My Map of You (11 page)

‘In that case, I'd love to,' she grinned, sticking a metaphorical finger up at her tiny sensible side.

‘I'd wager that I'm a better driver than Nikos, anyway,' Aidan said, standing up and clicking his fingers at Phelan. The dog twitched slightly at the sound, and Holly thought she heard him actually sigh, but eventually he clambered up and trotted over, resting his head affectionately on his master's thigh. Holly was still clutching the orange he'd brought her, and he pointed to it as he turned to leave. ‘Make sure you eat that – I grew it myself.'

‘What are you, a farmer?' she asked his departing back, digging a thumb through the glossy peel.

‘No,' he stopped at the corner of her house and grinned at her. ‘I'm a vet. See you the day after tomorrow.'

Holly stayed in her sunny spot on the chair long after he'd gone, chewing chunks of orange and trying to make sense of the peculiar sensation bubbling in her stomach. She felt guilty, that much was undeniable, but there was
something far stronger and more alluring that was tugging at her insides. Rupert was her boyfriend, he was the one she loved, the man she wanted to be with, but Aidan was just so … She swallowed the last piece of orange as she searched for the word. He was just so unapologetic, that was it. She liked the fact that he poked fun at her and swore like a sailor and dressed in clothes peppered with holes. He didn't pretend to be anything other than who he was, and for some reason it was making her feel far more at ease with herself than she normally did. With Rupert, she was always on her best behaviour, terrified that if she said the wrong thing or reacted in the wrong way then he would leave her, but she didn't feel that way with Aidan. Perhaps it was the security of knowing that she'd only ever spend a couple of weeks with him, and that Rupert was waiting patiently for her back in London. It didn't matter what Aidan thought of her, in the end, because she wouldn't be around long enough to disappoint him.

At around three that afternoon, Holly abandoned the clearing out of her aunt's bedroom and set out in search of Porto Koukla, the little beach that Nikos had recommended. It had taken the majority of the morning to pack up the rest of Sandra's clothes and wrap all the many thousands – or so it felt – of ornaments in newspaper. Sandra had been a big fan of the local Greek paper, Holly discovered, but she had also been rather fond of a certain British tabloid.

‘Greek economy in tatters!' one particularly histrionic headline screamed. Holly had scanned the article briefly, before tearing the page out and wrapping it around a
china plate decorated with painted flowers. She hadn't seen any evidence of these so-called ‘tatters' since arriving on the island. Perhaps it was a different story on the mainland of Greece, but everyone she'd encountered here seemed happy enough.

Much as she enjoyed her life in London, Holly could easily imagine herself living a more simple existence. She couldn't see anyone here obsessing about what someone posted on Facebook, or who was doing the dirty with whom in
EastEnders
. Not that she cared about such things much, either, but a lot of the people she knew did. Aliana, for example, spent more time on Facebook, Twitter, Vine, Snapchat, Tinder and God knows what else than she did actually working – and to Holly it all seemed to be a load of nonsense. Her own online profile contained just a few photos of herself and Rupert and details of where she worked – there was nothing about where she'd gone to school or anything.

On the rare occasion that Holly had received a message or a friend request from someone she'd known from her schooldays, she'd deleted them without a second glance. Those times were done, and she had no intention of ever allowing herself or anyone else to stir up those miserable memories. She had been a very different person back then; a person she didn't like to even think about. In fact, she was mildly surprised that anyone from those awful days would even think to contact her.

Hugely sociable and friendly as a child, Holly had become increasingly withdrawn as her mum had slipped down the slope of alcoholism. The girls with whom she had once been so close had stopped inviting her round to
their houses to play after school. She could remember with heartbreaking clarity the day that her best friend, Daisy Davies, had awkwardly told her that they couldn't be friends any more.

They had been standing in the corner of the playground, not far from where a group of boys were kicking a ball around, and Daisy, her thumb firmly wedged into the corner of her mouth, had said to Holly, ‘My mum says your mum is dirty; she says that she's a bad person. She said that I might get dirty if I'm friends with you.'

