by Mandy Baggot
Theo was beginning to sweat. He had had to use every ounce of powerboat training technique he’d had to keep Igor and his friends from endangering themselves, anyone else still out on the water and himself. The wind was strong on open water, as was usual on Corfu in the evening, and the waves had thrashed both boats about. As the Russians totally disregarded both speed and spatial awareness, Theo’s attention had been on keeping them out of the harbour, but now they had turned. They were making for San Stefanos, faster and with more conviction than before – because he had raced them. He looked ahead, hoping against hope that the children were out of water.
‘Slow your boat down!’ he screamed into the air, moving parallel to the other vessel. He turned the wheel a little, brought the boats closer together for a second. They were almost back inside the horseshoe shape now, with two superyachts, sailing boats and other stationary sea traffic to avoid.
The sailors all sang louder, engine still at full throttle and Theo realised he had no other choice. He had to be the one to reach the shore first, be the barrier to the peril.
Twenty-eight
The blue-and-white boat with the lone occupant overtook the smaller hire boat filled to capacity, powering past it as Abby looked on. The furious wake was sending smaller boats nearer shore up in a dangerous sway, rocking them hard and causing a yanking of their tethers.
People from the village were moving to look now. Shop owners, taverna waiters, tourists, were all shifting in their seats to get a better view, or standing, hands shielding eyes from the sun. Abby’s gaze went back to the sea, her chest was tight, her body solidifying, feet sinking down into the wet sand and staying there like it was thick clay. Theo’s craft was thundering towards her and the children, and blind terror seemed to be stopping both fight and flight.
But then, the smell of fuel, the incessant rumbling of the boat engine, worked in unison to kick-start her instincts.
‘Ela!’ she screamed at the children, attempting to run forward through the water. ‘Tora! Tora!’
Yelps and shouts and movement of people from the buildings closest to the water seemed to spur the boys and girls into action and they finally seemed to understand that this wasn’t a game and that Abby wasn’t a crazy person.
Taking a glance back at the boats Abby held her breath. Theo’s vessel was just a few metres away now and there was no way she was going to be able to outrun it. There was only one thing she could do. Duck down under the water and pray. She closed her eyes, bringing her shoulders up to her ears, almost waiting for the pain to hit. Dying in Corfu had never been on her bucket list. She tried not to dwell on death since her father passed, had focused on filling her life with career ambition and as many trips out as she could afford and … Darrell. No! She did not want Darrell to be the last person she had on her mind when she was taken by the angels. She swallowed, shivering, heart racing … she was about to be mown down by a man who looked sooo good naked. How achingly unfair was that?
‘Are you OK?’
Hands went down on her shoulders, hard and heavy. The voice rough, angry and terrified all at once. It took Abby a second to realise that the boat noises had stopped and that the voice belonged to Theo.
She turned around, faced him. ‘How … I … you were … on the boat and …’ She looked over his shoulder at the boat then. It was almost close enough to touch, but not the front of it, the length of the side. Igor’s stolen one was a little further out, wedged between a huge yellow doughnut ring used to fling holidaymakers off and a flagpole flying the Greek flag at the end of one of the pontoons.
‘Abby,’ he repeated forcefully, eyes wild, gripping hold of her shoulders. ‘You are OK, yes?’
‘Yes,’ she stuttered. ‘Yes, I’m OK.’ She panted. ‘And the children are OK.’
He let her go then, all the energy seeming to disappear completely from every part of him as he slouched, core slackening, shoulders rolling forward, legs weakening.
‘Theo,’ she said softly, concerned. ‘Are you OK?’
He didn’t answer her, just stood, bent double in the water, hands at the top of his knees, his breathing uneven. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, but she could see the utter exhaustion and relief in his body language. He didn’t look OK at all. She could sense there was a whole lot of not OK right here.
‘Theo,’ she said softly. Slowly, she reached out her hand, not really knowing what to do with it, whether contact would help. She placed it gently on his shoulder and the reaction couldn’t have been more forceful. He straightened immediately, rocking back a few steps in the sea, almost hitting his boat.
