by Mandy Baggot
‘Listen,’ Gavin said, touching her arm. ‘Luce, please think about it. It would do us good. Both of us. Together.’
Gavin was giving her the big blue eyes and the smile he had whitened as regularly as he could. Her completely lovely best friend who would do anything for her – even cut her hair it seemed. They had been through so much together since they first met as student nurses at Southampton Hospital when they were both twenty. Gavin had been almost close to shy then. How things had changed. And how their friendship had blossomed. But, last year, both running on empty, sore and sweat-drenched, exhausted and deflated for the most part, their friendship had really deepened. In the very worst of times, Lucie had clung to solid, warm, utterly dependable Gavin like he was her personal life raft. She knew that, without him, it was possible she wouldn’t have made it through the dark times at the hospital to be here now in 2021 marking recoveries far more than full beds on ICU.
‘Please, Luce, please just think about it,’ Gavin said again. ‘Superhero keyworkers like us deserve this! More than anyone! You deserve this! And you know there really isn’t anyone else I want to go on holiday with.’
‘Hmm, not even Simon from the canteen?’
Lucie watched Gavin flush red from his cheeks to his non-eyebrow-sporting forehead. Her friend had a massive crush on the guy who provided them with coffees at the hospital cafe. But, for some reason, unlike with every other area of his life, where Simon was concerned, Gavin turned back into that self-conscious twenty-year-old who wasn’t confident with who he was.
‘We agreed not to mention the “S” word,’ Gavin said, dropping the magazine to the coffee table where it landed with a splat on Lucie’s roll.
‘You said you weren’t going to mention holidays again,’ Lucie said.
‘I never said that. When did I say that?’
‘OK,’ Lucie said, shimmying around Gavin and finally making some headway towards the kitchen. ‘Let’s make a deal. You say more to Simon than “rich, dark Colombian” next week and I will consider a holiday.’
‘Really?’ Gavin exclaimed, eyes lighting up like he was front row at a Cher meet-and-greet. ‘You’ll think about it?’
Lucie nodded and smiled. ‘If you speak to Simon about something other than coffee.’ It was never going to happen. Gavin had been bashful around the barista for at least eighteen months. But she would still think about it. She hadn’t had more than one day off since March 2020. And all that UK sunshine that non-essential workers with gardens had lapped up had been as closed to her as the pubs. Sand between her toes instead of Croc-sweat did have an allure…
‘Deal,’ Gavin said, lunging to grab Lucie’s hand in a shake. ‘I would seal it with spit like the old days but, you know, the new normal and everything.’
‘More coffee?’ Lucie asked, holding her mug aloft.
‘Definitely more coffee,’ Gavin agreed. ‘And a little internet research. Do we think the Balearics, the Canaries or Greece?’
All those places said ‘warmth’, and the idea of sunshine on her skin and a few weeks of total escape began dancing on her mind. Maybe she could. Perhaps, in fact, she should. And her aching spine seemed to agree with her.
Three
Kalamaki Beach, Corfu, Greece
The sun felt so good on his skin. As Dr Michalis Andino rested his bare torso against the beach sun lounger he felt his body drop into the material of his towel and deeply rest. This was what he had been missing this past year. Peace. Relaxation. That feeling that everything in the world was going to be OK. He was home and it felt good. Compared to the vibrant and often hectic heart of Thessaloniki, the island of Corfu was a flatline. But in the best of ways. The quiet was exactly what he needed right now. Quiet meant no destruction, no demand, no death. His body bristled then, his thoughts waking up and jumping on a train rather than stilling into a sunshine slumber. He needed to switch his brain off as well as his body. This was what this sabbatical was all about. It was either step away, rejuvenate and take a time-out or… break down.
Slipping his sunglasses upwards to rest on his dark hair, slightly longer than it had been for a while, Michalis surveyed the scene. The golden sand was speckled with loungers and bright blue parasols shading those who required it. Children made holes in the earth, building castles, digging trenches, chasing each other with buckets filled with sea water. The turquoise sea lapped slowly up the beach, swimmers having to wade out a reasonable distance before the sparkling water was deep enough to swim in. He would swim later. Once he had given himself a little peace just lying still, recovering… and not looking at his phone.
