Chapter 13
CARRIE
Oh. How beautiful. Carrie had drawn open the curtains in the living room of the villa.
Being up on the hillside gave her a perfect view of the distant, turquoise sea that reflected the sky as clearly as any mirror.
Even the curtains caught the eye – blue and white with a textile print.
The villa was completely open plan, apart from the bathroom.
So she could walk from the bedroom area to the living room and into the kitchen without opening any doors.
It made the small rental far more spacious.
She’d got up and showered early, but not as early as the cicadas.
Carrie yawned and headed over to the breakfast bar, ignoring the painting of a guitar on the wall to the left of the compact white sofa.
She wouldn’t think about the one she had left behind.
Carrie examined the welcome basket that the owner, Dimitrios, had kindly provided, full of Greek delights.
Her stomach rumbled. It contained honey, of course, pomegranate jam, a jar of olives, oregano crisps, a bottle of Retsina wine, and a loaf of bread, round with sesame seeds on top.
On the side, next to the kettle, were tea and coffee, and in the fridge, milk, butter and a bottle of juice made from several different fruits.
She poured out a glass and then sliced the bread, toasted it and slathered on butter and jam.
The number of photos she could take for Insta was overwhelming – the outdoor views, the villa inside, the food.
A bubble of excitement grew in her stomach.
Her heart wasn’t in posting on her Carry Away account any more.
Her friends’ negativity had stained the joy in it.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t create a new, equally glamorous profile about Greece.
No need to photoshop that! Outside, she sat on the decking and bit into the toast that crumbled amongst sweet yet tart notes of pomegranate. She really was living the high life.
A bee landed on a nearby pot of gold flowers, its yellow stripes merging in as it moved amongst the blossoms. How her besties would have liked it here.
Travel agent to the bone, Ariana would have googled places to visit.
Wearing a mischievous grin, Rae would have plotted how to find out where this very thoughtful Airbnb host, Dimitrios, lived.
As for Carrie, if Ariana and Rae had been here with her, she’d have revelled in the sense of family and been wishing, as she did now, that Mum had travelled more.
Money, or rather the lack of it, meant Blackpool had been the farthest holiday destination they’d ever been to together.
She lifted her phone off the wooden slatted table in front of her and, sipping the juice, checked her messages – force of habit – ever hopeful that one of her friends had contacted her.
Perhaps they’d get on brilliantly with Eliza who sounded fun, dancing in her living room.
No doubt Eliza wouldn’t hide a false identity from the two of them.
Overcome by how she’d lost their respect – and okay, by a bit of guilt too, because those two, their friendship, it meant so very much, it did – Carrie exhaled.
Deep down lay questions unanswered, such as…
were Ariana and Rae right to criticise her choices?
And could Carrie really blame them for being upset, given how she’d been keeping her distance?
Preferring to focus on the surface, away from the depths that brought discomfort, Carrie went onto Instagram and took one last look at the fake account that used to make her happy.
She scrolled the settings, took a deep breath, and pressed delete.
Immediately she set up a new account, ignoring the niggle in the centre of her chest that told her she was making a mistake.
What name should she have for a woman who’d escaped the humdrum and ended up on a beautiful island in the middle of the ocean?
She’d got it! Carrie Crusoe! With a small laugh she typed the name in and chose one of the shots of the horizon to act as the profile picture temporarily.
Perhaps tonight she’d really get to work on the account and buy some followers.
No need to filter the shots she’d already taken.
Except the dopamine hits she used to get when planning her photos and postings for her old designer lifestyle account didn’t hit quite as big as before.
Screwed up, that’s what Ariana and Rae had said about Carrie’s fake online profile.
She came out of Instagram and, curious, googled the landlord – Dimitrios Dukas.
Not that she was on the look-out for romance.
Whilst she’d had fun with guys over the years, she’d not had a steady relationship since before Mum died – and had never had a serious one.
Not that Mum ever put Carrie off dating, despite her bad experience with Carrie’s dad who hadn’t stuck by her.
The two of them used to giggle like schoolgirls when Carrie shared her crushes and the excitement of first kisses over takeout.
It was hard to imagine dating without Mum around.
