Chapter 6
Chapter Six
‘Are you sure I’ve got to do the stretches too? It’s flipping hot out here.’
Vicky flopped down on the grass and let the sun play on her face a moment while Suzie carried on with her star jumps and lunges.
‘Yes. Get back at it, madam.’
Pulling herself to her feet, Vicky made a feeble attempt at a star jump, stubbing her toe on a piece of stone embedded in the grass.
‘Ouch. It’s dangerous! And what does it do, exactly?’
An out-of-breath Suzie paused a moment.
‘It increases blood flow to the vocal cords, releases tension and prepares the breathing mechanism.’
‘But I’m not planning to burst into song any minute, unlike you!’
Suzie wagged her finger.
‘It’s still good for you.’
Vicky pointed towards the beach in the distance.
‘That’s what’s good for me: swimming in the sea.’
Suzie stopped leaping about and bent over double, breathing deeply for a few seconds before she could speak.
‘OK, you’re off the hook. I’m ready to start my vocal exercises now anyway.’
Vicky sighed as she sat down on the edge of the ruined fountain.
‘Is all this really necessary? Can’t we just turn on the background music and get on with it?’
‘No!’
The shout rebounded off the walls of the abandoned mansion that Suzie had agreed was a great practice venue. Suzie looked like Vicky had suggested they slaughter some lambs with their bare hands, rather than just sped up the process somewhat.
‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to shout. But the warm-up routine is vitally important if you don’t want to damage your voice, particularly for someone like me who’s been out of the game for so long.’
‘Okaaay.’
The thought that Suzie was nowhere near as confident as most of the world assumed she was had occurred to Vicky more than once.
Her friend gave off such a cool air, but she’d been allowed a glimpse behind the curtain at the real Suzie, the one who was nervous as hell about what she’d agreed to.
And now it was her role to keep things calm and on track, a role she’d had most of her life in one way or another, as a nurse, a wife and a mother.
What if she wanted to wig out too? Was there space for that in the friendship?
Or was she always destined to be the sensible one?
There’d certainly never been any space for her to indulge her emotions at home.
Strange burbling noises were coming out of Suzie’s mouth, followed by little yelps of notes that ranged from high to low and finally something Vicky strained to hear. She moved closer.
‘Am I going mad, or did you just say, “Peter Piper picked a piece of pickled pepper,” followed by “She sells seashells by the seashore”?’
Suzie grinned.
‘Tongue twisters are an important part of the warm-up.’
‘Blow me down. I never knew that.’
Vicky reached into her rucksack. ‘Any objections to me eating my lunch now?’ She tried to hide a smile with her hand. ‘Or will it disrupt the delicate vocal balance?’
‘Very funny. No, you munch away.’
The odd sounds emanating from Suzie started to mould themselves into recognisable words and phrases as Vicky’s delicious cheese and olive sandwich, homemade with fresh bread from the bakery, went down a treat.
The cheese was a San Michali, made with local cow’s milk, which had some of the texture and flavour of Parmesan and tasted even more yummy.
The orange she’d picked for dessert was so ripe the juice dripped down her chin. By the time she’d demolished it, Suzie was belting out one of her well-known numbers for all she was worth. Vicky closed her eyes for a moment and just took in the powerful sound.
By the end of the song, she’d been effortlessly transported back to her youth.
‘Bravo!’
Vicky leapt to her feet and hugged her new friend.
‘That was amazing. So powerful. Well done, you.’
‘Really?’
Suzie’s uncertain smile tugged at her heartstrings. She’d heard that actors and performers were often insecure or shy underneath all the hype, but she’d not seen it up close. Suzie hadn’t been on a professional stage for nigh on forty years, but she was more than ready.
‘Yes, really.’
Vicky pointed at a row of bemused sheep waiting patiently in a line behind the barbed wire.
‘Look, even they enjoyed it. Now take a break and have something to eat.’ Vicky reached into her bag for another sandwich. ‘I made it specially for you.’
Suzie made her index fingers on both hands into a cross and held it up in front of her as if warding off evil.
‘Is that cheese?’
‘Only the island’s finest.’
‘Cheese is the devil for singers. Clogs everything up.’
‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’
‘Sorry.’ Suzie smiled her best smile. ‘Can I have the bread and olives on their own though? I’m starving.’
‘Suppose so.’
Vicky carefully picked out the cheese and handed her the rest, along with a bottled water.
‘Thanks. I’m not trying to be deliberately difficult, but I’ve only got one chance to get this right. I’ve got to do everything I can to make it work.’ She sat down on the grass beside Vicky. ‘Do you really think I’m good enough?’
