Chapter 4
Fifty minutes later, I hobble down to reception in my highest heels and a full face of make-up to find a note stuck to the desk with my name on it.
Couldn’t wait any longer. Meet you at Halikarnas nightclub. See you there. Erika.
I look around me. The place is deserted. Who is ‘Erika’ and where is Halikarnas?
I venture outside to the picturesque and very empty street, each step like walking on sharp needles, my feet are so sore. I look both ways to see if there’s a taxi rank. There isn’t.
Typical.
A group of men on the other side of the road start wolf-whistling. One of them yells over to enquire as to whether I like cars.
‘I’ve heard Peugeots are quite reliable,’ I yell back. ‘Although Ford generally outsell all other makes.’
‘No,’ he yells. ‘It’s a yes or no question.’
‘Why?’ I shout back. I have no idea why I’m bothering but I’m hoping to eventually ask them if they know the way to the Halikarnas nightclub. They look like they started drinking on holiday ten years ago and never stopped.
‘Do you like cars?’ he yells again, looking mildly awkward.
‘I guess so. I have my licence, but I haven’t bought a car yet. It’s the insurance for new drivers. It’s prohibitively expensive. Why do you need to know?’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Doesn’t matter. Boring cow.’ He is immediately ridiculed by his group of friends who seem to think he’s a complete loser. Then one of them yells to another woman coming out of the same hotel as me, as if to show him how it’s done.
‘Hey, darlin’, do you like cars?’
She instantly giggles. ‘Yes! I do like cars!’
The man pumps both fists back and forth at the elbows in a humping motion. ‘Well, back onto this!’
The woman squeals with laughter, nudging me. ‘Go on then, sunshine,’ she yells back. ‘Bring your massive cock over here, and we’ll have a good look at it. I’ll compare it to my rugby-playing, beefcake boyfriend and his huge, award-winning wanger of a cock. He’ll be down in a second.’
The fella immediately looks panicked and the group scuttle away from us.
‘Such pricks the lot of them.’ She laughs before turning to face me.
‘One drink and they think they’re hung like donkeys.
’ She looks me up and down in a sassy way.
‘You doing a hen night dressed like that? Girl, you look like sex on legs in that getup.’
‘Yes. Something like that,’ I lie. I can’t bring myself to admit to working here.
I pull at the tiny skirt and regret wearing this outfit.
It’s so many levels of wrong that I have to question my sense of duty.
And I will. Just not tonight. I’m still so unbelievably weary.
My hair is in bunches. The cut-off school shirt just about covers my bra.
The school tie hangs down across my bare stomach.
The pleated skirt is so short, I can’t bend over without flashing my knickers.
And don’t even get me started on the stockings and suspenders.
Or towering heels. ‘I’m off to the Halikarnas nightclub but I can’t see any taxis, can you? ’
Instead of answering, her jaw falls open. She has lost her words. She is staring past me with wide eyes.
‘You won’t get a taxi here. Only the dolmus runs into town at night,’ says a firm, no nonsense voice from behind me. ‘It’s up that way.’
I swing round and look into the most striking pair of eyes I’ve ever seen. As dark as an inky sky. His sun-kissed brown hair falls casually across his forehead, shining in the last of the setting sun. His skin is tanned, his face ridiculously attractive and… and… familiar.
Oh. My. God.
It’s him. From the plane. Minus the streaks of baby vomit. He takes a moment to register me and my tarty costume. I see a myriad of emotions crawl across his manly features before he quickly looks away. It’s obvious he doesn’t recognise me.
He turns to the girl opposite. I can’t even begin to imagine what her life must be like with a boyfriend this superior.
She must be pinching herself all day long.
I have never seen anyone this drop-dead gorgeous in my entire life.
No wonder she’s gawping. He must get stared at all the time.
I blush, trying not to imagine his huge, award-winning wanger of a cock.
I give myself a quick mental slap. He’s not a piece of meat.
A man this handsome still needs to be treated with respect.
