Greece, the Eighties
Athena was late. Artemis was sitting at a table nursing a beer by the time her friend finally arrived for the opening night’s celebration, a shield of bougainvillea acting as a screen between the garden of Nico’s restaurant – where locals and foreigners bustled between checked tablecloths – and the outside world.
She winced inwardly at the sight of Athena’s hair as she moved between the checked tablecloths and baskets of bread. Artemis recognised the hairdo as an attempt at replicating the androgynous bobs the girls had pored over in a copy of American Vogue they’d found discarded on the beach a few days earlier. Inevitably, given the coarseness of Athena’s locks, the look hadn’t quite translated.
‘What do you think?’ Athena asked, tossing her head as she pulled up a chair. Torn between brutal honesty and the preservation of her friend’s feelings, Artemis prevaricated for a moment before spotting Clive walking up the steps into the restaurant.
She felt her attention gratefully drift. Following Artemis’ gaze, Athena turned and they both watched him enter the bar, dressed in a pair of chinos and a pale-yellow polo shirt.
‘Who is that?’ Athena spoke slowly, to herself as much as to anyone else.
Artemis sat straighter as Clive moved towards them.
‘Apologies I’m slightly later than planned,’ he said. ‘I got held up talking to one of the builders. You know what they’re like: why do today what can feasibly be put off until tomorrow?’
Without hesitating, Clive leaned in and kissed Artemis on the cheek. She felt a shiver as their bodies touched.
Athena coughed and on cue, he turned towards her, his hand outstretched. ‘I’m Clive, you must be Athena …’
Artemis watched her friend flush, and for a fleeting moment she was grateful for what Athena had done to her hair. But then as Clive turned back towards her, focusing his full attention on her face, she felt any sense of schadenfreude dissolve. It was her he wanted.
‘Can I get you both a drink?’
Clive moved to the bar and Athena spun to look at Artemis, her eyes glistening. Artemis shrugged coyly. ‘We met this afternoon, in the old village. He’s bought a property here; he lives in London and has just started his own business. I hope you don’t mind that I invited him along.’
Watching Athena’s gaze swivel and follow him to the bar like a hawk marking its prey, Artemis cleared her throat.
‘He’s rented a boat, we’re going to take it out for the day tomorrow.’
‘Really?’ Athena attempted to toss her hair but it barely budged. ‘What time are—’
‘Just the two of us.’ The firmness of her tone surprised them both.
‘You came,’ Clive said the following morning, opening the door with a smile that stretched from ear to ear, his eyes bright despite the volume of drink he had knocked back the night before.
‘Did you think I’d change my mind?’ She leaned against the doorframe, breathing in the same faint smell of citronella.
‘I hoped you wouldn’t,’ he said, leading the way inside and picking up a bag of supplies.
‘After seeing your dancing I can understand your concern.’ She bit her lower lip mockingly.
‘Oh please, you loved it,’ he retorted, his self-belief undented. ‘Now, I have absolutely no idea what I’ve bought. I thought this was some of that smoked ham you lot do so well but on second inspection I think it might be raw bacon.’
Clive held up the packet for her to read the label and Artemis laughed. ‘Yes, you might want to leave that one in the fridge.’
There was a motorbike parked in front of the house, Artemis noted as she followed him back outside.
‘So the boat will be waiting for us when we get to the beach?’ she asked, putting on the helmet he passed her. ‘And you definitely know how to drive it?’
Clive nodded. ‘I bloody hope so. Don’t you have a bike? How the hell do you get around this place?’
‘I have one. I just prefer to walk, unless I have to drive,’ Artemis replied. She didn’t add that she wasn’t going to risk being seen going around the island with a strange man on the back of her bike. Not with the eyes and loose lips that lurked everywhere. And yet part of her wanted them to see what she had, what they had never believed she was capable or deserving of achieving.
Clive smiled. ‘OK, well you navigate. And don’t forget to hold on – these roads are laced with potholes.’