Chapter 2 #3
‘So we definitely aren’t doing the guided walk?’ I said.
She shook her head and flapped a hand in dismissal.
‘I am not being herded around like a party of school kids. And Beryl and Effie have been here before so they won’t want to be shown where the chemist is or the supermarket.
It’s much more enjoyable to explore on our own, don’t you think?
And it’s an island; remember, the worst that can happen is we go round in a big circle.
I always used to think that when Bergerac was on television back in the 1980s.
There was nearly always a car chase, and what was the point when there was nowhere to go? ’
‘Still worth watching for John Nettles though,’ I said as we went downstairs. ‘He was so handsome. I had such a crush on him. And in Midsomer Murders too.’
‘There can’t be anyone living in Midsomer these days, what with the abnormally high death rate. You would think the Met would want to investigate,’ Anita said, and I laughed and agreed.
Outside, the afternoon was warm and pleasant, and incredibly quiet.
Just the occasional sound of a voice, or music playing from someone’s open window.
I was introduced to Effie, who was dazzling in a swirling green maxi dress and a yellow sunhat patterned with cartoon ducks.
She looked a slightly younger and fluffier version of Beryl.
‘Effie,’ she said with a sweet smile, ‘short for Euphemia before you ask. Thanks, Dad. Now let’s get going before Jillian spots us escaping and drags us back for roll call.’
There didn’t seem to be much traffic at all, just once or twice a delivery van passed the four of us as we made our way down the road towards the sea.
At last, we stood, transfixed by the prospect of the shining Mediterranean in front of us.
‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Anita said. ‘I remember when I went to Rhodes with a group of friends. We couldn’t believe how blue and clean it was.
And they had a great time in Mallorca. I wish I could have gone.
There was a bit about the Mediterranean in my friend’s guidebook.
She went down quite a rabbit hole with that one.
Apparently there is lots of light and carbon dioxide in the Med, but not much ammonia or nitrates and not much mixing of the deep water either, which means the sea doesn’t get full of algae. ’
‘You’re a mine of information,’ Beryl said, sitting down on a stone bench and taking a stone out of her shoe.
‘Should you have worn those?’ Effie said. ‘They don’t look very comfortable.’
‘Il faut souffrir pour être belle, as Mother used to say. One must suffer to be beautiful,’ Beryl replied.
Effie sniffed. ‘It’s going to take a lot more than a pair of Clark’s sandals, dear. Even if they are red.’
‘Do you two go on holiday together a lot?’ I asked.
Effie nodded. ‘We’ve shared lots of trips. We’re both on our own now and both of us are outraged by the single supplements one has to pay. It’s far cheaper to go together and for me to invest in some decent earplugs.’
Beryl snorted. ‘I’m the one needing earplugs.’
‘I think not. Sharing with you is how I imagine it would be to bunk up with a capybara. Anyway, it’s more fun. Not to have to think about what the menfolk are doing or wanting these days. Not having to watch sport on the television.’
‘We’re Old Ducks,’ Anita added, pulling on a bright yellow canvas hat identical to the ones Beryl and Effie were wearing. ‘Our friend Juliette started it. We are all over sixty but definitely not past it.’
‘I’m pushing seventy,’ Beryl said, ‘and Effie is sixty-eight.’
‘Oh, thanks for telling everyone. And not in my head I’m not,’ Effie said. ‘I always thought getting to be this old would take much longer. I prefer to think I’m thirty-five plus post and packing charges. In fact, I’m a thirty-five-year-old trapped in a sixty-eight-year-old’s body.’
‘In which case perhaps you should get someone to put a couple of darts in,’ Beryl snorted, earning herself a light slap on the shoulder from her sister.
‘I’m nearly sixty-five,’ I said, feeling perhaps for the first time that it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about.
‘Then you qualify too,’ Anita said kindly. ‘I will put your application forward to the president. Juliette’s on holiday at the moment, in Ibiza.’
‘Her husband wanted to go to Scotland, didn’t he?’ Beryl said.
‘And yet – there they are in Ibiza,’ Anita replied with a knowing look.
Beryl pulled her shoes back on and stood up.
‘Right, now then, I thought we were going to get a late lunch and a drink?’
‘You’re the one holding us up. We could all die of thirst waiting for you,’ Effie said.
Anita and I exchanged a look as we followed the sisters along the road.
‘Are they always like this?’ I whispered.
Anita nodded. ‘Sometimes worse. It’s marvellous.’
We started walking along the dusty track beside the sea, passing a couple of wine bars and cafés, all of which looked perfectly splendid to me.
Eventually after much discussion, we went into a place decorated with white plastic pillars and garlands of artificial flowers, where we were welcomed by several very handsome waiters with such enthusiasm that it almost seemed their lives had been meaningless up to that point.
This in itself made a lovely change from the service I had come to expect, where the sight of four older women was usually met with eye rolling, sighing and a table next to the toilets.
‘Lovely ladies, I am Yanni. I will lead to you the best table. A view of the sea, plenty of shade, and wonderful food. But first a drink? I have beautiful white wine from my brother’s vineyard. Nectar of the gods.’
‘You’re my type of guy,’ Beryl said, rewarding him with a brilliant smile.
‘Down, tiger,’ Effie murmured, ‘we talked about this. Remember Dubrovnik? And Padua?’
