Under a Greek Spell

by Simone Hubbard

  ‘Yes, that would be great, thanks.’

  ‘I hope you are having a good holiday so far.’

  ‘Yes, I’m loving it, thank you. It seems very quiet in here this morning.’

  ‘Yes, today is a change-over day so we had lots of people for an early breakfast. Here is your table. Enjoy your breakfast.’

  The person serving at this table is Costas. My heart flutters a little and my stomach decides to do a couple of somersaults. He pulls out my chair to seat me.

  ‘Kalimera. Would you like English breakfast tea this morning, madam?’ he asks, looking half-serious.

  ‘That would be lovely. Efharisto.’

  ‘You are quick learner. How would you like the milk?’ He’s grinning.

  ‘Ha ha, very funny. In the jug will be fine. That’s how we serve it in England, most of the time,’ I reply sarcastically.

  ‘Okay, so one English breakfast tea and milk in a jug.’

  He disappears to sort out my tea order and I make my way to the buffet. I decide to keep breakfast simple and quick to allow it plenty of time to settle before the impending boat trip.

  Costas returns with my pot of tea and places it on the table safely. ‘One pot of tea and milk. Enjoy your breakfast,’ he replies in a normal professional voice, and then he adds in hushed tones, ‘I meet you at the church at noon.’

  I decide to make some inroads into the questionnaire while I finish my tea. I add a few more ticks and comments. The trouble is, my comments about my waiter aren’t really relevant to this questionnaire … or printable.

  I check my watch. I’ve got plenty of time to relax by the pool while my breakfast digests. I reckon I’ll stand a better chance this morning of bagging a sunbed as it’s a change-over day; and if I get my skates on, I’ll have time to make an impression on my book.

  I fold my napkin neatly and pop it on the table. Costas is over like a shot to help me with my chair. ‘See you in a bit,’ he whispers.

  ‘I’m going to relax by the pool for a while and then I’ll meet you at noon,’ I whisper back.

  My bikini is already on under my clothes and I’ve got everything else I need in my bag. Manolis, the guy in charge of the sunbeds, comes across when he sees me approaching.

  ‘Good morning. There is more choice today. Would you like sun or shade?’

  ‘Oh, shade, please.’ I don’t want to get too hot and bothered this early.

  He leads me to a sunbed that has shade from a tree and a parasol. ‘Will this one be okay for you?’ he asks.

  ‘Perfect, thank you.’ I set out my stall. Sun cream and sunglasses on, bottle of water on standby, book and phone out. All set.

  I open my book at the bookmark and start reading. It all seems familiar. I skim to the bottom of the page, then the next page and the next. I carry on skimming until I reach the end of the chapter. There can be only one explanation for this. Helen has committed the heinous crime of moving my bookmark and wasting my valuable reading time. Why does she think this is funny?

  I finally locate where I am. I was mid chapter, wasn’t I? Oh yes, I was just here – you are separated or recently divorced… Oh no, I don’t believe it!

  Bridget the bloody Fidget is in my peripheral vision. She’s doing the same routine as yesterday and I’m inevitably drawn into watching her. She’s got a different bikini on today but it’s exactly the same routine. Oh, good grief, she’s turned round and it’s not a bikini at all, it’s a bloody thong. There’s nowhere to go with that bit. She lies back down and goes through her motions again.

  Right, that’s it. I’ve had enough. If I can’t concentrate on my book, I’ll Google Mykonos instead and glean some information ahead of my boat trip. I was all clued up for my Caribbean cruise but I have no idea about Mykonos apart from what I learned yesterday from Costas. Halfway down the page I’m reading, I notice something about Shirley Valentine. There’s a link to click. I skip through the plot highlights – Shirley is a bored Liverpudlian housewife, her friend wins a holiday to Mykonos, Shirley decides to go and leaves her husband a note and meals that she’s prepared, her friend buggers off with a bloke off the flight, Shirley meets… Great, my suspicions are confirmed. She meets Costas, who invites her to travel around the nearby islands on his brother’s boat. And, oh, bloody marvellous: they end up having steamy sex.

