Chapter 23
CARRIE
Dimitrios got to his feet. He held out his hand. ‘Let’s get lunch, Carrie. Sorry. Shouldn’t have blurted that out. It’s just that Dad used to love water sports and sometimes… it gets to me.’ Shaking his head, he pulled her up.
‘How about telling me the whole story over a cold drink?’ she said gently.
They trudged in silence across the sand towards a white tavern on the beach’s edge.
Silence – apart from the squawks of seabirds, the squeals of small children and the soft whistle of a salty breeze.
Dimitrios greeted a waiter outside with an embrace and they spoke Greek as he showed them to a table in the far-left corner, as private as you could get, slightly away from the other furniture, with a parasol overhead.
A plate of moussaka was carried to another customer and Carrie breathed in the herby, meaty, tomato aroma.
They ordered a bottle of house white wine.
Dimitrios was such a contrast – a scowling, prowling big cat with the fans who’d flown to Paros, yet a soft and huggable house cat with the locals.
Carrie ran an eye over the menu. ‘What would you recommend?’
‘Everything here is amazing. But I especially love the gyros – rotisserie meat wrapped in pitta bread with tomatoes, onions, fries and tzatziki.’
‘Sounds delicious, especially if it’s anything like the pitta sandwiches at your place.’
A man with greying curls, and an apron tied around his generous frame, came over and put an arm around Dimitrios’s shoulder. He bowed to the couple.
‘Yassou, Stavros,’ said Dimitrios, switching to English as he took the man’s hand and squeezed it tight. ‘This is my new tenant, Carrie, from England.’
The man beamed. ‘Nice to meet you.’ The waiter brought over the wine and Stavros poured out two glasses. ‘How is your dad, Dimitrios? We’re meeting to play chess next week.’
‘Okay. He partied well at my thirtieth. It was a shame you couldn’t come.’
‘Indeed it was, but my doctor wouldn’t approve of me missing my cardiac check-up for an afternoon of cake and ouzo.’
The two men smiled at each other.
‘Today is my chance to make it up to you.’ Stavros pointed to the menu. ‘Both of you order what you like, my friend. On me. A late birthday present.’
Before Dimitrios could protest, Stavros hurried away to welcome a group of tourists waiting patiently on the sand.
‘Nice guy,’ Carrie said.
‘The best.’ Dimitrios raised his wine and their glasses clinked.
She sat quietly whilst he ran his index finger around the rim, the breeze ruffling his hair, and a sudden urge hit her to ruffle his curls.
‘It happened this time last year, the day before my birthday,’ he said.
‘Dad was in an accident. His jeep got rammed. He’s run The Bar for years – he and Stavros were friends at school.
After Covid I invested and became a partner, to stop The Bar going under because of the pandemic.
Dad was heading for retirement anyway, so it made sense for me to become more involved.
When I got the phone call about him, about how it had happened, it was ironic, as at the time I was promoting a song called “Can’t Break Me” – but that car crash broke me into a thousand pieces. ’
The waiter arrived and they ordered gyros with pickled vegetables on the side.
‘How did it happen?’ asked Carrie softly.
‘All these years I’ve succeeded in keeping where I live vague, saying in interviews “I have various properties in Greece”, but an old high school friend, Drago Kochev, who got jealous of my career, spoke to a journalist early last year, shortly after I won a big award.
The journalist had been tracking down old acquaintances, hoping to dig some dirt.
Drago made some comments about what a nice person I used to be at primary school…
’ Dimitrios gave a wry smile. ‘The journalist baited him, saying no one knew where Giannis GoGo really lived, and that it must have been hard for Drago to see my success, travelling the world, when he was doing a nine till five where he grew up. She said her readers would love to know how he coped. I can picture her article and cringe at her words now. I imagine she was bluffing when she implied Drago and I grew up in Tolmiros. He said I still lived in Tolmiros too.’ He pursed his lips, and his defined jaw clenched. ‘He must have known what he was doing.’
‘Wow. You sure he was ever a true friend?’
Dimitrios sighed. ‘At one time, yes, the best. We were always around each other’s houses.
His dad emigrated from Bulgaria. No one else had a name like his and we used to joke about it and play at dragons.
