My Greek Island Summer Page 7

  Mother and Father

  Pros

  You can check on their health

  You can check on their wealth

  The next time you call they cannot say it is almost two years since you have seen them

  Cons

  They will expect you to be re-married

  If you stay too long they will find you someone to marry

  They are still embarrassed by you despite what they say

  They will talk about Hestia

  Even writing his ex-wife’s name had been painful. He’d almost turned the ‘H’ into a random animal like his row companion just so he could stab hard dots to make snout holes. Why was he still so angry about their ending? It had been two years. Recovery should have happened by now. Except what actually still happened was every time Elias thought about his ex-wife, he was faced with two images. The one with Hestia standing facing him surrounded by golden effigies of Christ in the Greek Orthodox church, her smile so perfectly beautiful he had struggled to draw breath. She had held his hands in hers and she had cried as they had exchanged vows. The second image was Hestia crying again, but this time she was throwing her belongings into suitcases and telling him it was all a mistake. She had told him that their whole relationship had been a mistake. Hestia was in love with someone else. She had always been in love with someone else. And that someone else was a woman. Thalia.

  Elias did stab at her name then. In a pathetic attempt to make himself feel better, or maybe to remind himself that almost twenty-four months down the line he really ought to be moving on. Except being left like that, only six months after being married in front of everyone they knew, still kicked at him. And being left for a member of the opposite sex was the ultimate savaging of his Greek masculinity. He could imagine the raised eyes in the village, the whispers among the patrons of his mother and father’s cafeneon, the not-so-whispered gossip of the village’s president like a rally bullhorn. Greek men didn’t get left like that. Greek men absolutely never got left for a woman… if it didn’t happen in mythology it didn’t exist. Elias was hoping that Chad’s case – his honest reason for being back on the island – was going to finally give him the strength to show his face in the village of Liakada again. Hestia was long gone. She and her new partner had left the island the second Hestia’s suitcases were full and fastened. The divorce had been fought out by email. She had wanted an annulment. Elias had insisted on adultery. He got his way, but it hadn’t made him feel any better. What was going to make him feel better? The short-term answer to that was simply ‘winning’. The more men he could help settle complicated separations the better. With every small win – or rather multi-million-pound victory – he grew a little more in confidence. He just needed to find a way to work that confidence back into his personal life.

  Hestia

  Pros

  She will not be there

  Cons

  She will not be there

  Elias closed his laptop as his companion plumped back down into her seat, looking a little flustered. Immediately she picked up her notepad and pen and began writing… He strained his eyes to see. Egg? Watercress? Then her hand moved from forming letters to a shape. Another pig perhaps? What had any of that got to do with her job for the army?

  ‘Is everything OK?’ Elias asked her.

  ‘Me?’ Becky asked him. ‘Am I OK? Yes. Yes, I’m fine. Perfectly fine.’ She looked at her watch, a bead of perspiration above her top lip. ‘Absolutely fine.’

  ‘The plane is still late,’ Elias said. ‘It is lucky you do not have a connecting flight.’

  For some reason, his comment prompted a laugh from the woman and more stabbing at the paper. The drawing seemed to be half-pig, half-chicken, with inky spots being bludgeoned into place.

  ‘I do,’ Elias continued.

  ‘You do what?’ Becky asked, her eyes flicking away from the paper and to him.

  ‘I have a connecting flight.’ He looked at his watch now. It was still an hour late. At this rate he really wasn’t going to make his connection. ‘I’m heading to Corfu.’

  ‘Are you?’ Becky asked, turning her body to him a little. ‘With Olympic Air?’

  ‘Ne,’ he answered. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, oh thank God,’ Becky announced, relieved air rushing from her mouth. ‘Because you said you travel all the time and I don’t think you do the kind of travelling Petra does… with drinks served out of coconuts…’

  ‘You have a connecting flight?’ Elias asked her. ‘I thought you were staying in Athens.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Exactly which part of Greece has a political problem the British army needs to assist with?