‘Dr Andino.’
Squinting against the sun, Michalis shielded his eyes and turned his head a little to the left. Had someone called his name? Surely it was his imagination. That was the problem with having lived through the worst time of your career, you were always on high alert. Dr Andino, this patient is worsening and we do not know why. Dr Andino, we need more Remdisivir. He wasn’t sure exactly how long it was going to take to completely let that heightened awareness go. He settled back on the lounger, discarding his sunglasses on the plastic table to his right that held his bottle of Alfa beer. Then he closed his eyes again.
‘Dr Andino.’
There was that voice again. It was female and it sounded vaguely familiar. Was he dreaming? He really didn’t want to open his eyes…
‘Please, Doctor, it is my eye.’
Michalis jumped then, almost falling from the lounger and into the sand. Feeling someone in close proximity he sat up, opening his eyes and finding himself a lot less than one-and-a-half metres away from Athena Martis from his village. Not only that, but the sixty-something woman was leaning into him, her eyelids prised apart by her fingers, one eyeball bulging like a huge shiny pink marble.
‘Mrs Martis,’ Michalis began. ‘Please do not open your eye that way here.’ He tried to lean away from her. ‘If the wind blows the sand then the sand will end up—’
‘Help me, Doctor,’ Athena said, unrelenting in her quest to show him the inner workings of iris, pupil and a white that did look very pink. ‘The itch, it is unbearable. I blink. I do not blink. It is all the same. The doctor in Acharavi gave me an ointment, but it makes no difference. Harris says he will not listen to my pain any longer. Nyx tell me you come here so… I come here.’
Nyx. His little sister was going to pay for this. Eighteen years old and still thinking she could play games like they used to. Despite wielding a butcher’s cleaver and taking no nonsense from most people, she still seemed to delight in winding him up. It should be comforting that she thought their relationship hadn’t changed, but, like it or not, he had changed. He had seen things he never wanted to see again and Nyx, fortunately, had been shielded from all that. But being sheltered meant not really having the same level of understanding of the world he had operated in. While she had stayed safe here on the island, he had seen families destroyed, hearts broken, lives lost every single day…
Michalis took a deep breath and focussed on the protruding eye. ‘How long has the eye been this colour?’
‘Mmm… it was after Easter… but before the end of May… about the time when the fireflies arrived.’
No real accuracy. But likely over a few months as they were now in July. Michalis squinted a little, trying to see if there was anything deeper than what he believed to be a conjunctivitis infection.
‘Is it… going to have to come out?’ Athena asked, finally letting her eyelid relax a little as Michalis carried out his beachside examination.
‘Mrs Martis,’ Michalis addressed her. ‘Tell me, are you sleeping with the goats again?’
He didn’t really need the woman to say anything. The expression on her face said it all.
‘After much research,’ Athena began, ‘Harris discovered that the milk from the goats was much richer when I spent nights with them.’
Michalis was going to have to speak to Harris. He suspected the man’s insistence his wife slept in
their barn was more about the quality of his sleep rather than the quality of the goats’ produce.
‘You will not sleep with the goats again,’ Michalis ordered.
‘But…’
‘It is the doctor’s orders,’ Michalis said firmly. ‘And I will tell Harris the same.’
‘My eye?’ Athena asked as Michalis reached for his sunglasses and put them back on.
‘I will bring you a solution tonight. Until then,’ Michalis said, trying to settle his thoughts, ‘do not touch it. Do not poke it. And do not rinse it with ouzo.’
Athena’s silence told him she had already tried all of those things.
He closed his eyes and tried to find his way back to the relaxing sea sounds, the gentle in and out of the water and the way the sunlight felt seeping underneath his skin.
‘How about tsipouro?’ Athena broke in.
Michalis whipped his sunglasses off his face and sat up, annoyed. ‘Mrs Martis, you put tsipouro anywhere near your eye then I will suggest it is not your eye that gets removed but your brain!’
‘Yes, Doctor,’ Athena said quickly, her feet shifting fast as she backed away across the sand. ‘I will see you tonight. With the solution.’
