Chapter 15 #2
Sam massages his neck, pulling a face. The fabric of his T-shirt pulls taut. God, how was it not ripping off him like the Incredible Hulk?
‘Truthfully, we couldn’t think of a name.’
‘Oh.’
I giggle. So simple.
Sam, abashed, rubs at his jaw. ‘Yeah. Mum was going around and around in circles, trying to think of a cute name for it when she was opening it. And me, being me, said No Name, and it stuck.’
God, I could hug him.
We take a right, and I gasp. Bouquets of flowers hang from doors, bursting colours of red, pink, blue and green.
The doors are painted in shades of sherbet yellow and muted pink.
Cats flick their tails lazily, lounging in the last rays of the day, and of course, I bend down and stroke every single one.
‘They’re stray,’ Sam says.
‘Really?’
‘Lots of cats here are stray,’ he says. ‘They kind of just get looked after by the community.’
There’s silence around us, as if we have strayed into a part of town wrapped in cotton.
All that remains is the faint aroma of food, the distant bustle of the surrounding city, and snatches of Greek conversation escaping from open windows.
A little slice of authenticity, not found in the guidebook. Real life.
‘That makes me sad.’
‘It is sad, but trust me, they get fed, looked after, and they go to the vets if they need it,’ Sam says. ‘There’s one woman who has made it her life mission to neuter them, get them appropriate treatments. They’re the royalty of strays.’
‘That makes me feel better,’ I say as I stroke a black cat with green eyes. ‘I’ll call this one Charles.’
‘As in—’
‘King Charles, yes.’
‘Okay.’ Sam chuckles. ‘Come on, we’re close to Mum’s.’
The street, on a slant, leads to a little square, where blue door townhouses fade in the setting sun.
Sam pushes open a rustic blue gate and we climb two haphazard stairs to the front door.
From here, we get a good view of Athens.
He knocks, a chip of paint peeling at his fingertips.
King Charles the Cat follows, waiting patiently at my feet.
‘Oh, he comes here often,’ Sam says, at my surprised face. ‘Mum feeds him.’
‘Please tell me she hasn’t named him something stupid.’
‘Oh, Merlin, there you are.’
Jill stands at the door with her arms outstretched, and King Charles the Cat wraps himself around her ankles, meowing as he does so.
‘Merlin?’ I mouth at Sam.
A wry smile tweaks his rosette lips.
‘Is your mum the woman who is making it her life mission to look after the cats of Athens?’
Sam’s cheeks blush. ‘Yeah.’
Stepping through into Jill’s home, there’s the scent of orange, sweet and tantalising.
It’s like walking into a wellness retreat in Tulum, with shades of light brown, bottle green and eggshell white mixing in the form of rugs, curtains and furniture.
Not that I’ve been to a wellness retreat in Tulum, or, in fact, Tulum, but it’s how I imagine such a retreat would look.
Antique tables made of dark oak fill some of the space.
Light finds its way in through large windows and a set of doors, which open out into a private garden outside.
King Charles the Cat meows, going straight to the kitchen, clearly at home.
‘It’s a nice evening. I thought we could sit outside,’ Jill says. ‘You’re looking very nice, Will.’
‘Thanks.’ I’m pleased my carefully chosen outfit, brand new, is being received well.
‘You boys head on out. I’m just finishing the garlic bread.’
Trying to ignore my ravenous stomach and the fact that my last meal was airline food, I follow Sam outside.
For a city home, Jill’s garden is larger than I thought it’d be.
Private, but condensed, with furniture carefully chosen to give it as much space as possible.
She’s planted some trees with pebbles over the soil, so that the same colours of the home continue out here.
A glass table sits at one end of the garden, lit up with solar lights.
Next door is the gentle murmur of neighbours, no doubt having their own evening meals.
The city sprawls away from us, but here it’s as though we were secluded.
Sam and I sit next to each other, admiring the indigo sky.
‘Your mum was always the best hostess,’ I say, as Sam poured us both red wine.
‘She loves entertaining.’
At that moment, Jill strides out, carrying a bowl of chopped vegetables. Tomatoes, potatoes, leeks, onions, you name it: it was in there. Two metal tongs protrude from the bowl, which she places at the centre of the table already set with cutlery and plates.
Sam hands me a tong, the cold chilling my hand as I add salad then fragrant chicken breast seasoned with herbs and garlic bread to the side of my plate.
‘Oh my God, Jill, this sauce is delicious.’ I fork salad and chicken into my mouth relishing the explosion of taste. ‘What is it?’
‘Homemade salad dressing,’ Jill explains. ‘The secret ingredient is freshly cracked black pepper.’
I don’t even have to lie to flatter her. The food is somewhere between spice and garlic that sizzles on my tongue and leaves a gorgeous aftertaste. It’s better than the food I eat at home.
Ollie made an excellent salad.
‘What have you been up to all these years, Will?’ Jill asks.
I taste my wine, trying to settle on the best response. Do I big it up and make myself more important than I am? ‘To be honest, not that much.’
Crickets chirp around us, and the neighbours laugh, and a dog barks in the distance. King Charles the Cat – because his name is not Merlin – strolls out to join us, pawing at Sam until he feeds him a slice of chicken. He chews it with vigour, a purr emanating from him.
