Chapter 16 #2
I was still me, I reminded myself. So Gareth and I were no more; the house would soon be on the market.
But honestly, so what? People were funny creatures, I was realising.
We took ourselves so seriously – and I should know.
After all, I was as guilty as anyone else, constantly worrying about what everyone else thought, weighing myself down with unnecessary stuff.
Take the contents of our house that I’d been agonising over.
My emotional connection to flipping sofas and a table, for frick’s sake, not to mention the routines and obligations that had come to dominate my life.
It was something of a revelation to realise that far from feeling pointless without them, I was finding their absence positively liberating.
But this whole journey had already been filled with revelations, of which my ridiculously oversized suitcase was oddly symbolic; the way I’d lugged it on and off far too many trains.
I made a note to self to dramatically reduce the contents once I got to Crete, if not throw it away altogether.
You see, it didn’t need to be like this, did it?
Being loaded down with clutter I didn’t need. I had a choice.
Talking of obligations, I wondered how my dad was doing.
It made me sad, thinking about my dad. I mean, he had so much to be grateful for.
But he was intent on living such a small, lonely life, his glass forever half empty.
It didn’t occur to him that it could be any different.
It was the religion in him, I couldn’t help thinking.
That melting pot of guilt and suffering he subscribed to.
I couldn’t imagine him embarking on a journey such as I was on.
But we are all different; not everyone wants to leave their life, step into the unknown with the contents of a rather battered and oversized suitcase.
The comfort of home is a lot to give up.
And I probably wouldn’t have been on that ferry had my marriage not come to an end.
Lizzie, I know would have loved my adventure.
As would my mum. But what they most would have loved was that I was doing it for me.
That day, as the ferry rumbled on, needing a caffeine hit, I got up and went to buy a coffee.
It was amazing how tiring doing nothing could be.
But maybe it depended on your definition of doing nothing.
If you thought about it, the last few days had been the biggest transition I’d ever embarked on, away from my old life to exactly what, I still wasn’t sure.
OK. So, I did now have a plan, and that was to stay in Crete a while, however long that turned out to be. Beyond that… I didn’t know. But now wasn’t the time to think about that, I told myself firmly. Sipping my coffee, I got out my phone and texted Elena.
Tilly
I’m on the ferry, El, to Crete. It’s…
I broke off, not sure how to describe it, before carrying on:
Tilly
It’s the best thing I could have done. Everything to do with Gareth seems so far away. To be honest, all I want is to keep it like that. xxx
About ten minutes later, Elena replied.
Elena
So glad you’re doing this, Tills. Miss you. But so so proud of you.
She followed it with a heart emoji.
Sitting there, I started googling Crete, realising how many jaw-dropping sights there were to see, pleased to know there was plenty to do there.
It also looked like the perfect place to pick up a few little things for Robbie and Alex. One or two mementos of this trip – for the new home I’d eventually be moving into, further down the line.
But I was getting ahead of myself. One thing I was learning on my venture into the unknown was to take each day, each step, one at a time.
The first was to find myself a place to stay.
I imagined a tiny studio, tucked away up a narrow street, a short walk from the harbour at Chania; with blue shutters like you saw in travel photos, framing a window from which I could lean out and watch the world go by, catch a not-so-distant glimmer of the sea.
Sitting back, my mind flitted back and forth. Then it catapulted me back in time to the early days of my marriage. Gareth and I were so young – no older than our boys are. But now, I can’t help wondering were we too young? If we’d waited, would we have stayed together?
In my pocket, my phone buzzed. Taking it out, I read the text message, from Gareth.
Gareth
Call me, Tilly. We need to talk about the house. There’s been an offer.
Staring at the screen, I felt sick all of a sudden.
Despite my brave words, underneath I was still coming to terms with the end of our marriage; had thought going away would buy me time to get my head around it.
I’d envisaged months passing before anyone made an offer near the asking price, and while we were on the subject, the asking price was something Gareth had yet to enlighten me about.