  ‘I… well…’

  She seemed even more flustered now, her right hand still stabbing at the animal drawing. At any moment the nib of the pen might puncture the paper.

  ‘Will they give us more than a bowl of beansprouts if we miss that plane?’ Becky said, suddenly appearing half-terrified.

  ‘You are heading to Corfu?’ Elias asked her.

  She nodded then inhaled rapidly before breathing out again, quick and hard.

  ‘Do not worry,’ Elias told her. ‘I am sure they will hold the plane.’ He wasn’t sure. Usually they would delay it a little in these circumstances but an hour…?

  ‘They will?’ There was definite relief now and Becky finally stopped manically moving the pen like she was the crazy with murderous intentions in a horror movie. Perhaps she really did work for the military…

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ He smiled at her, watching her calm and settle back a little in her seat. She flipped down her tray table and began to write legibly again. Elias’s attention went back to his laptop and he reopened the lid. There might be nothing to worry about here suspended peacefully in the skies, but he knew when he arrived back in the hamlet of Liakada nothing was likely to stay quiet for long.

  Ten

  Athens International Airport, Athens, Greece

  ‘What do we do? Where do we go?’ Becky was sweating. From the roots of her hair to in between her toes and she wasn’t even out in stifling European air yet. But it seemed the more eagerly she leaned forward trying to encourage her fellow travellers to speed up their ridiculously slower-than-slug-speed overhead locker evacuation, the less actual movement occurred. ‘Do we need to find someone? A stewardess? Someone at a desk when we get off the plane?’ She looked over her shoulder at Elias who had only just started to put his computer into his bag. At least his shoes were back on now!

  There was no sign of perspiration on him. She guessed it was his Greek acclimatisation. He looked just as cool and unfazed as he had done when he’d boarded. Meanwhile, even without looking, Becky knew she was one hot flush away from the appearance of past-its-eat-by-date ham left out of the fridge overnight.

  ‘There should be an airline ambassador waiting for us on the bridge,’ Elias replied, slipping his bag over his shoulder, cool as a cucumber.

  ‘Bridge? What bridge?’ Becky asked him. ‘Is there more than one bridge? How will we know which bridge?’ If this woman in front didn’t get her case out of the overhead bin and get on her way Becky was going to haul it down for her. Exactly how much faffing could one person be capable of?

  ‘Relax,’ Elias answered. ‘The bridge is just the connecting tunnel from the plane to the end of the gate. Someone should be waiting for us there.’

  ‘Should be?’ Becky queried, dragging her case a few centimetres forward as the lady in front finally made a move. ‘“Should be” doesn’t sound very concrete.’

  ‘Most of the time there has been someone when I have made a connection here.’

  ‘Most of the time,’ Becky repeated. ‘Like, most of the time, Tesco Finest steak is really good… or… black fly doesn’t eat all the basil plants or…’ Sisters don’t turn into complete bitches you barely recognise. Becky closed her mouth and kept the internal monologue to herself. Besides, if she was going to keep this member of the armed forces ruse go
ing, she needed to find better comparisons. ‘Or most of the time twelve-gauge autoloaders don’t jam up.’ She sniffed, thanking her intimate knowledge of the script of The Terminator. ‘I don’t have time to be dealing with maybes today.’

  ‘Then let’s keep moving,’ Elias instructed. He shifted out of their row, moving behind her, his body close as he swiftly and effortlessly retrieved his case. Still not any sign of even a sheen on his forehead. Dark hair perfect. Eyelashes obscenely long. Eyes an interesting whirl of blue-green… She hit her arm on a headrest and refocused. She needed to catch this flight. If she didn’t, who knew, she might be in danger of losing this housesitting placement before she’d even set foot on the island. Could Ms O’Neill do that? Could she take the offer back if Becky didn’t turn up on time?

  Throwing a hurried ‘thank you’ at the crew standing at the doors of the aircraft – although she wasn’t quite sure what she was thanking them for given the flight was late and the wine had been warm – Becky powered up the tunnel/bridge seeking someone who might resemble an ambassador. Ferrero Rocher anyone?

