Chapter 63
Chapter Sixty-Three
WILL
Day One of the Rest of My Life
‘Frappé skétos me gála,’ I say, winking at Sam.
‘Your Greek coffee order is foveró,’ he says, heading to make my frappé with milk and no sugar.
‘Um … foveró?’
‘Amazing,’ Sam replies. ‘Though not as good as I’d hoped.’
He makes my drink with care and precision.
His hair tied on top of his head, fairy lights illuminating his black clothing.
The hum of chatter behind me makes me glance over the crowd, gathering at tables where carved pumpkins flicker with candlelight.
They wear long-sleeved clothes, light jackets, jeans or trousers.
It’s different from the last time I was here.
I haven’t been in Greece for long. Coming back in October feels like I’ve entered a different place. The weather is more British summer, yet the tourists are few. Judging by the locals’ attire, this is colder to them than it is for me, in my soft shorts and T-shirt.
Alice and Jackson decided to let my apartment, which means I get to keep my plants. I spent the month I was home packing, meeting my new team at work a couple of times, and then as soon as my visa got approved, I was catching the next flight.
Now, as Sam hands me my frappé, I have to resist the urge to grab him and pull him over this counter. Or maybe I could even do him on the counter.
‘So, fortune-telling?’ I try to shift my focus.
At the front of the coffee shop sits an older woman, peering into a coffee cup. Lydia before her, her arms crossed.
‘Well, what do you see?’
‘A pair of breasts,’ the woman muses.
I stifle a laugh, turning back to Sam.
‘Tasseography, they call it,’ Sam says. ‘Or kafemandeía. I’ve hosted it here before. It helps business in the colder months.’
I sip my frappé, and a hint of spice dances upon my tongue.
‘Is this pumpkin spice?’ I ask.
‘I did promise you, didn’t I?’ Sam says. ‘It’s gone down a treat with the locals, too.’
‘Of course it has. Pumpkin spice everything during the spooky season.’
‘Some people have asked me to keep it on the menu all year round.’
‘Illegal,’ I say.
Sam comes from around the counter, and I hold out my arms. We stand in the coffee shop, the crowd before us, hugging one another like old friends.
Because we were. Those weeks in Cardiff dragged on, and every day I pined for Sam more and more.
I craved his touch, the scent of his hair, his skin.
I wanted to feel him, taste him, be with him.
Now, being here, fresh off my flight, I can’t wait for this evening of fortune-telling to end, despite the warmth of chatter, the flickering shadows and the smell of coffee.
We take a seat at our table as Lydia returns.
She sinks into her chair, her eyes wide.
‘Everything okay?’
Lydia looks at me. ‘She said Agnes is back.’
‘Agnes? As in first love Agnes? Is that true?’
‘I got a message from her last night,’ Lydia says. ‘She wants to meet me.’
I gasp. ‘That is incredible.’
‘Sam, where did you find this woman?’ Lydia asks, eyes still wide in shock.
‘Mum has been seeing her for years,’ Sam says.
As Lydia got lost in reminiscing about Agnes, my thoughts drift to Ollie. Since arriving back home, Ollie has shared his honeymoon photos, announcing them on Instagram like a celebrity issuing an apology video. We’ve kept in touch, but we haven’t seen each other in person.
Cardiff is a small city, but Ollie evaded me.
He texted when I got my visa, wishing me luck.
‘Who is next?’ The fortune-telling woman asks.
‘Go on,’ Sam nudges me.
With a sigh, I head to the psychic, finishing my frappé as I walk.
‘Hello,’ I say, sitting opposite the woman. She’s wearing a citrine necklace. ‘I’m Will.’
‘Hello, Will,’ she says, looking at my finished drink. ‘Hmm.’
My heart thuds.
This is it.
She is going to tell me about my death.
‘Here at the bottom of the cup, there is someone,’ she says, ever so slowly. ‘He lives here. This man… He makes you happy.’
Wow. This woman was good.
‘Stay with this man,’ she says. ‘You will do great things together.’
It may have been bull. It may have been a shot in the dark that landed. Whatever it is, I accept it.
‘And the darkness,’ she says. ‘It consumes you less and less each day.’
