Chapter 3
We waited for a few minutes until they had gone and then wandered along the side of the sea, finding a tourist information kiosk where we picked up a lot of leaflets about the island, most of which were in Greek or German and probably of no use to any of us except Beryl.
‘Wine tasting,’ Beryl said, pointing at one that was smothered with enticing-looking photos of happy people laughing and holding up their full wine glasses. ‘We are supposed to be doing that, aren’t we?’
‘And a trip to the ruins of some ancient town further along the coast,’ Anita added.
‘Minoans, weren’t they? I like that sort of thing.
What could be finer than the distant echoes and cries of a long-lost civilisation, the ceaseless sound of cicadas vibrating in the heat of a magical Greek day and an ice cream shop by the entrance?
Life doesn’t get much better than that.’
‘Ice cream is a funny thing, isn’t it?’ Effie mused.
‘For decades there was just vanilla, now there are over a thousand different sorts apparently. And there are dozens of crisp flavours too. Is this really the best way that civilisation can spend its time and money? So people can try haggis and asparagus crisps with their dirty martinis?’
‘It’s progress,’ I said, laughing. ‘I read somewhere that there are over three hundred sorts of KitKat in Japan.’
‘Nonsense! That can’t be true,’ Anita said firmly.
‘Oh yes, it’s true,’ Beryl said. ‘I was in Japan in the eighties, when Hirohito died, and I still have friends there. Last time I visited I tried red bean flavour. The Japanese think KitKats are lucky because “Kitto Katso” in Japanese means “you will surely win”.’
‘What did it taste like?’ I asked.
Beryl pulled a face and shrugged. ‘Red bean.’
‘Have you travelled everywhere? You seem to know so many different countries and languages,’ I said.
‘Universal tourist, that’s me. Actually, Effie is just as bad – once you get the travel bug, I warn you there’s no cure,’ Beryl said.
She looked up and down the water’s edge.
‘Now then, there was supposed to be a short boat trip to some deserted little beach around here. I can’t remember where it goes from. ’
The heat of the afternoon gradually cooled as the sun began to dip down towards the horizon.
Walking alongside the Mediterranean, we came across a large group of people, laughing and chattering away to each other, all of them about our vintage. Smartly dressed and cheerful.
We slowed down to negotiate them because they were blocking the road and then we stopped and a very nice-looking man offered us glasses of champagne in elegant flutes.
‘As giortásoume!’ another man said, throwing one arm around Effie’s shoulder.
‘He said, let’s celebrate,’ Beryl said, taking a glass and raising it in his direction.
‘Yes, let’s!’ Effie shouted.
The man threw back his head and laughed, showing excellent teeth, and then he clinked his glass with ours.
‘Mia tóso charoúmeni méram,’ he said.
‘What a happy day,’ Beryl agreed, and we all raised our glasses and chinked them together again.
A young waitress came towards us with a platter full of delicious-looking treats and we cheerfully accepted some.
‘Well, isn’t everyone friendly,’ Anita said approvingly. ‘I didn’t expect this.’
‘The Greeks are famous for it,’ Beryl said, taking a tiny blini and eating it in one mouthful.
The man with the excellent teeth topped up our glasses and we all shouted ‘Yamas’ at each other, and then another man with a beard and glasses came towards us, doing a restrained little jig before he offered us a plate of some miniature cakes, which really were works of art.
‘Isn’t this marvellous,’ I said. ‘I’m loving this.’
We stood around knocking back the champagne and smiling, and every few minutes we were presented with a platter of dainty morsels to eat.
Tiny pastries, little tomatoes stuffed with feta cheese, beautiful little segments of fruit on cocktail sticks and bite-sized bruschetta.
Some minute pasta flora, which were like much improved jam tarts.
After a while, a man with an accordion came along and started playing and, fired up with excitement and champagne, we all joined in the dancing.
We linked arms and did a bit of uncoordinated Zorba, the Greek-style prancing and kicking.
An elegant grey-haired woman with flowers in her hair seemed to be taking the lead alongside the man with the beard, who then had a matching flower between his teeth.
The dance finished with a loud Hey! from a man who had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, and we all turned and hugged our new friends. My word, this was a splendid way to spend the afternoon. Who knew Greek people could be so welcoming?
Everyone stopped, laughing and gasping for breath, and the champagne glasses were refilled.
‘Is anyone going to smash a few plates?’ Effie panted. ‘I love doing that.’