Michalis shook his head and took a deep breath as the woman finally left. Picking up his bottle of Alfa, he took a hasty swig. Great, even his beer was warm. Relaxing shouldn’t be this hard. He inched his broad shoulders upwards, trying to loosen the anxiety. There was nothing to be afraid of here. He had to commit to that feeling and stop searching every shadow. He stood then, leaving his sunbed and raising his arms to the sky. Perhaps the only way to escape any distractions was to throw himself into the sea. Hesitating only for a moment, he sprinted across the sand and splashed into the water.
Four
Cafe Connexions, NHS East Hampshire, UK
‘Have a hot chocolate.’
‘It’s twenty degrees outside!’ Gavin responded.
‘A cold chocolate then. Uses less energy so a win for the environment.’ The Other Sharon Osbourne turned her attention away from Gavin and sent Lucie a wink. Somehow the woman seemed to know this was a crunch beverage buying session that could determine whether they booked a package holiday or not.
Lucie noticed that Gavin had started to sweat in the queue and was pulling the scrub hat he’d insisted on wearing since Monday lower down over his forehead. His eyebrows were four days into new growth and not a lot was happening, despite endless rubbing of moisturising lotion and internet searches for ‘cures’. It was a bit like her Aunt Meg impatiently waiting for her chili pepper plants to sprout. Lucie’s hair, on the other hand, was already beginning to look a lot better. Well, by that, she meant she had just about got used to catching her reflection and not wondering who the thug was who had broken into her flat in the night. They had also started to piece together some of the rest of that night too. After the Mexican meal they’d gone to a casino. And Sharon had been with them…
‘Luce,’ Gavin whispered. ‘What shall I ask for?’
‘A date,’ Lucie told him. ‘That was the deal.’
‘That wasn’t the deal,’ Gavin shot back. ‘The deal was talking to him about something other than coffee.’
‘You knew what I meant. And you want me to come on holiday with you, don’t you?’ Lucie asked, toying with the lanyard around her neck.
‘You going on holiday?’ Sharon asked. ‘Whereabouts?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Gavin answered.
‘I’ve always fancied Costa Rica,’ Sharon breathed.
‘I thought you’d always fancied Jason Momoa,’ Gavin said.
‘Pot calling,’ Sharon replied with a smile.
‘You’d better get your game face on,’ Lucie told Gavin as the person in front moved up a place in the queue. ‘It’s nearly your turn to order.’
‘Not “rich, dark Colombian”. Not “rich, dark Colombian”,’ Gavin chanted like it was a mantra for life.
The Other Sharon Osbourne turned towards Lucie then. Was it Lucie’s imagination or was her trademark blue eyeshadow even more vivid today? She tried not to get distracted by it.
‘I’ve heard very good things about Greece,’ Sharon said, touching her nose with her finger. ‘Handled the global pandemic efficiently and effectively. Has all the beautiful sea scenes, a cuisine Rick Stein gets excited about and have you seen their prime minister?’
‘Does he knock Boris off the beauty pageant podium?’ Lucie asked.
‘Watch him on YouTube is all I’m saying.’ Sharon let out a lusty sigh. ‘I have no idea what he’s talking about. It’s all Greek to me. But those eyes…’
‘Hey, Gavin.’
It was Simon’s voice. Lucie focussed everything on what was happening ahead of her. It was Gavin’s turn to be served and Simon had greeted him with a warm smile like always.
‘Hi, Simon. Could I have…’ Gavin began, all pink cheeks and the scrub hat almost getting caught up in his eyelashes.
‘Let me guess?’ Simon started. ‘A rich, dar—’
‘No,’ Lucie butted in. She didn’t know why she had broken in, except she knew if Simon completed Gavin’s sentence for him then Gavin would bottle it.
‘No?’ Simon asked, looking close to astounded.
‘N…o,’ Gavin managed to mumble.
Lucie gave him an elbow as his cheeks turned quickly from a light pink shade she’d once tried as nail varnish to the menopausal-hot-flush-red The Other Sharon Osbourne had turned last winter.
‘I’ve heard,’ Sharon began, ‘that Gavin fancies something rich, dark and from Hampshire.’
Now Gavin was turning as purple as an aubergine, which was kind of ironic… But Lucie felt for him. Trust Sharon to put her size eights in it.
‘Really?’ Simon replied, his expression giving away absolutely nothing.
