One Greek Summer Wedding

Chapter 18

When Akis veered his motorbike off the road and down onto hay-like grass, zipping between olive trees, Cara did worry for a second that he had either lost control of the vehicle or lost control of his mind. However, only a few minutes later they were pulling up alongside a tiny white building, paint peeling from its domed roof. It was the only thing around apart from the trees, grass the colour of straw that was up to Cara’s knees and a rather random piece of farming machinery thick with rust.

‘Here it is,’ Akis said, spreading his arms out wide as they approached the building. ‘My potential place of work.’

‘This is a church?’ Cara asked. ‘It’s so small.’

‘Which is why Cosmos and Wren are not getting married here. It is not big enough or grand enough for my mother.’

‘It is beautiful though,’ Cara said, stepping closer and wondering about the history soaked in the stone.

‘I used to think so too,’ Akis said. ‘When I was around six years old and I didn’t know my fate was wrapped up here. We used to light candles and try to cook corn over them. Pig was born here.’

‘A pig gave birth inside the church?’

He laughed then. ‘Sorry, Pig, it is the name of my grandmother’s donkey.’

‘So, a donkey gave birth in the church?’

‘Yes,’ Akis said. ‘Now you want to see inside even more, yes?’

The key was in the lock and he turned it, then pushed at the old metal door. It creaked open and Cara followed Akis inside. It was dark, small arched windows, one either side, not really letting in any light. But then he flicked on a switch and Cara gasped. The room lit up and right away, the first thing that struck her were the frescos painted on the wall. Some were worn away with age, their edges bleeding from the plaster, but others, including those on the ceiling, were beautifully intact. All colours had been used – reds, golds, blues – and they were mainly figures – saints she presumed – holding scriptures or other religious artefacts.

‘Say hello to my ancestors,’ Akis said, indicating the murals. ‘The good ones at least. The ones who did become priests.’

‘Will they paint you on the wall?’ Cara asked.

‘Only if I become a priest.’ He moved one of the dozen or so chairs squeezed into the space. ‘Shall we sit?’

She joined him, plumping herself down onto a quite small wooden chair with fraying ropes bound together to form the seat.

‘So,’ Akis said, looking at her. ‘Now it is your turn. To tell me why you needed to run from the cake and the wine. What concerns you about singing? Unless you are a very bad singer. But I cannot believe my mother would not have asked for audition tapes even if this was a late arrangement. We had Placido Domingo booked, you know.’

Cara smiled but already her heart was palpitating. This was on Margot. She’d known there was something off, something more about this flying to Corfu for a wedding.

‘I wish Placido had been able to make it.’

‘Really?’ Akis asked. ‘Because I think the guy knows he’s good, you know?’

She swallowed. She could tell him something. It didn’t have to be everything. She could make a start. After all, he had told her about this awful priest dilemma. She owed him.

‘I… do sing. Did sing. I haven’t, for a while.’ That was enough.

‘Why? What happened?’

Of course he would ask.

She shook her head and looked into the soulful eyes of one of the paintings – a sad-looking man holding a baby. ‘What happened’ was only two words but somehow it was one of the biggest sentences of all. So much had happened.

‘Did anyone die?’ Akis asked her. ‘I mean, if someone did die then I apologise for bringing it up but?—’

‘No one died,’ Cara answered.

‘Then everything else can be resolved.’

‘Says the guy who might have to become a priest.’

‘Ouch.’

She took a deep breath; somehow his vibe gave energy and calm. It was a good mix. ‘I had a bad performance.’

‘One?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wow, OK, well, I do not want to ruin how special our show was for you last night, but there have been times I have fallen on my face and at least three times in the course of this summer run alone I have fallen on someone else’s face.’

‘I had a bad performance in front of over one hundred and fifty million people.’

She watched his eyes bulge and then he said one word. ‘Fuck.’

‘Almost the whole world was watching. That’s pretty hard to come back from.’