‘Better not,’ Beryl puffed back, ‘those plates look very expensive.’
Meanwhile, the little waitress was wandering around with a clipboard and a puzzled expression, ticking things off and nodding. She got to us.
‘Ta onómatá sas parakaló.’
‘She wants our names,’ Beryl said. She turned the clipboard to look at it and frowned. ‘It’s a seating plan.’
‘Why does she need our names?’ I asked.
Beryl emptied her glass, put it down on one of the tables and pulled an agonised face.
‘We’d better just quietly go,’ she said. ‘I’ve realised we’ve gate-crashed a wedding reception.’
‘Ah,’ Effie said. She widened her eyes and then looked down at the ground. ‘And let’s be honest, it’s not the first time.’
I was speechless with a mixture of embarrassment and bewilderment, and I didn’t even have the language skills to apologise to someone. At the same time, I wanted to laugh. I hadn’t had so much fun or felt so naughty in years.
I hesitated for a moment and then turned to see the other three scuttling off down the road without me. I gave a cheerful wave, blew a kiss to what I then realised was the bride and groom and hurried after my friends.
* * *
After rushing away to a safe distance and making sure no one was coming after us, we slowed down, stopped giggling and began to enjoy the view.
Out at sea were a few small fishing boats, and further out still, a speedboat towing someone behind it.
A water skier, something I had always wanted to try when I was younger but never had.
I wasn’t sure I had the upper-body strength any longer.
It looked fun though, whoever it was dipping and swooping behind the boat and even competent enough to wave at one point.
If I tried that I would undoubtedly fall over and end up spitting out seawater.
‘I wish I could do that,’ Effie said.
‘Me too, I was just thinking the same thing,’ I said. ‘It looks so much fun. But I doubt I could hang on for long enough to stand upright. Not with my dodgy knee.’
Effie looked sympathetic. ‘I tried on one of those banana boats years ago. I think it was when Vladimir and I went to Tunisia. The four of us were on one banana. I fell off, of course I did.’
‘Vladimir?’ I asked.
‘A Russian diplomat. So handsome, such marvellous cheekbones. I was just asked along as the second fiddle. He was very well connected. I was trying to soften him up for Beryl.’
‘You tried so hard,’ Beryl commiserated, patting her hand.
‘Until I found out he had a wife who was well connected too,’ Effie said mournfully. ‘That put the kot sredi golubey – the cat among the pigeons. I backed off pdq. I do have some standards.’
I looked at the others as we laughed together and Effie told another story about Vladimir and an incident with a trombone and some melted chocolate.
Perhaps I had been living a life that was far too careful.
Too sensible and predictable. Maybe it was time to think about having some adventures of my own?
* * *
We carried on exploring for a while, looking in cute little shops full of incredibly inexpensive ‘designer’ sunglasses, floppy tiered sundresses and glittering jewellery and then we made our way back to the hotel.
We took the wrong turn on a couple of occasions, finding ourselves in the back streets where feral cats slept in the flowerpots and a man in a Bon Jovi t-shirt was apparently disembowelling his moped all over the pavement.
How we could have got lost when the hotel was so close was anyone’s guess.
We then had a discussion about who had the worst sense of direction, which Effie won when she told us about the time she had forgotten where she had left her car.
Having clicked her key fob at just about every car in the seven storeys, she then realised she was actually in the wrong car park.
Anyway, at last we saw the familiar blue shutters and white walls of Hotel Costas and went gratefully into the cool of the hallway.
‘I suppose I could have a little rest before dinner,’ Beryl said, pulling off her sunhat, ‘and then we could meet up later.’
‘In which case I think the rest of us should go up on the roof terrace and ask Effie for some more juicy gossip about you,’ Anita said.
‘I’m not having that; she would just make stuff up and probably get all the details wrong. I’m coming too,’ Beryl said, ‘just to make sure you have all your facts right. And I want to take a look at the pool.’
‘It’s not very big, and it’s not heated,’ Effie said, ‘so don’t get your hopes too high.’
‘I’d better change into a clean t-shirt,’ I said. ‘I’ve got jam down the front of this one.’
Back in my room there were two kittens in my bathroom, asleep on my bathmat. They scarpered pretty quickly when I came in and hurried up the bougainvillea to join their mother on the canvas sunshade. Perhaps I should close the doors to the balcony when I went out in future.