  Despite her powerwalking that was almost akin to jogging, Elias was at her elbow, gliding along the incline with panache. Maybe the non-sweating, non-flustered appearance came with practice and years of varied travel arrangements. All it might take to derive pleasure from flight and everything it entailed was repetition. Although right now, with her next plane on the verge of departing without her on it, doing this all over again was about as appealing as resetting all her internet passwords. And if she was army-trained she really shouldn’t be flagging at the first whiff of exertion. She stepped up the pace, almost expertly balancing Hazel’s giant bag on her arm and giving guidance to her wheeled case now. But at the top of the slope she could already see a gathering and it was a gathering that seemed rather like a commotion. There were people in tabards – ambassadors? – and other passengers like her with bags and cases and seemingly no clue what was meant to happen next.

  ‘Corfu! Do we have any other passengers for the Olympic Air flight to Corfu!’

  ‘Yes!’ Becky exclaimed, punching her arm up into the air. ‘Yes, us! We are!’

  ‘Come this way please and wait to the left-hand side.’

  ‘What way?’ Becky asked, looking to Elias.

  Her companion spoke in Greek then, addressing one of the airline representatives. Becky looked from Elias to a woman with flowing curly Grecian-goddess hair and back again, trying to interpret what they were saying to one another. She didn’t know any Greek.

  And then suddenly Elias was taking hold of her hand and striding off with her.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Becky asked. Was this the moment? Was it now when the mild-mannered estate agent turned abductor and all her fake background story and loose travelogue talk didn’t matter a bit? She would never get to perfect effortless air travel. She would never get to ride Shelley’s triplets’ zip wire. She would never find out if she could perfect the catering pitch for the care home. She would never make up with Megan…

  ‘We need to get to the gate,’ Elias told her. ‘I don’t have a good feeling about this.’ He still had her hand and was trying to guide them through the waiting splinter groups of people, to space, and hopefully the next part of the airport they needed to get to.

  ‘Wait. Stop. What do you mean you don’t have a good feeling about this?’ Becky asked, grinding her espadrilles to the floor and trying to gain traction. He was still holding her hand and she remembered the last man who had held her hand. For eighteen months he had held her hand and then… he was holding someone else’s instead. The less thinking about him the better. She let Elias go. ‘You definitely said on the plane that everything would be fine.’

  ‘I know,’ he answered. ‘But I think—’

  ‘You think what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Elias said with a sigh. ‘Perhaps I am wrong. But I think they are going to make us wait until everyone meant to be connecting with the Corfu flight has departed the aircraft. And if they do that… if they make us all wait… I don’t think they will hold the plane long enough for us all to make it to the gate.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Becky said, putting a hand to her perspiring forehead. ‘Well, what do we do?’

  ‘We could run for it,’ Elias suggested. ‘But we will have to go now. Right now.’

  Petra. Where was Petra? She was meant to be getting this flight too. OK, so theoretically, Becky had no reason to feel any responsibility for a traveller she had shared one pre-toilet conversation with, but she hadn’t seen her disembark yet, nor was she part of any of these slightly agitated groups.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Becky said.

  ‘You do not want to catch the flight?’ Elias asked, brow furrowing. ‘Before, you were behaving that your life might end if you do not make the flight.’

  ‘Well,’ Becky said, ‘I don’t think I was quite that dramatic. Besides, I am on very important… and secret… government business. It can be… stressful.’ Who had she turned into? So many lies falling from her lips like she was an accomplished drug mule attached to a leading cartel… instead of someone who just made sandwiches. And she had actually told him she was on holiday from all the made-up 007 stuff.

  ‘Everyone for the Corfu flight, you must wait here!’ It was a tall, dark-haired man shouting this instruction. ‘We wait until everyone has left the plane and then we go through the airport together.’

  Becky looked to Elias then. ‘This isn’t good news, is it?’

  ‘We are only going to be as fast as the slowest person,’ Elias replied.

