Chapter 46
Chapter Forty-Six
WILL
Day Thirteen
Lydia stands before us, wearing a sunflower dress that I love and holding a glass of wine. She takes the seat opposite Sam, making herself comfortable.
‘Not interrupting anything, am I?’ Lydia asks.
Actually, yes, you are. Things were about to get real. What was Sam about to say? The words haunt me. Should we make this…
What?
Official?
Real?
The beginning of the end?
And if he had been about to make us official, what the hell would I have done? Agreed to it? Acted like this isn’t some whirlwind romance in the Greek sunshine? As nice as his fantasy is, we’re literally countries apart.
‘You must be Sam.’ Lydia holds out her hand, shaking his. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’
‘You have?’ Sam asks, looking at me.
I feel like I’ve tasted something bitter. Like this is doomed to be a holiday fling. Sam lives in Greece, and I … don’t.
‘I’m sure you have heard lots about me, too,’ Lydia says glibly.
‘Um,’ Sam begins, just as the waitress appeared.
‘Can I take your order?’
‘Two rosés,’ Sam orders for the both of us. Is this what my future would look like if I had Sam at my side? Him knowing my order? Him looking at me like he … like he wants me?
‘Some garlic bread for the table, please,’ Lydia says, before switching to Greek. Once the waitress leaves, she gives us her full attention. ‘Sorry. I explained we’re still waiting for two others before we order food.’
‘I looked at the menu like I’m not going to order one of their pizzas,’ Sam says.
‘Oh, they make the best pizzas here. You haven’t been before?’
‘I’m always working.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘No Name Coffee Shop,’ Sam replies.
Lydia nods. ‘Love that place.’
The two of them talk about the coffee shop, discussing how neither of them has noticed the other before.
My wine arrives, which I sip as Sam and Lydia talk about their separate lives in Athens.
If Sam was nervous before arriving, he doesn’t show it now.
Unless his trick is to keep talking to fill the silence.
The garlic bread has just been placed on the table when two people walk in and I gasp. Because they are clothed. And they’re waving at me like I’m their best friend.
‘Oh, how wonderful to see you,’ Jemima exclaims, taking a seat next to Lydia.
‘If it isn’t the boys,’ Tim says, as if this is a nickname we’re familiar with. ‘Hotel, coffee shop, painting workshop. Anyone would think we’re on holiday together,’ Tim guffaws, and Jemima hoots.
‘I never got to see your paintings,’ I say to the couple.
‘Yes, you will have to.’ Jemima picks up her phone with excitement. She scrolls through what I assume to be pictures until she turns her screen to me, showing a crude painting of me. The biggest thing there was… ‘Your penis caught my eye.’
My cheeks sting as Sam and Lydia stifle their laughs.
‘We’re going to put them up in the lake house,’ Tim says, showing me his own interpretation of my naked form. Apparently, I’m just cock and balls to him. ‘We own one in the Lake District.’
‘Ah, that will be … lovely,’ I manage.
‘Where will you put yours, son?’ Tim asks Sam. ‘The coffee shop?’
I try to imagine the painting of me on the walls of Sam’s shop.
‘I need to finish it first,’ Sam says. ‘But I’m not sure where I’ll hang it yet.’
‘Well, wherever you decide, it will be perfect,’ Jemima beams.
‘You’ll have to come to another class, when Lydia is modelling. Cracking buttocks.’ Tim announces.
‘Cheers to that,’ Sam says, cheeks ever so slightly flushed.
We cheer to Lydia’s buttocks and then, to my great humiliation, to my ‘crowning jewels’, as Tim puts it. I’m glad when the waitress comes and takes our pizza order, large enough to share.
A jaunty beat of traditional Greek music fills the restaurant, cutting our conversation short. Men and women dressed in red and black dance around the tables as waiters and waitresses hand us plates. I touch mine, feeling the lightness.
‘Plaster,’ Lydia says. ‘To avoid injuries. It’s been a dying tradition in Greece for a while now, but this restaurant keeps it alive.’
With each movement and to shouts of joy, a plaster plate is thrown onto the floor, breaking up into dust. The waitresses clap along, while a waiter moves stealthily to clear away any debris.
As the dancing party approaches our table, we get our plates ready. I lift mine, feeling the icy touch.
‘On the count of three…’ Lydia signals, her eyes alight as she beams at the dancers.
Lydia throws her plate. Tim and Jemima.
Sam throws his own plaster.
They land with dull, dusty thuds.
With reserved energy, I throw mine.
Smash.
The sound of ceramic.
Eyes turn to me. The cleaning waiter looks like I’ve stabbed him.
The dancers, ever the professionals, keep dancing, but one shakes their head at me.
‘You threw your actual plate,’ Lydia states.
‘I threw my actual plate.’
Sam’s shoulders bounce next to me as he tries to hide his laugh, but soon the others join in, and the dancers carry on.
My cheeks burn with humiliation, and a waitress takes my unbroken plaster plate and replaces my actual plate.
‘Do not throw,’ she says firmly.
‘I mean, you do say plate throwing. It’s going to happen,’ I say when she’s gone.
‘This is why the Greeks had to stop the tradition.’ Lydia sighs. ‘Brits.’
The audience applauds, and I join in, but it slows when I see two people waiting to find a table.
‘Oh, no,’ I whisper.
Sam follows my gaze.
‘Ah.’
Looking around the restaurant are Ollie and Alec. All the tables are full, nowhere for them to sit and be the perfect couple that they are. Until Alec spots me and says something to the waitress.
‘Did you text them?’ Sam whispers.
‘What? No, course I didn’t.’
To my horror, they’re walking towards me, and the waitress, the betrayer, carries menus.
Lydia looks at me.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Excuse me, these people say they know you and would like to know if they could join you for dinner,’ the waitress addresses us. ‘We don’t have any other tables and they would like to eat here.’
Fuck.
I look at Sam. To Lydia, who knows the real Sam, the coffee shop owner, the Athens citizen.
She doesn’t know Alec doesn’t know who I really am.
Tim and Jemima, the nudists, already half-cut on wine.
Then to Ollie, staring at me, who thinks Sam is my boyfriend of a year, or six months.
I can’t even remember anymore. Ollie, my ex-boyfriend, who no longer knows me.
‘Of course,’ Jemima says, before anyone else can answer. ‘The more the merrier.’
I squeeze Sam’s hand under the table as Alec sits at one head of the table, and Ollie the other, right next to me. He squeezes it back, offering me that comfort I needed.
‘Lydia, Jemima, Tim,’ I say as Ollie and Alec take their seats. Why did Ollie have to sit next to me? ‘These are Alec and Ollie.’
Lydia’s eyes meet mine. ‘Yes, Ollie. We have already met.’