Becky was the kind of fuzzy drunk that made you feel like a luxuriating cat who had been so well-fed that all it could do was lay out, belly upwards, eyes closed and doze under a warm sky. Perhaps Petra’s cat Plato was doing that right now back in Athens… Becky had all those feels, however she wasn’t laying outstretched on the white pebble beach, nor was her belly out, but she was mellow, humming inside from the delicious white wine she and Petra were sharing and the sound of the waves tumbling gently on the shoreline.
They had found the car. Or rather the car had found them. It had been half-hidden by vines and Petra had walked into it, her slight form rebounding off the bodywork and crumpling onto the patio. It was kind-of-red, kind-of-green-with-mould and looked like it hadn’t been driven in at least a decade. Neither of them had had the energy to start peeling off foliage to even see if it was moveable, so instead of heading to any shop or supermarket, they had taken steps down to the beach and had arrived at this picturesque shoreline. They had gazed out over the water, drinking in the serenity – Petra skimmed some stones again but without getting maimed – and then the heavenly aromas coming from the taverna had pulled them in. They were now sitting at a table closest to the water, under softly glowing lights, feeling all of the holiday contentment. At least Becky was. It had been at least twenty minutes and a whole slab of feta cheese since she had thought about It’s A Wrap and her pending pitch to the nursing home that she really needed to get on with. Perhaps now she had the stability of a house to work in instead of an aircraft, inspiration would strike.
‘I’ve gone from famished to fat in like ten minutes,’ Petra announced, putting her hands on her flat-as-a-Portobello-mushroom stomach and exhaling.
‘We’ve been here an hour,’ Becky said, finally taking a look at her watch. Back home in the UK she was forever looking at her watch. It was almost a compulsive tick. How long did she have to finish buttering the rolls? What time was Megan back from her meeting? How much time to kill before she could reasonably go to bed with a book and not feel guilty about not being a twenty-five-year-old party animal?
‘Have we? Shit. Time flies when you’re eating and drinking yourself stupid.’ Petra grinned and filled her wineglass up with more.
‘And we still don’t have… ouzo and shit for the house.’
Petra laughed. ‘Living together is going to be so much fun now you’re all loosened up.’
Living together. She only had two weeks. As fun as Petra was, they were very different people. And did Petra really see her as someone who was more tightly wound than a Coleen Rooney tweet? Was that the vibe she gave off to everyone? Maybe that’s what had made Elias run away and sucker his lips to someone who was free and easy and didn’t think through every scenario possible before making a decision? And why was she still thinking about Elias? He was someone she had met for a couple of days. Free and easy. Time to get back to How to Find the Love of Your Life or Die Trying. One of the crucial steps, the book said, was knowing when to cut your losses…
‘Where are you from, Petra?’ Becky asked her, sipping at her wine. ‘I mean, when you aren’t travelling the globe. Where’s home?’
‘I… don’t really have a place of my own right now,’ Petra admitted. Her mouth went back to her wineglass and she took a swig before giving Becky a small smile. ‘I bet you have a place of your own though. You seem like someone who would be solid in the sorted stakes.’
Sorted in some ways but completely floundering in others. ‘I’ve got a tiny flat. And when I say tiny I mean tiny. My bed touches both walls and there’s no room for a wardrobe so I have to fold and roll all my clothes into a chest of drawers.’ Becky smiled. ‘But it’s mine. So, do you live at home in-between voyages of discovery?’
Petra shook her head, her expression tightening a little. A heavy silence seemed to descend and Becky waited for her to say something. It appeared nothing was forthcoming and the young girl was now picking at breadcrumbs on the tablecloth.
‘Well,’ Becky started, ‘I moved out of home because my mum was moving away and because… my dad died.’
Petra looked up then, her eyes wide, her body language giving off that she was reengaged. ‘Oh… that’s sad.’
‘Yes,’ Becky replied with a sigh. ‘It was sad. It was very sad. But, he had been… not himself for quite a while and although we did everything we could to give him the best quality of life we could after his initial stroke… I don’t know.’ She took a breath. ‘Sometimes I think he was carrying on for us. That maybe the enjoyment he showed in trying to improve was for our benefit not his. He couldn’t do any of the things he loved anymore.’
Becky suddenly felt Petra’s skinny fingers in hers and the girl squeezed her hand tightly, reassuringly, as emotion threatened to get the better of her.
‘It’s alright,’ Petra said softly. ‘I lost my dad too.’ She blinked damp eyes before continuing. ‘And when I was little, he told me that… everyone we lose turns into part of the moon.’ She paused. ‘You probably think that sounds like something cheesy from a chick-flick, but that’s the reason he gave for the moon changing size and shape. I know it’s not a scientific fact – I’m not that stupid – but I like it.’ She smiled, eyes going skyward. ‘And when I look up at the moon, I imagine everyone up there having a big party and looking down at us waiting for us to come and join in.’