Having heard the pure notes coming out of her friend’s mouth, Vicky couldn’t believe Suzie was even asking her. How could anyone with such a talent not realise how good she was?
‘Yes, most definitely, and can we give the self-doubt a rest for a while, please.’
‘Sorry?’
Suzie’s startled look made her realise she’d gone too far.
Stroking Ian’s fragile ego had taken up a lot of her free time, and she’d taken out her resentment on her friend, which wasn’t fair.
If she’d said something like that to Ian, she’d probably have got a burst of vitriol back, or, on occasion, something worse.
Vicky scrabbled for the right words.
‘All I’m saying is that you’re a fabulous singer, and you have no reason to doubt yourself. Be more Suzie S.’
‘Thank you. Your support means a lot.’
Vicky let out the breath she’d been holding. She’d saved that one, but it was a warning not to blur the lines between her past and her present.
Suzie reached for her hand.
‘I really do appreciate you being here for me in your precious lunch hour.’
‘What else am I going to do? Hang out with creepy Graham or cheerful Alex? I haven’t seen Angeliki for a couple of days; sadly, it’s just been Alex on duty.’
‘I thought things with him were good after the rescue?’
‘I will admit I saw a different side of him, which was a lot more palatable, but since then he’s been just the same as before. Standoffish and distracted.’
She’d certainly not seen that million-dollar smile again.
‘Shame.’
‘On the plus side, the kittens are doing really well. They’re back at the sanctuary, and I can see them every day. Plus, we’ve already had some enquiries about adopting them when they’re ready.’
‘That’s great news.’
‘Sure is.’
She had to admit to being somewhat disappointed that Alex hadn’t been more friendly when she next saw him. Still, it was his loss.
A change of subject was sorely needed.
‘Now we’re into Holy Week, you must tell me all about our exciting plans for the weekend.’
Suzie smiled.
‘Megáli Evdomáda, as we call Holy Week, is huge. You have no idea what’s going to hit you.
Everything basically shuts down for people to be with their loved ones.
Even the bar’s closed from Saturday afternoon until Monday, and you know how rare that is.
We’re open on Christmas Day, to give you some idea. ’
‘Sounds exciting. We’re meeting on Friday evening in the main town, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, but that’s way before the partying starts. Megáli Paraskeví is the most sombre day of the Holy Week, marking the crucifixion of Christ. You need to dress formally, as you would for a funeral, dark clothes, and everything covered up, or you’ll stand out a mile.’
A mental sort through of her wardrobe at the sanctuary drew a blank.
‘Crikey, no one told me that. I haven’t got anything suitable.’
Suzie looked down at her cut-off denims and vest and up at Vicky.
‘I certainly won’t have anything that fits you. Maybe you can ask Maeve?’
‘I suppose I’ll have to.’
‘At least I’ve prevented you from being hugely embarrassed.’
‘True.’
‘So, I’ll keep practising here every day around one, and if you can join me, great. Otherwise, we’ll meet at the fancy ice?cream shop by the square on Friday evening.’
‘Oooh, the organic one with smoked hazelnut flavour.’
‘Don’t even think about wandering around with an ice-cream during the procession. You’ll be lynched by the locals.’
‘Fine. See you there.’
Work at the sanctuary had kept her busy every day since they’d last met; sick animals took no heed of Holy Week.
Vicky had only managed to join Suzie for one more practice session at the ruined mansion.
But her friend had obviously been working hard.
Even she could see, or rather hear, the progress.
Begging Maeve for help with the clothes for the Good Friday meet-up, she’d ended up in a shapeless black linen dress several sizes too big, with a black shawl to cover her shoulders, and some sensible dark, flat lace-up shoes.
It was a bizarre get-up, but better than her other option, a spaghetti strap dress covered in strawberries with hot pink sandals.
After doing the last round of animal feeding, she’d rushed like a maniac to reach the ice-cream shop in time to meet Suzie, so now she could add sweating profusely to her unusual look.
The bells had rung mournfully all day long, in every church in every village and town on the island and were still giving it their all. Around her, groups of people were converging on the town centre, smartly dressed in dark colours and with solemn faces.
‘Vicky?’
She looked up to see Alex standing with a group of men in suits.
Oh yes, she did have to bump into him dressed like an extra from Fiddler on the Roof, didn’t she? All she needed was a headscarf, and she could enter stage right. No chic little black or navy dress and kitten heels for her; it was Russian peasant all the way.
‘Alex, hi.’
‘Are you OK?’
Why wouldn’t she be?