It was early evening and Lucie parked her little blue Fiat outside the substantial semi-detached home on the outskirts of the city. The house was way too big for a woman on her own, but Lucie knew that downsizing wasn’t yet on her Aunt Meg’s agenda. There were a lot of memories tied up in each and every room of this former family home. Looking to the front garden, flowering bushes in full bloom, burgeoning hanging baskets displaying the reds and pinks of fuchsias and geraniums, Lucie saw Meg in her usual summer sitting position. Folding chair set up by the front door – a little bit on the small lawn, a little bit on the path – adjusted to get the prime view of all the goings-on of the street. Lucie waved a hand and Meg deliberately turned her head away like she hadn’t seen her arrival and wasn’t really watching what her neighbours got up to on a minute-by-minute basis.
Lucie got out of the car, locked up and headed up the path of her aunt’s home. ‘Hey!’
Meg let out a tut of annoyance. ‘I wish you wouldn’t use that word.’ She shook her head. ‘It sounds like you’re asking for something to feed your horse with.’
Lucie grinned. She loved her Aunt Meg with every fibre of her being. Yes, she might have an overprotective nature, but the advice was mostly given with the best of intentions. And this large house Meg was sitting outside of, its bricks creaking with nostalgia, had once been her home too. Ten years ago now, Lucie, Meg and Lucie’s grandparents, David and Sheila, had packed into the three bedrooms and the rest of the home had been filled with books and music (her), baking and cross-stitch (Meg) and porcelain-faced dolls and marrows (her nan and grandad). Lucie had never really known what her mum had filled the house with. She’d only been two years old when Rita passed away, aged just eighteen.
It was Meg who had always been there – back in the family home after her marriage failed – being both aunt and mother to a little Lucie. And now that her grandparents had both passed, Meg was the only one left.
‘Good evening,’ Lucie began again, sounding all her letters with sarcastic intent as she bent to settle on the grass. ‘How wonderful to see you.’
‘Lucie!’ Meg exclaimed. ‘Don’t sit on the floor. Get a chair. You know where they are.’
‘I’m good.’
‘Ugh. Now you’re using an Americanism.’ Meg rolled her eyes and pulled the super-large straw sun hat she was wearing over her brow. ‘Next you’ll be saying “my bad”. There’s no such thing as a “bad”. You do know that, don’t you?’
Lucie sat unmoved on the grass, legs crossed in front of her, somehow feeling the same way she had at sixteen when she’d wanted Meg’s opinion on asking her crush, Jason, to the leavers’ dance at school. Jason was still around. His plumbing business often advertised on local radio and she’d seen him a few months ago in the newsagent’s. These days though he looked a lot more high-pressure ball valve than he did Zac Efron…
‘Well?’ Meg said, glasses slipping down her nose, eyes beneath direct.
‘Well what?’ Lucie asked.
‘What are you doing here?’ Meg asked. ‘It’s not a usual day for a visit. Is something wrong?’
‘No,’ Lucie said quickly. ‘Nothing’s wrong.’
‘Then you should be out having cautious fun with people your own age.’
Lucie laughed then. ‘All the people my age I know are married with children. Except Gavin and Gavin’s busy trying to grow his eyebrows back tonight.’
‘Well,’ Meg said with a sniff. ‘Perhaps you should be busy trying to grow your lovely hair back so someone will want to marry you. It looks worse now than the photo you sent me.’
Lucie laughed. She knew Meg didn’t really mean that. About marriage, not her hair. Throughout Lucie’s lifetime, Meg had always been the most uncompromising person she knew. She used to say, after her divorce, that it was out with men and in with self-care. One time, when Meg had stumbled across a few too many memes, she had actually said ‘fries before guys’. Lucie smoothed her hand across the crop that was actually getting a tiny bit longer by the day. She was getting used to having short hair. It was quite liberating having nothing to hide behind. Perhaps a whole new her could start with this new haircut. And a holiday…
‘Well, I have actually come to tell you something,’ Lucie admitted, plucking a piece of grass from the ground and twirling it around between finger and thumb.
‘Oh?’ Meg said. Straight away, her aunt’s hand went to the locket around her neck that Lucie knew held photos of her, Rita, Sheila and David. ‘Should I be worried?’
Meg always worried, even more so now she was older. If it was icy in the winter Meg would text Lucie and tell her to drive with extreme caution and message as soon as she arrived safely at the hospital. If it was a heatwave there would be a discussion about drinking plenty of water and staying in the shade. And when it came to meeting new people, Meg would feel happier if Lucie knew their surname as well as their first name so she could settle herself with finding them on Facebook and be content that, from the information available, they weren’t running a people-smuggling ring…
‘No,’ Lucie said quickly. ‘Of course not. Anyway, when have you ever really had to worry about me?’
