Missing Husband

I have lost thousands of things over the years: umbrellas, gloves, handbags, diaries, jackets, cats, etc. I once left my baby son parked outside the Co-op in his royal family-style pram and strolled home without him. It was his first outing and he slept throughout. So I admit to being somewhat absent-minded, but I'm working on it. I have three notebooks on the go at the moment – the problem is that I've lost two of them. I know that they're in the house somewhere. One of them contains the article that I am trying to re-present here.

Four weeks ago I lost my husband – he was on one Greek island and I was on another. A mad travel agent had sent him to Thessalonika on the mainland, which is the equivalent of a Greek wishing to go to London being sent via the Outer Hebrides. The travel agent's madness did not stop there; he told my husband that the ferry services to Skyros were so frequent that a timetable was not necessary. The ‘so frequent' turned out to be one a week on Mondays. My husband found this out on Friday morning. Our arrangement had been that I would meet the first ferry from Thessalonika on Friday morning. On Thursday night, I knew the awful truth, but I still felt compelled to go to Linaria, the little harbour on Skyros, to meet the boat and the phantom husband.

Elias drove me in his Mercedes taxi; he has a degree in English from Athens University. He and I were to become closely bonded over the next two days. He once had Jeffrey Archer in the back of his cab. Apparently, Lord Archer has a penchant for the ceramics of Skyros, and after disembarking from a yacht in the harbour proceeded to plunder the shops. Elias told me that the famous literary lord announced, ‘I am Jeffrey Archer,’ as he climbed into the cab. Elias replied, ‘I do not know you.’ I asked him what impression Lord Archer had made on him. ‘His wife is very nice,’ said Elias diplomatically.

It was not possible to communicate with my husband, but I know him to be a resourceful man, not the type to twiddle his thumbs at Thessalonika harbour until Monday. I knew he would work out a route to Skyros. There were several options: plane, ferry and flying dolphin – a sort of hydrofoil on skis. It became clear that every plane, ferry and flying dolphin would have to be met. Elias pledged his support and he and I drove from one side of the island to the other. The airport consists of a Portakabin, the plane looked like something out of an aeronautical museum, and it carried only nineteen people. As the last white knobbly-kneed Englishman appeared on the aeroplane steps, I would shake my head and Elias would rev up the Merc and we would speed towards the harbour.

I became an object of pity; old women in black would enquire after my health and spirits. The taverna owner opposite the ferry docking point would shake his head in sympathy. Meanwhile, ferries and flying dolphins came and went, husbandless. Elias made a joke once – he will never come.’ I laughed, but it wasn't hearty laughter. Then one morning, after meeting one plane, one ferry and one flying dolphin, Elias said, ‘Sue, in five minutes you will see your husband.’ And he was right – a flying dolphin drew up and there he was, blowing kisses through the cabin window. Elias withdrew ten yards and watched as my husband and I were reunited on the quay. If it had been a film, the old woman in black, the taverna owner and the fishermen would have cheered and carried my husband shoulder-high to the taverna but this was real life, so they didn't. But I think they were quietly pleased.

During the week we spent on Skyros, my husband was approached many times by people sympathizing with his travel difficulties. ‘I quite enjoyed it,’ he would reply. ‘It was an adventure.’ Which made me wonder about Elias' other joke – the one about the beautiful young Greek girl at Thessalonika.