Holly, who had only just turned nine, gawped at her in horror. She knew there was something weird going on with her mum. She no longer walked the fifteen minutes from their flat down to the school gates every afternoon, and she didn't always make nice dinners like she used to, but she wasn't ‘dirty'.

‘My mum's not dirty,' she'd mumbled. ‘Your mum is probably just confused or something.'

Daisy had shaken her head sadly. She had been wearing a T-shirt with a pink Care Bear on the front, the irony of which would only occur to Holly years later. ‘She said I'm not allowed to talk to you, and if she finds out that I did then she'll give Bambi away.'

Bambi was the tortoiseshell kitten that the two girls had found wandering in the street outside Daisy's house, and that Daisy's mum had wrinkled her nose at in disgust as soon as it was carried into her kitchen. Holly had known then that she was fighting a losing battle. Daisy was obsessed with that kitten. She drew pictures of her all over the back of her hands when they were supposed to be practising their spellings in Miss Patterson's class.

‘It's okay,' she'd told her friend. ‘Bambi needs you. I'll be fine by myself.'

And that was that. Daisy had shuffled off to join the rest of the girls from their class and Holly had kept her distance. From that moment on, right through to when she left the education system for good at eighteen, Holly was always on her own. Making friends was more effort than it was worth – especially when her mum's fondness for the odd G&T evolved into something more dangerous. Nobody wanted to be associated with a smelly drunk, not even Holly herself, but then she hadn't had a choice.

‘Yassou, koukla!'
The sound of Kostas' cheerful bellow pulled Holly abruptly out of her miserable meander down crap-memory lane.

‘
Yassou
, Kostas,' she replied, waving as she headed past his shop and onwards down the hill. She had thought about taking the moped, but it was too hot to face wearing the helmet. And, in the end, it only took ten minutes of walking and one encounter with a rather grizzly-looking goat for Holly to find the place she was looking for.

Unlike the beaches at Laganas and Kalamaki, Porto Koukla's coastline was narrow, with only three or so metres of sand between the steps of the rustic beach bar and the lapping water. The wind was slightly brisker than it had been that morning and Holly could hear the Greek flag flapping wildly at the top of its beachside pole as she threw down her towel and slipped out of her purple sundress.

There were far fewer people here than there had been in the busier resorts of Laganas and Kalamaki, and Holly
could feel the residue of tension easing away as she wriggled into a comfortable position and opened her book. Spending too much time in the house had been making her feel edgy – she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched – so she was determined to spend the next few hours experiencing pure escapism.

She'd just read the first sentence of chapter two when a shadow passed across the page.

‘It's Holly, isn't it?'

Annie from the bar at the bottom of the hill was standing next to her. Holly stared at the chipped pink varnish on Annie's toenails for a few seconds and took a deep breath before closing her book.

‘That's right. How are you, Annie?'

‘Ooh, I'm just peachy, my darling. Lovely afternoon, isn't it? Do you mind if I pitch my towel here?'

She was pointing to the empty patch of sand right next to Holly.

‘Of course I don't mind.' Holly smiled as Annie stripped off to reveal a rather worn-looking black bikini encasing a rather worn-looking bottom and boobs. Her skin was so dark it looked like she'd treated it with wood stain.

‘So,' she turned to face Holly, ‘have you bumped into Aidan yet?'

Clearly, it wasn't just the Greeks who got straight to the point around here.

‘Yes, and he's very nice.' Holly contemplated telling her about the bathroom incident, then thought better of it.

‘Nice-looking too, eh?' Annie cackled. She'd brought a large bottle of water down from the bar, and offered some to Holly.

‘No thanks, I'm good.'

‘So, you didn't think Aidan was good-looking, then?'

She clearly wasn't going to let this subject go. Holly allowed herself to picture her scruffy Irish neighbour for a second, her mind lingering on the broad freckled forearms, messy dark hair and slightly mocking half-smile.

‘He's quite attractive,' she admitted. ‘Not really my type, but I can see the appeal.'

