Chapter Twelve
Nelly
Athens, July 1983
Nelly took to boat life like. . . well, like a boat to water. The freedom of travelling, albeit while shepherding groups of tourists from one island to another, made her feel alive, right in the moment, with each day full of discoveries. She had learned, for instance, that waking up every morning in her bunk, feeling the boat gently rocking beneath her, was her favourite way to start a day. She now knew that it was impossible to tire of seeing a Greek sunset, with the sky a different abstract painting of bronze, pink and russet tones each night. And she had also discovered that working in close proximity, day in, day out, to a man you had the most gigantic crush on felt by turns impossible, glorious and devastating. Oh, Alexander. Whenever he glanced over at her and they shared a secret smile about whatever stupid thing their tourist passengers were doing now, it was as if her heart leapt inside her.
The work was hard and constant; from the moment she was up, she had one task or another ahead of her. Buying and preparing food for that day’s trip. Washing and changing laundry after overnight excursions. Serving food and drink to their passengers with a polite smile, even when the women made rude comments about her cooking, or the men tried to look down her top. And of course the never-ending cleaning, from mopping decks to scrubbing the tiny loo to washing up.
It was all worth it, though, for the brief interludes when she and Alexander had some downtime. When they arrived on an island– Kefalonia, Zakynthos, Lefkada– and he gave her time off to explore, so that she could climb up to the headland and smell the wild thyme as she gazed out to sea, or rent a bike and cycle around the coastal paths, charmed by the population of wild goats that would stare at her mid-graze as she skimmed by. I’m having such a good time Imight never go home again! she wrote on postcards to Lorraine. I’m alive and well, don’t worry about me! she assured her parents on theirs.
Best of all were the moments at the end of the day, once their work was done, when she and Alexander would sometimes hang out together. He taught her how to play backgammon. She taught him how to play Old Maid. She learned that he had grown up on Ithaca with a brother and a sister; that his dad was a fisherman and had taken him out on the boat as soon as he could walk. She teased him with descriptions of London life in comparison– the grimy Tube carriages where you were crushed in with hundreds of people, the traffic and smoke, the gaudy lights of Piccadilly Circus– and he would shake his head and laugh, saying it sounded like another planet to him. ‘And– sorry, London– not a planet where Iwould like to live.’
Then, at the end of July, a group of Norwegian holidaymakers booked Alexander to take them on a week-long cruise around the Peloponnese all the way to Athens, with plenty of stops en route. Their guests were charming (and very generous with their tips) but the days were long– often Nelly and Alexander would work sixteen hours straight – and by the last evening of the trip, docked at the beautiful, unspoilt island of Hydra, they were both glad when their passengers went out to a restaurant, leaving them in peace. Out came a few cold and well-deserved bottles of Alfa beer, out came the backgammon once more, the games becoming increasingly competitive. As the sun sank slowly behind them, the water gently sloshing against the side of the boat, Nelly felt overwhelmed by a rush of pure happiness. ‘Ilove this,’ she blurted out, no longer able to keep her feelings to herself. ‘Living on a boat, all of this. . .’ She swung her arm around, taking in the harbour, the sea, the boat. Him, obviously. ‘I’m so enjoying being here. Thank you for taking a chance on me.’
She had never kidded herself that he saw her as anything other than his scruffy little colleague, someone chopping watermelon in the tiny galley kitchen, someone he could laugh with about the most obnoxious tourists when they were exhausted at the end of a long day. An idiot who punched the air and did a victory lap of the deck, singing ‘The Winner Takes It All’ at the top of her voice, the one and only time she won a game of backgammon. But when she confessed her feelings, something in his face softened and he smiled back at her with real warmth. ‘Ilove it too,’ he said. ‘It is the only life Ihave ever wanted to lead. True freedom– the joy of being at sea. There’s nothing better.’
As they sat there, looking into each other’s eyes, the mood suddenly seemed to shift into a whole other territory. Uncharted waters. The night was still but Nelly felt goosebumps prickling all over. She was convinced that something was about to happen between them. That he might try to kiss her, or take her hand, or—
No. In the next second they heard the cheerful-sounding voices of the Norwegians returning from their evening in Hydra, and the spell broke. Alexander and Nelly smiled ruefully at one another as if they both knew that the moment– whatever it might have become– had been snatched away. At least, that was Nelly’s conclusion. Was he thinking the same? she wondered, replaying the scene in bed that night. Perhaps it was for the best, she told herself, feeling shivery when she thought about the way his body had turned fractionally towards hers, the intensity of his gaze. Nonetheless, it was almost impossible to get to sleep wondering what it might have felt like to kiss him, to feel his arms around her. What might have happened next?