Chapter 17 #2
‘What unusual shoes,’ Madge Clifford had said as she steered the hapless Roger away from me. I’d been wearing heels that evening, and the implication was: a) that I was too old for that sort of nonsense, and b) therefore a bit of a floozy.
Anyway, here I was now, just a woman out for the evening with a man. A very attractive man actually, who wanted to spend time in my company and talk to me.
Our starters came quickly and I tried not to greedily hoover up my scallops as though I was starving.
Instead, I ate daintily and slowly, taking sips of water and paying attention to our conversation.
And my word how we talked. We talked about so many things in a way I hadn’t done with any man for years.
We even disagreed about things without anyone taking offence or storming off jangling the car keys as had happened once with Malcolm when we fell out over Brexit.
The wine waiter brought over our bottle of Kontarades, and a few minutes were spent messing about with corks and white napkins before we were left in peace to enjoy it.
‘Definitely stony minerality,’ Will said, and he winked at me.
I grinned back. ‘And crisp and dry.’
‘Perfect,’ he said, ‘just like this evening.’
I gave a happy sigh. He was right. Everything about it was lovely. There was enough space between the tables so no one was tripping over my handbag, we were not privy to other people’s conversations and there was no terrible background muzak playing.
The main courses arrived. He had chosen some beautifully presented lamb dish with what looked like potato cakes and green salad. Then my catch of the day arrived, and my confidence took a tumble.
In front of me was an oval dish containing a bed of mixed vegetables and on top of that a huge fishy something, and it was looking at me with quite a resentful expression which, under the circumstances, was understandable.
‘Bourtheto,’ the waiter said with a wistful smile, ‘so delicious. A speciality. éna fili sef – a chef’s kiss.’
Oh well, I’d better get on with it and not meet my dinner’s gaze. I took a dollop of the vegetables with my fork and covered up the accusing face.
It took me one mouthful to realise it was incredibly fiery and it nearly blew my tastebuds away. The waitress hadn’t meant did I want my food hot as in hot, she’d meant spicy. If this was a kiss from the chef I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley without some sort of a weapon.
I gamely pressed on, concentrating on the vegetables and taking frequent sips of iced water, which I didn’t think was the right thing to do. I’d read somewhere that a glass of milk would be better, but I’d look a right fool ordering that, wouldn’t I?
‘Mmm,’ I said to Will’s enquiry, ‘full of flavour; in fact, lots of flavours but a bit peppery. How’s yours?’
‘Terrific,’ he said, ‘absolutely delicious.’
I gazed enviously at his meal for a moment and then dabbed at my face with my napkin. The spice of the meal was bringing heat to my face and tears to my eyes. Which meant my mascara was probably running. Just great.
‘Very filling too,’ I said, leaning back in my chair, ‘I think I need a little breather.’
Perhaps I could get some fresh air and go to the loo. I knew where it was after all.
‘Would you excuse me for just a moment?’
I stood up and went downstairs to the ladies, hanging my tongue unattractively out of my mouth as I went so it could get some fresh air. A couple passed me on the stone staircase and gave me an odd look.
‘Lovely evening,’ I said brightly.
‘Nai, kalispéra,’ the woman said doubtfully, grabbing her companion’s arm.
The ladies’ room was empty and I sat for a moment on a little chair, hanging my tongue out and panting for a bit longer and then standing up to wash my hands. What an idiot I was. If I had brought my reading glasses with me, things might have been very different. What should I do?
There was nothing for it. I would have to try again.
And afterwards I would have ice cream for dessert. Yes, that was a great idea.
Back at the table, I made a gallant effort to eat some more, and in the end after having hidden as much of the fish as I could under the sauce, the remaining vegetables and my cutlery and napkin, sat back and gave a happy sigh.
‘That looked like it was a bit of a challenge?’ Will said.
‘It was a bit spicy,’ I admitted, and then realised I had a fishbone stuck somewhere in between my side teeth. This was getting worse by the minute.
There was a little pot of cocktail sticks on the table and in an ideal world I would have taken one and gone poking about between my teeth to dislodge the fishbone, which as the seconds passed seemed to have taken on the size and shape of a darning needle and was sticking into my lip.
I couldn’t sit there in front of him and do that. It would be disgusting.
After a while, the waiter came to remove our plates and I watched him go with some relief, my tongue still probing as daintily as I could.
‘I’ll just go and freshen up and then perhaps we can have some dessert?’ he said. ‘The menu looks wonderful.’
