Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
WILL
Day One
I’m going to Athens. Between Ollie asking me, in person, and the receptionist in Greece not giving me a refund, I feel as though my hand is forced.
Intoxicated on superb red wine, I went back to Ollie on that February night and said: ‘So lovely to see you. RSVP-ing. Again! Yamas!’
Yamas was cool. Yamas was my way of flexing, pretending Google hadn’t given me the translation.
It made me look cultured.
A changed man.
An interesting man.
Yamas.
Ollie would like a man who happened to know what Yamas meant.
I liked the way it sounded.
Yamas.
Now, the day has finally come, and trust me, I’ve thought about dropping out and cancelling and taking the non-refund thing on the nose, but it’s happening.
I’m on the EasyJet flight, clicking away at Duolingo Greek, clutching a Greek travel guide that I finally bought from the same concerned bookseller who definitely remembered me.
Yes, on my way to my new life in Athens.
Okay, twenty-five days in Athens, but it sure feels like a new life.
Twenty-five days because drunken me couldn’t count, probably meaning to book five days.
Twenty-five days because I couldn’t get refunded for a hotel that turned out to be very expensive, and why waste good money?
I read a brief passage about a god of transformation in my travel guide. I’m transforming myself. I’m becoming Proteus.
I don’t know what this journey worthy of an X-Factor style monologue will look like, but all I know is that I want to be mysterious. I want to be one of those people online who have an interesting-looking life for once, like all the other people I know. I want to do something daring.
Will, the enigma.
Will, the mystery.
Maybe I’ll change my username to something like ‘WillinGreece’. That would give off the mystery vibe.
For once, my friends and followers will wonder about my life activity.
Where is he going?
What is he doing?
The rumours would spiral.
‘I heard he got a job working in fashion in Mykonos,’ someone would say. ‘I heard he’s moved abroad with a handsome man.’
Yes, I’ll be a commander of attention. The Regina George to people’s lives. Maybe I should buy army pants and flip-flops.
The only snag has been Nimble Clive.
He didn’t grant me the leave.
Even with the situation explained to him, the leave had gone ignored.
I did think of using it as an excuse not to go, but then I thought he would accept it so I went ahead and booked the flights.
There’d been no more talk of me losing my job, and I didn’t want to rock the boat and demand he give me the leave for fear it would remind him of the situation I was in, so I left it pending, hoping it would be approved.
Until finally, rejected.
By that point, it was too late. My EasyJet flight was booked, another thing that wouldn’t be refunded. Besides, I’d shopped on ASOS for sunglasses, summer T-shirts, flip-flops and a pair of tight, skimpy swim trunks. Once I had my outfits planned, it was too late.
I’d also gained a slim-fitting suit, as well as a white shirt and smart chino shorts. I didn’t know the dress code for Ollie’s wedding, but wanted to be prepared.
Yamas.
I’d signed up to the gym. Needed to get that summer body six months ago, but time was pressing and I thought maybe a miracle could happen and I’d be summer bod ready. I went to one class, saw all the ripped men, woke up with aching muscles the next day, and promptly cancelled my membership.
No big deal. I could do some yoga, sit-ups and swimming.
As far as Clive knows, I’m lying in bed with a terrible fever that will last for a week. I insisted it was pure coincidence that it happened at the same time as he rejected my leave. I haven’t thought ahead to week two or the rest of the days, but no doubt something else will befall me.
Twenty-five days. That’s all I need.
Clive doesn’t need me for twenty-five days. Maybe my job won’t even exist in twenty-five days. Yes, I know leaving my job while facing possible redundancy is not a great idea, but honestly, I’m so fed up of giving my time to a place where I’m not appreciated. Some things are more important.
Like Ollie.
You have to risk it all for love.
When we land, my new quest to be the better version of me is front and centre.
I eye my list, something I vowed to keep with me, looking at my wants.
The most achievable is sex. The first hot man I see, I’ll climb him like a tree.
Any one of these airport men fits the bill.
What is it with strangers in airports, anyway? Why do they always look so fit?
Striding out of the plane, entering Athens’ arrival gate, I almost expect to have photographers waiting for me, because I look fabulous in my duster jacket, my grey jogging bottoms and a baggy T-shirt.
So designer. So glam. ‘Unwritten’ plays in my head like I’m shooting B-roll for the title sequence of The Hills.
All eyes are on me, but for the wrong reason.
Because when I reach baggage claim and grab hold of my suitcase, it sends me crashing to the floor.
