I'm not sensing a lot of forgiveness here. I'm searching for a way to shut down this conversation. Our food arrives and I'm hoping this will be a signal for Kirsty to turn back around and rejoin her friend who she hasn't introduced. She doesn't.
"We've just got back from Sofia," she says, "in Bulgaria."
"Yes, I've heard that's where it is," I reply. I'm staring pointedly at my plate now.
"We went by coach. We left Lefkas early Tuesday morning. Drove through the night and arrived Wednesday afternoon. Thursday was spent exploring Sofia, came back early yesterday. Pretty tiring but it was great wasn't it Cherry?"
Kirsty's friend nods but says nothing. Are they in a relationship I wonder?
"You certainly look knackered," I say.
Lucy has given up on the niceties and started eating her lunch. I decide to join her and slide the succulent spiced chicken pieces off the skewer.
"Do you know why it's called souvlaki?" Kirsty asks.
I couldn't give a monkey I just want to eat the bloody stuff.
"Souvla means skewer in Greek, they add aki to words if something is much loved, like skilaki means doggy."
"Gosh I never knew that," I say flatly. "Thank you."
"How was Bulgaria?" Lucy charges into the rescue before I poke out Kirsty's eyes with my little skewer. "I imagine it as being all stolen cars and money laundering, is it dangerous?"
"Oh no, no, no," exclaims Kirsty forcefully. I think she may have joined the Bulgarian tourism board. "People that think that are out of touch."
"That's me," I chip in.
"Sofia is now one of the trendiest destinations there is in Europe. The shops are amazing, and prices much cheaper than here. The hotel we stayed in was a five star. Our room was gigantic, wasn't it Cherry? Had a jacuzzi that could take four."
"And did it?, I ask.
Kirsty smiles a well-practised condescending smile. Her eyes flick to Lucy. "He's so funny isn't he?" she says. "As for crime, we never saw even a hint of it in our time there. Friendly people. Polite too. No all in all we thought it was a great place, much safer than here."
"Here? Unsafe?" Lucy asks.
I can see that Kirsty has pressed Lucy's alarm. If she had that panic room, she'd be on her way there now.
"Rubbish," I say. "Safe as houses round here. I don't even bother locking my boat." They both look at me.
"I read an article online the other day that really made me stop and think," Kirsty continues. "I've been here ten years now. When I first got here getting weed and stuff was tricky. It's as easy as buying a cheese pie today. Now I know why. The hardened criminals, the real "Mr Bigs," are leaving Spain in their droves. Market's saturated or something. Plus, they want a better standard of life."
"Like all of us. But what's that got to do with sleepy old Lefkas?" I ask.
"Apparently they're heading here."
Chapter Ten
"Don't listen to her, she's off her head. Too much coke in the seventies."
Kirsty's intervention has set Lucy's mind racing. She's more convinced than ever that Helen has been kidnapped, or worse, by some organised crime network operating in our corner of paradise. Her state of mind is not helped by the sudden proliferation of smartly dressed policemen on motorbikes that we have to stop for as we wait to cross the busy road to get back to Achilles.
"If you think I'm paranoid, then you should try Kirsty. She spent our whole six months together telling me that I would dump her one day," I say.
"You did. On some deserted island somewhere," Lucy says.
We both see the funny side of this, and the mood lightens.
"Shit," says Lucy, "I should have shown Kirsty the picture of Helen. She said that she was at the bus station Tuesday morning. She could have seen Helen. She would have had to come by bus to Lefkas and change for Preveza."
"Lucy, it's only the likes of you and me, well me more accurately, that rely on public transport. Much more likely that Helen was picked up from the ferry at Nidri, or that she got a taxi. Somehow I can't picture Helen sitting on the bus in all her finery."
"I expect you're right," replies Lucy.
"And even if she did catch the bus, and their paths crossed, the chances that Cokehead Kirsty saw her, or would recognise her, are tiny. It's only in films that those sorts of coincidences occur."
Lucy giggles. "Did you really call her Cokehead Kirsty?"
I shake my head. "No," I say. "Just Cokehead for short. Right, let's get going. We've got ten minutes until the bridge opens; we should be in Preveza by opening time."
"By the way," she says more quietly than usual, "you are doing so well today."
She means that it's now getting on for three in the afternoon and I have not touched a drop all day. Even at lunch I turned down the beer I was offered. If it wasn't so patronising, I'd be touched by her concern. I'm not going to be rude though.
"Thank you Lucy," I lie. "I'm not an alcoholic. I can take it or leave it, just that most days I choose to take it."
"Well, anyway, I'm proud of you today," she says as we pull up the anchor and head back out to the canal.
"I'm just going to turn the bikes around," I tell her. "Just chug slowly up to the bridge."
I pop down below. On my way to the sweetly scented lavatory I open a head high locker and pull out a flask. I take a quick nip of whisky. I've got to keep my strength up. At least it's not on an empty stomach like this morning, and it's less fattening than beer.
There are five or six boats waiting for the bridge to swing open and let us through. As always it opens a little late, today it's because the operator is waiting for the bus from Athens to arrive. The waiting boats have to stop dead, which isn't easy. They move fretfully backwards and forwards as the siren sounds indicating to the road traffic that they should stop. A line of boats heading south pile through first. Once we are past the bridge, and the deserted factory on my port side, I swing the boat sharply to the right and then to the left. Go too far either way and we will end up on the sandbanks that are dredged each year. In theory anyway. The view now ahead of us is spectacular. To our left is the open sea with Corfu forty miles or so to the north east. On the right bright yellow sandy beaches run for miles along the coast. Land looms ahead of us. It's the peninsular on which Preveza is built. As I thought, the afternoon breeze is a bit livelier out here blowing from the north west. I put up the sails and kill the noisy engine. The silence is broken only by the flapping of the strong fabric, and the splashing of the waves. There's always a bit of a swell out here, it's hitting us almost side on, so the boat is rolling from side to side.
"Great to be out at sea again," I say. "I bloody love it!" South of Lefkas is almost like a giant lake protected by landfall on three sides. Whereas here, North of Lefkas, there isn't very much to break up the waves between us and Italy. A few minutes pass before I look at Lucy. I'm too busy taking it all in. When I do, I can see that she's not