‘No,’ Gavin interrupted. ‘No… I… very much… still want my coffee from South America.’
‘Oh,’ Sharon exclaimed. ‘We were talking about coffee, were we?’
‘Gavin,’ Lucie said softly. ‘Tell Simon what you want.’
‘What you really really want,’ Sharon added, all Spice Girl.
‘I’ll,’ Gavin began, fingers scratching nervously at his scrub hat, ‘have… a sausage… roll.’
‘O-K,’ Simon replied. ‘To eat in or to go?’
‘I expect the answer’s any way up, darlin’,’ Sharon responded with a cackle.
Gavin looked so hot now that Lucie was worried he might actually faint. It was time to come to her best friend’s rescue.
‘Two rich, dark Colombians as well,’ Lucie ordered. ‘Gav, why don’t you go and find us a seat? I’ll bring everything over.’
‘Yeah,’ Sharon said. ‘Go and sit down before you fall down. I’ll have a hot chocolate, Simon, and don’t be stingy on the cream.’
‘Is Gavin OK?’ Simon asked, his dark eyes following the unsure steps of the nurse as he retreated from the queue and headed towards the tables.
‘He’s OK,’ Sharon said. ‘If you can be OK when you’ve got drunk enough to have your eyebrows shaved off.’
‘He shaved off his eyebrows?’ Simon remarked. Lucie couldn’t tell if he was appalled or impressed. And no one actually remembered anything about the shaving…
‘We don’t talk about that, Sharon,’ Lucie reminded.
‘Like we don’t talk about your hair either?’
‘Sharon, why don’t you take the weight off your feet too and I’ll bring your hot chocolate over,’ Lucie said, desperate to get rid of the woman whose jaw was currently seeing more action than a hairdressing salon after lifted restrictions.
‘And pay for it?’ Sharon asked, grinning because she already knew she was on to a winner.
‘Yes, I’ll pay for it.’ Lucie smiled at Simon while she waited for Sharon to depart.
‘So,’ Simon said to Lucie. ‘One hot chocolate with too much cream. Two rich, dark Colombians. And a sausage roll.’
Lucie held her
breath. Should she? Would Gavin thank her or maybe shave off something else that belonged to her? It didn’t bear thinking about. Or was it worth the risk? Perhaps sometimes you had to take one…
‘And a phone number,’ Lucie blurted out. ‘Your phone number that is.’ She smiled and silently prayed.
‘Oh, wow,’ Simon began, his cheeks reddening now. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Say it with digits,’ Lucie pleaded. ‘Please!’
‘Well, I…’
‘Come on,’ Lucie carried on. ‘You must know Gavin’s been trying to attract your attention since way before anyone knew who Chris Whitty was. And—’
‘Oh,’ Simon said. ‘I thought you meant you wanted my phone number.’
‘What? No. God, no,’ Lucie said quickly. ‘Sorry… that came out far harsher than I meant it to. And you’re lovely. Really lovely. But you’re—’
‘I’m not gay,’ Simon butted in.
Lucie pulled a face like someone had just told her Graham Norton was straight. ‘Not gay?’
‘Not gay,’ Simon repeated. ‘Sorry.’
‘Oh.’ Lucie didn’t know what to say. How had they all got it so wrong? Her profile-building hadn’t been from looks or mannerisms alone. Although Gavin had insisted Simon always wore ‘queer jeans’. She had, over the months, asked him all sorts of leading questions about his weekend pursuits and musical tastes. Granted, he had never admitted to being all over Sam Smith, Panic at the Disco! and Cher like Gavin was, but she’d discovered Simon spent a disproportionate amount of time at the gym, had deep opinions about fashion and seemed to know exactly who Carson Kressley was. And surely Gavin had to have a gaydar that worked, right?
‘Not gay?’ Lucie asked again. ‘Are you sure?’
Simon seemed to wince then, looking increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation continued. ‘I think I’d know.’
Lucie nodded. ‘Yes, yes, I guess you would. Of course you would.’
It took Simon seconds to rustle up their orders, all done in complete silence with neither of them knowing where to look. Lucie was glad to leave the counter even when she knew she was swapping it for the eager anticipation in Gavin’s eyes and despite knowing she was going to have to break devastating news.