Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
‘Right, let’s go,’ I say, grabbing my bag. ‘Apparently karaoke night at the Oyster Bar is very popular, so we will need to bag a seat.’
‘Sure. And to get your name down for singing your duet with Bryn,’ Lulu teases and I can’t help but laugh.
We meet up with Irene and Patsy, and are soon strolling along the front in the balmy evening air, where the gentle buzz from the busy bars and restaurants can be heard.
‘Are Bryn and Ash definitely joining us later?’ I ask as we walk.
‘Hopefully,’ says Irene with a slightly worried look. ‘Ash texted me earlier to tell me that Bryn had a run-in with a surfboard and whacked his head.’ She sighs. ‘He’s been checked over, but might have to take things easy for a bit,’ she explains.
‘Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that,’ I say with concern.
Bryn it seems has grown on me these past few days.
‘What happened to the quiz?’ asks Lulu.
‘He got the time wrong apparently. It would have been a damn sight safer though,’ Irene comments.
‘Well, I hope he turns up,’ says Lulu. ‘Or he won’t be able to be Kenny Rogers to your Dolly Parton on the karaoke.’
‘Can you imagine.’ I laugh. ‘All the same, I hope he’s okay.’
At the end of the road a bus appears, heading to the next village where the Oyster Bar is, so we decide to jump on rather than take a taxi. Thankfully there are some empty seats, as lots of people have just disembarked here in Perissa.
‘What are you going to sing?’ asks Lulu as the bus trundles along. Irene and Patsy are sitting behind, laughing at something together.
‘I’m not sure. I am torn between a lively crowd-pleaser, or perhaps a more soulful tune.’
‘I’d go for the lively crowd-pleaser,’ Lulu advises. ‘People like that kind of stuff on holiday, me included, if I’m honest. The moody soulful stuff, beautiful as it is, is best suited to a candlelit restaurant or a piano bar.’
‘You’re probably right.’
My voice is definitely more suited to easy listening type songs, and I also enjoy singing big ballads too but a lively tune is probably the best choice for this evening.
Alighting the bus, we make the short walk to the bar, which is filling up nicely but we manage to secure a table towards the back.
At the front, adjacent to the bar that has foliage hanging down from a shelf above, is a small stage. The dark wooden chairs and tables have vases at the centre containing a single pink flower.
With pink and yellow painted walls and reggae music playing in the background, the bar has an almost Caribbean feel. The whole place has a good vibe and I think the evening will be a lot of fun.
We take our seats, and a waiter wearing a suitably loud-patterned shirt appears and takes our drinks order. I glance around, but there is no sign of Ash or Bryn.
I’m sipping my drink and tapping my foot to an uplifting song that is being played, when I spot a familiar face amongst a small group of blokes. It’s Andreas from the gorgeous gift shop in Fira.
‘We meet again.’ He smiles at me when I walk past him a while later after returning from the ladies.
‘Oh, hi, how are you?’ I ask. He seems better looking than I remember. And taller.
‘I am good, and you?’
‘Yes, I’m great thanks. I wasn’t sure you would remember me, given the number of tourists that enter your shop,’ I say jokingly.
‘Ah, but not all of them needed my assistance with a photograph,’ he reminds me. ‘Or saving from losing their dignity.’
‘Ah the donkey droppings.’ I laugh and when he smiles in return, his dark-brown eyes crinkle at the corners. ‘I suppose I was lucky that you happened to be there.’
‘I believe everything happens for a reason.’
Andreas looks good, in a fitted black T-shirt that shows off a toned body, and a pair of smart stone-coloured shorts.
‘So, are you here for the karaoke?’ he asks as he places several bottles of beer onto a tray.
‘I am. I have just put my name down to sing,’ I inform him.
‘You have? Then I hope I am around long enough to hear you.’ He grins. ‘We are heading to another bar later. It is a friend’s birthday.’ He gestures to one of the small group of men who are chatting in a group a little further away.