  What an absolute noodle I am. Costas must have thought, ‘Here’s another one who thinks she’s funny, I’ll string her along.’ That said, he is wearing a name badge that says ‘Costas’, so at least he’s not lying about his name. Unlike me. I think I’d better confess all that before we go much further.

  There’s a link for the boat scene from Shirley Valentine so I click on it.

  Manolis, who’s laying out towels nearby, hears the orchestral music from my video clip. ‘I like your music from orchestra,’ he chimes in.

  ‘Oh, sorry, I wasn’t expecting the loud music. It’s the Shirley Valentine boat scene.’

  ‘I see,’ he says, raising his eyebrows. ‘I can borrow a boat if you fancy being Shirley Valentine for the day,’ he adds scanning my face looking for a reply.

  Oh my God. Now what have I got myself into? He looks old enough to be my dad. ‘Nooo, I’m fine, thanks. I don’t really like boats,’ I reply in a rather panicky voice.

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll bear it in mind.’ He leaves me to finish watching the clip. Phew, thank goodness for that.

  Costas is now kissing Shirley’s stretch marks, which is one thing, thankfully, that I don’t have to worry about. The clip finishes so I put my phone away and decide to have a dip in the pool, being as though Bridget the Fidget is still adjusting her bikini.

  There’s a guy at the poolside, stood next to some speakers, wearing shorts, a T-shirt and some jazzy trainers looking like he’s about to start a keep-fit class. There’s no one else around dressed for a keep-fit class and then I realise that there’s a group of women in the pool facing him.

  He sees me. ‘Oh, fantastic, one more for the water aerobics!’ he shouts enthusiastically. ‘We’re just about to start.’

  Before I can make an excuse to escape, a woman pipes up. ‘There’s room here, lass, next to us.’ I smile and join the group in the water. It’s absolutely freezing.

  ‘Oh my God, how cold is this water?’

  ‘Aye, but nee bother, pet, you’ll soon warm up when Maaartin gets goin’, won’t she, Sandra?’

  ‘Aye, Maaartin will soon have your blood pumpin’ round, lass. He gives us a right proper workout.’ Both of the women start laughing.

  ‘Aye, pity he bats for the other side, like. Such a waste! Look at those pecs, look at that body! And those tattoos. Ooh, he makes me go all funny. I’m Carol, by the way.’

  ‘Hi Carol, I’m Steph,’ I reply through chattering teeth.

  ‘Morning, ladies. I’m Martin. Now, let’s get everyone warmed up and get those hearts pumping.’

  ‘My goodness, he’s far too energetic for me this early in the morning,’ I say.

  ‘Aye, lass, this is nothin’. Wait until he starts his twerkin’. It will make your eyes water.’

  He puts on the music and we’re away. ‘Big, big booty…’

  ‘Okay, everyone, let’s march on the spot and clap your hands above your heads. And stride to the left, one, two, three, four. And to the right, one, two, three four. And star jump, and it’s eight, seven, six, five… Now march on the spot. Get ready for some lunges, eight, seven, six, five…’

  Oh my God, I can’t believe I’ve got roped into this. I’m going to be exhausted.

  ‘And now for some twerking. I know it’s not easy under water. Just imagine you’re Jennifer Lopez.’

  All I can say is, Martin isn’t struggling to twerk his booty.

  ‘Four strides to your right, ladies. And star
jumps, eight, seven, six… And shake that booty!’

  I’m absolutely useless. Carol and Sandra aren’t much better, but they’re too busy ogling Martin’s expert booty action to worry about themselves. Fortunately, once we’ve got the booty song out of the way, that’s the end of the twerking. The next bit requires us to go to the edge of the pool and sit on the edge. The only issue with this is the pool is slightly deeper where I am and I can’t haul myself out of the water. Talk about embarrassment but Martin is swiftly to the rescue.

  ‘On the count of three you jump and I’ll pull.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I ask ‘I could just go over there.’ I can’t believe I’ve got into this predicament. Of course everyone else has realised and dispersed to water that was shallow enough.

  ‘It’s fine I do this every day,’ he says bending down and getting hold of my arms.

