The Holiday (8 page)

With hindsight she could see that one of the attractions Alan held for her was that she had hoped to gain some of his confidence from him, as if his energy and strength of character would magically rub off on her. In the end, when everything went wrong, all it did was chip away at her self-esteem. But that was later, much later, when he must have realised that she wanted more from him than he was able to give.

Commitment.

That was when he must have decided it was time to move on. For him the fun was over. Commitment meant being serious. Commitment meant acting like a grown-up, and that was something Alan wasn’t very good at. He liked playing the part of charming, boyish rogue. Seemingly he could only do that by having a relationship with a girlfriend who was merely passing through rather than a wife who was here to stay.

 

Mark saw Theo before his friend caught sight of him. Flash git, he thought, seeing how much he stood out from the crowd of stockily built taxi-drivers, the older men fingering their worry-beads, the younger ones smoking and chatting up the holiday reps. He pushed his trolley towards Theo. ‘Hasn’t anyone told you that men over forty shouldn’t wear their trousers so tight?’ he said.

Theo’s face broke into a wide grin. He removed his sunglasses and embraced Mark in the ebullient, rousing hug Greek men find so acceptable, but which would have the majority of Englishmen running in the opposite direction.

Mark pushed him away. ‘Get off, you exhibitionist. You only do that to annoy me.’

‘Yes, but it gives me such pleasure to know that I’m embarrassing you.’ Then, looking at the lone bag on Mark’s trolley and the clothes he was wearing — faded jeans with an old T-shirt, which even Mark had to admit had seen better days — he said, ‘Is that all the luggage you have brought with you?’

‘I’ve come here to write, Theo. Bear that in mind, won’t you? Now, can we hurry up and get the hell out of here? There’s somebody I don’t want to see again for as long as I — ’

But he was interrupted by a loud voice he had hoped never to hear again. It was that awful dolly-babe woman yoo-hooing across the crowded arrivals hall with Silent Bob pushing a trolley of Louis Vuitton cases. She came over to him.

‘Gawd, it’s a real bun-fight round that conveyor belt, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘And you were so quick getting away from the carousel I thought we wouldn’t have the chance to arrange a little get-together.’ Then, peering at Theo over the top of her sunglasses and giving him a more than passing look of interest, she said, ‘Is he your taxi-driver?’

Mark opened his mouth to put her right, but Theo was ahead of him. With a respectful click of his heels, he stepped forward and said, ‘I am Theodore Vlamakis. I am not just ordinary driver to
Meester
Saint James. I am his personal chauffeur.
Meester
Saint James very important man.’

She stared at Mark with renewed interest. She was clearly impressed. But Mark was furious. ‘Thank you,
Theodore,’
he said, with heavy emphasis. ‘Perhaps we could get going now.’

‘And your friends?’

‘My what?’ hissed Mark.

Theo grinned like a simpleton. ‘Could we not give them a lift?’

‘He speaks very good English, doesn’t he?’

‘Better than is good for him at times,’ answered Mark coolly. ‘But he’s forgetting the size of my car. Sadly it isn’t big enough for all of us. Not with so much luggage. Isn’t that right,
Theodore?’
He gave Theo a warning look that dared him to contradict what he had just said.

Theo bowed neatly from the waist. ‘As usual,
Meester
Saint James, you are right and I am wrong. Come, give me your luggage and I will keep my big stupid mouth shut while you say a nice bye-bye to your friends.’

 

‘What the hell did you think you were doing back there?’ demanded Mark when they were driving away from the airport.

‘I’m sorry, but I could not help myself. Your face. Ah, it was the picture. Now tell me all about her.’

‘I’d rather not. She’s an experience I’d prefer to put behind me.’ Nevertheless, he told Theo about the crazy conversation he had been subjected to throughout his flight.

‘And her name, can it really be Dolly-Babe? That is a new one on me.’

‘No, I’m afraid that’s what I’ve christened her. Her real name is even more unlikely. It’s Liberty-Raquel.’

Theo laughed. ‘You mentioned that she and her husband are staying near us in Ayios Nikólaos? Did she tell you the name of their villa?’

‘Yeah, Villa Mimosa. Mean anything to you?’