My eyes sting, my throat constricting. I’m thankful that the candlelight hides my emotions. Upstairs, in my bag from the airport, lay my first prescribed antidepressants. I’ve been getting long-overdue support.
‘You are new here,’ she says, a statement rather than a question. ‘It will take time, but you will find your people. Your chosen family.’
This time, tears fall from my eyes. My mum was sad to see me go, but she let me. Now, I’m not so tragic in the eyes of my family. She told the world about her son getting his own TV show, moving abroad, and how wonderful all that was.
It was the first time I felt as important as everyone else.
But despite it all, I know moving here is what I was meant to do.
My family have their own lives. I’ve always felt a little out of it.
Now, I can start something new here, with people who understand me.
I’ll miss Alice, but she will visit. I’ll go back for her wedding when the time comes.
I have Lydia helping me adjust to Greek customs, teaching me the language, along with Sam. I prefer Sam’s gentle approach. A gentle teacher, and anything but when it comes to the bedroom.
Jill, welcoming me like I was her own.
Sam, loving me for who I am.
There has been no apprehension moving here. Just excitement. Delight at what lies ahead.
I thank the psychic, wiping away my tears.
‘You did the right thing.’
‘Efcharistó,’ I say, hoping I’ve thanked her properly. Two months gave me a small amount of time to learn at least some Greek.
She clasps her hands together.
‘What did she say?’ Sam asks.
‘That coming here was a disaster,’ I say. ‘And that the coffee is awful.’
Sam laughs, batting away my comments like he can see them.
The night draws to a close, with the psychic being thanked by the crowd. Sam, the man of the hour, takes his time saying goodbye. As the door locks, the room now empty, my heart sings like a choir.
‘At last.’
He’s in my arms, hitching me up, so that my legs wrap around his waist and my arms around his shoulders. He presses me against the wall, gripping me tight, letting his tongue explore my mouth before moving to kiss my neck.
‘Maybe we should go upstairs,’ I say.
‘Have you put your spider somewhere safe?’
Willow.
She’s come with me.
I don’t think it’s legal to bring pets into the country.
But bringing a spider in your hand luggage is a bit of a grey area.
As I was about to leave my cubicle for the last time, I spotted Willow on her web.
She hadn’t moved the whole time I’d been away, and when I first saw her again, I thought she’d died.
But then she waved a leg at me, and when I got closer, she came to me.
Others may recoil.
Not me.
I considered saying goodbye, leaving her.
But our time isn’t done.
Willow still has to tell me her life stories.
I brought her back to my apartment, where she made a home in my monstera. I know it might sound weird, but I’ve grown fond of Willow, and I’m sure we have a connection.
So, in one swift and morally grey motion, I put Willow safely into my hand luggage, inside a little box where she could breathe. I checked on her frantically throughout my journey, and every time, she gave a little wave, as if to say she was okay.
We were on an adventure together.
She was excited.
Now, she’s made her home in a snake plant in Sam’s apartment.
He was reluctant to adopt her, but she’s mine. Ours.
Some people have cats. Some have dogs.
I have Willow.
‘She won’t hurt you.’
We reach his apartment, and I make a funny noise.
He’s hung my portrait on his wall.
I thought it was good before.
Rich colours of mauve, white, red and orange blend together, making me look like a golden Adonis, my skin textured to reflect the sunlight in that studio that feels so far away, and so long ago. Hell, I fancy myself.
‘You finished it.’
‘Do you like it?’
I move closer to the canvas, catching the detail, Sam’s signature scribbled in the corner.
‘This is incredible, Sam.’ I hug him, planting a kiss on his lips. ‘I can’t believe you finished it.’
‘It kept me sane when you weren’t here,’ he whispers, his forehead on mine.
‘I’m so glad I moved here,’ I say.
Moonlight illuminates Sam’s apartment, casting a glow on Willow’s legs. The floorboards creak under my feet as I press closer to Sam, breathing in his scent.
‘I’ve missed you, pumpkin bum.’ Sam grins, dropping his hands to my waist.
‘I’ve missed you, dinky donut.’
As we fall onto the sofa, laughter filling the apartment, I understand what it means to be loved, to love another, and to love yourself.