that you know it’s me, Maggie Murphy…the girl who gave it all up for you…’
He saw that she was heading towards the water’s edge now and began to run after her but he was too late and could only watch, shocked and admittedly a little endeared, as she waded into the water, shrieking and splashing in abandon like a child.
‘Maggie!’ he called out to her. ‘Wait! Stop!’
‘Come on in, Mr Costas!’ she yelled. ‘The water’s lovely!’
He hesitated, considering it for the briefest of moments before abandoning the idea. The girl was drunk and he could not, would not, allow himself to take advantage of the fact.
‘I really think we ought to get back now, Maggie,’ he approached the water’s edge, the night breeze nipping at him, though it was far from unpleasant. ‘We are off to Athens tomorrow, remember?’ He held his hand out to her and she took it, wading back through the shallow water, her face suddenly a grim mask.
‘Oh Mr Costas,’ she wailed, throwing her arms around his neck; she felt as though she might actually vomit and could not seem to control the use of her limbs and tongue.
‘What is it, Maggie?’ he spoke softly, gently as he held her small body by the waist in a bid to prevent her from collapsing onto the sand in a heap. She had such a lovely face; innocent and pure, she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment, drunk and vulnerable in his arms. He felt such a desire to kiss her that his chest ached.
‘It’s my tooth,’ she started to cry then, clutching the side of her face dramatically. ‘It’s my goddamn bloody tooth.’
*
‘I’m afraid it will have to come out.’ The dentist addressed Angelos in fast Greek, his mop of black curls dancing as he shook his head and tutted loudly. ‘Really, your wife, she should have come sooner, now she will lose the back molar.’ Angelos had made to correct the man but he’d rather liked the fact he assumed they were married.
Maggie looked at Angelos from the dentist’s chair her eyes wide with terror.
‘He says he can’t save it Maggie. He will need to extract it.’
Maggie nodded through her fear though it was tinged with a little relief, all she wanted was the damn thing removed from her head. She had practically overdosed on pain killers the previous evening; the night little more than a blur. She had woken that morning naked, mouth as dry as a sand dune, her head throbbing, and only prayed she had not made a spectacle of herself in front of Mr Costas.
‘I can do the extraction right away,’ the dentist explained, ‘though as she is a nervous patient and because of the size of the tooth itself I suggest she be sedated. If you could come back at 3pm to collect your wife?’
Mr Costas nodded as he translated to Maggie. He could see she was shaking.
‘I will cancel my business meeting at the book fair,’ he said.
‘No!’ Maggie insisted. ‘Please Mr Costas, Angelos…you go, you must. After all this was the very purpose of the trip. I will be fine,’ she reassured him with lies; he had done so much for her already.
‘It’s really no problem Maggie—’
‘I insist you go,’ she said, wanting to get it all over with as quickly as possible. Her dignity was in shreds as it was.
He shot her a look of concern.
‘You really should have said something earlier, you know,’ he chided her gently and she attempted an apologetic smile.
‘I didn’t want to be a burden.’
‘You could never be one of those, Maggie.’
He had wanted her last night more than he had ever wanted a woman before in his entire life. Collapsed in his arms he had eventually carried her, semi-conscious, back to the hotel where he had laid her down on the soft bed, her slight body as light as one of the goose feathers the quilt contained. Catatonic, she had moaned softly, gentle kittenish noises emanating from her that had aroused him. He’d had no choice but to undress her; she was sodden wet from her forage into the sea and so he had carefully, gently opened the buttons on her yellow sundress, trying his best and failing not to observe her semi-naked body, her small exposed breasts, nipples hard as diamonds, the smoothness of her untouched skin as he removed her dress, the dip of her belly where it met her private area, an area he longed to kiss and touch, to breath in her scent, show her what pleasure her body could give her, that he could give her. His frustration had been such that he had growled, clenching his fists, his jaw grinding until eventually he had placed a thin cotton sheet over her and left.
He had been too polite to remind her of it this morning.
‘I will be back at three then,’ he said, squeezing her small hand reassuringly. ‘You will look after her, won’t you?’ he addressed the dentist in his mother tongue.
‘Of course, sir,’ he replied. ‘My assistant will be here to hold her hand throughout. She will feel no pain…remember nothing.’
The dentist looked down into Maggie Murphy’s wide eyes and gave a small smile.
‘Please writing the forms,’ he said in stilted English, nodding to his assistant nurse, an older, robust looking woman who faintly reminded Maggie of her mother. The nurse smiled kindly, passing her a pen.
They began to exchange words in Greek that appeared heated, although Mr Costas had told her that most Greek people’s conversations sounded confrontational to foreign ears.
‘It’s an expressive language,’ he’d explained.
Eventually the nurse left the room, albeit seemingly somewhat reluctantly; at least that was the impression Maggie got.
‘You be fine…’ she said to Maggie in broken English as she left, ‘he look after you good.’
A bead of perspiration tickled the side of her cheek on its decent as she watched the dentist prepare his tools. He was a hulk of a man, late 40s she would guess, with very distinctive features: a large round face, a roman nose, thick rubbery lips and a mop of springy jet black curls that quivered and danced on his head whenever he spoke.
She surveyed the unremarkable, clinical white room and his collection of shiny metal tools that glinted malevolently in the stark light as she gripped the armrests of the black leather chair, a contraption that l
ooked more suited to medieval torture than modern dentistry, her worst nightmare manifesting into reality with each passing second. Pinning a paper bib to his chest and then to hers respectively, the dentist closed the white metal blind and locked the door.
Turning to face her he smiled and held up a small syringe that contained transparent liquid and said something in Greek.
‘I’m sorry,’ Maggie was shaking violently now, wondering if it was too late to jump up from the chair and run after Mr Costas. ‘I don’t understand.’
The dentist smiled a wide, bright smile that sent an instant shiver along her spine.
‘This will not hurt a bit.’
Six weeks later
‘It’s a miracle, Mr Costas, that’s what it is,’ Maggie blinked, beaming at a dumbfounded Angelos, waiting for a reaction. ‘That night in Santorini…the night I took all that Codeine to stop the pain…’
He nodded at her, his chest flooding with concern and fear.
‘It all came back to me…that night…when I asked him…I asked God to give me a sign…and he did, Mr Costas. I am the chosen one!’ She was animated, breathless, her face alight, eyes wide and glassy with tears. ‘Mother always said I was special…that God had bigger plans for me…’
Angelos needed to sit down. He was in shock.
‘The child is due in February next year.’ She took a few steps closer towards him, her expression earnest. ‘Mr Costas,’ she said sagely, ‘I know this may come as a shock to you, no more than it has to me, but I must explain, you see I have never been with a man sexually.’ She paused. ‘Do you realise what this means?’