Within seconds of his leaving, I had grabbed a toothpick and was prodding at my teeth, trying and failing to dislodge the fishbone.
I closed my eyes and tried to visualise my premolars, hoping I didn’t have any fillings there that I might displace, and then I sloshed some of the lovely wine about like a mouthwash.
Will would be back in a minute. I needed to hurry.
I had another quick poke about with clumsy fingers and after a few seconds, the toothpick snapped off. As Will reappeared, heading back towards the table, I realised to my horror that the situation had worsened and I now had most of a cocktail stick sticking out into my lip from between my teeth.
I covered my mouth with my hand and looked up at him with a frozen expression as he sat down.
‘Something wrong?’ he said.
‘Sort of,’ I admitted, lisping slightly.
He bent his head towards me.
‘I’ve got half a cocktail stick stuck between my teeth and I can’t get it out.’
He bit back a smile.
‘Can you get it out with another one?’
I had a sudden horrible vision of myself, ending the evening with a veritable forest of sticks protruding from the front of my mouth, or failing that, strapped onto an ambulance gurney being taken to a hospital with a fit of hysterics.
I took a deep breath. Okay, I could do this. I would not let this spoil the evening.
I grabbed a few more cocktail sticks and hurried back downstairs to the ladies’ loo, where I spent an embarrassing few minutes prodding, wincing and delving until eventually, with my head spinning and gums aching, I managed to dislodge it.
And the fishbone too, which of course was actually so tiny as to be practically invisible to the naked eye.
I swilled out my mouth with a handful of tap water and spat it out with a loud exclamation of relief, which sounded like an angry gaah.
At that moment the same woman who had seen me airing my tongue earlier on the staircase appeared in the doorway, gave me a slightly frightened look and backed out again.
‘Yassou!’ I said, trying to look normal and unthreatening. ‘Hello!’
Then as she edged back in, I gave an embarrassed smile and looked away.
At least the burning had gone. I glanced at myself in the mirror over the sink.
Yes, my mascara had run so one eye had a sort of sad clown dollop underneath it.
I grabbed a paper towel and cleaned myself up, wishing not for the first time that I was more elegant, more sophisticated and less of a klutz.
‘Everything okay?’ Will said when I returned.
‘Fine,’ I said with a bright smile. ‘Sorry about that.’
I grabbed my wine and took a good, reviving slurp. It really was delicious even though probably half my tastebuds weren’t working properly and never would again.
‘So now then, dessert?’ he said.
I felt a wash of relief and affection for him at that moment. Just as he had done when I fell over on the gravelly beach, he was going to tactfully ignore what had happened. It didn’t matter; his kind eyes were saying, It could happen to anyone.
Yes, but why did these things happen to me? That was twice we had been out together and on both occasions I had embarrassed myself.
‘What about sorbet,’ he said, ‘if your mouth is a bit tender. Although healing is always quick. It’s surprising. The mouth heals up faster than anywhere else.’
‘Ideal,’ I said, ‘and I’m so sorry.’
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ he said. ‘Lemon, mango and raspberry? Would that be nice?’
‘Perfect,’ I said, finishing off my wine. Immediately, our waiter was back to top up my glass. Perhaps I should take it easy. At this moment I felt I was capable of anything, and a good slug of wine wasn’t really going to help.
What with one thing and another it had been a strange evening, and yet, it didn’t feel as though he was going to call Hector back early so that we could go home.
‘And then some Greek coffee?’
‘Yes please.’
All this dodging around was irritating and getting increasingly difficult.
I needed to remember the snippets of information he had let slip without knowing the full picture.
And I liked him, and I wanted to understand him better than I did.
Perhaps I would take the bull by the horns and say something.
I waited until my dessert had been delivered, a beautiful glass bowl with three scoops of delicately coloured sorbets and decorated with fresh mint leaves, and then I looked across the table at him.
‘So tell me more about yourself. We only ever seem to talk about me.’
He looked down at his dessert.
‘I don’t like talking about myself,’ he said. ‘To be honest, there’s a lot in my past history I’m not very good at explaining.’
‘I’m a good listener.’
He didn’t reply for a moment, and I blundered in to fill the silence.
‘I know you used to be a doctor. I didn’t know at first, but then someone said something and of course then I remembered you.’
He looked down at his dessert and dabbed at it with the spoon.
‘Oh dear,’ he sighed.
I felt a plunge of anxiety. Had I spoiled everything?