As Greek as It Gets: A fun, feel-good romantic comedy Page 8

  ‘Me? I’m not sure I’d be able to stand in front of people and tutor them. My heart palpitates at the very thought of standing up in front of a class doing that.’ I envy Ria’s confidence when it comes to teaching people.

  ‘That’s because you’re thinking about large classes in a school or college. You could offer small classes with half a dozen people at a time or something. There must be a slot at the local Community Centre.’

  ‘I never thought about running small classes myself. Thanks, Ria, that might be something I should look into. The lady I spoke to said she was missing the library classes.’

  We assemble at the foot of the mountain village and Vangelis informs us of our final destination of the day. We are heading off to some caves, reputed to be the birthplace of Zeus, located at the Lassithi Plateau a twenty-minute drive away, before returning to the hotel.

  We’re having such a good time that none of us wants the day to end. We’re even becoming accustomed to Ria’s Formula One style of driving. It’s so different up here and around every corner is a visual feast that seems to assault the senses, from the gnarled and ancient olive trees overlooked by grazing mountain goats, to the isolated white churches that cling to the mountainside.

  When we arrive at the foot of the caves, Vangelis shows us to an easy walking path, saying that the old path can be a little unsafe. It seems that the stones have been worn away over the years by thousands of tourists and are now quite slippery. There are some tired-looking donkeys at the foot of the caves – a little over 100ft high – that are there to transport people to the top, should they wish.

  The sun is high in the sky and, although I’m sorely tempted, we spare the poor donkeys the trek and follow the guides up the path, slowly on foot. I ascend the hill breathing deeply and, with every step I take, begin to feel energised by the natural beauty of the wild, mountainous landscape all around me. I recall taking a hike up a mountain in Wales with Max, with me having to pause to catch my breath, and him teasing me and telling me I needed to get fit. Not long after that I bought the running shoes that are currently gathering dust in my wardrobe. Being here is a reminder of how good it feels to be at one with nature and I resolve to spend more time outdoors when I get home.

  When I finally take a glimpse inside the Cave of Zeus, my breath is taken away by its stunning beauty, as a cavernous area glistening with stalagmites and stalactites reveals itself. In a small chamber the ‘cradle’ is pointed out to us, which is, according to legend, the birthplace of the Greek god Zeus. Large columns reflect the light and chasms of yellows and soft greens merge together inside the cave, giving it a serene, almost mystical charm.

  We all enjoy the cooling respite from the sun inside the cave before carefully making our way back down the hill, having taken lots of photos. Vangelis regales us with interesting tales of mythical Greek gods and goddesses along the way.

  We arrive back at the hotel a little after seven o’clock, tired but exhilarated, our clothes covered in a light film of dust from our mountain escapades.

  ‘What an absolutely fabulous day that was. I feel as though I’ve been out for days exploring,’ Ria says.

  ‘I agree. It’s amazing how much we’ve actually seen today,’ I say.

  ‘Right, I’m going for a shower. I can’t wait to get ready and be out there hitting the town. Not before I’ve had a drink, though. Come on, girls.’ Ria makes for the bar. I follow her and down a long, cold glass of fresh orange juice.

  ‘I’m worn out,’ Kerry says, yawning. ‘How can sitting in a jeep all day be so exhausting?’

  ‘It’s all that fresh air. Plus, walking in the heat,’ I tell her.

  ‘Maybe. I’ve never really been one for walking. What’s the point when you can get to places quicker in a car?’ she asks me.

  ‘Erm… exercise? Keeping fit? Saving the planet?’ I suggest.

  ‘There’s less boring ways than walking. I haven’t got the patience to just walk for miles knowing I could already be there,’ Kerry informs us.

  ‘It’s about enjoying the experience and taking in your surroundings,’ I say, but it falls on deaf ears.

  ‘Yeah, whatever.’ Kerry sighs. ‘Although I really didn’t mind it today because it’s all so different.’

  ‘Perhaps you should start coming on runs with me occasionally, or at least long walks. Maybe even get a dog,’ I say hopefully.

