Chapter 21
CARRIE
As the sun rose on her balcony, Carrie stared at the group chat on WhatsApp.
She could see that Ariana and Rae had both read the message but neither had replied.
She picked up the pastry filled with custard that she’d bought yesterday and bit into it.
No matter. She wasn’t going to give up that easily.
Carrie typed, stopping only when a butterfly fluttered across her knees, so carefree despite the predators out there, living its life as if the best, not the worst, would happen.
Hi you two,
Me again. Guess what? Pop star Giannis GoGo, real name Dimitrios, nickname Doritos – it’s complicated – he’s…
not that bad. A bit goofy in fact, and kind of sexy.
Gah! Did I really type that? But only in an obvious look-at-me, handsome Greek god way, all chiselled jaw, long limbs, thick curls and dark-toned skin…
I’m definitely not hoping for romance. We are so different anyway.
No, my focus is on finding a job. But my out-of-character spontaneity has backfired.
Turns out, due to the regulations, I’m not allowed to work for the first ninety days. Trying to figure out how I’ll manage.
I… I don’t assume you’re interested in any of this.
I don’t type as if your opinions about me have changed.
I’ve only known Dimitrios and also his famous persona a short time, and already see how someone thinking they are all that changes things.
Although I realise now that it wouldn’t have mattered how many likes or followers I got.
However much I grew that fake profile, inside I’d still be chasing something that was missing. I hope I find it here in Greece.
My life’s been so full with you two in it, and our friendship meant more than ever after Mum passed and all I had left was a stuck-up grandmother I’d never met, with her mistakenly high morals and oh-so-fancy name, ‘Queenie’.
It’s like my life is a recipe for something amazing; the ingredients are there but one’s missing and that messes up the whole thing. Like a curry without spice. Like a cake without raising agent.
You two are as much a part of me as the air I breathe – as chicken nuggets, as lie-ins on a Sunday, as shouting at the too-trusting faithfuls whenever we watch the TV series Traitors.
Hope you and Izzy have a great first-year anniversary, Ariana, that’s next week, right?
Rae, I met a woman at a party on Tuesday, Dafni, who runs a cat rescue centre.
She reminded me of your cousin who volunteers at that hedgehog sanctuary – the cousin I met at that big birthday bash you invited me too.
You were both right to be angry about what I said.
You’ve both invited me to family stuff over the years, both included me, especially since Mum died.
I guess the pity party I’ve been holding meant I didn’t see that, not clearly.
Sorry for another long message.
I hope to hear your news.
Love,
Carrie xxx
She pressed send and went to have a shower.
Afterwards she slipped on a pair of fringed shorts and a linen long-sleeved light top she’d bought yesterday at the market, green with a yellow print.
Perhaps it had been a bit rash, leaving her whole wardrobe behind in Manchester.
She’d been fond of many pieces – although not, now she could see, the fake designer stuff.
Wearing those bits had been like putting on a mask that hid the true Carrie Fletcher, as if she were something to be ashamed of.
Carrie coloured up. That’s how she’d made Ariana and Rae feel.
Rucksack over her shoulder, Carrie walked down into the village, on the way meeting the female black cat again that she’d decided to name Nyx, after the Greek goddess of the night.
She crouched down and this time kept the chunks of cheese in the upturned palm of her hand.
After a moment’s hesitation, Nyx leant forwards and gobbled them down, then stretched out on the ground.
Tentatively she stroked her head. What a roller purr!
Not wanting to be late, she hurried down the hillside and through the market, halting at the bus stop.
Dimitrios was waiting by the pomegranate tree, black sunglasses on, casually smart in three-quarter-length navy trousers and a matching shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a thin gold chain around his neck.
‘Yassou, Carrie,’ he said and bent down, kissing her on both cheeks.
A group of young women walked past speaking French, and kept turning around, giggling, pointing and taking photos with their phones.
Dimitrios’s shoulders dropped, a brief puff of sadness, the same as Carrie had sensed with Nana and Ajax when she’d been chatting about the rental property and about Dimitrios’s reaction to fans.