Theo laughed again. He pressed his foot on the accelerator and shot past a taxi, a dark blue Mercedes that was already moving at warp speed. Mark shuddered. He had forgotten, as he always did when they were apart for any length of time, how fast Theo drove. And how very Greek he really was.

At Laura’s suggestion, she and Izzy were walking into Kassiópi for lunch. Max had stayed behind, claiming that Greg Rusedski needed his support for his big match that afternoon. ‘You go without me,’ he had said, ‘you’ll have much more fun on your own. You could bring me back a newspaper if there’s anything decent left to read.’

The dusty little track they were following ran steeply through a large olive grove. At the foot of the trees, and wound around their trunks, were bundles of black netting which, as Laura had just explained, would be stretched out later in the year when it was time to harvest the olives. Though they were in the shade of the trees, the scorching heat of the midday sun forced them to walk at a comfortably unhurried pace. Also, the island was known for its tortoises, which roamed at will, and Laura was hoping they would catch sight of one in the clumps of parched grass. ‘I nearly trod on one last year,’ she said. ‘It was so small it must have been a baby.’

Izzy pulled a face and took extra care where she put her feet.

The path soon levelled and they strolled along a wider, much clearer stretch of ground, where the air was fragrant with the smell of wild garlic and thyme. Laura pointed towards a tumbledown shed. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘there’s Zac.’

Zac was a large, scrawny dog of no discernible breed, with a ragged coat the colour of caramel. A short length of rope tied him to a wooden post and at their approach he jumped up, pushed his nose through the chain-link fence and wagged his tail, which was decorated with an assortment of dried leaves and twigs. To Izzy’s surprise, Laura pulled a bone-shaped biscuit out of her bag and slipped it through the fence. Zac’s tail went into overdrive and he devoured the biscuit in seconds. His nose came back through the fence and he wagged his tail hopefully. Then he barked loudly.

The noise summoned an elderly woman from a small stone building that, until now, Izzy hadn’t noticed. She looked as ancient and gnarled as the surrounding olive trees and Izzy would have loved the opportunity to sketch her. The flesh beneath her jaw hung in two wobbling hanks at either side of her throat, her hair, iron-grey and wiry, was held down by a severe black headscarf, and the shabby dress she was wearing, which was partially covered by a floral overall, was also black; dark wrinkled tights and a pair of laced canvas shoes protruded beneath. In her large bony hands she held a broom. She gave Zac a sharp poke with it, instantly silencing him. She looked very fierce but when she turned to the cause of the commotion she gave Laura and Izzy a smile that was friendly and hospitable. Her parted lips displayed a gummy mouth, with a single badly stained tooth.

‘How do you know the dog’s name?’ Izzy asked, after Laura had exchanged a few faltering words of Greek with the woman and they were on their way again.

‘From Theo, of course. He knows everyone round here. You mustn’t think he restricts his charm to pretty girls. The old women get the same treatment. He’s very fair with his attentions.’

They walked on in silence, until Izzy ventured. ‘He is rather nice, though, isn’t he, in spite of all that charm?’ She had been dying to bring up Theo in their conversation that morning, but hadn’t dared for fear of making Laura think that she might be interested in him. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. His attractiveness, much heralded by Laura, was everything she had been led to expect, but what lay beneath the glamorous image? Take away the stylish clothes, the trappings of his affluent lifestyle and the affectations he must have spent years cultivating, the boyish vanity and gregarious charm, and what would you be left with? What was he really like when he wasn’t intent on making an impression on those around him?

In answer to her question, Laura said, ‘Oh, he’s nice, all right. Fatally so, I should think. Now, here’s another friend I want to introduce you to. Max and I have christened him Neddy.’

Disappointed, Izzy acquainted herself with a tired old donkey. He was a sad, spindly-legged creature with a leathery, sagging body that clung to a frame of jutting bones. Like Zac, he, too, was going nowhere and was securely tied. ‘The locals don’t take very good care of their animals, do they?’ Izzy said, as Laura delved into her bag again and this time brought out a carrot.

‘It’s a different culture,’ Laura responded, patting Neddy’s dusty coat. ‘They can’t afford to be sentimental over animals like we are at home. Here they’re kept for one purpose and one purpose only. To work.’

‘And when they’re too old to work?’