‘Ime kala,’ he stated quickly. ‘I’m fine.’
He didn’t look fine. She swallowed as she looked into his tear-filled eyes. ‘Why don’t we—’
‘Theo!’
Leon came splashing into the water, grinning and proceeded to slap Theo hard on the back in congratulations. Abby watched Theo try to back away.
‘What driving you do!’ Leon continued. ‘The way you spin the boat around to block their approach. Everyone is talking about it. They say it is the most incredible thing they have ever seen, well, since Stathis perform the headstand on the unicycle.’
‘I have to get back to work,’ Theo stated.
Abby watched him, desperate to leave, not wanting to talk about it, needing to be anywhere but in the sea with his overenthusiastic friend. ‘Leon …’ she tried to deflect.
‘It was crazy! I think the Russians are going to kill the children and Abby, then I think they smash into your boat, then the pontoon … but, no jest, you … you just do everything completely right! You save everything and everybody! You are a hero, my friend!’ Leon took hold of Theo’s shoulders and shook him thoroughly.
Abby saw Theo’s expression cloud even further, his eyes dimming like his mind was elsewhere. She took hold of Leon’s arm, pulling him away. ‘Leon, would you be able to get us some towels? My dress is wet and Theo is wet and … it would be so lovely if you could do that. Perhaps George has some?’
Leon gasped. ‘Sure! I can do that! I will go now!’ He turned around and began hurrying out of the sea towards the growing crowd around the group of saved children.
‘I do not need a towel,’ Theo said immediately, moving through the water to the back of his boat.
‘I know you didn’t want Leon making you out to be eligible for a Pride of Britain award.’
‘What?’
‘I saw what you were doing with the boat,’ Abby stated. ‘You knew they were all drunk and reckless and you saw the children.’ She followed him around the stern, finding it hard to wade with her dress collating around her thighs. ‘I saw the children from George’s Taverna. If you hadn’t stopped them, they could have … well, it doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Theo snapped. ‘They are malakas.’ He rephrased. ‘Idiots.’ He pulled down the small ladder. ‘But you should not have come into the water. It was a stupid thing to do.’
Abby balked. ‘What?’
‘You put yourself in danger.’
‘I saw the children. They needed to get out and they weren’t listening to you.’
‘So, you thought you would give them something more to aim at?’ He scoffed. ‘Great plan.’
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Abby bit back. ‘I was trying to help.’
‘Yeah?! Well I do not need any help! Not from you. Not from anyone,’ he snarled.
Theo put one foot up on the ladder, ready to haul himself back on board and set about returning the vessel to its original position. So many feelings were running through him right now. Dread. Panic. Overwhelming relief. Desperation. And all of a sudden, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t get back on board. He looked back to Abby, powerless, hating that he had snapped at her, knowing it was only for self-preservation.
‘You should go,’ he told her, foot still on the first rung of the ladder but unable to complete the action.
‘Oh, I sho
uld go?’ She stood her ground, hands on hips. ‘Aren’t you the one with the boat?’
‘You’re wet,’ he reminded her. ‘Your date for the panegyri is getting you a towel.’ Why had he said that? Now he sounded jealous as well as looking pathetic, perched here, half up, half down, the water lapping around his hips.
‘Why can’t you get back on the boat, Theo?’ Abby asked him.
He laughed then. It came out stilted, as nervous as he felt. He slicked a wet hand over his hair, touching the nub of the bun at the back of his neck. ‘Why don’t you go into shore? You can have the honorary heroine status. Have Spyridoula sign you up to speak at her next council meeting. Tell everybody about your rescue of the children.’
She was still looking at him. Those honest eyes, that beautiful, fresh face … her expression though was unyielding. ‘Why aren’t you getting back on the boat?’
‘I am,’ he stated quickly.
‘When?’
‘When I am ready,’ he answered. But he could already feel it. The very thought of climbing back aboard, now all the adrenalin and desperate rush had subsided, was making nausea swirl.