She sighed, watching the dust motes dance in the small rays of sunlight coming through the bars of the windows.

‘Not impossible though,’ came Akis’s reply.

‘What?’

‘Well, the way I look at things, it is only impossible if you lead your life worrying about what others think of you. If you do not care what others think of you then nothing is impossible. You might succeed. You might fail. But only your own opinion matters.’

She had never met anyone who looked at things the way he did. It was like he’d taken the rulebook of society and shredded all the pages. Except…

‘But if only your own opinion matters, why don’t you just tell your mother you don’t want to be a priest?’

‘I have,’ Akis said. ‘I tell her every time she brings the subject up.’

‘So, you have made your decision not to be one.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I love my family and whether I believe these tales of doom and gloom or not, there is a part of me that wonders if I lost my finger for a reason.’ He stood up, putting his hands to the back of his head, elbows at right angles, and started to pace.

‘What? I don’t understand.’

‘And if I believe that maybe I wasn’t destined to play for a world-famous orchestra because of Cosmos’s accident, then maybe being a priest is what I’m meant to do. Maybe it wasn’t even an accident. Perhaps it was this curse starting early, paving the way.’

‘What, like, divine intervention?’

‘I don’t know. I sound like a mad man right now.’

‘Well, you’ve proved you can still play and it’s powerful and beautiful and?—’

He stopped pacing and turned back around to face her. ‘It will never be good enough… in my own opinion.’

‘Is that what it is?’ Cara asked. ‘You’re going to be a priest to punish yourself? Because you lost a finger in what I’m sure was an accident? Because you don’t think you’re good enough to be whatever you want to be? What happened to life being wide?’

‘My life has already been wide, Cara.’

‘Right, so, that’s it?’ she asked, getting to her feet, feeling incensed by this turn of events. ‘You’re going to stop dancing? Stop playing the piano? Stop eating fish with your fingers and live in this chapel?’

She was close to him now and she was feeling impassioned about something. That never happened any more. Because she had lost her passion. Not just from her music. From her life.

‘I do not have to live here in the chapel,’ Akis told her.

‘OK.’

‘And I am pretty sure I can still play the piano a little.’

‘Right.’

‘And I can definitely eat fish with my fingers.’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘I say that we make another pact.’

She shook her head. ‘OK, I see where this is going.’ She went to take a step backwards.

Akis took her hand and laced their fingers together. ‘I think we put a little faith in each other. I will stop throwing myself a pity party and remember that even though I love my family and wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to them, there are also many reasons why I live in Corfu Town.’

‘And what do I have to do in this “pact”?’

‘Oh, well, that is very simple,’ Akis said, his smile returning. ‘You will let me hear you sing.’

She shook her head and detached their hands. ‘No.’

‘But what if I promised it would only be me and maybe one other person?’

‘Akis, I told you, I don’t sing any more and now I find that my aunt has booked me to sing at a wedding, your brother’s wedding, and the thought of that just makes me want to… makes me—’ She was starting to feel the panic build, her chest tightening, and her words not coming.

The next thing she knew, Akis’s lips were on hers and suddenly her head was spinning in an entirely new direction. It was fierce, yet not harsh, it was hot and passionate, yet also reassuring and comforting. And she was apparently indulging in it. What was she doing?!

She detached herself. ‘Excuse me, but what was that?’ She couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘That,’ Akis said, ‘was, of course, nothing but a technique often used in times of anxiety. A shock tactic. For you to realise that there are… worse things than letting me hear you sing.’

All she had heard was the word ‘nothing’.

‘So,’ he carried on. ‘Come, what is there to lose?’ He smiled. ‘And the other person I tell you about to listen? I would like you to meet Pig.’

Not a pig. His grandmother’s donkey. Why was she hesitating about saying no? She didn’t want to sing. She never sang any more. But, then again, she had never kissed a virtual stranger in a church by an olive grove before…

She took a deep breath and didn’t think any more.

‘OK.’