‘Well, where do I start?’ Meg asked, sighing. ‘There was one time when you were six. You got four Maltesers stuck up your nose and we had to take you to the hospital to be “flushed”. Then, when you were eighteen, you walked into a field containing a prize bull and had to be rescued by me, the farmer and half a turnip. And then there was—’
‘OK, OK, stop,’ Lucie begged, inwardly cringing. Perhaps the hair mishap with Gavin wasn’t so bad when put in the context of her youthful misadventures. ‘I should have clarified. You haven’t had to worry about me since I became a nurse.’
Meg seemed to muse on that statement a little, fingers going from the locket to the few strands of hair that framed her face and were always left purposefully out of her bun. ‘Yes,’ Meg finally answered. ‘I suppose you’re right. Although, after this past year, I have worried about you being safe doing what you do.’
Lucie swallowed and her back gave a twinge as she remembered all those weeks and weeks of not being able to see Meg at all. They had had to rely on FaceTime, then doorstep conversations from two metres away, until finally they’d been able to share a few glasses of gin and tonic a little closer – with wipes. Until it had all be taken away again, tiers had been set up and they’d counted down to Christmas. And then Christmas had been all but cancelled, plans had to change and Lucie had had to pay ridiculous amounts of cash she didn’t have to get her hands on anything that contained turkey… while working double shifts as Covid case numbers rose again.
‘Well,’ Lucie said, biting back the unpleasant memories. ‘You can stop worrying. Because… I’m taking some time off.’ She drew in a breath as if the air would somehow validate the decision she had made. Why did agreeing to a holiday feel so momentous? Because it was momentous. This past year she’d had a fully formed rigid routine that barely changed unless Boris Johnson said so. People relied on her. In the back of her mind she was still worried that if she went away, something would get missed, or someone would be lost and that her not being there would somehow cause an avalanche of unfortunate events. Her sensible side knew she wasn’t a modern day Nostradamus, but she did believe in cause and effect and she didn’t want to be the catalyst.
‘Time off?’ Meg asked.
‘A holiday,’ Lucie elaborated. ‘Greece.’
Meg’s eyes lit up then. ‘Greece,’ she purred, like she’d suddenly been hit with a shot of nostalgia, plus all the golden sand and sunset nights.
‘Yes… have you been?’ Lucie asked.
Meg gave a slow nod, her eyes looking towards the begonias swaying gently in the sunshine. ‘I have.’
There was a distant look in her aunt’s eyes Lucie hadn’t ever seen before, but it didn’t appear that Meg was going to elaborate unless she was directly pushed.
‘Well,’ Lucie said. ‘I don’t remember you telling me about it. What’s it like?’
Her aunt had told her many stories over the years of her adventures. Before marriage, it had been grabbing rucksack, passport and simply taking off. Then during marriage it was slotting in two weeks’ holiday from her office job and visiting caravan sites in the UK in her and ex-husband John’s campervan. After that she had hung up her wanderlust in the back of the cupboard with glitzy shoes she kept but never wore anymore. But Meg had never mentioned Greece, Lucie was sure of it.
‘It was…’ Meg stopped talking and gave a visible shiver. ‘A long time ago.’
Lucie smiled, edging closer to her aunt’s chair. ‘Was there a man?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ Meg protested, waving a hand as if she was swatting a fly. Her expression told a different story, though.
‘There was a man, wasn’t there?’ Lucie said again. ‘What was his name?’
Meg sniffed. ‘You do know that all the best stories don’t have to begin and end with a man, don’t you? Haven’t I taught you that much?’
‘Of course,’ Lucie said firmly. ‘You bought me a T-shirt that said almost exactly that when I was twelve.’
Meg nodded, as if wholly satisfied. And then she answered the question:
‘His name was Petros.’
Lucie put a hand to her chest in mock shock. ‘Aunt Meg! There was a man!’
A small smile started to spread across her aunt’s lips while Meg attempted to tighten her mouth as if she didn’t want to let her expression give her away. ‘As I said, it was a long time ago.’
‘But you still remember it,’ Lucie said, edging closer still. ‘Still remember Petros after all this time.’
Meg shook her head, but she was smiling even wider now and seemed unable to do anything to stop it. ‘Don’t be silly. It was just a crush. I was eighteen. I didn’t know what I was going to do with my life. I was—’
‘Wild?’ Lucie suggested with a wink.
‘Lucie, you know I was never the wild Burrows sister.’ Meg’s voice almost sounded a warning and Lucie swallowed, remembering every cautionary word Meg had delivered to her as soon as she had hit secondary school. Given what had happened to her mother she understood why. Meg and her grandparents had been desperately determined not to let history repeat itself. And if providing advisories at every opportunity helped them as well as her, then it couldn’t ever be a bad thing. Could it? Except there were times, still, when the re-enactment her nan had done with three of her creepy dolls to underpin the importance of stranger danger precautions came to her in her nightmares…
‘I’m sorry,’ Meg said quickly then. ‘I didn’t mean…’
‘It’s OK,’ Lucie insisted, putting a hand on Meg’s knee and squeezing gently. ‘I know what you meant.’