Although she would like to be in love. Mum used to say when you know, you know, whatever that meant. A smile crossed her lips. Mum would have wanted all the details about Greek men – and she’d have agreed that the guy at the airport was a complete prat.
Odd that Dimitrios Dukas wasn’t on a single social platform.
The only contact information she’d been given was a phone number, in case there was a problem.
The villa didn’t even have its own website.
She didn’t find a single sentence or image about him.
Perhaps he was elderly. That had to be it, because that man with the ego the size of the Acropolis proved that younger Greek men were thoughtless and pompous. She’d text him.
Hello Dimitrios. Thank you so much for the basket. The villa is beautiful and is like home already. I had pomegranate jam on toast for breakfast. Delicious!
Best, Carrie.
She pressed send, grabbed her handbag and strolled down the hillside.
Her plan had been to get to Greece – or rather, get away from England.
Now she was here, it was time to consider the detail of what she was going to do.
Mum had taught her to be thorough when it came to work.
They’d check contracts together and she’d taught Carrie that an interview was about her questioning the company too.
On this trip, Carrie had let Mum down. She’d not even enquired about visas or work permits, simply focusing on finding a buyer for her life.
Carrie assumed she could work on a casual basis, say, in a bar, for a while.
Plus, Carrie had Eliza’s payment to tide her over.
Caffeine would help her formulate a strategy.
She’d find a café and research on the government website the rules for a UK citizen working here.
Then she’d look for a job!
She reached the town centre, swiftly passing the coffee shop where she’d spilt the drink over Death Glarer.
Farther down the road, opposite the bus stop, was another café with navy chairs and tables outside, and matching shutters against the pale building.
It was called Boosalis. Boo. The name drew Carrie over.
A waitress cleared away cups outside. She wore jean cut-offs and a berry-red crop top, and her hair was tied back with a floral yellow scarf.
Big gold hooped earrings dangled either side of her face.
She gave Carrie a wide smile. Needing to see a friendly face, Carrie followed her inside.
What she had researched, before flying over, was the important stuff like food and drink.
She was excited to try a traditional Greek coffee that was boiled and not brewed, thick and rich. The waitress said something in Greek.
‘Um, milate anglika?’ replied Carrie.
‘New to town?’ replied the woman in English.
‘Yes. I am renting a villa on the hillside. For a month, to start with.’
‘On your own?’
Carrie nodded. An inquisitive look crossed the woman’s face.
She was around Carrie’s age, with hazel eyes, earthy and friendly and so unlike…
But she wouldn’t think about him. She asked for no sugar and, like the images on the internet, the coffee came in a small pot with a tiny cup by the side, a glass of water and a small biscuit.
The waitress took the tray outside and pointed to a table in the sun.
Carrie sat down and slipped off her cardigan, the morning chill having gone.
Come on, Carrie. You’re in Greece for a while. Connect with people. ‘I worked in hospitality too, back in England,’ she said. ‘Serving drinks in a nightclub.’
‘A braver woman than me,’ the waitress said and smiled. ‘Mind, I may not get drunk customers, but if the wait is long, customers desperate for caffeine can get quite angry.’ She pointed at Carrie’s cup. ‘Your first time trying our special elliniko kafe?’
Carrie nodded, so the woman poured out a cup and waited expectantly. Carrie took a sip. Gritty, a little sludgy at the bottom…
The woman laughed.
But then Carrie’s face relaxed and she smiled. ‘It is really flavoursome.’
‘You get used to it!’ The woman turned to go.
Nervously, Carrie held out her hand. ‘Thank you. I’m Carrie.’
‘Ariana,’ said the woman. ‘Ariana Boosalis. My family have owned this café for nearly fifty years.’
Carrie’s face fell but she quickly recovered and shook the woman’s hand. She almost laughed though when the woman crossed her arms and gave her a firm look, asking what the matter was.
Except it wasn’t funny. ‘I’ve left England… My best friends and I, we don’t talk now and… one of them is called Ariana.’ Her cheeks burned. ‘You caught me unawares.’
The woman hesitated. ‘Then we have a solution. My friends call me Nana.’
‘That’s what we call grannies in England,’ Carrie said without thinking. She caught the woman’s eye and they both laughed.