Becky’s heart was fracturing little piece by little piece. It was a beautiful thought that her dad and Petra’s dad and everyone else’s loved ones were part of something bigger, something they could all see every single night.
‘Any-hoo, enough nostalgia. I don’t do the past,’ Petra said, withdrawing her hand. She banged on the table then raised a hand in the air. ‘Waiter!’ She looked back to Becky. ‘I know I said I was feeling fat but let’s have some more little plates. How about some mussels or something? They don’t make you feel bloated.’
‘Petra, I couldn’t eat another thing,’ Becky told her.
‘Ice cream!’ Petra continued. ‘How do you say “excuse me” again? Everyone always has room for ice cream. Why isn’t “waiter” an international word?’
Petra was suddenly all frenetic energy, waving spaghetti-like arms, as she tried to attract the attention of one of the servers. Gone was the soft, emotional Petra as quickly as that side of her had arrived.
‘You need to say signomi,’ Becky told her. She had been reading the little vocab section at the back of her guidebook. Now the waiter was approaching, another good-looking Greek that Petra had flirted with when he’d taken their order earlier.
‘Hello, yes, we would like some signomi please,’ Petra ordered, seeming a little less than her confident self.
‘Ti?’ the waiter asked, looking confused.
‘No,’ Petra said. ‘Not tea. Signomi.’ She turned to Becky and pulled a face. ‘Are you sure you got the word for “ice cream” right?’
Suddenly, Becky understood. ‘Signomi isn’t the word for “ice cream”. It’s the word for “excuse me” or “sorry”. For you to call the waiter over.’
‘You would like some ice cream?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes please,’ Petra purred in response. ‘We’re not picky about the flavour. Whatever you recommend.’ She smiled with her eyes as well as her lips. ‘Make it a couple of big, round balls each.’
Becky almost choked on her mouthful of wine as Petra delivered Smut 101. And then her phone began to ring. She checked her watch – habit again – before picking her phone up and seeing it was It’s A Wrap’s number. It would be six o’clock in the UK right now, no one should be in the premises unless they were running behind schedule for pre-prep for the next day, or they had an evening event to prepare for. Or perhaps it was Megan. Maybe this was the phone call from her sister she had been waiting for. Megan would apologise, Becky would apologise – even though she didn’t think she needed to – and all would be well.
‘Hello,’ she greeted.
‘Thank fuck! I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t pick up! Probably called the emergency services and hoped police, fire or ambulance knew something about pairing honey roasted ham with… marmalade.’
It wasn’t Megan. It was Shelley and she did sound hyped up. More hyped up than Shelley usually sounded.
‘Shelley, what’s wrong?’ Becky asked, standing up from the table and moving to the steps that led down to the beach below. She always hated it when people took phone calls in restaurants. Hopefully when she returned to the table Petra would have eaten all the ice cream…
‘Megan’s getting all hands-on with sandwich-making,’ Shelley hissed. ‘She came in when Hazel was creating Barry’s half-vegan, half-mystical bagel this morning. She asked Hazel what she was doing and Hazel had to say she hadn’t managed to have breakfast and it was for her. So, then Megan goes off on one saying Hazel’s eating her profits and what was this mysterious mixture anyway, and I had to tell Megan it wasn’t made from It’s A Wrap ingredients, it was something the triplets had made at school. To be fair, that shit Barry likes does look like something the triplets would mash up and make a bird feeder out of.’
Becky closed her eyes. This was what she had feared if she went away. Without her there to coordinate the tight ship, hide the detailed contents of some of food orders – or get the suppliers she knew best to call everything ‘cheese’ on their invoices – Megan was going to realise that they were selling far more elaborate products than she knew. And this was entirely Becky’s fault. Not just the not being there now, but the not having the courage to tell her sister that her basic business model and use of traditional sandwich fillings hadn’t been cutting it in the catering arena for a long time and that Becky’s secret ingenuity was what had been tiding the firm over. She had always planned to tell her – maybe – and she was definitely not going to interfere with the army contract. Well, not unless sales slid a bit…
‘Oh, Shelley, I’m so sorry,’ Becky said, looking out to sea. What had she been thinking assuming Shelley and Hazel would be able to keep what they did every day under wraps – literally – while she was away? It wasn’t fair to make them as complicit in deceiving her sister as she was. They didn’t get paid enough to put up with dealing with the stress of it. It was different for Becky, she needed Megan’s business to succeed for so many reasons…
‘It’s OK,’ Shelley breathed. ‘Well, it’s not OK because she’s coming in at 6 a.m. to help with prep, so that’s why I’m still here now. Hazel’s coming back in in a minute, after she’s had her corns done. We’re going to do as much as the preparation for the “other” rolls as we can tonight, but neither of us can find the list for tomorrow and I know you sent them all to me on my phone, but I can’t find it on there either. I’m low on storage and one of the triplets probably deleted it and replaced it with sixty-five selfies of them with their fingers up their nose.’