‘I hope so too,’ I say, although I feel inexplicably nervous at the thought of him hearing me sing. Gosh why did I tell him I was singing?
‘See you later.’ He smiles as he goes to rejoin his friends. ‘Good luck with the song.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You don’t waste any time, do you?’ teases Irene when I return to the table.
‘What are you talking about?’ I laugh off her remark.
‘I saw you chatting up that bloke at the bar. Have you forgotten about the walking Adonis from the nightclub already?’
‘What? Don’t be silly, it was just a bloke from the shop we visited the other day. It was Andreas,’ I tell Lulu.
‘Ah the photographer.’ She nods. ‘He was a nice bloke, as I recall.’
‘Photographer?’ asks Irene, and I tell her all about him helping me as I tried to take a selfie on the wall.
‘Well, he seems quite taken with you. Don’t look now, but he keeps glancing over here,’ says Patsy.
A few seconds later, I casually glance his way and sure enough he is looking over. When we make eye contact, he raises his beer and smiles.
Unable to decide what to order, we all decide to share a huge mixed meze, and it arrives in next to no time. The table is groaning with an assortment of dips and pitta breads, lamb koftas, chicken skewers and halloumi fries. A huge Greek salad topped with a slab of feta is placed in the centre.
Soon enough, the first person is up to sing.
‘They must be professional,’ whispers Irene as the beautiful notes of the female singer reach around the room.
Next up is a bloke who does a rousing cover of a Meatloaf song and has the crowd singing and clapping along. I won’t be on until later in the evening, having only just put my name down, so I can sit back and relax for now, and just enjoy the show.
During a short break from the karaoke as a DJ plays some tunes, Andreas comes over to say hi to Lulu, and to inform me that he and his friends are moving on.
‘Good luck with the song,’ he says kindly. ‘Although I may actually be able to hear you sing, as we are only moving to a bar a little way along the road.’
‘How will you know it’s me singing?’ I ask.
‘I think I will just know,’ he says, which makes me smile. ‘Anyway, enjoy the rest of your evening,’ he says to everyone, before he departs.
‘What a nice bloke,’ says Patsy.
‘Mia seems to attract them,’ says Lulu, with a raise of an eyebrow.
‘What can I say? It must be my sparkling personality,’ I say modestly, with a smile.
The standard of singers this evening is alarmingly good, which has my tummy feeling a little nervous.
It makes me wonder whether it was this feeling that prevented me from pursuing a career as a singer, as the tension and nerves always get to me before a performance.
It probably isn’t helping that I have so long to wait this evening before it is my turn.
Bryn and Ash arrive then, and soon distract me with stories of surfing and Bryn gives us a detailed account of his accident in the water.
‘I thought my number was well and truly up,’ he says dramatically. ‘I swallowed water, as I went under, it was a dark moment.’ He exhales.
‘Good job Ash was there then,’ says Irene, leaning over for a halloumi fry before stopping herself.
‘I think you would have done just fine; we weren’t out very far,’ says Ash, smiling. ‘In fact, I think I could actually stand up in the water.’
‘Oh, let me have my moment, will you,’ says Bryn. ‘My life flashed before my very eyes.’
‘If you say so.’ Ash takes a sip of his drink, while trying to keep a straight face.
We chat for a little while longer, until my name is called to sing and my friends are on their feet.
I make my way to the front, to the sound of my friends’ whoops and cheers, trying to quell the rising nerves. As always though, the second I grab the microphone, my nerves disappear and I feel the rush of adrenaline.
The crowd-pleasing song in the form of a Shania Twain number goes down a storm and has everyone on their feet waving their arms and singing along. By the time the song finishes, I feel exhilarated as I make my way back to my table to the sound of thunderous applause.
‘Wonderful,’ says Irene, clapping her hands together. ‘Just wonderful. Singing is obviously what you were born to do,’ she tells me kindly as I sit down.
We listen to some more singers as the evening wears on, many really good, and Irene’s comment sticks with me. Maybe this is exactly what I was born to do. So why am I so fixated on pursuing something so completely different?