  ‘Stuff that, it’s far too much of a commitment. Painting dogs is enough for me,’ Kerry says, laughing. Clearly no one is going to change her mind.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit tired, too, but I think it’s because I’m actually beginning to relax,’ I tell the girls.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s like being on a pensioners’ day out,’ Ria says, chuckling. ‘We could go to bed now, if you like, and order hot chocolate from room service.’

  Walking through the hotel lobby, Kerry stops to look at herself in a mirror and pulls strands of her hair down to her neck.

  ‘I was thinking of growing my hair again and maybe going red for a change, what do you think?’

  ‘Honestly? I think you suit blonde hair, but no harm in trying a change, I suppose. I do like it long, though,’ I tell her.

  ‘Anyway, come on,’ she says, threading her arm through mine as we head towards our rooms. ‘We’d better get ready for tonight or Ria might be wishing she’d brought her mother on holiday.’

  ‘Suppose so, but holidays are meant to be relaxing too, you know. We haven’t had a full day doing absolutely nothing yet. Which is something I adore occasionally.’

  As I luxuriate in the shower, I find myself thinking about the life of the local people we met on the jeep safari. I think the man with the art gallery in the mountain village must pretty much have the perfect life. I imagine painting dreamy sunsets, or watching the sun go down with a glass of something in my hand, while overlooking the mountains from my own back garden. Would I miss my old life if I lived in a place like this? I think if I had the people I love around me then I guess the answer would be no. There’s just something about a simple life I feel I could really embrace, although Max is a city boy through and through. He does enjoy walks in the forest and picnics in the park, but he likes to return to the cut and thrust of his work and he enjoys the buzz of the city for leisure.

  I’m just out of the shower and thinking about Max when he calls. He tells me he’s arranged a night at the races with some of the old gang from National Finance, where he used to work, this evening. ‘It will be nice to have a catch-up with my old colleagues,’ he tells me. ‘It might just take my mind off you not being here.’

  National Finance is a high-street bank where Max worked before setting up for himself. It’s also where he met his ex-girlfriend, Rachel. They were together for two years before she left him and I know it hit him hard. I can’t help wondering if she will be at the races this evening.

  ‘Is it a couples thing, then?’ I ask casually.

  ‘I don’t think so. At least, one of the lads was saying it’s just blokes.’

  For some strange reason, I breathe a sigh of relief that Max’s old flame won’t be hanging around, which surprises me slightly as I’ve never been the jealous type. Max told me that one of the things he loved about me was that I never questioned him about his whereabouts, as it seems Rachel had been the suspicious type who would question his every move. He even caught her scrolling through his phone on more than one occasion. Little wonder that they split in the end, I suppose, although ironically it was her cheating on him that led to the break-up. I can’t imagine Max and me ever being apart. I’ve waited a long time for someone like him to come into my life.

  We’re having a fabulous evening at a little taverna down a cobbled street, eating delicious fresh fish and mixed mezes and discussing our own personal highlights of the day.

  ‘The village in the mountains for me, definitely.’ I sigh as a picture of the valley below the mountain pops into my mind.

  ‘Really? Not the Greek dancing, th
en?’ Kerry teases as she peruses the dessert menu and moans that there’s only baklava or ice cream on offer.

  ‘Or the bread-making?’ suggests Molly.

  ‘It was harder than it looked,’ I protest.

  ‘We know, we tried a bite,’ says Kerry, and the others laugh.

  ‘I would have been alright if we’d been making pitta bread, it’s easy. But that was actual crusty bread,’ I say in my defence. ‘Anyway, those women have been making bread all their lives. I was good at the rug-making, though.’

  ‘Yes, I remember from uni that your cooking was terrible but you always had lovely curtains in your room,’ Ria reminds me, her eyes twinkling. The others roar with laughter.

  ‘That’s not entirely fair. I’m a good baker. My chocolate brownies are the best.’

  ‘Okay, yes, I’ll give you that.’ Ria nods. ‘Anyway, I thought you’d be preparing to be a domestic goddess, as you’re soon to be a married woman and all settled down.’