But then his jaw clenched and he scowled.
What he’d said on the beach to explain why he assumed every woman wanted a piece of him – and to explain his annoyance at that – didn’t add up.
If his ego truly was so big that his friends had to keep him in check, he would have revelled in the attention.
Carrie sensed there was something else behind him seeing fans as a nuisance, behind his desire for total privacy; something that had caused him pain in the past.
The bus for Parikia pulled up and quickly he got on. Carrie did too, glad that the young women continued towards the beach. The two of them bought their tickets and sat down together. Dimitrios took off his glasses.
‘Sleep well?’ he asked.
‘If you mean “was I dreaming of you?”, no – so yes, I slept very well indeed.’
Warmth came back into his cheeks. ‘I understand. Dreaming of me would have kept you tossing and turning, and frustrated.’ He burst out laughing at the indignation on her face.
A notification flashed on her phone. She tapped into the email.
Hello Carrie,
Tomorrow I am meeting your friends for a drink!
I am getting to know Jez more – he really is very nice…
but don’t go reading too much into that!
I’m sending you another photo of Boo. The little man is accepting me more now and…
he offered support the other day when I got upset in the garden (nothing to worry about).
Years ago, my dear cat Socks used to know when I was down too, and he’d lay on my lap or sit quietly in my eyeline.
Anyway, on a brighter note, Reddish is great and I’m very much enjoying your job – it combines well with running the florist shop I own.
I’ve also issued an ultimatum to the builder in Bramhall who’s been working next door and wrecking my bungalow.
He was the reason I bought your life. I had to get away, for sanity’s sake.
He… he reminded me of another bully from years ago, and I’d felt really triggered.
Also, I wanted a challenge – and I needed reminding of the strong person I am, and dealing with drunk or abusive customers in The Niterie is certainly doing that!
I’m back to being the woman who stands up to bullies.
So thank you, thank you for allowing me both of those things.
Oh, and mustn’t forget your fab clothes!
They are more stylish than mine and give me a real boost of dopamine when I look in the mirror, as if they’re tugging out a woman who’s been waiting to go on show!
Not the box of designer bits though, they are nice but don’t feel like me.
How is Dimitrios?! Don’t leave out any details now, Carrie. I wait expectantly!
Eliza x
Poor Eliza, what could have upset her? A confrontation with the awful builder perhaps.
What a woman, working in the nightclub, alongside owning and running a business!
She’d sent an adorable photo of Boo in the garden, asleep by the flowerpot, and wait, what?
Another photo – Eliza wearing… Carrie’s eyes narrowed.
It was a selfie. Eliza had cut off her face due to focusing the shot on her top half, specifically one of Carrie’s tailored shirts.
Wow, it really suited her! Talk about figure-hugging lines!
‘Everything all right?’ asked Dimitrios.
‘Yes… fine, thanks… it’s just an email from… well—’ She gazed into his eyes which in that instant didn’t look sexy or mysterious, simply reassuring. ‘It’s from the woman I sold my life to, back in England,’ she said.
His brow furrowed and it took the rest of the twenty-minute trip to Parikia to explain. They clambered off the bus and Dimitrios put his black sunglasses back on.
‘Got to admire you, Carrie, taking such extreme action. At times I’ve wished I could sign off from my life and start another one.’
‘Really? Despite the fame? But it must be amazing, and then there’s the money, right?’ Giannis had everything for real that Carrie had shown off about in her fake account. They stood under the scorching blue sky and walked towards the port.
‘The only thing that’s kept me on this island is the people, and I love running The Bar.
My singing career means I can keep prices low.
It’s full of locals in the winter, playing the instruments and bringing in board games when the tourists have left.
Someone once called it the heartbeat of the community and that means more to me than any number one single. ’
She never expected words like those to come out of the mouth of the pompous man who’d been rude to her at the airport.
The sky, the sea, it all looked so wonderful. She held up her phone. ‘Selfie? I’ll send it to Eliza.’