Even if he isn’t single. And fortunately for him, I am a very respectful woman with very strong opinions on cheating. And gawping.
‘You did say Halikarnas? That’s where I’m headed,’ he says casually, hands stuffed in his shorts pockets. And that accent. Australian. So cool. So confident.
‘Yes! Halikarnas, yes. That’s me. Yes. I did say that. Yes. Halikarnas. Yes.’ I sound like one of those battery-operated yipping puppies.
I take a deep breath to anchor myself. I have a shiny new degree for God’s sake.
I have an above-average IQ. A near-photographic memory.
I was vice-president of the Hide and Seek Society (yes, Dillon, vice-bloody-president, not so boring now, am I?).
I took part in a seventy-two-hour skipathon for charity. The list is endless.
Understandably, his eyebrows raise a fraction, a startled expression shooting across his face.
‘Sorry,’ I babble, holding my hands up. ‘I’m usually more articulate than that. It’s been a long day.’ I look at the girl next to me. She is still agog.
‘And I’m waiting for my, erm, my… my, erm, boyfriend. That’s it. My boyfriend,’ she splutters, unable to form coherent words either. ‘But I’m still open. It’s only been a few years, it’s not serious.’
He gives her a confused look.
Oh. So, he’s not her boyfriend. I doubt her rugby-playing, giant-penis-wielding boyfriend could even compete.
As though sensing the proximity of another alpha on his patch, we are joined by a huge, square-shaped man with a neck that’s easily the circumference of a table for two, emerging from the hotel entrance.
He strides (his massive thighs rubbing together like two full-size kayaks) up to the girl standing next to me and bundles her into an affectionate embrace. ‘What’s not serious?’
‘Nothing!’ she squeaks.
He turns to us, smiling, and nods a quick hello before taking his girlfriend’s hand and leading her off down the road. She turns back around to wink at us.
The guy from the plane blows out his cheeks and visibly relaxes. I imagine he gets that a lot. He turns his attention back to me. ‘Do I know you?’ He slants his head. He has yet to place me.
Ah. Dilemma time. Do I own up or brazen it out?
‘I’m not sure.’ I fake laugh. ‘Ho-ho-ho.’ I sound like Santa Claus on poppers. It’s appalling. It’s a dead giveaway. ‘I doubt it though.’ Ho-ho-ho.
My cheeks are on fire as he scans my face, recognition slowly dawning.
He’s probably thinking why is this young, baby-throwing, single mother now inappropriately dressed as a sexy schoolgirl…
and where has she left her enormous newborn?
Meanwhile, all I can think of is… well, ahem, it doesn’t matter what I’m thinking. I’m a career girl, remember?
After a pause, ‘It’s you!’ he thunders. ‘You’re the one who threw her giant baby at me on the plane.’
I swallow a lump in my throat.
‘Quite. Quite… I know… hmmm, I know,’ I say, wondering how to apologise properly without sounding like a kid-hurling maniac.
It doesn’t help matters that the raw energy he’s emitting only makes his features more magnificent.
His eyes are flashing. He seems to grow a few inches taller.
His body takes up more space, he’s more powerful. Restless, like a storm at sea.
‘I’m so sorry. I should never have flung that baby at you. Especially not one that size. It wasn’t even mine. Some woman gave me it and I really needed the toilet. I was desperate.’
‘Some random woman gave you a baby?’ he says in an incredulous tone, shaking his head.
‘Yes. And not a very pleasant one either.’ I won’t forget that hurricane-like howling or gagging on the foul smoky plumes of cig breath in a hurry.
‘The baby or the woman?’ he says, puzzled.
‘Does it matter?’
Suddenly, I’m too exhausted for this trip down misery lane and too ashamed to be polite.
And in an unexpected and defensive move, it’s as though my self-pity launches its own missile into the mix.
‘Look. It happened. I’m sorry. It’s been something of a nightmarish day.
Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.