  ‘Are you saying I should do all the cooking?’

  ‘Not at all. But it’s nice to occasionally cook a lovely romantic meal to enjoy together, isn’t it?’ replies Ria.

  ‘Yep. And just so you know, Ria, that’s exactly what intimate restaurants are for.’

  Well, now and then, at least. I do actually like cooking, but I also like candlelight and waiter service. There’s nothing sexy about dashing in and out of the kitchen, flushed and checking on the next course. It’s probably why I prefer preparing picnics. Ria’s comment about being a domestic goddess makes me hope she doesn’t think I’ll be settling down and will stop having fun. Nobody changes like that just because they get married, do they?

  We finish off our meal with baklava and ice cream for myself, Ria and Molly, while Kerry persuades the waiter to rustle up a strawberry sundae, even though it isn’t on the menu.

  A message pops through on my phone, which I notice is someone tagging me in a photo on Facebook. I flick to it. One of Max’s friends has posted some pictures of the race night and I smile at how smartly dressed they are and how happy they all look. Max is wearing a grey suit with an open-necked white shirt. The grey suit brings out the colour of his blue-grey eyes and I think how handsome he looks. The other guys are dressed equally smartly in suits, one of them in a flamboyant mauve-checked three-piece affair.

  I’m smiling at the group of friends, when one picture suddenly pulls me up short. Among the huddle of blokes is the picture I’ve been tagged in, mistakenly obviously, showing a pretty woman with shoulder-length dark hair standing next to Max and pulling a funny face. She’s there in another picture, along with a different woman, this time with her arms draped around Max’s shoulders and smiling broadly. Everyone in the group has their arms around each other as a bunch of friends would do on a fun night out, but I wonder why she has to be standing next to Max again in almost every photo? That is, until I look at the photo closely and realisation dawns.

  It’s his ex-girlfriend, Rachel.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ asks Kerry, probably noticing my worried expression as I top up my wine glass.

  For some reason, I don’t want to admit that the photo has bothered me. ‘Fine. Just thinking about my mother. She’s playing the martyr as usual, complaining about looking after Lexie, even though she actually invited her to stay.’

  I sent Mum a text earlier to ask how she is and saying that I hope Lexie is getting to grips with her crutches. She replied telling me that she’s fine, although exhausted looking after Lexie, and that it’s a shame she’s having to do it all by herself.

  I resisted the urge to remind her that it was she who volunteered to look after Lexie, who is an adult, and who could probably look after herself a little more if Mum didn’t fuss over her so much.

  Max looks so happy in the photos at the races, where it seems it wasn’t just the blokes getting together after all. I find myself wondering how he felt about seeing Rachel again after all this time.

  Eight

  After our meal, the four of us wander along to a strip of bars near the beach front and I decide to put the photos out of my mind and concentrate on having a good time.

  We head into a bar with karaoke and suddenly I feel like a large drink. After we have wound our way across a busy room with pink flashing lights across the dance floor, I spontaneously decide to order a porn star Martini and, after downing it, I peruse the book of karaoke songs at the bar.

  ‘Alice, what are you doing?’ Ria’s mouth is hanging open in surprise.

  ‘I thought I might get up and sing. Why not?’

  The others glance at each other as if I have taken leave of my senses.

  ‘Alice… who hates to be the centre of attention? What on earth is in that cocktail?’ Ria says, laughing.

  ‘I like singing. In the shower usually, but… what the hell? I’m on holiday. No one knows me here.’ I carry on looking through the brochure until my eyes fall on a catchy dance number.

  I must admit that I, too, am pretty surprised at my behaviour since I’ve been here. First it was the Greek dancing in front of an audience and now this. Yet somehow I am fired up. I need to rediscover the same sense of fun and adventure I used to have when I was at university, as for some reason that side of me has been buried of late. And after their comment about me not being fun, I resolve to show my friends a glimpse of the old Alice still lurking inside me.

