Chapter Twenty-Six
Nelly
It’s six o’clock on Thursday morning and Nelly has been awake for hours, lying beside her slumbering husband, who is snoring as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Another day in paradise, she thinks grimly, as the golden dawn light seeps around the curtain edges. Another day of skulking around in sunglasses, trying not to catch anyone’s eye; another day of the tabloids trumpeting new Frank-related horrors to their avid readers, and Frank’s black mood of denial as he holes up in their room and tries to ride out the storm. She returned from her coach trip yesterday to find him downbeat and unwashed, trays of half-finished room-service food stacked up by the door, and barely speaking to her, as if this is somehow all her fault.
Well, it’s not, she thinks, sliding out of bed, unable to lie there a second longer. She’s been a loyal member of Team Frank for decades, but right now that loyalty is starting to feel misplaced. Consider this the renouncing of her membership, she thinks. Fuck Team Frank.
Retreating to the bathroom, she washes, moisturises, attends to her latest mosquito bites and put some clothes on. They came here together for a holiday, but today she actually needs to take a holiday away from him , and the grubby little maelstrom of which he’s the centre. What’s more, she can’t hang around for him to wake up in order to say as much. She can’t even stand to be in the same room as him any more.
Woke early– decided to go out for a while, she writes breezily on the hotel notepad. See you later. Then she props it up by his favourite place, the enormous mirror, where he can’t miss it, grabs her bag and shoes, and eases the door open.
If the sweet-faced young woman down on reception with a massive steaming coffee at her elbow is surprised to see Nelly up and about so early, she doesn’t show it. ‘ Kalimera ,’ she says. ‘Did you enjoy the coach trip yesterday?’
‘Um. . . yes, lovely,’ Nelly says politely, even though in truth she had felt as if she was merely going through the motions the whole time, too numb to pay attention to her surroundings. ‘This is such a beautiful island,’ she adds, suddenly wanting the woman to like her. She feels so alone right now, so desperate for human warmth, she’ll take it from a total stranger if she has to.
The woman smiles at her. ‘Good! I’m very pleased to hear that,’ she says. ‘Can Ihelp you with anything this morning? Another trip?’
Nelly comes to a standstill. She’s halfway across the reception area, having vaguely planned to go for a walk, but she hadn’t thought any further than that. Really, she’d like to be out much longer than the time it’ll take her to stroll along the beach and back. She wants to get far, far away from snoring, revolting Frank. ‘Well. . . yes, actually,’ she says, walking slowly towards the desk. ‘If you had a day to yourself, where would you go? What would you recommend for me?’
The woman– Duska, it says on her name badge– picks up a colourful brochure and holds it out to Nelly. ‘There are some other nice tours around the island that Icould book for you,’ she replies. ‘When would this be for?’
‘Well. . . for today. For now,’ Nelly says. ‘Is that possible, do you think, or. . . ?’
‘Ahh.’ Her face drops. ‘For today, no,’ she replies. ‘Ican check availability for tomorrow, if you like?’
Nelly shakes her head, already starting to regret her impulsive departure from the bedroom. It’s barely seven o’clock, and if she’d just tried a bit harder she might have been able to drift back to sleep. ‘No, thanks,’ she says. Then her eye is caught by the cover of the brochure, a coach wheeling around a vertiginous cliff path, with a couple of yachts in the turquoise water below. ‘How about a boat trip– is there somewhere Icould catch a boat out around the island, maybe?’ she asks.
She grimaces, aware how vague a question this is. But thankfully Duska is nodding, the light of an idea in her eyes. ‘You could take a ferry to Ithaca, spend the day there,’ she suggests. ‘Have you been before? It’s lovely; perfect for a day trip. There is a morning ferry in. . .’ She types quickly on her computer. ‘Ninety minutes. Ican book you a ticket from here if you like? And order you a taxi to Sami, the port?’
Nelly swallows, because of course she has been to Ithaca before. It’s the place where her heart was broken nearly forty years ago, never to fully recover. But it would be away from the hotel, where everyone knows her as Frank’s wife, she figures; away from prying eyes and difficult questions. Away from Frank too, most importantly.
Bugger it, the past can’t hurt her more than the kicking she’s been getting from the present, can it? ‘Great idea,’ she says. ‘Yes, please. Thank you very much.’
‘And that’s for. . .’ Duska hesitates. ‘One person? Your husband also?’
There’s an ache in Nelly’s heart. This is going to keep happening, she realises. ‘Just me,’ she says. ‘No husband today.’ She’s trying to sound casual but her voice cracks traitorously on the word ‘husband’ and then– oh no– tears spring to her eyes. ‘Sorry,’ she says, horrified, as Duska glances up at her. ‘I’m okay, honestly.’
Duska reaches out and puts a hand on hers, a brief momentary gesture of solidarity that is so welcome, so kind, that Nelly almost breaks down into full-blown sobs. ‘Iwill sort all of this out for you,’ she says quietly. ‘One trip to Ithaca coming right up.’