‘I was silly to get all starry-eyed at the mention of a European country,’ Meg continued. ‘I suppose it reminded me of endless sunshine days and that feeling of complete calm and tranquillity. It really is like another world. Well, it was, all those years ago. It might have changed.’
‘I hope not,’ Lucie said, letting go of a sigh. ‘That’s exactly what I’m looking for.’ She leaned her head against her aunt’s knee, resting it there and instinctively knowing Meg was going to caress what was left of her hair. She smiled to herself as she felt her aunt’s hand on her scalp, fingers gently massaging like she had when Lucie was much younger and sporting pigtails.
‘Where exactly are you going?’ Meg asked. ‘And when? Does your hair have any time to grow?’
‘One of the islands,’ Lucie breathed. ‘That’s the only detail Gavin’s giving up. I’ve left everything up to him. It’s a long story but he needed a nice focus and—’
‘Oh, Lucie,’ Meg said. ‘You’ve left organising a much-needed break to a man who would happily spend two weeks covered in glitter and doing TikTok routines.’
Lucie laughed. ‘What do you know about TikTok?’
‘Occasionally we do them at physiotherapy when there’s a group of us,’ Meg said. ‘My favourite is The Renegade.’
Lucie looked up then, to check if her aunt was serious or not. It appeared from the twinkle in her eye that she was… ‘Wow.’
‘You must want some input into where you’re going though, surely.’
And Meg would be itching for a full itinerary. Lucie had had to give her all the details of one training day in Portsmouth because she had read Cosham crime rates were on the rise. ‘Well,’ Lucie started. ‘I didn’t know that I really wanted to go anywhere to begin with but…’
‘But?’ Meg asked, stroking Lucie’s head again.
‘But now I think… maybe I need to get away,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, I’ve barely ever left Southampton.’
‘We’ve had some lovely excursions to the Isle of Wight,’ Meg countered.
They had. By hydrofoil, ferry and once on the hovercraft from Southsea. But no matter how nice fish and chips and a train ride up the pier was, a few miles across the Solent wasn’t really abroad. And Lucie’s heart, when she turned off the worry button, told her she wanted more. Even just for a couple of weeks. She wanted to be something different to Lucie Burrows, Staff Nurse. She wanted to try to redefine herself and, most of all, she wanted to be more than the tragic girl whose mum chose partying over motherhood.
‘We have,’ Lucie answered. ‘I just need to see what else is out there. A little further away. Just for a bit.’
She felt Meg’s hand brush her hair a touch more tenderly. ‘You do work so hard, Lucie-Lou.’
Lucie nodded and closed her eyes, letting the evening sunshine warm her cheeks and wind its way through her body. Work had always been her focus. And she knew having that career stability pleased Meg. Her aunt had often told her that Rita’s lack of a plan had most probably contributed towards her undoing as much as anything else.
‘Well,’ Meg began. ‘I want you to have the most fabulous time. But please, let me know when you get there and let me know what island it is and the name of your hotel and I’ll check I still have Gavin’s mobile number. And you’ll need insect repellent and factor thirty sun cream and… I’ll probably still worry when I have all of that.’
‘I will let you know where I am,’ Lucie said. ‘Of course I will.’ She turned her head, looking up into her aunt’s face like she had so many times from this exact position over the years.
‘And I want to see all the photos of the fabulous mountain backdrops, the turquoise water and the—’
‘Men called Petros?’ Lucie jumped in. ‘What island was he from?’
‘Ah,’ Meg said, putting a finger to her nose. ‘There will be plenty of time for talking about Petros on another occasion. When do you leave for this Greek odyssey?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Lucie announced, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.
‘Well, what are you doing here?! Haven’t you got packing to do? You need to be organised. You’ll need to print off boarding passes and photocopy your passport in case it gets lost.’ Meg shooed her off her leg, wriggling her knees until Lucie had no choice but to stand up.
‘I do have a million things to do, and Gavin’s coming over to stay because we have to head for the airport at two a.m. or some other equally mad time. And even though we swore no alcohol, he’s already messaged me a photo of a bottle of retsina with the caption “so we’re acclimatised”.’ Lucie took a breath before it ran out.
‘Then go, my Lucie-Lou, go and get ready for your Greek adventure,’ Meg urged. ‘And don’t forget aftersun… and travel sickness bands.’
‘I don’t get travel sick.’
‘No, but someone else on the plane might and it’s always good to be prepared.’ She smiled. ‘You will be careful though, Lucie, won’t you?’
She nodded. ‘I promise.’
It was real! She was going away tomorrow! To Greece. And Greece was going to be Greek-tastic!