I admired him – he was better at sport, brighter than me, had more friends, was cheeky to the teachers but got away with it.
Then things changed as we moved up. Our primary school headmaster told the high school not to put us in the same class as we mucked about so much.
I ended up with a bunch who were highly motivated…
They were good fun but knew how to reach goals, and it encouraged me to study hard in a way I never had before.
Whereas Drago got into a clique that was always in trouble – a gang, run by a real jerk called Helios.
Drago had wanted to be a vet when we were friends; his parents kept pets and he had loads of books about animals.
He even volunteered at a dogs’ kennels before we moved up to the new school, cleaning out pens, taking the dogs for a walk, all for free.
But then at high school he started smoking pot, shoplifted and was full of resentment when I was made Head Boy.
He got drunk once; we were about fifteen.
He’d smuggled beer into a school end-of-year party.
He sought me out and told me I’d ditched him, but it wasn’t like that. ’
‘I guess you becoming a famous pop star was the final insult.’
‘Yeah. No idea why. Despite hanging out with that idiot Helios, Drago got into uni and has got a good job apparently. Although he didn’t go into veterinary science, but did some IT course.
Since he leaked the village where I live, the more extreme fans have come here to track me down.
One fan drove so fast to my house that they didn’t see Dad’s jeep coming out of the gates.
They couldn’t brake in time. The driver ended up with a fractured neck.
Parts of Dad’s back were fractured and he also got crush injuries. They were both lucky to be alive.’
‘Oh no. Dimitrios, that’s terrible. Markos? The man at your party in the wheelchair, who danced with sticks.’
Eyes glistening, he nodded, the broad shoulders slumped. ‘If I weren’t famous, he’d still be windsurfing.’
‘You can’t think like that,’ she said. ‘Your career must have brought him lots of joy. But I get that… that guilty feeling.’
He raised an eyebrow.
Carrie shook her head. ‘Not going to make this about me. But… thanks for sharing. It must have been so incredibly tough this last year.’
‘He moved in with me for many months, finding it hard to abandon his villa…’
‘The one I rent?’ That explained the sadness in Nana’s tone when Carrie had mentioned where she was staying.
‘Yes. It wasn’t practical, him living on a hillside.
I suggested he stay with me, permanently, but now Dad has his own place near a specialist back and neck centre here in Parikia, and near his sister.
It’s adapted for his needs and on a very flat road which is great for the wheelchair.
He comes to stay with me as often as he likes.
I think he secretly hopes he’ll move back to Tolmiros and his villa one day.
He’s as stubborn as they come, and wanted to pay me rent when he stayed at my home after the accident!
I suggested, instead, he let me rent out his old place and reluctantly, I take the money from that.
It was quite the argument when I also insisted on buying his house in Parikia and paying for medical treatment.
’ His eyes warmed. ‘Not convinced he’s forgiven me yet. ’
‘I imagine your support is the reason your dad has got this far. He said you were like fig syrup… molasses… You were someone who stuck.’
Dimitrios pulled a face. ‘Thanks, Dad. He knows I hate figs.’
Their gyros arrived, a curled-over pitta bread bursting with fries and chicken, the pickled vegetables surprising Carrie as a great accompaniment.
‘Why did you become a singer?’ she asked eventually and pushed her plate away, rubbing her stomach in a satisfied manner. ‘Did other people encourage you? Or was it always your own ambition?’
Dimitrios put down his wrap and wiped his mouth with a crisp white napkin, contrasting the deep tan of his skin.
‘When I was young…’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I saw pop stars on posters and on the TV and thought that was a job I’d like.
The adulation, yes, but also the travel, the money, and not being stuck in an office job I hated.
I’d always assumed I would work with Dad at The Bar but…
it sounds weird… I always knew in my heart, deep down, I’d end up onstage.
At school I got chosen to sing in plays and concerts, and found that when I sang, nothing else mattered.
When I wasn’t singing, my life was missing something. ’
Carrie digested that.
‘What?’ he said.
‘Oh, nothing,’ she replied and blushed.
He leant forwards.
‘When I was younger, I dreamt of being a guitarist,’ she mumbled. ‘But then responsibilities came my way and I haven’t played for a long time now.’