  Becky turned around, sizing up who was left coming up the tunnel from their aircraft. A couple in their forties looked like they would be capable of putting a shift on to reach the gate. Two twenty-something lads might have giant backpacks that probably should have been checked luggage, but Becky reckoned they could motor if required – they were already in shorts and trainers. But then she watched them move to the ambassador who seemed to be collating passengers for the Santorini flight. And then it all went downhill. A family of six with two toddlers walking – barely – and two babes in arms, together with a pram and a buggy the male of the party was trying to put together while moving. Behind them were a man and woman possibly in their seventies, each with a walking stick. If either of those passengers were destined for Corfu, they were screwed in the hurrying stakes…

  Becky watched Elias take his phone from the pocket of his jacket. Yes, she was sweating like a huskie in Dubai and the estate agent was still wearing a suit.

  ‘What are you doing? We should definitely try to head to the gate.’ Petra had come across as resourceful. She had survived Thailand – if those dodgy-spelt wristbands were genuine – and lived to get the T-shirt. She’d be fine. And it wasn’t Becky’s job to sister someone who wasn’t her sister… Old habits apparently took longer than a week to get over.

  ‘Now you want to go?’ Elias asked, tapping at the screen.

  ‘You basically said if we don’t then we won’t get the plane.’ She let out a breath. ‘I need to get the plane.’ She didn’t know quite what she did next if she didn’t get the plane…

  ‘OK,’ Elias said, putting his phone away again. ‘But you need to let me do the talking.’

  ‘Hello!’

  It was Petra, arriving at Becky’s shoulder, her braids now immaculately pinned into a tight bun that looked like it had been wound into place by an Oribe style team.

  ‘You’re here,’ Becky announced with a degree too much familiarity. ‘I mean… I didn’t see you get off the plane.’

  ‘Well, I was doing my hair,’ Petra said, pointing two fingers at her braids. ‘No point rushing off when we’re pretty much screwed for the next flight.’

  ‘Do you think?’ Becky asked, back to panicking again.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Petra said with all the nonchalance of a seasoned backpacker. ‘There’s no way we’re getting that plane.’

  ‘Well,’ Becky said, swallowing her
fear, ‘Elias is going to try and talk to the ambassador.’

  ‘Whoa!’ Petra said, slapping a hand down on Becky’s sweaty forearm. ‘Is that your plane hook-up?’ She was gripping Becky tightly now, gaze trained on Elias’s form. He seemed to be having an animated discussion with the airline representative that involved using his hands, arms and sunglasses for gesturing purposes.

  ‘My what?’ Becky asked.

  ‘My plane hook-up was Marathon and he kissed like a viper… you know… light, playful tongue at first but then desperate to poke the point home.’ Petra sniffed. ‘He’s heading to Santorini. I’m going there, obvs, but in a few weeks, you know, after I’m completely done with Corfu.’

  Becky swallowed. Petra made Corfu sound like a temporarily desirable dessert she intended to ingest until she felt sick. And as for Marathon… that couldn’t have been his real name, could it?

  ‘So, how does your guy kiss?’ Petra asked, simultaneously pushing the straps of Hazel’s bag further up Becky’s arm then linking their arms together like they were about to commence skipping to the next gate.

  ‘Oh… he’s not… I don’t know him… I mean… he’s an estate agent.’ Becky stopped talking before she said another word about her fake occupation. And although Hazel had mentioned single men on cruises, no one, not even Shelley, had mentioned ‘plane hook-ups’. Perhaps there would be a chapter on it in How to Find the Love of Your Life or Die Trying.

  ‘So, he’s single and you’re not interested?’ Petra began fiddling with the bottom of her Nobody’s Foo T-shirt.

  ‘I… don’t know that he’s single.’ She just knew that he was an estate agent, his name was Elias and he liked it cold. How pathetic must she seem? Almost four hours in a confined space and she only knew his name and occupation. Except everyone she had spoken to had warned her about sharing too much with strangers. ‘I just sat next to him on the plane.’