  I show the DJ the song I have selected and he tells me it will be around half an hour before my slot. Molly glances at her watch and says she thought we were moving on to another bar after this drink.

  ‘Are you kidding!’ Kerry shouts. ‘This I’ve got to see! Settle in, girls, I’ll see if I can find us a seat.’ We are scanning the rapidly filling bar, when Ria notices a group of girls vacating a nearby booth and swiftly slides into it, earning us some snotty stares from a couple who weren’t quick enough.

  ‘Are you sure you’re alright, Alice?’ Molly asks.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘It’s just not like you to want to be in the spotlight, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I’m fine. I think Ria was right about me letting my hair down once in a while and it’s karaoke not skinny-dipping.’ I drain my glass. ‘Max told me I should try to relax.’

  ‘And what a great place to do it,’ Ria joins in. ‘If you can’t relax on holiday, where can you? Another cocktail, anyone?’ she says, raising her glass.

  The time passes quickly and soon enough the DJ is announcing my name to step up onto the stage and sing. For a fleeting moment I feel sick. I’m about to back out, but take a large swig of the blue cocktail now in front of me for Dutch courage. The sound of whooping from my friends is ringing in my ears as I step up onto the stage… and again consider turning round and making a run for it.

  As the first note of the song strikes up, though, I grab the microphone and close my eyes. It’s now or never. I have two choices, either rushing off the stage and out of the door, or I can sing my heart out to my favourite tune.

  My palms are sweating as I clench the microphone tightly, yet somehow I manage to control myself and sing the opening bar. There’s a silence in the room.

  Oh dear God, no one likes it. This has gone ridiculously and embarrassingly tits up. What the hell was I even thinking?

  But I can feel the delicious cocktail relaxing me and I carry on singing, when there’s a whoop from the back of the room. Before I know it, I’m starting to get into my stride, even doing a bit of dancing. This is fun!

  The crowd are on their feet now, going wild and singing along as I confidently belt out the familiar tune. Soon enough, the high-note finish is coming up and I take a deep breath, gathering every ounce of oxygen into my lungs for the ear-splitting top note, as the crowd go silent in anticipation.

  I can do this… At least I think I can. I used to sing the Bee Gees’ numbers when I was a kid, although that was twenty years ago.

  My heart beats faster in my chest as the people in the room silent
ly will me on, my friends probably cringing in the corner with their fingers crossed.

  And then it’s out – ‘I believe in loooovvee!’ – and it sounds higher than Mariah Carey sucking on a helium balloon.

  The audience is on its feet cheering and I feel about ten feet tall.

  I did it!

  The girls have rushed to the front of the stage and are hugging me tightly and Kerry is crying and talking about getting me an entry form for one of those talent shows.

  I’m completely exhausted when I make my way back to the cubicle to have another drink.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, where have you been hiding that voice? You were brilliant.’ Ria’s hands are on her cheeks. Kerry and Molly are shaking their heads in disbelief.

  ‘I mean… you must know you can sing… right?’

  I shrug, a little embarrassed now. ‘I used to sing around the house and in the shower, that sort of thing, when I was young, but never really in front of anyone. Mum never remarked that I had a good voice or anything, so I never thought it was anything special.’

  Ria and Kerry exchange a glance.

  ‘Well, it is. It’s bloody brilliant! Who are you and what have you done with Alice? I take back everything I said about you not being one for the spotlight!’ Ria says and they all laugh.

  We head to another bar called Reflex, which is pounding out dance tunes, but an hour later, just before midnight, I tell the girls I’m feeling tired out after the adrenaline rush of my impromptu performance on the stage and that I’m going to head back to the hotel, insisting they stay out and enjoy themselves. They see me safely into a taxi and tell me that they will see me later.

  During the ten-minute journey, I’m smiling to myself all the way back to the hotel, and I’m still smiling as I enter reception. My grin must be infectious, as a bloke sitting alone at a table in the bar, nursing a drink, smiles back at me. He’s a good-looking Greek man around my age and, at first, I don’t recognise him as Vangelis from the jeep safari.