‘Can you believe our luck? I mean you book one flight to one destination and you end up in two places before you even get to the place you’re meant to be going!’
Of course Petra was treating it like one big adventure. Why wouldn’t she? She was taking life as it came at her, travelling across the planet with one rucksack, hair that could do multiple things and an outlook more hygge than the creator of hygge. Becky was still mourning the lost hours in Corfu. She should be there now, getting into a taxi and heading to her final destination where she really hoped there weren’t too many plants that needed daily watering attention. She sipped at her ouzo and Fanta lemon that Petra had ordered – but not yet paid for – and tried to loosen the muscles in her neck. All the passengers had been taken from the airport to Argostoli, where they were to wait for further instructions. Although the scenery here was much nicer than looking at an airport terminal, it didn’t bode well for them leaving very soon. Elias had said this before they had boarded the coach that had taken them here. Apparently, if there was going to be a departure within the next few hours, they would have been given food vouchers to buy something to eat in the terminal, not been sent here with the taverna owner taking orders for free platters of food on the airline…
‘I’m going to have steak and lobster!’ Petra announced, downing the rest of her drink and waving a hand at a waiter. It was bustling here, yet still somehow relaxed.
‘They said the budget for food was fifteen euros per person including a drink,’ Becky reminded. Just looking at the skewers of meats coming to tables was making her hungry though. She had eaten far less than Petra at breakfast.
‘Well, the woman sitting next to me on the plane this morning is allergic to seafood. She told me. So, she’s probably going to order something cheaper, so I’ll use what’s left over of her fifteen euros and tag it on to my allowance.’
‘I don’t think it works like that.’
The comment came from Elias. His fingers had been thundering about on his laptop ever since they had got to this seaside taverna. It was scorching hot here, no sign of the clouds, thunder and torrential downpours reported in Corfu, but there were canopies to nestle under and cool in the shade. If it hadn’t been an absolute inconvenience being here it would be almost idyllic. Peaceful. Quaint and charming. Like being sat in the midst of the set of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin. Wooden tables with white cloths held carafes of wine and tiny porcelain bowls of slick purple olives, creamy white tzatziki and a bright pink paste Becky had learned from her guidebook was called taramasalata. She wasn’t quite sure she was ever going to be able to say that with any great degree of confidence. Customers ate and drank and people-watched and the water rippled undisturbed apart from a few small boats, plus grander yachts further out, bobbing against their tethers with the tide.
‘You’re as grumpy as Becky, are you?’ Petra said. ‘Another two ouzos and Fanta lemon, please.’ She had asked the last part to the waiter. ‘Do you want another one, Elias?’
‘Whose food allowance are these drinks coming from?’ he asked her. ‘Perhaps the rations for the two children over there who will only want fries and ketchup?’
‘Ignore him. Just the two ouzos please,’ Petra said to the waiter. ‘What’s your name?’
Elias said something in Greek to the man and the waiter laughed before leaving their table and going to the aid of other diners.
‘What did you say to him?’ Petra wanted to know.
‘I said he should only bother to tell you his name if he owns a cat.’
‘Rude!’ Petra snapped.
‘I hope the second ouzo wasn’t for me,’ Becky said. ‘I haven’t finished the first one yet.’
‘Of course it was for you! Yammas!’ Petra held her empty glass in the air. ‘Here’s to Jesse Metcalfe. He’s my favourite Hallmark actor by the way. Who’s yours?’
Becky didn’t get to reply.
‘Skata!’ Elias erupted, slamming down the lid of his laptop.
*
He had had an email from Chad come in while they were in the air and had just read it. Chad had been talking with his wife. Communicating with the enemy! This was strictly forbidden under the terms of his contract with Elias. Negotiations were only supposed to be undertaken by Elias and Elias alone. Now it seemed Chad was wanting to soften their approach. But softening at the outset showed weakness. He really did need to get to Corfu and speak to the wife himself before Chad did any more damage to himself and his finances. His client would thank him in the long run. But he still wasn’t in Corfu yet. And it was looking doubtful he was going to be there today, although it was only lunchtime now. Perhaps, once they were filled with free food, the weather would brighten and they would be able to get back to the airport, get on board and this time end up where they should be.
‘Is skata a rude word?’ Petra wanted to know.
‘Yes,’ Elias answered.
‘Well, which one? Because I know how to swear in many, many languages.’
‘But not Greek?’
‘I can say “fuck you” in Greek so I know it isn’t that.’
‘Petra, sshh,’ Becky urged. ‘I’m getting a headache.’
Elias looked to Becky who had one elbow on the table, propping up her head, her fingers massaging her scalp. He swallowed, trying hard not to feel anything, but the memory of him trying to calm her when the turbulence had hit was right there. He shouldn’t have touched her, but in the beginning, he had only thought about making her feel better. However, in the end, the sensation of her soft, creamy epidermis underneath his fingertips had set off a chain of events led by his libido. A week or so in Corfu surrounded by the affectionate but mostly unattractive old women of the village might be exactly what he required.
‘That bubbling headache is all the stress you’re creating, worrying about not being where you thought you should be,’ Petra said. ‘Calm thoughts. Think Ryan Paevey. He’s my second favourite BTW.’
‘Well, it is a worry,’ Becky reminded her. ‘I haven’t travelled quite as much as you before. I’m not used to getting on a mode of transport and ending up somewhere completely different… twice.’
‘And Elias is stressed because of work, obvs. So, what was it you did again?’ Petra asked.
He hadn’t told Petra what he did. He had lied to Becky though. Repeating the lie would compound things. And telling the truth would let Becky know he had lied to her. But she had lied to him about her occupation… and that was when he should have confessed too.
‘I didn’t say what I did,’ he replied.
‘Cage-fighter,’ Petra guessed as two more ouzos and Fanta lemon were delivered to the table.
‘Only at the weekends,’ Elias answered, deadpan.
‘Male model?’
‘Petra, for goodness sake. Do you think of anything else?’ Becky queried.
‘I haven’t mentioned male models at all since we met each other,’ Petra replied as if she was super-affronted.
And he remembered Becky had guessed ‘international playboy’ when they had played this guessing game. Elias watched Becky roll her eyes. This really was becoming a tense situation for her. He was guessing, from what he knew of her, that she liked organisation and order. She didn’t seem to deal well with spur-of-the-moment or off-the-cuff. This situation with the flights was difficult for her. More difficult than it was for either Petra or himself.
‘I am an estate agent,’ Elias found himself saying.
‘Well,’ Petra said, ‘I wouldn’t have guessed that. You haven’t tried to sell me anything yet.’
‘You told me you were spending all your money on travelling the world.’
‘So? Surely a good estate agent would try to convince me otherwise.’
‘You would like a nice two-bedroom apartment in Corfu Town perhaps?’
‘No,’ Petra replied with a grin. ‘I’m spending all my money on travelling the world.’
He watched Becky get up from the table quickly and walk towards the sea.