‘Do you really have to remember everything?’ Beryl said.
Effie snorted. ‘Well, one of us has to.’
Yanni brought us a carafe of white wine and four green recycled glasses which were filled while we juggled with the massive, laminated menus.
‘A toast to us,’ Anita said, and we clinked our glasses over the table.
Well, this was fun. I felt more excited and happier than I had for months.
Perhaps it was the warmth of the Greek sunshine, the blue of the Mediterranean shimmering in front of me, or maybe it was the company of my three new friends.
The wonderful realisation that I had no pressing problems or tedious chores to attend to.
My life recently had been filled with those sorts of things.
Finding someone to go up a ladder and clean out the gutters, rewriting my will, trying to sort out the broadband, washing out the recycling bin where apparently a new life form had developed.
It turned out to be the remains of a lasagne which my daughter had put in there by mistake.
‘I’m going to have something properly Greek,’ Effie said. ‘Calamari or moussaka. That sort of thing.’
‘I want a real Greek salad,’ I said. ‘I bet it’s nothing like we get at home.’
‘A rare steak, which is what Maria Callas liked,’ Beryl said, ‘although she never finished one. Just used to cut it up and push it around her plate.’
‘You met her?’ Anita said.
Beryl shrugged. ‘Once or twice. She had absolutely beautiful eyes. I went with David Frost to interview her in the seventies. Now then, shall we order?’
‘Good heavens, David Frost? What was he like?’
Beryl looked wistful for a moment and then she gave a little smile.
‘He was utterly charming and terrifically handsome in the flesh.’
The food was as good as the occasion as far as I was concerned. And the four of us sat there for a long time, chatting, marvelling over the beauty of the day and occasionally wondering when we would actually do some painting.
The island seemed to hold a lot of promise for inspiration, with rocky crags plunging down into the sea, white houses strewn along the coastline and a few fishing boats moored alongside the harbour.
There was a strand of beach too, where people were sunbathing, reading under the shade of parasols or, in the case of a group of girls, giggling over their phones.
Customers came and went, the ever-attentive waiters happy to bring us chilled water, more wine and offer desserts.
Beryl took a deep breath and breathed out slowly.
‘Isn’t sea air simply marvellous? It really does make one feel better, don’t you think?
My second husband said it was the ozone.
I was thinking about that recently. How amazing the world is.
And lots of different things are made up of the same elements.
Carbon, hydrogen and oxygen. Which makes water, sugars, carbon dioxide, gas and of course alcohol. Isn’t nature miraculous?’
‘I’ve no idea what goes on in your head,’ Effie said. ‘If I can’t find something here to inspire me to paint, I never will, although I’m hopeless. Beryl is the talent. I didn’t actually come along for the art, I just fancied the holiday.’
‘I don’t think I have any particular ability,’ I admitted. ‘I enjoy it though.’
‘Nonsense, I thought your painting of the wall outside the village hall was excellent,’ Anita said.
‘Yes, but it was more of – what would Cassandra call it? – an architectural approach. Dennis said I should have put in a snail or something to liven it up a bit.’
‘Pooh, what does Dennis know about anything?’ Beryl said. ‘Have you noticed he is very free with his criticism but rejects everyone’s opinion? What is it he always says? It’s—’
She held out her hands so that we could finish the sentence.
‘A work in progress,’ Anita and I said together, and we both laughed.
‘He was very annoyed when he found out you had taken Gwen’s place. I know he wanted to bring his brother along. But he was too late and Cassandra said she had filled all the places for our group allocation and Ronald would have to go on the cancellation list. A near miss I think.’
‘But I was allowed to come because I got in early even though I don’t come to the group very often, and I gave a raffle prize for the Christmas party,’ Effie confided.
‘Dennis would call that corruption,’ Beryl said, ‘and let’s be honest, you’re hardly ever in Lower Begley despite leaving all that stuff in my spare room.
Now, are we going to have anything else or should we carry on exploring?
I remember from my last visit, there are some little shops further up.
I quite fancy looking for a bad taste fridge magnet. ’
We paid the bill, splitting it equally between us, and left with the kind wishes of Yanni and his staff echoing down the road behind us. A most satisfactory start to our holiday, we all agreed.
‘Quick, hide, there’s Jillian with the others,’ Anita hissed a few minutes later, and startled, we all followed her into a shop where she peered out theatrically from behind a wire rack of postcards.
We even crouched down a little and watched as Jillian walked past holding a completely unnecessary little red flag, followed by a small group of our fellow artists.
Two of them were women of about our age.
There was a man who no one recognised, tall, quite distinguished with his Panama hat pulled low over his forehead, and the last one, dressed in a striped shirt buttoned up to the neck, some disreputable khaki shorts, white socks and sandals, was of course Dennis.
He was briskly surveying his surroundings and looking very pleased with himself.
‘Why are we hiding?’ Effie whispered.
‘I don’t know.’ I giggled.
Beryl hissed, ‘Who is that gorgeous man with them? Just think, he’s carbon, hydrogen, oxygen too, and a lot more besides. He’s not one of ours, is he? I know I’d remember him.’
We came out into the open and stopped lurking, much to the relief of the shop owner, and watched as the group walked on, Dennis ostentatiously holding up his thumbs and forefingers to frame the view.
‘This could work,’ he said loudly, ‘if it wasn’t for all the people getting in my way.’