Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
WILL
Day One
Back in Sam’s van, a breeze traipsing over my skin, the hug seems miles away. His hands grip the steering wheel, his light blond hair fluttering in the wind. The whitewashed, neoclassic buildings with green ivy trailing across the walls flashing by as we drive serve as a perfect distraction.
A blue eye hangs from his rear-view mirror, swaying around and around, and every time it looks at me, I allow myself to relax. His keys jangle near his bare thigh, his shorts riding up as he pushes on the gas.
This is Sam?
The Sam I’d lock myself away with when I was young, playing video games?
The same Sam who taught me how to climb a tree. He always made it to the higher branch because he was cooler than me, braver.
The same Sam who didn’t like football, or rugby, or any other sport, which suited me perfectly because I was exactly the same.
He changes gear, navigating the streets easily, a man who knows it like … well, like the back of his blond-haired hand.
‘What brings you to Greece?’ Sam asks, as we wait for a blue tour bus to negotiate the narrow streets.
‘A wedding.’
‘Whose wedding?’
I cough. ‘My … ex.’
His eyebrows skyrocket.
‘Nice of her to invite you.’
I laugh. Sam’s brow furrows in confusion.
‘Her? Sam, come on. You think my ex is a woman?’
‘Sorry?’
Oh God. No. Has Sam become a homophobe?
Is he one of those internet trolls who thinks gay marriage threatens their existence?
A stereotypical locker room man who thinks every gay man fancies him?
In this instance, he’d be right.
‘Sam, I’m gay.’
‘Oh, right. Cool. Nice of him to invite you.’
‘Is that okay?’ Better to find out now.
Sam’s eyes widen. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Like, is it okay that I’m gay?’ I ask. I sound so stupid. ‘Because I’m gay, and I’m proud of it, and I love men and I’ve come here for my ex’s wedding, and he is a he, and he is marrying another he, who is also gay, and we are all gay. And there’s also nothing wrong with being gay, Sam, because—’
‘Woah.’ Sam takes one hand off the wheel, and I wish he didn’t, because we’re turning a corner and it heightens my fear that he will lose control. ‘Of course, it’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘Sometimes, you know, people are dicks.’
‘I’m not one of them.’ Sam winks, and something flutters in my stomach.
We stop at traffic lights, where people in flowing red dresses and summer clothes stroll by. Newspapers flutter in the breeze from a roadside stand also selling tantalising-looking orange juice. I’m thirsty again, realising I didn’t get a coffee at Sam’s shop.
‘When was the break-up?’ Sam asks, as the engine ticks.
‘Three years, a hundred days, sixty-five hours and ten seconds ago.’ Sam’s lips thin. ‘I’m joking, obviously. About three years ago.’
‘And you stayed friends?’
‘We did.’
‘And you’re happy for him?’ The lights turn bright green, and Sam moves on.
The day Ollie went ‘Instagram official’ with Alec made me call off sick from work. Honestly, it fucking broke my heart.
‘Um … do you know what? Not really.’
‘Oh?’
But I can’t say – won’t say – anything more.
‘But he invited you to the wedding,’ Sam says. ‘So that’s a good sign.’
‘Or a sick joke.’
‘Whatever. You’re here, and that’s the main thing.’
Biting my lip, I mull it over. ‘I guess I needed a little bit of a change of scenery.’ I’m not going to tell him what I’m here for.
Some things Sam doesn’t need to know. But there are other deciding factors beyond my quest for Ollie and my inability to get my money back.
‘Life back home is … stressful. There’s a lot going on.
I mean, I’ve let it all … kind of … happen to me, you know?
Mainly because I was comfortable, I guess.
Never stepped outside of my comfort zone.
But it’s like Ollie got engaged, and then my fish-scented boss told me I might lose my job, and then my bestie also got engaged, and all of a sudden, it’s like the loop I’ve been living in broke and I realised something needed to change. ’
‘Your boss smells of fish?’
‘That’s all you took from that?’
Sam gives me a lopsided grin. ‘Does your bestie getting engaged bother you?’
I shake my head. ‘No. Yes, but no. Like, I’m so happy for her. Her name is Alice. I can’t wait to see her get married and like plan every little detail with her. But also… Shit, I don’t know. Why does she have to get engaged now? Why is everyone so set on marriage all of a sudden?’
‘You don’t like marriage?’
‘It scares me,’ I say. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t know, would you? But Mum and Dad divorced.’
Sam flicks the indicators, turning down a long street. ‘Shit. I’m sorry, Will.’
‘A while ago now. I’ve had time to accept it.’ I sigh. ‘Still.’
Sam shakes his head. ‘I guess marriage can be pretty scary.’
‘Scary, but also, it changes everything, doesn’t it? It’s normal. It’s what people do. But suddenly all the familiarity is shattered by change. I don’t like it. It’s like when you left.’
‘You were upset?’
‘Only for an hour or so,’ I say, casually.
