good to be away from the stresses and strains of London life: my computer; the musty train journey to work; the artificial lighting in my office block. When was the last time I’d kicked back and relaxed without a phone or pen in my hand? I lay down, pulled my sunhat over my face and closed my eyes, revelling in the sound of lapping waves.
‘Oi!’ shouted an irritated voice from behind, ‘Me sinhorite!’ which I vaguely remembered meant “excuse me”. Really? The beach was deserted. Why would anyone need me to move? I kept my eyes firmly closed and pretended to sleep.
‘Woman! Move yourself, please. Now…’ said a man’s voice, in what could only be called Greeklish, pronouncing the consonants very strongly, with a slight roll on the Rs.
Opening my eyes to roll them, I sat up and turned around. From behind my big glasses, I spied four men, heaving a small boat. Oops. I now realised I’d been lying directly on a path leading from a boatshed to the nearby ramshackle jetty. I jumped up and grabbed my shoes as they puffed past and was just about to say sorry when a young man at the back muttered “vlakas”.
My cheeks felt hot and I folded my arms. Idiot? Me? How dare… Ooh, now my head started to throb and my mouth felt as if last night I’d drunk a litre of ouzo. I caught his eye as he stood knee-deep in water, the bottom half of his face hidden by a small mast. Feeling a bit weird, and not at all like myself, I held up my palm, fingers spread out (a milder equivalent of giving someone the finger in England).
Without waiting to see his reaction, I spun around, just a bit too fast. The beach swayed, as if I really had drunk a bottle of that aniseed liquor. Bile shot up my throat. This has happened to me once before when I’d actually been sick and spent a day in bed with the headache from hell.
‘Oi! Not so polite, huh? But you, woman, were in the way.’ A man loomed into view. My vision was kind of blurred but, phooey, even I could see he was one hot stud! Perhaps he was a mirage. Just a bit taller than me, he stood, mocha eyes fiery, yet a hint of a smile on his lips. Plus a tight vest top that showed… well… You could tell he did physical work for a living. He was earthy, kind of ruffled – the opposite to well-groomed Henrik. I had a sudden urge to squeeze his neatly formed biceps, but instead pulled down my sunhat, worried my tongue might be hanging out like a puppy dog’s.
‘I’m not usually so rude, but you called me an idiot!’ I muttered.
‘Sorry, but I was struggling with half a ton of wood. Of all places to sunbathe, why you choose the runway between the–’
‘I didn’t realise…’ I said. ‘It was an easy mistake. And I wasn’t sunbathing.’
‘You no looked as if you were about to budge.’
‘Budge? Good word,’ I muttered.
He chuckled. ‘Okay, all is forgiven.’
‘You forgive me?’ I shook my head, feeling too icky to remonstrate further, plus, oh God, any minute, this sun was once again going to make me throw up. If he didn’t get out the way, revenge for his vlakas comment really might be sweet – or rather sickly, and all down his shirt.
The stranger stared at me and then, with a surprised tone, muttered something in Greek. With one swift movement, he leant forward to remove my glasses and hat.
‘It is you!’ He gasped. ‘I recognise that feisty tone anywhere – yet you have no idea who I am.’
But I was hardly listening and in reply promptly vomited over his leather sandals, before everything went black.
If this was heaven, then sorry Mum, Dad and Henrik, but I’m reluctant to come back to earth. Eyes still closed, I breathed in the comforting aroma of tomato and beef. Foreign voices muttered in the background. Cold air fanned across my face. Someone held my hand so gently, as if I were as valuable as a Fabergé egg.
Eventually I opened my eyes to wooden beams above my head and ochre walls all around. Guitars, pots and plates filled slightly wonky shelves. A ceiling fan spun above. Squinting, I averted my eyes to focus on the person who sat by me, their fingers curled around mine, a leather bracelet around their wrist.
Mmm. Caramel skin… a man with curly dark hair and mocha eyes full of concern… slanted lips… would they taste of olives or baklava?
I shook myself. Honestly, I was practically engaged! The sun must have warped all sense of reason. Clearing my throat, I focussed again. Ah yes, the tight vest top… those frayed jeans… This was the guy who’d called me idiot; the guy whose shoes must be covered in sick. My stomach twisted slightly. Something was bugging me. The thick eyelashes… the way his head cocked slightly to the left… A voice in my head whispered that I’d seen him before today.
‘What happened?’ I mumbled.
My vision sharpened and behind him stood two short middle-aged figures. The woman patted my shoulder before passing me a glass of water. I sat up and took a large sip, then set the drink on a scratched mahogany table. I looked up to say thank you and gasped.
‘Sophia?’ I gazed at the man next to her. ‘Georgios?’ Of course, I was in Taxos Taverna! I’d been lying on a sun lounger they must have brought in from outside. The wonky shelves… the familiar ochre walls… It all made sense now. So this man holding my hand had to be…
‘Niko?’
‘Ya sou, Pippa,’ he said, eyes dancing, probably because of my dropped jaw. I scanned him from head to toe. Of course. How hadn’t I recognised him earlier? Despite the fuller build and inches he’d grown, there was no mistaking the slightly bent nose and mole just above his left eyebrow. Laughter lit up his eyes. I grinned back, leant forward and gave him a big hug. Eek! How embarrassing, that just for one minute earlier – well, a second… no, a nanosecond, really – I’d considered him hot stuff.
‘It’s great seeing you all again,’ I stuttered, hoping my breath didn’t smell of sick. ‘My parents send their love.’
‘They shall visit us this evening, no?’ said Georgios. ‘We are so happy to see you. Tonight we celebrate.’
I loved the sound of the locals speaking English. Thanks to tourism, most people in Kos knew a smattering of my language – and many, like this dear family, much more than just a few essential phrases.
‘Afraid not. They are visiting my aunt in Canada. It’s just me here, with my… boyfriend, Henrik.’
Niko’s body stiffened, like a dog that had suddenly got a whiff of a cat.
‘Ah yes. We met him last winter.’ Georgios’ smile widened. ‘I introduced him to retsina. He was a little ill afterwards.’
‘Talking of which, sorry about your sandals, Niko,’ I said.
Georgios’ deep laugh bellowed out. Sophia punched her husband’s arm.
‘My little meatball, it is not funny. Poor Pippitsa has not been well.’ She came forward and kissed me on the forehead.
Sophia hadn’t changed, apart from being just a little fuller around the waist. My chest glowed at the familiarity of her floral skirt, long hair scraped into a bun and