Tilly
Thanks a whole bloody lot, Gareth. I thought you said we’d discuss when to market the house. You haven’t even told me what it’s been valued at.
I hesitated. There was so much more I wanted to say. Like how selfish he was, and that was just for starters. But I was questioning the point. This wasn’t anything new. The writing had been on the wall almost since day one. What was staggering was how I’d managed not to see it.
How the actual fuck did that happen? But you knew, didn’t you?
I reminded myself, as, far away from home, I confronted the reality of that time.
Think about those days before your wedding, Tilly.
Remember how you weren’t sure you could go through with it?
You knew, as long ago as then, that Gareth wasn’t right for you.
It was as though the sunlight had dimmed.
It was a very long time, if ever, since I’d admitted the truth to anyone – let alone myself.
But back then, nothing seemed easy. It was one thing to have doubts.
But I’d made a commitment to Gareth. And I’d gone through with it; then unlike Gareth, I’d given our relationship my all.
Anyway, it was a bit late for recriminations. Twenty-two years too late, to be precise. Sending Gareth the message, I started googling property websites to see if our house had been listed, as almost straight away, Gareth replied.
Gareth
It isn’t on the market yet. The agent knows someone.
Did he indeed? Suspicious, I had the feeling there was something he wasn’t saying, that Gareth’s impatience to sell could end up costing both of us.
Tilly
Before I agree to anything, I’d like to know the valuation and the offer, Gareth. Send them through and we can talk about it. After all, there’s no rush.
I switched my phone off and put it away.
Yes, I was upset. It was impossible not to be.
But sitting on this ferry, gazing out across the sea, as I watched the sun sink lower, I wasn’t upset in the same way I was before I left the UK.
In the strangest way, I even felt a flicker of sympathy for Gareth.
I mean, he didn’t want children when I got pregnant all those years ago and there he was, about to do it all over again.
I winced, imagining Tallulah’s voice ringing in my ears – wearing her friend hat rather than a therapist one.
How dare you waste your time feeling sorry for that despicable man, Tilly.
You’d think by now he’d know how babies are made.
And the fact of the matter was I didn’t want to dwell on Gareth.
The next chapter was already there, waiting for me.
Through the darkness, I made out the lights twinkling as the port of Chania came into view and this time nothing could stop the thrill of excitement I felt as we drew closer, before the ferry slowed down, then came to a stop.
As from the deck I watched the activity as the ferry was secured, my trepidation made a brief reappearance.
Of course, there were practicalities to observe.
I was, after all, a lone middle-aged woman disembarking from a ferry in a place she’d never been to before and where she hadn’t even booked a hotel room – and where she didn’t speak so much as a single word of the language.
Note to self. Download an English–Greek translation app.
And there was no going back – at least, not tonight.
I followed the line of people as they made their way off the ferry.
Standing on firm ground, I looked around, catching sight of the old man I saw in Athens slowly shuffling along with the help of the same young backpacker as before.
Clearly I wasn’t needed here and so, flagging down a taxi, I headed for Chania Old Town.
The road was quiet as we drove, the darkness broken by lights in some of the windows of houses we passed.
A short while later, we reached the harbour.
After paying the driver and getting out, I just stood there for a moment.
The metallic clinking from the boats reached my ears as I took in the twinkling lights, the feeling of peacefulness.
Starting to drag my case along, my arm was hurting and I resolved to exchange it for a rucksack as soon as possible.
It didn’t mean I couldn’t shop, I told myself, completely forgetting my earlier musings about living a less material life.
I mean, I could have everything sent back – and I’d been fantasising about creating a Mediterranean-themed kitchen in the home I’d eventually have.
After all, there couldn’t be many better places to pick up some design tips.
Passing a few bars and tavernas, I was surprised how many were closed.
But it was October, I reminded myself. Stopping at one of the smaller ones, I manoeuvred my case off the street and took a seat at a table outside.
I took out my phone, switched it on and saw the rows of missed calls from Gareth.