I ended up getting hopelessly lost on the way here in the coach.
People were awful to me. Truthfully, humanity can be so cruel.
So… unbelievably rude and… Anyway, no one even stopped to think what I was going through. ’
He blinks slowly as though he’d rather I didn’t talk to him. But unfortunately for him, like a train that has left the station, I need to get a whole day of angst out of my system.
‘They just threw their bags at me and the driver refused to help. And now I’m in this ridiculous costume on my way to a nightclub…
which is the last place on earth I want to be right now because quite frankly…
’ My voice is rising to near unacceptable levels.
‘I’m on the verge of a complete and utter… ’
Wait. What is happening?
He’s gone from looking very pissed off to looking as though I have just announced there has been a sudden outbreak of cholera nearby, and is subtly stepping away from me. He’s physically moving backwards. Inch by inch. He must think I haven’t noticed. I pause to take a breath as we lock eyes.
He gives a half wave that turns into his finger pointing at me. ‘Sorry to hear that – sounds rough – hope things get better – forget about the baby thing it’s all fine – gotta shoot off – I’m running late.’ He points to the watch on his wrist. ‘Have a good night with your friends – bye.’
He spins round and hastily walks away.
My candid outpouring and borderline-hysterical show of unadulterated vulnerability has repelled him to the point that he needed to flee.
It takes me a few seconds to fully comprehend my predicament.
The street is deserted. The hotel receptionist has gone.
I need to find that nightclub and the only person who knows where it is, is currently trying to set a new world record for speed walking.
He must think that my high levels of emotional intelligence and self-awareness mean that I’m too capable and proficient to need his immediate help.
Well, not on my watch.
He is the Good Samaritan that I desperately need right now despite his lack of willing and his distracting good looks.
Staying a few steps behind, I basically follow him up the street towards the main road at the top. I say road. There are no visible markings and the few cars that there are, are driving on either side of the track, swerving out of each other’s way instead of picking a side and sticking to it.
His face drops when he notices me scurrying after him, so I make sure to keep a little distance between us.
But he soon does a double take, giving me a compassionate look.
He slows considerably, allowing me to catch up.
I remember he mentioned on the plane he had sisters.
Perhaps some of them have been forced into wearing indecent costumes that have never known the thrill of a quiet night in, sipping tea and reading by the fire.
‘Thank you,’ I say.
Walking alongside me, he waits a few seconds before asking, ‘How come you’re on your own? Aren’t you with friends?’
I shake my head just as a motorbike beeps at us to get out of the way. ‘They left without me.’
He immediately nods in understanding, revealing those kind eyes that drew me in on the plane. ‘Struth. That’s a bit full on. Some friends!’
I shrug in response, trying not to get excited over the word ‘struth’. He sounds like someone from Neighbours.
As we clear a series of lethal potholes at the side of the road, I nearly jump out of my skin as a minibus screeches to a stop right beside us.
It is full of people, chickens, goats and rolled-up rugs pressed up against the dirty windows.
There is no door on the bus, and the leathery-looking driver is missing a significant number of teeth as he treats us to a quick head flick and a gappy grin.
It looks like a deathtrap. A road accident waiting to happen.
Wait. The driver is actually sitting on an upended bucket.
A worn out, filthy, plastic bucket! How am I, the most orderly and punctilious of women, supposed to deal with traffic in this chaotic part of the world when it is so completely out of control?
My reluctant Good Samaritan reaches for the handrail, jumps on and holds his hand out towards me. ‘Quick!’
Oh. My. Word. Every cell in my body is screaming not to get on.
As the bus rolls forward, ready to leave without me, his face suddenly softens, causing the final line of my university dissertation to spring to mind: The biggest risk in life is not taking any risks.
I meet his calm gaze. ‘It’s now or never. Up to you,’ he says.
I take a deep breath in and grasp his outstretched hand. As I jump aboard, the bus jolts violently a few times – just enough to throw me conveniently into his arms, before tearing off down the track.