‘I’m thinking of becoming an illustrator, but I can’t find the clients or the work.’ A lie, but who is keeping score? Sly Clive won’t let me have a look-in.
‘You were always creative,’ Sam says.
‘I guess I was,’ I agree, memories of my own youth coming back to me. ‘But now I’m working in an animation company—’
‘Oh, wow,’ Jill gasps.
‘Doing Excel spreadsheets,’ I finish.
‘Oh.’ Jill recovers quickly. ‘Well, you’re still in the industry.’
‘It’s fine. You can agree with me, it’s crap.’
King Charles the Cat jumps on Jill’s lap, and she scratches him behind the ears, his purr rumbling.
‘So, my life is very mediocre right now,’ I say. ‘I’m underpaid, not doing what I want, and I’m in Athens having planned to get my ex back and only now realising how nasty that is.’
Sam looks away, pouring himself more wine. Instead, I look to Jill for some moral support.
‘Your ex is Greek?’ she asks.
‘No, but his partner is. He’s getting married here,’ I explain, and Jill bites her lip. ‘I know. I’m awful.’
‘You won’t get any judgement from me.’
‘But?’ I can hear it in her tone; there’s definitely judgement.
Jill places her wine glass on the table with a diplomatic flair. ‘But if he’s happy…’
‘I know.’ It isn’t a lie. ‘Thing is, Jill, he’s been on my mind every day since he left me. And I don’t know… I just had this ridiculous idea that maybe he’d realise he’s making a mistake.’
‘But what if he isn’t?’
‘Been thinking that myself.’
‘He’s invited you because he wants you to celebrate his wedding, darling,’ Jill says. ‘Not because he wants you to ruin it.’
I sigh, my lip quivering. ‘I need closure.’
The word impresses Jill, because she lifts her glass. ‘To closure.’
‘To closure,’ I tap my glass against hers.
‘Closure,’ Sam mumbles, joining in.
‘But only closure, Will,’ Jill says, with a warning undertone. ‘I’m not your mother, but—’
‘I know.’
Homewrecker. Ollie’s happiness. It doesn’t matter what I want. Not now.
I close my eyes, savouring the rich, fruity flavour of the wine. God, I could drink this like water. There’s something lethal about wine this good.
‘Do you keep in touch with anyone from school?’ Sam asks.
‘From our primary school?’ I laugh. ‘Not at all. Secondary school changed us all. Plus, we were always the weird kids, Sam. No one wanted to be seen with us in primary school, let alone secondary.’
Sam shakes his head, sniggering at the memory.
Cutlery clinks against plates as we finish the meal.
‘You guys just up and left,’ I say. ‘You left me.’
It’s meant to be a joke, but Jill’s expression softens into pity.
‘We left out of the blue, didn’t we?’ She sighs. ‘I can’t say it would have been our first choice. I felt bad for Sam.’
‘Why?’
‘He had you,’ Jill says.
Sam cocks an eyebrow, cheekily smiling. But he won’t meet my eye.
‘He asked about you for ages after we left,’ Jill says. ‘I never could give an answer. It was harder to stay in touch back then.’
‘I think I wrote you a letter,’ Sam says.
‘You did,’ Jill confirms. ‘Three or four, if I remember right.’
‘I never got them,’ I say. Maybe if I had I wouldn’t have withdrawn.
Did Sam think I was ignoring him? A childhood guilt that I didn’t know I had engulfs me. If only I could turn back time.
Ollie liked that Cher song.
‘They weren’t important. Just talking about life here. I couldn’t find Yu-Gi-Oh cards for ages and when I did, they were in Greek.’
‘Very important information,’ I say. ‘You know, I still have my shiny blue-eyes white dragon card.’
Sam wiggles his eyebrows. ‘So do I.’
‘Well, I’m sorry I never got your letters.’
‘Don’t worry about it. We can text these days.’
‘Why did you leave?’
‘Sam’s dad wanted to move back,’ Jill says. ‘Just felt like a good decision at the time.’
‘And how is Mr Greer?’
‘I wouldn’t know. We divorced.’
My wine glass almost shatters in my hand. There’s that horrible word again. Divorce. Why go through all the effort just to divorce? God, I wish I could use this as an example to Ollie. ‘Oh, Jill.’
‘It happens.’
Yes, it does. Divorce always seems inevitable. I wish Sam had told me earlier in the car.
‘We were meant to go back,’ Sam says, after a moment. ‘To the UK. When I found that out, after being told we were staying, I was angry.’
‘Why? It’s perfect here.’ I say looking around.
Sam nudges me. ‘I wanted my friend back.’ My heart constricts at his touch, hairs on the back of my neck standing as a frisson of excitement tingles between my legs.
His confident gaze, with his lips slightly curled, is directed towards me. He’s so sure of himself, his bicep curled as he drinks, his other hand inches from mine.
This is Sam.
Friends only.
‘I’m here now.’
‘For twenty-five days,’ Sam says.
‘A toast,’ I say, raising my glass. ‘To the next twenty-five days. Yamas.’
Jill laughs in surprise, and Sam looks impressed. Bonus points scored.
‘Yamas,’ they echo.