‘Shelley, it’s fine,’ Becky responded. ‘Right, so, we can do two things here.’ She took a breath. If she was in England right now, she would be melting down over the prospect of Megan finding out what she had been doing this past year. But here in Greece she felt strangely powerful. Yes, she should have told Megan but equally, Megan had always made it very clear Megan was not the bread-butterer. Megan was the business-planner, the networker and face of the company. Becky was at grassroots – well, the roots of a garden of herbs anyway. Becky had taken the decision and she was going to own it. ‘You can both go home now and I will phone Megan and tell her everything about the secret sandwiches which I should have done a long time ago…’
‘What’s the second thing? Because if she finds out – even if you tell her really really nicely like you’re Claudia Winkleman cuddling a crying celebrity because they’ve fucked up the rumba – she’s gonna explode and we’re here and you’re in Corfu.’
‘The second thing is—’
‘Hang on, Hazel’s here and I’m putting you on speakerphone,’ Shelley interrupted.
Becky held her breath. The second thing had been to tell their customers that the bespoke orders were now off the menu. She could easily draft an apologetic flyer and email it to Shelley and Hazel to hand out with one last batch of the good stuff. She could blame Brexit for the lack of availability of certain ingredients or something. It would test the loyalty of their fan base but, the traditional fayre was good too, it just didn’t wow quite like the other fillings. They might lose a few customers to their rivals but was there really a choice? Megan simply wouldn’t get the concept and wouldn’t even try because Becky had pulled the wool over her eyes. The only certainty now, with both courses of proposed action, was Becky’s skill at knowing exactly what their customers liked, needed and craved, would no longer be required. She would just be the girl who buttered bread again…
‘I told Shelley not to call you.’ It was Hazel talking now and Becky could imagine her hanging up her bag and tying an apron around her waist. ‘I have found the list for tomorrow and a packet of Trebor mints I thought were gone forever so there’s no need to panic, dear.’
‘I’m panicking,’ Shelley said. ‘Because I’m shit-scared of Megan.’
‘Language, Shelley.’
‘She’s like one of those silent but deadly types. Quiet and controlled on the surface but underneath I reckon there’s a raging psycho ready for go-time. And… and she has all the tools in this kitchen to do unspeakable fucking things to every body part I own.’
‘Shelley, Hazel…’ Becky tried to talk.
‘Becky, dear, please ignore Shelley. She’s like this because she’s left Frank with the remote controller as well as the triplets and she thinks one of them is going to delete her series link for Hollyoaks. Now, you listen to me. We are both here tonight to get the specials orders ready for tomorrow if Megan really does make an appearance at 6 a.m. However, I saw Dean in the Co-op earlier and happened to mention how tired I thought Megan was looking lately and I wondered if perhaps a few later alarm calls this week might be in order. I said we had everything covered here and we were worried about her.’
Becky smiled and shook her head. Her colleagues were nothing short of geniuses at subterfuge. Should she feel pride? This was not like her. She was straight-down-the-line Becky except when it came to this. And this hadn’t ever really been about her. It had always been about her sister.
‘We are going to take care of everything, dear,’ Hazel continued. ‘And you are not to think about it for another minute. You are to continue exploring everything Greek – the weather, the food, the men.’
Immediately Becky’s mind was back to Elias and their ruined near-kiss in Kefalonia. He had felt so good in her arms, he had smelled so good…
‘Yeah, the men especially,’ Shelley broke in.
‘But keep safe, dear,’ Hazel added.
‘I gave her every flavour of condom I own,’ Shelley reminded. ‘But check the expiry, won’t you? Because some of them were freebies from the pub we booked our Sharon’s hen do in.’
The complete familiarity of her friends’ chatter rippled over Becky like the warm Corfu breeze blowing up her fringe. She let Hazel and Shelley carry on among themselves as she looked out at the water. There were boats a little way from the shore, some with tall, pointed masts that sails would appear on tomorrow morning, others luxurious bowriders with cabin space underneath. Were there people aboard? Couples cosying up together and steaming up the portholes? What would that feel like?
‘Becks! Come and help me eat the signomi!’ Petra shouted from the taverna above.
Somehow her housemate had still not realised signomi was not the word for ‘ice cream’.
‘I’ve got to go now,’ Becky told them both. ‘But thank you. Thank you both for what you’re doing. Even though Megan doesn’t know it, we are all helping save her business.’ Maybe even save her. She kept that thought to herself.
‘You’re an excellent sister, dear,’ Hazel told her. ‘One day she will realise that.’
‘But not tomorrow,’ Shelley said. ‘Because I don’t want to be having to hide the garlic crusher or the apple cutter if she turns all Friday the 13th.’
‘Bye,’ Becky said, a smile on her face.
‘Bye, dear.’
‘Bye! And, you know, don’t forget what I said about the condoms.’