Stavros appeared and took away their plates. Instead of bringing the menus back, he arrived with a tray bearing two Greek coffees, two plates, a knife and a sponge-layered cake filled with cream and decorated with fruit and nuts.
‘I would have put a candle on top but didn’t want to draw attention to your table,’ he said to Dimitrios. He bent down and hugged him. ‘Chronia Polla, my friend!’ He cut two generous slices and left them to it.
Carrie took a bite and closed her eyes. ‘Oh my God. That cake’s got honey in it. The texture… the taste… awesome.’
‘Tell me more about your guitar playing,’ he said, crumbs on the side of his mouth. She fought an impulse to reach over and gently brush them away.
Carrie told him about the concerts at school and winning prizes, how Mum would come into her bedroom and listen, the night jamming at the pub where she’d loved feedback from the audience.
‘Mum loved the rock singer Lenny Switchblades. We’d argue over which was his best hit. But then my guitar became less important…’ She took another mouthful of cake. Swallowed. Swilled back the strong coffee.
‘Is this what you mentioned before – to do with knowing the guilt I suffer over Dad?’
‘Yes. Mum got ill. So I was no longer simply contributing to her rent, I was paying the lot. I didn’t have the time, what with caring for her as well – or the heart – to play.’
His brow furrowed. ‘Why should you feel guilty about any of that?’
Her eyes glistened. ‘Mum had lots of different symptoms. She didn’t want to bother the doctor. I did try to get her to go. So instead I googled. So stupid.’
‘We all do it.’
‘Well I should have known better, when it came to health. The Internet indicated that her body was gearing up for the menopause…’
He frowned and found an English-to-Greek translator on his phone. ‘Ah, yes, I understand.’
‘Mum seemed reassured. She looked at the list of symptoms and agreed. But her symptoms got worse. Turned out it was ovarian cancer. If only I hadn’t googled…’
‘Like me with my dad. I can’t help thinking if only I weren’t a pop star…’
Carrie gazed at him as his hand intertwined with hers under the table. He squeezed her fingers.
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing,’ he said.
She squeezed his fingers back. ‘She died the day after Lenny’s first ever concert as a solo artist. He’d just left his band.
I streamed it for her and she watched bits.
’ A tear trickled down her cheek. ‘The show was called “Striking Out On My Own” and she said I’d come into the world alone, and I’d be back to that when she was gone – that I should write myself a new life; that I could do it…
’ Her voice caught. ‘That’s what I’m trying to do now. ’
They were still holding hands later that evening on the beach as they stood, alone, right at the water’s edge, as the sun set and seabirds tiptoed over wet sand.
‘It’s been a lovely day. Efcharisto,’ she said.
‘Don’t thank me. It’s great to have dinner with a woman who’s not a fan of my music and doesn’t see me as some Greek Adonis.’ He pulled an injured face. ‘At least that’s what I’m telling my ego, that it doesn’t matter…’
She laughed out loud. God, he was even more handsome in the twilight.
The voices of her friends came into her head.
Ariana: Good manners, tick. Financially independent, tick. Hot as hell, tick! He has a great approval rating.
Rae: Did you see his moves whilst he was dancing at that party? Those hips! That rhythm! What about those sensuous lips!
But actually, what attracted Carrie most was the visceral affinity she felt with him, down to what, she wasn’t sure – a mutual sense of having failed someone in the past, perhaps, or a love of guitar-playing.
All Carrie knew was that, love him or hate him, Dimitrios Dukas got her attention by merely existing.
Carrie was in Greece, far away from the UK and the sad memories, the responsibilities.
And she was only in her twenties, for goodness’ sake!
Plus, she’d never felt quite like this about a man before.
It was as if he absorbed the rays of the sun and beamed them into her every time he shot her a glance – yet there was an edge that made the attraction even more piquant.
He was the pickled vegetables to her gyros and…
Okay. Carrie was going too far. Don’t overthink it, Rae would insist. She smiled at Dimitrios and stood on tiptoe, wrapping her arms around his neck. She went to lean in and…
His body went rigid. Dimitrios stepped back, removing her hands.
‘No… No, Carrie. You’ve misunderstood. Nothing romantic could ever happen between you and me.’
Cheeks burning, her arms dropped to her sides as he clenched his fists and strode quickly away.