‘What happened, Theo?’ Abby whispered.
He closed his eyes. He couldn’t do this. He didn’t do this. Talking about it was over the minute he’d left his father’s business. He’d made an oath to himself. He might still have the nightmares, he might still think about it, but he never talked. Not after the counsellor. And Abby, she didn’t even know who he really was …
‘You! You are crazy!’
For once Theo was glad to hear the loud Russian-accented words. He regained control of his leg and stepped off the ladder completely.
‘The boat has crack!’ Igor carried on. ‘Lots of crack!’ The group were on the nearest dock, all looking a little wet, still drunk and now angry.
Theo waded towards the landing platform and hauled himself up onto it, standing tall. He wanted these men to realise just what their stupid behaviour had almost caused. He pointed a finger, jabbing it hard against Igor’s chest. ‘It is not your boat! And you will have to pay for the damage!’
‘I will not pay! You do this!’ Igor growled.
‘I do this?!’ Theo exploded. ‘There were children in the water! You did not listen! You could have killed them!’
Abby hurried through the sea, rushing to get to a lower point on the dock where she could safely pull herself out. She reached up, palms flat against the sun-warmed, grey splintered wood, dragging her body out of the ocean.
‘What the wanging hell are you doing?’
Melody grabbed hold of her arm, helping her out and up onto her feet.
‘Come and help me,’ Abby begged. ‘Get Igor and his friends to go away.’
‘The village isn’t happy,’ Melody responded like San Stefanos was a living, breathing hive mind. ‘I’m not sure they’ll be allowed to stay here.’
‘Good,’ Abby answered. ‘Now come and stop them getting into a fight because I think there’s been enough drama for one evening.’
‘Yeah,’ Melody agreed. ‘And my bloody pork chops are getting cold!’
Abby hurried down the dock and rushed up to Theo, while Melody put herself in front of Igor.
‘Igor!’ Melody exclaimed. ‘That was some excitement!’
Theo snorted, shaking his head.
‘You make noise of pig at me?!’ Igor yelled, stepped forward, body tone set to aggressive.
‘No one’s making any pig noises at anyone,’ Melody insisted, running a hand up the Russian’s forearm.
‘You put your hands on anything that is not yours again and you will suffer!’ Theo warned.
‘Is that so?’ Igor responded. ‘How about her, huh?’
Abby’s breath left her chest as Igor shifted Melody aside, then stepped forwards, swinging an arm around her neck, dragging her into his body. It took only a second for her to notice the colour rising in Theo’s face, his jaw tightening, his hands clench up into fists. And then she was back in Romsey Sports Centre, mad and sad over Darrell, the eighteen-stone-plus bulk of self-defence instructor Henry Not-Quite-The-Rock Johnson squeezing the air from her lungs to simulate a nasty back alley assault. Channelling her inner Davina McCall, she snapped back her elbow, hitting Igor centre chest, then, once free, she turned, chopping him hard in the middle of his windpipe. He recoiled immediately, gasping for breath, hands at his neck like it had been severed.
She stood back, her hands now made into fists, poised to attack again should the first phase not have rendered him useless.
All at once, Theo and Melody collided in their attempt to get to Igor who was coughing and spluttering and being attended to by his cronies. It was Melody who pushed on through, thumping the Russian on the shoulder and sending him flailing into his comrades, a very angry expression on her face.
‘No one does that to my sister!’ Melody spat. ‘You ever come near either of us again and I’ll cut off your balls and make them into borscht!’
‘Come on, Igor,’ Andrei said, pulling at his brother’s arm. ‘Let us go.’
Igor growled something in Russian that sounded like a threat of the highest order, but Abby couldn’t have cared less. They were beating a retreat and that was all that mattered.
‘Yeah, go!’ Melody yelled as the group made their way down the deck towards the beach. ‘Piss off back to Russia, and take your tiny little dick with you!’