‘An all-too-short retirement awaits them. Which is what Neddy’s enjoying. Aren’t you, old boy?’ She flicked away the flies that were buzzing round the sores near his rheumy eyes and gave him another carrot.

They carried on walking, and as the olive trees receded, houses appeared and the path joined a narrow lane of tarmac that twisted and turned its way down the hill into Kassiópi. Cats lay dozing in the sun on the side of the road, and in the shade of an open doorway, two elderly women sat gossiping on kitchen chairs, their stockinged and slippered feet resting on an upturned plastic crate. In the house next door, a baby lay sleeping contentedly in a pram while its mother watered the flowers in the terracotta pots on the spotless doorstep.

Izzy had expected Kassiópi to be busy and was surprised to find the streets deserted and quietly slumbering in the heat. ‘Where is everybody?’ she asked, when Laura suggested they make their way down to the harbour.

‘Frying on the beach. That’s why I like coming here at this time of the day. There are no jostling crowds of holidaymakers. Now, before I forget, just let me nip in here and get Max his paper.’ Leaving Laura to hunt through the revolving racks of British, German and Italian newspapers, Izzy explored the rails of fake designer T-shirts and leather belts.

‘He’ll just have to make do with the Express,’ Laura said, when she rejoined Izzy. She showed her what was headline news back home. ‘Mother of Two Absconds with Schoolboy Lover.’

‘Good Lord, whatever possessed the silly woman?’ said Izzy.

Laura laughed. ‘Not everyone is as cautious as you, Izzy.’

‘Obviously. But she must be mad to do it — the press will crucify her. They’ll turn her into a latter-day Lucrezia Borgia.’

‘If she isn’t one already. Come on, let’s head for a drink and a bite to eat.’

The taverna Laura chose overlooked the picturesque horseshoe-shaped harbour where, in the sleepy afternoon peace, brightly coloured boats of varying shapes and sizes bobbed at anchor. A young waiter took their order and, within no time at all, they were relaxing in their chairs beneath a yellow and white striped awning with two plates of kalamári in front of them and a carafe of red wine to share.

‘So, apart from thinking that Theo was rather nice,’ said Laura, passing Izzy her napkin, ‘what else did you conclude from last night?’

Izzy smiled to herself. So, what she had said about Theo back in the olive grove hadn’t gone unnoticed by Laura. ‘That it must be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love with him,’ she said, ‘or at least to think that you loved him. It would probably only ever be infatuation.’

‘That’s a very cynical view to take. Is it based on the belief that you think he’s incapable of anything more?’

‘I guess so.’

‘Well, you’ve got to agree that makes him ideal material for a holiday romance.’

‘Absolutely. But if you’re thinking of him and me, forget it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m not his type.’

‘Says who?’

‘Oh, come off it, Laura. You know perfectly well that the type of woman Theo would be attracted to would be a stunning beauty. She’d be tall, blonde, acquiescent, and mind-blowingly good in bed.’

‘And who’s been telling you that you’re not mind-blowingly good in bed?’

Izzy lowered her eyes.

Laura frowned. ‘Do I detect more of Alan’s handiwork? Don’t tell me, he took the trouble to tell you you were no good.’

Picturing the scene in that pink room and the therapist asking them to comment on their sex life, Izzy felt her insides melt. It had been so cruel of him. So humiliating. She knew she should be over all this nonsense by now, but it was still there niggling away at her, taunting her at the slightest provocation.

‘It’s like being with a child,’ Alan had said, leaning forward in his chair, eager to share with someone the details of their most intimate moments. ‘She does everything I ask, but it doesn’t work.’

‘Doesn’t work?’ the woman had repeated. ‘In what way?’

There was a silence while Alan just stared at Izzy. She found this more unnerving than any of the hurtful accusations he had thrown at her. It had been too reminiscent of those chilly, silent pauses that had punctuated her relationship with her mother. From an early age Izzy had learned that conversation, no matter how trivial or how stilted, defused a tricky situation. It meant, though, that she had a worrying tendency to blurt out the first thing that came into her head. She did it then, with Alan staring at her.

‘Can I help it that I’m not as experienced as he’d prefer?’ she had murmured, mortified that he could do this to her, horrified at the extent of his betrayal.