This offer must have been good – he was obviously desperate to get hold of me. But as a waiter came up, I put down my phone. Gareth could wait. I picked up the menu and pointed to the wine list. ‘Good evening. One glass,’ I said, holding up one finger to make sure he understood.
‘You like Greek wine?’ he asked in heavily accented English.
I breathed a sigh of relief that I didn’t have to attempt to speak Greek. ‘I don’t know. But I’d like to try it.’
‘OK.’ He wrote on his notepad. ‘Would you like to order some food?’
‘I would. I’m just not sure what.’ Looking at the menu again, I frowned, considering. ‘Do you have something small? Hot – maybe with fries?’
‘If you like, I choose? And, of course, with fries?’ he added.
‘Thank you. That’s really kind,’ I said. Then I remembered something I’d read about the Greeks eating goat. ‘Not goat, though. No offence,’ I added hastily. ‘It’s just that I’ve never eaten goat before.’
‘No problem.’ He bowed his head. ‘Leave it with me.’
Minutes later he came back with a glass of red wine.
I sipped it slowly, savouring the rich feel of it on my palate.
Then I put my glass down and breathed in air that was fragrant with the smell of freshly cooked food, turning my gaze upwards to take in a night sky that was clear and sparkling with stars.
Sitting back, I looked towards the harbour.
Soaking up the moment, after everything that had brought me here, it was as though I was in a dream.
The thought startled me. Maybe that was what all of this was. A dream. I pinched myself, to make sure it wasn’t, just as the waiter came back with a large plate of food and a basket of bread.
I stared at it. ‘This is so much food.’
He shrugged. ‘I know you said small. But you eat. When you have had enough, you stop.’ He put down a bottle. ‘Olive oil. It is from this island. It is good.’
Feeling my stomach rumble, I couldn’t help but smile at him. ‘Thank you.’
He bowed his head. ‘You are most welcome. Enjoy.’
As he walked away, I realised how hungry I was.
I tentatively cut into the crisp calamari, which tasted like nothing I’d ever eaten before, then started on the tomato butter beans, drizzling them with the olive oil and mopping up the sauce with some of the bread, before turning to the frites.
By the time the waiter came back, my plate was empty.
‘It was not so big, then,’ he said.
‘It was so good,’ I told him. ‘Not like I usually eat.’
‘That’s because it is grown and harvested on this island,’ he said. ‘It is food for the soul.’
The way he said it resonated with me. You see, I’d never thought of food that way before, but maybe it was another change I needed to make.
To see it as more than nourishing the body.
‘Do you mind me asking you something?’ I frowned slightly.
‘Only I don’t have anywhere to stay. Do you know of somewhere? ’
‘Perhaps. You want for how long?’ he asked. ‘My brother has a place. It is not far.’
A feeling of relief filled me again. ‘I’m not sure. A week, maybe. But it could be longer.’
‘I will call him.’ He took his phone out of his pocket and made a call, murmuring in Greek before he stopped for a moment. ‘He says you can have a room.’
‘Can you tell him thank you? And can you ask how much?’ I said anxiously.
He murmured in Greek again, then turned to me, mentioning a price that seemed overly cheap.
I blinked at him. ‘Is that all? I mean, is he sure?’
‘Of course. Or he would not say. Winter is coming. His place is not busy.’ He shrugged. ‘You want it?’
‘Definitely,’ I said hastily.
‘My brother asks, what is your name?’ he said.
‘Tilly.’ I watched him tell his brother, before ending the call.
‘It is organised,’ he said. ‘I am Nicos. My brother is Andreas.’ He started to clear the table. ‘I will get your bill, Tilly. Then I will call you a taxi.’
As he walked off, I sat there, marvelling at how what had seemed like a problem had been taken somewhat effortlessly out of my hands.
Maybe it was the benefit of the wine, but already, it was the complete opposite of how life felt before I left England, when one problem after another had kept hitting me head-on, seemingly relentlessly.
But maybe it was as Tallulah had said. I had been in the wrong place. It kind of followed, I couldn’t help thinking, that given the ease with which events were unfolding around me, that at long last I was on my way to where I was meant to be.