  ‘After three, one, two, three and jump.’ With one little jump from me he manages to lift me on to the side. I’m relieved that he hasn’t flipped over me and ended up in the pool – now that would rouse the people relaxing on their sunbeds.

  ‘Okay ladies now let’s work those legs! Push down in the water to the count of two and back. And that’s eight, seven, six… And now as fast as you can. Come on, splash as fast as you can!’

  This probably isn’t the best activity for my contact lenses as the water splashes up into my face from the over enthusiastic woman who’s next to me. Martin does some different variations with our legs then tells us to jump back in the water.

  We carry on for about twenty minutes and then do a cool down before getting out of the pool.

  ‘Thank you, ladies. I’m Martin, just in case you’ve forgotten. There’s a list of my classes on the flyer up here at the front. Have a fab day.’ He waves enthusiastically and we give him a round of applause and thank him.

  I make my way over to the table and pick up a flyer.

  ‘Hi there, I might as well make some attempt to keep fit while I’m here.’

  ‘Here, take a couple. Leave one in the toilets or something,’ he says, laughing and handing me another flyer.

  ‘Great class, by the way, and thanks for pulling me out of the water.’

  ‘Oh you’re welcome. I should warn people I haven’t seen before.’

  ‘I’ll probably come again and drag my sister along too.’

  ‘Oh, fab, the more the merrier. I’ll hopefully see you around, then.’

  ‘More than likely. I’m Stephanie, by the way, I’d better dash – I’m catching the bus into town.’

  ‘Lovely to meet you, Stephanie. If you want to go into town, I can give you a lift in about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. That would be very kind of you.’

  ‘It’s absolutely no problem. I’ll meet you in the lobby.’

  ‘Fab, I’ll be there. I’ll just quickly change into something dry.’

  ‘Oh yes, I don’t want a big wet patch on the seat. It’s not my car,’ he laughs.

  I hurry back to my sunbed grab my stuff and race back up to my room; luckily, housekeeping has been and gone. I put on my new bright green bikini and quickly put the other one into the basin with a bit of the Wild Olive shower gel that’s in our toiletries basket. I scuttle out of the room and get to the reception at the same time as Martin.

  ‘Oh, great, you’re here. Right, follow me.’

  I follow Martin outside and start laughing when I realise which car we’re getting into. ‘I can’t believe this is your car! I saw it parked up yesterday in town and it made me chuckle.’

  ‘Oh, I know, it’s a disgrace. It’s my job to clean it. You’ve shamed me into doing it this afternoon. Alexis will think it’s his birthday and Christmas all at once if he sees his car all nice and clean. Right, hop in, if you dare – it’s worse inside.’

  ‘Oh my God, it’s a skip on wheels.’

  ‘I know, I know. I promise I’ll clean it out this afternoon. You’ve got my word.’ We set off and Martin whacks the air-con on full pelt. ‘So, where in the UK are you from? I think I can detect a Derbyshire accent.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. And I think I can detect a Manchester accent,’ I reply.

  ‘Yes, Manchester born and bred. Alexis loves this awful Mancunian accent – the guy’s insane. I assume you’re on holiday with your sister?’

  ‘I am, but it’s ended up as a bit of a working holiday for her. Hopefully, she’ll be finished today and then we can enjoy this beautiful island.’

  ‘Ooh, working holiday – that sounds interesting.’

  ‘Well, it’s not! She works for Loving Luxury Travel and she’s looking for two new family-run hotels to add to their brochure next year. She’s also inspecting the hotels that are already in the brochure.’

  ‘Well, tell her to write a couple of lines about the fitness classes we’re offering, then people can come prepared.’

  ‘I will, and I’ll also take some photos to go on the website. So, what brought you to Mykonos?’

  ‘Well, I came here on holiday and happened to come across Alexis. He was a fitness instructor at the hotel where I was stopping. The rest is history! We fell in love, and two months later I was back here living with him. I work at various hotels and run my own classes in town.’

  ‘Wow, that’s amazing! Well done, you.’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s the abbreviated version! Let’s just say we got there in the end. We’re nearly in town – do you want dropping anywhere in particular?’

  ‘Oh, where the bus stops will be just fine. I can find my way from there.’ We arrive in the square, which is chaotic again.