Has someone replaced my stuff with bricks during the flight?
The security at the airport comes running, and oh my God, they have guns.
They’re hot, though, but now is not the time for my security fantasy. Or my wants.
I took a group of people down with me when I fell.
Tangled bodies trying to right themselves, and my duster jacket is over my head like a veil.
I do not want to be reminded of weddings right now, thank you very much.
The guns bob dangerously at their hips, swaying at their sides, and for a moment, my life flashes before my eyes.
‘I’m sorry!’ My hands rise in the air. Forget my case, forget any quick movements, just own up and try not to be killed. ‘I fell. Yamas!’
The Greek police, in their blue uniforms, slow down.
Probably because I look so pathetic. And because they were coming over to see if I, and the people I took out were okay.
A man with a black beard helps me up, faster than I fell.
His strength is outstanding. My fantasy is overpowering my thoughts right now.
‘You should be careful.’
‘Sorry.’ I point to my case. ‘The gravity.’
He rights my case, wheeling it over to me with a push. ‘Welcome to Athens.’
Guiding my case through the automatic sliding doors, the heat hits me. Beads of sweat form on my forehead.
Yellow taxis snake away from view, drivers waiting patiently for new arrivals. Wheeling my case over, I catch the eye of a man in a loose shirt. He climbs out of the driver’s side of his car and walks to the boot, helping me lift my case.
‘Heavy.’ He heaves, and with a wincing expression, I help navigate the case into the trunk, breathing with relief.
‘I think I over-packed.’
He chuckles. ‘How long are you here for?’
We walk either side of the car. I take the back seat. ‘Twenty-five days.’
‘Long time,’ he says, eyebrows rising. ‘Ever been to Greece before?’
‘Never.’
Please don’t ask me what brought me here.
‘What brings you here?’
Damn.
He pulls out of the airport, weaving with expert ease.
‘A wedding.’
‘Ah, Greek wedding.’ There’s a warm twinkle in his eye as he pulls down the visor above him, where a photo of his beaming wife and two children stare back at me, as they bask in the golden glow of setting Athenian sun.
In that snapshot, they look so carefree.
Unlike me, because I notice the visor is blocking his vision, meaning he can’t see the road.
‘Our wedding was very fun. She is the love of my life.’
‘That’s great to hear.’ I wince as he narrowly avoids a Fiat.
Everyone has their someone, and Ollie is mine. Hearing this man talk, his wedding ring visible on his hand, makes me feel validated in my decision to come here.
I considered it on the plane. Alec is a lovely guy, I’m certain, but he has my guy. Sometimes you have to fight for what you truly want, and what you know is right. Ollie is my Mr Right. Closure is good and all, but just like this man and his wife, Ollie is the love of my life.
The driver’s crinkled eyes, so full of love, make me want to hug him. How can you not be happy when you have someone to hold on to, someone you trust, someone who just fits in all the right places?
High on this romantic notion of love, the Greek scenery unfolds around me, and thoughts drift to the upcoming twenty-five days.
Sunloungers, beaches, cocktails. Ollie, back at my side, our issues all sorted.
We’d make up, iron out any kinks, explore each other’s kinks, and everything would be well again.
Alec would tell me it’s okay, that he gives us his blessing, that he didn’t want Ollie anyway.
He’d absolve me of my guilt. He’d leave Ollie and I alone.
We’d sip Mythos beer, or retsina, and then dare one another to drink ouzo.
We’d break in half an Amygdalotá cookie, and savour the almond taste with rich Greek coffee.
God, I’d love a coffee right now. First thing I’m doing is finding a cute coffee place.
Somewhere I could take Ollie before he offers me Dolmadákia, and I’d take a bite, my lips brushing his fingertips.
Our eyes would lock. There would be a pregnant pause before his lips found mine.
After so long, we’d feel like we’d returned home.
My dick stirs as my imagination conjures what would come after the kiss, but the Greek driver is talking to me, and I can’t talk to him with a hard-on. I shift my hand luggage to cover my lap, hoping that my flushed skin can be put down to the temperature.
We come off a busy main road, dipping down a narrow lane, when the car jolts.
‘Oh, boy,’ the driver says with a groan.
‘What?’
The car slows until we’re off the road, coming to a complete standstill. Red lights on the dash flash a warning for the driver, as smoke billows from under the bonnet.
Oh my God, I’m going to die in a car fire.
With an erection.