‘Tall, dark and handsome is everybody's type, surely?' giggled Annie, pulling a face as Holly shook her head. ‘Well, each to their own, I suppose. I tell you what, though,' she added with a wink. ‘If I was living right next door to him, I'd probably have become a Peeping Tom by now.'

‘Annie!' Holly was laughing now. She'd never met such an unashamed pervert. Well, not a female one, anyway.

Annie merely cackled in response, unscrewing the lid of her water bottle and taking another big swig. ‘Bleedin' hell, it's hot today.'

Holly reached for her sun lotion and squirted a fresh coat across her stomach.

‘You're so lucky,' Annie told her now. ‘Having olive skin. I bet you never burn.'

Holly glanced down at her rapidly bronzing body and shrugged. ‘I never really thought about it,' she admitted. ‘I'm not even sure why I have this skin type – my mum was pure English rose.'

‘Sandra was too,' Annie informed her. ‘She wasn't a big fan of the sun, either. I always used to say to her, “Sandy, why have you chosen to live in a place like this if it means scuttling from one patch of shade to the next all summer long?” '

‘What was her answer?' Holly was genuinely intrigued.

‘She always said the same thing: that this was her home and always would be. Her parents loved it here too, of course – but I suppose you knew that?'

Holly bit her lip. Jenny had talked about her parents – Holly's grandparents – quite a lot before she'd started to drink on a daily basis. She'd been particularly close to her mother, Jenny had said, her eyes always misting up at the thought of her. They had died in an accident when Jenny was only nineteen and had left her their house, but Holly had never seen it. Apparently Jenny had sold it in the end to start up a new business with a friend, but it had failed and she'd lost everything. Her family was cursed.

Looking up at Annie, she noticed a sadness in her eyes.

‘Do you miss her?' she asked. ‘Sandra, I mean.'

‘I do, yes,' Annie sniffed. ‘She was such a lovely woman, as you know.'

‘Well, I …' Holly stopped as she remembered that she'd lied to Annie on the first night about how well she knew her aunt. ‘I didn't meet her that many times,' she finished lamely.

‘She and Aidan were pretty good friends too,' Annie went on, her tone brightening considerably as she went back to her favourite subject. ‘They used to come down to the bar some nights and have a few whiskies. I don't mind telling you that I think Sandy had a bit of a crush on him.'

‘Pardon?' Holly was struggling for a suitable response, what with all the metaphorical pots and kettles banging together.

‘Oh yeah, it was quite sweet, really. She even knitted
him a jumper one Christmas. It had a turtle on the front of it and he wore it pretty much every day in the winter.'

Holly couldn't help but smile at the vivid image this conjured up.

‘He helped her out a lot when she got really sick, you know, found a new home for Caretta—'

‘Caretta?' interrupted Holly.

‘Her cat. Did you never meet him? He was quite a character – huge bloody thing, almost as big as a sea turtle.'

‘What happened to him?'

‘Aidan found him a new home on the other side of the island after Sandy went,' Annie told her. ‘He wanted to keep him, but Caretta didn't take kindly to having his back end sniffed by the dog on a daily basis.'

Despite the scorching sun and the lively Greek music floating down from the bar, Holly felt a sudden chill.

‘Was it very bad, in the end?' she forced herself to ask.

Annie considered this for a moment before answering, planting her eyes firmly on the horizon. ‘She was very brave,' she said eventually. ‘Cancer is an evil disease, I'll tell you that – but she seemed positive enough.'

Holly felt an overwhelming pang of sadness for Sandra, who had clearly suffered so much. At least her mum had been completely out of it when she died – the only person in any pain over that particular death was Holly herself.

‘I wish I'd known her better,' Holly said now, really meaning it.

‘Would you like me to tell you some stories about her?' Annie turned back and smiled at her. ‘She was very funny after a few cheeky bevvies, your auntie.'

‘I'd like that very much,' Holly beamed.

Annie clapped her hands together with glee, delighted to have been given permission to natter away uninterrupted.

‘Tell you what, darling – you pop up to the bar and get us a couple of cold beers, and I'll tell you every story I've got.'

She didn't have to say anything else. Holly was already on her feet.