  ‘Well, Steph – here we are. I hope to see you soon at one of my classes and come along to take some photos.’

  ‘Thanks, Martin, I will. Have fun cleaning the car.’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny.’ He drives off, waves out of the window and pips the horn, which makes everyone in the vicinity jump.

  I weave my way in and out of cars, mopeds and people and make my way down one of the little streets towards the church. Everything is just like yesterday. The fisherman is poised on top of the rocks and the old woman is busy feeding her little entourage of cats and kittens. She acknowledges me as I pause to stroke and play with them. I root about in my bag for my purse so that I can put some euros in her little box.

  ‘Efharisto,’ she says.

  I nod and smile, and then stroll over to the church. I’ve arrived a bit early so I decide to go in to light a candle. Just as Costas did yesterday, I pop a euro into the box and pick up one of the long thin candles. I light it from one of the three that are already there, and sit down on the bench.

  I loved candles as a girl. That is, until one of them brought about a tragic end to Helen’s beloved Barbie typewriter. She’s convinced, to this day, that I sabotaged it deliberately because I was jealous of it, but it was a genuine accident. I mean, who could seriously be jealous of a blooming Barbie typewriter, for goodness sake? I was just having a little play on it while she was out of the room. I loved the way the bell rang when I returned the carriage. Anyway, I heard her coming back, so I left it, and looked busy doing something else. Now, I can’t remember at this point why there was a candle burning on the table. I can only assume we’d had a power cut; candles for decorative purposes weren’t the done thing in those days, and power cuts were. After about five minutes, we noticed a burning smell.

  Helen leapt to her feet. ‘Quick, get Mum! My typewriter’s on fire!’ she yelled hysterically.

  Sure enough, there was a flame coming from the typewriter. I ran to find Mum. She came running in and whacked the flames with a tea towel until they went out. The typewriter’s return carriage was a charred mess and a putrid smell filled the room. The blame was quickly apportioned to me, with the conclusive evidence being that I’d typed ‘My name is Stephanie’ on the piece of paper tha
t was wound round the cartridge.

  Mum was furious. ‘Go to your room straight away, young lady, and don’t come out until I tell you! In future, don’t touch things that don’t belong to you, do you understand? Now go before you get a smack as well.’ So off I went, leaving poor Helen sobbing uncontrollably. Luckily, Dad must have been out, otherwise it would have definitely been a smack.

  Helen’s typewriter wasn’t the only thing that I managed to wreck in our childhood. Actually, while I’m here, I’m going to sit in the confessional booth and get a few things off my chest. I know there isn’t a priest on the other side but I’m sure the powers above can absolve me telepathically.

  I open the door, sit down inside and clear my throat. ‘Bless me, Father, er, I’ve never actually confessed before and, well, there’s quite a lot of things that I need to mention. It’s mainly childhood things, like Helen’s typewriter that I set on fire, but not intentionally. Then there was her globe, which I was holding one minute and then it seemed to be in pieces the next… Maybe I threw it at her in a temper. Now, about her precious dolls’ house that she hid on the top of her wardrobe, I might have “borrowed” some of its furniture for my own dolls’ house but I still maintain to this day that she “borrowed” my dolls’ house table. Oh, and her Monopoly – that’s a game we have in England; there’s probably a Greek version too, with places like the Acropolis in it. Anyway, it involves moving round a board with your chosen token. She always wanted to be the car, so I hid it and I “borrowed” some of the money, which was useless because I couldn’t spend it in the shops. Anyway, Father, this is all childhood stuff, which I’m sure Helen’s forgotten all about. But then when I was a teenager, let’s say I “borrowed” lots of her things, mainly clothes, and they didn’t look quite the same when I’d finished with them so I never gave them back. So, if you can forgive me for that as well, I’d be most grateful. Oh, and while I’m here, er, just one small thing. Well, it’s a big thing, really. I seem to have told a little white lie about my name. I’m really called Stephanie but I’ve told Costas, the waiter from the Boutique Blue, that I’m Shirley Valentine. I know I shouldn’t have done it but it kind of just came out…’