Dimitrios stopped. The smile fell from his face.
‘Oh God, sorry, I guess a lot of people ask you for that.’ She put her phone away. Perhaps being a celebrity really wasn’t always amazing. They walked in silence, to the sound of waves, passing cars and the blast of a ship’s horn.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ he said eventually. ‘A gut reaction. Sure, let’s send a photo.’
‘Let’s not,’ she said and smiled. ‘Come on. I’m all ears. Tell me about Parikia.’ She would reply to Eliza later.
‘Well, there is lots to visit – an ancient cemetery that is pretty cool. Museums, a castle not far from this bus station, beautiful churches too. Then there is the bus tour, various boat trips and—’
‘It sounds exhausting! How about we start off in the town and maybe go to the beach later? I want to see everything but I’ve got weeks ahead of me.’
Dimitrios shot her a curious look. ‘Why Paros?’
‘It was more appealing than North Korea.’
Cue his rich, rumbling laugh.
‘A compliment for the island indeed,’ he said. ‘Okay. We take it slowly. How about a visit to the old town and shopping, before lunch in a great tavern on Livadia beach, a sandy stretch not far from the harbour?’
‘Sounds perfect – but only window-shopping for me. I’m not allowed to get paid work for three months.’ She glanced at him sideways. ‘But to prove I’m not some gold-digger, lunch is on me!’
They made their way into the old town centre, with its cobblestoned, narrow streets, the whitewashed houses and tubs of bright pink flowers, the smiling shop owners and authentic feel, the gulls overhead and skinny stray cats.
She took an array of photos. Maybe she’d upload them to her Carrie Crusoe account later.
Maybe she wouldn’t.
Smells wafted out of restaurants – of olives and herbs, of orange and figs.
It was the kind of place where you could happily get lost. Even though her stay in Paros had only just begun, Carrie couldn’t resist going into a souvenir shop, attempting to speak Greek, and buying a fridge magnet of the island.
Mum used to collect them and had seventy at the end, sprawling across the fridge and freezer doors, some of trips out, others with inspirational quotes – and her favourites, personal photographic ones, bearing shots of the two of them from when Carrie was little.
A stray cat crossed their path, with the most beautiful eyes, as amber as the honey-roasted apricots Greeks loved so much.
Carrie crouched down and took a plastic bag out of her pocket.
She tipped a couple of chunks of cheese into her hand and held out her palm.
Dimitrios watched as she fed the cat, then crouched down too and stroked the animal gently when it had finished, talking to it quietly.
‘A cat fan, then?’ she said as they stood.
‘Yes. I used to have one.’ A wave of emotion crossed his face.
They passed clothes shops with colourful dresses hanging outside and went into one to try on floppy sun hats.
The brim on Carrie’s was so wide that it hid her face – perfect for a shy pop star, she reckoned, tempted to buy it but instead choosing a smaller straw one.
A bakery proved hard to resist and Dimitrios bought a bag of pastries with dough balls, sticky and sweet, called fouskakia, and roxakia pastries which had cocoa and cinnamon in the middle and were covered in gooey syrup.
The midday sun gave them a thirst and they wandered farther, clutching two popular Greek coffee drinks called iced Freddos.
They sat on a bench, in the shade, finishing them off.
Carrie sent Eliza a text with a couple of the photos attached.
Feet aching, and once the strongest hours of the sun had passed, in early afternoon they headed back to the port with its colourful fishing boats.
They walked down the promenade at Livadia beach, a long stretch that ran from the port along Parikia bay.
Dimitrios led her onto the sand and they walked down to the water’s edge, across small pebbles.
They stood for several moments before Carrie sat down.
She closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun.
‘Glorious,’ she murmured.
Staring at the horizon, Dimitrios sat down next to her.
‘My behaviour at the airport… in that coffee shop…’
‘It’s okay, forget it,’ she said.
‘But it’s not okay. None of it. I couldn’t ever forget the reason for it. You see… this time last year, an obsessed fan nearly killed my dad.’