‘Right.’ Sam pulls over to the kerb, behind a Sights of Athens tour bus. ‘We’re here.’
I flap my T-shirt, trying to feel a breeze. I can’t wait to change. Bustling bodies head in every direction, almost disorientating me. In the distance, a grand building flies a fluttering Greek flag.
‘Pleasant area,’ Sam says, his hands slipping into the pockets of his shorts.
This whole time he’s remained topless, and I still haven’t got used to it. Keep eye level. Always stay at eye level.
Except his eyes are pretty.
Too pretty.
Mine are a mossy swamp colour. His are a refreshing ocean.
‘This is Monastiraki Square,’ Sam says. ‘Pretty much city’s heart. A great vegan place just around the corner. Syntagma square is worth a visit. There’s a little market street just over there. And the Acropolis is pretty much on your doorstep.’
‘You can be my tour guide.’
‘Happy to be,’ Sam agrees. ‘I better get back to the coffee shop. I know it feels like forever getting here, but it’s honestly not that far away. It’s quicker to walk than drive. Maybe we should have done that.’
‘And carry my broken luggage? No, I enjoyed the car ride.’
‘Me too,’ Sam says. He crosses his arms and I try to look anywhere but his golden nipples.
‘I’ll come back here at around half six,’ Sam says. ‘We can walk over to Mum’s from here.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ I say. ‘But you don’t need to come meet me. My phone works here. Vodafone roaming. I can find my way there.’
‘I want to,’ Sam says.
He wants to.
I can’t refuse.
I grip my suitcase and my hand luggage, and leave Sam at his van, the muscles in his crossed arms hard to look away from. It’s even harder trying to wrestle this ruined case.
My stomach rumbles when I sniff the sweet aroma wafting from the nearby café. I could do with a sweet treat right now, something with chocolate and cream. Sam may have a body like that but I do not, and I never will, because oh my God, that smell.
The gold and brown hotel exterior invites me in, and I make a note to stop for coffee once I’d found my room and got some sun lotion on. An iced latte would be the perfect antidote to my already burnt skin.
I relish the blast of cold air as I step into the hotel lobby. A young woman stands behind a gleaming counter, a phone pressed to her ear. She speaks in rapid Greek, her eyes narrowed.
I wait, surrounded by marble white interior, stone-coloured sofas, wealthy-looking people. Curse my drunken credit card purchase. This place is fancy.
Well, at least it would look good on Instagram. I’d be counted among those who have it all. Envied for my perfect life. One day I’ll be just like everyone else: not faking it.
‘Hi,’ the brown-haired girl whose name tag reads Lydia says. ‘Sorry. Customers.’ She catches herself mid eye-roll. ‘Sometimes I want to strangle the guests.’
Great. A murderous receptionist. Just what I need.
I zip my lips.
‘Secret is safe with me,’ I say, because I need to get this girl on my side. She’d spare me.
Twenty-five days to survive.
‘Checking in?’
I eye my broken suitcase, covered in dust, thinking how very out of place I am here, even more so when someone dressed in Gucci walks by. ‘That’s right.’
‘Don’t worry about people like that,’ she says to me, her eyes on the Gucci jumper around the man’s shoulders as he exits.
‘Looks … rich.’
‘Oh, they are,’ Lydia says. ‘But they’re vile.’
‘I’m not rich.’ I need to admit it. ‘This is credit card debt.’
‘They don’t know that,’ Lydia says.
‘In fact, I wasn’t even going to come. I didn’t book this place sober. If I’d known—’
Her fingers stop hammering the keyboard and she looks at me. ‘Will Cooper?’
Ice runs through my veins and my fingers tighten on the case, as if it were a weapon. Slowly, I say, ‘Yes?’
‘We spoke on the phone,’ she says, the warmth in her voice now gone.
Monotone girl was Lydia the receptionist. ‘You wouldn’t refund me.’
‘No, I wouldn’t. And your room was double booked.’
We stare at one another, as a guest in a dry towel goes walking by.
‘Well, it looks as though we are at an impasse here, Lydia.’
Her nostrils flare like a dragon. ‘You’ve booked the premium balcony suite with the Acropolis view.’
‘No, I definitely haven’t, and I’m not paying any more money than I have to.’
‘No, you definitely booked something a bit more luxurious.’ Lydia types on her keyboard. Her eyes meet mine. ‘At the same price, of course.’
My mouth drops open.
A truce.
‘You’re still upgrading me?’
‘Maybe.’ Lydia’s eyes dart to make sure nobody else was around. ‘Yes.’
‘But why?’
Lydia hands me my key card, telling me where I can find my room with a view.
‘Because you wrote in your booking notes “my ex is marrying someone else and I deserve some happiness so I’m booking a hotel I can’t afford”, and I think that’s tragic,’ Lydia says. ‘Well, I assume you meant happiness, and not what is written here: ha penis.’
I flush red.
‘The reason I didn’t refund you was because I knew you’d come,’ she adds.
I excuse myself with haste.