‘Melody!’ Abby exclaimed. ‘Maybe a little too much?’
Melody sighed. ‘I was always hopeful, but he never really delivered on the promise.’
‘I meant too much information,’ Abby said.
‘You all right?’ Melody asked, taking Abby’s hands and looking deep into her eyes. ‘First you almost get driven over, then you get in a Russian headlock and then – well, where did you learn those karate moves?!’
Abby smiled at her sister’s enthusiasm until she realised there was someone else missing from the boardwalk. She turned, looking for Theo, only to see him, retreating over the sand towards The Blue Vine.
‘Well?’ Melody asked, expectantly.
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Abby said. ‘Let’s go and see if the children are OK, and eat our dinner.’
Twenty-nine
The Dolan House
Abby sat on the edge of her bed, looking out the open window at the strip of sea and the frontline properties enjoying the first rays of morning sun. There was a hint of freshness to the air, the scent of earth and citrus before the heat enveloped everything. It was a new day after the high drama of the night before and somehow now, with the village so peaceful in the early light, none of it seemed real. Had crazy Russians been motoring around the small harbour? Had she performed her best self-defence moves on a wooden dock? Had she successfully stopped her sister from starting on tsipouro by reminding her she had important driving duties to undertake today? Had Theo been close to tears after the near disaster? Part of her had wanted to suggest one last drink at The Blue Vine after their delicious meal at George’s to see how Theo was, but George had presented them with their easel, freshly painted in bright white, the blackboard clean and darkened too. He had offered to deliver it, but Jackie had refused and, despite Melody’s protestation that even though Abby could perform ‘kick-ass karate’ she was the stronger of the two due to her foray into almost-erotic dance, it had taken four hands to get the signage back to Desperately Seeking.
‘Abby! It’s eight o’clock!’ Jackie called out. It sounded like her mum was downstairs already and the tone was keen, even after the champagne, which thankfully hadn’t been that expensive.
‘Coming!’ Abby replied, getting up and closing the mosquito screen on the window.
She hurried down the stairs and opened the door to the lounge/diner/kitchen. The sight that greeted her made her gasp a little. The wobbly old wooden table was full of food and her mum was pouring tea from a china pot.
‘Mum, what’s going on?’ Abby asked.
‘What d’you m
ean what’s going on? It’s breakfast.’
Jackie said the word ‘breakfast’ like she really meant ‘banquet’. Abby took in the fresh bread her mum had obviously gone to the supermarket for, the slab of feta cheese, the chocolate granola Melody always raved about and there was pastry … a pile of tightly folded parcels holding who-knew-what inside. There was a steaming cafetière filled with coffee she didn’t even know they owned, a tea pot in her mum’s hand, and a jug of what looked like apple juice. For someone who usually made hot drinks from the cold tap and microwaved them, this was catering.
It was then she noticed what Jackie was wearing. A lovely maroon knee-length dress in a chiffon fabric that floated naturally over her curves, on her feet a pair of contrasting oxblood coloured leather court shoes with at least a six-centimetre heel. She looked lovely. She looked smart and professional and much more like the person she had been when she’d started the estate agency business, full of plans and enthusiasm. Abby then realised she had been quietly assessing the scene for far too long than was natural.
‘It looks …’ She mustn’t make a fuss. She mustn’t say words like amazing or astonishing. Gushing was definitely out. A definite change had occurred, be it from the excitement of having a prize property on the Desperately Seeking books or from George’s Greek treats, but it had to go under the radar for now. Her mum didn’t need a reminder of how bad things had got when she was at the beginning of turning things around.
‘I’m so hungry,’ Abby stammered, heading to the table and pulling up a wonky chair. It was a total lie. Her stomach was still full from the six baklava bites she had devoured after the large starters and her delectable fish with spinach and artichoke main. ‘Where’s Melody? Still in bed?’
‘No,’ Jackie answered, moving to pour Abby a cup of tea. ‘She’s gone to collect George’s car then she’s driving over to Peroulades to get the couple for the viewing.’