Page 36 of Take a Chance on Greece

‘I may have Greek parents, but during my rebellious teenage years, I refused to speak Greek to them. I thought my mates would call me weird. I’m regretting it now of course. I’ve gone from being pretty fluent as a kid to making tons of basic mistakes and struggling to put sentences together.’

‘So, you’re cross-checking the English and Greek versions of the menu, just to be sure? Good idea. I’ve been working on expanding my vocabulary, but I’ll admit I’ve had most success in terms of memorising the names of different types of food. Clearly my stomach motivates my recall.’

‘Yes, food is always a good way to kick the brain cells into gear.’ He grinned broadly. ‘And sometimes the English versions of the menu have some real accidental gems. Like this one. How do you fancy drunken chicken? Do you think that means the chicken was pissed, or is it actually dowsed in some kind of wine sauce?’

‘I’m intrigued. But I think I might go for the safer option ofmoussaka.’

We browsed through the delicious food on offer and made the rest of our selections. Our table was near the pool, and every so often a spray of water flew in our direction as someone jumped in. It was actually quite refreshing. Although we were relatively high up the mountain, the temperature was still hot, and there was little breeze to bring any relief.

‘I can’t wait until I can go swimming again.’

Andreas raised a quizzical eyebrow.

‘The tattoo,’ I reminded him.

‘Oh that. I wouldn’t worry too much. Sometimes you’ve got to break the rules.’

And with that, he took a deep gulp of his drink and fixed me with a look which made my insides flip. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. Then the waiter appeared with a heavily laden tray and started laying the plates out on the table with a clatter, breaking the tension.

Andreas clapped his hands together with delight, switching from seductive to starving in a second. It took me a little longer to catch up. During the meal we chatted non-stop, and as we tucked into our dessert of achingly sweet morsels ofbaklava, I bravely asked a very important question.

‘This has been fun. When can we do it again?’

Chapter Eighteen

Auto Andreas arranged a taxi to take me back to the hotel while he waited for hispappouto bring a truck up to collect him and the moped. I returned to my room feeling happier and more hopeful than since the day I arrived back in Kefalonia. We’d agreed to meet in two days for lunch at a taverna in Karavomilos, where the waters from Kefalonia’s famous Melissani Lake emerged to join the Ionian Sea. I didn’t want to get carried away, but I had a good feeling about this Andreas.

I rang Amira and Kat to fill them in, then messaged Andreas to double-check the name of the taverna. That night I dreamt about travelling around the island by moped, the breeze blowing through my hair, a wonderful feeling of freedom in my soul.

The next morning, I checked my phone and was a little surprised and disappointed that Auto Andreas hadn’t replied. There were two blue ticks next to my message, so I knew he’d read it. I shrugged it off. He’d probably checked his phone when he was tired and then forgotten to reply. If he hadn’t got back to me by lunchtime, I’d send another one. I didn’t want to appear demanding.

I was kept busy over the next few hours with work. It was a changeover day so it was all hands to the pump to say goodbye to one group of guests and get everything looking pristine to welcome the next lot. It didn’t leave me a lot of time to think about texts or lack thereof, but every so often, I did dig my phone out of the pocket of my uniform and check the screen. By lunchtime, I was more than ready for a break, but there was still no word from Andreas. Without allowing myself too much time to overthink, I sent him a casual message hoping that his day was going well and again asking to confirm the name of the taverna. The blue ticks appeared on screen immediately, but there was no corresponding speed of response. In fact, there was no reply at all.

I told myself to chill out and go with the flow, then realised I was quoting one of Andreas’s sayings. He was probably busy working on the olive farm. I had no idea what such work entailed, but I guessed they had to make the most of all the daylight they could. He’d told me himself during our trip to the Drogarati Cave that he was a laid-back kind of guy, so it tallied that he wasn’t the sort to send texts instantly. He would get back to me this evening and everything would be fine. But a voice at the back of my head was already starting to doubt that he would, and with it came the insecure question of what it was about me that made him behave in this way.

The niggling, unkind voice was not helped by Andreas not replying on the actual day of what was meant to be our second date either. I’d swallowed my pride and sent him another two texts, the first one a casual question about how he was, the second openly asking whether he wanted to see me again, but although the two blue ticks appeared on the screen within seconds of me having sent the messages, no response was forthcoming. I toyed with the idea of walking to Karavomilos in case he turned up at the taverna, but fortunately good sense and personal pride intervened before I’d even stepped foot out of the grounds of the hotel.

I was slowly coming to terms with the realisation that I had been ghosted and it hurt. I knew one date didn’t mean that he was under any obligation to me. But we had had a laugh together, and when we’d parted ways, he’d definitely said he would like to see me again. If he wasn’t feeling it, why didn’t he say, rather than cruelly stringing me along like this? We weren’t in a relationship, or anywhere close to one, so I suppose I had no right to expect a response from him, but it was the height of bad manners to drop someone completely, without any communication whatsoever. And I couldn’t help thinking that there must be a reason why he’d done a runner. Because that was what he had done.

Feeling foolish, I checked the local news sites, but there’d been no accidents involving mopeds, and he was young and healthy, so there was no reason to think he’d suddenly succumbed to an awful illness. Which left me questioning whether I’d offended him in some way. It made me view the whole date in a different light. When I’d thought we’d been having fun, had he been finding the encounter tedious? Or did he get his kicks out of pretending to like someone then ditching them? I kept trying to tell myself that I was relatively new to the dating scene and that this was just the way things happened now, but I couldn’t help torturing myself with the fear that his disappearance was because I was fundamentally unlovable. I did at least realise it was this fear hurting me more than any pain at the thought of not seeing Andreas again.

I rang Amira, trying to make light of the situation by renaming him ‘Absent Andreas’, but she saw through my forced jollity immediately.

‘Babe, that kind of man is not worth your time. What a rude prick. It’s his loss if he doesn’t want to get to know you. You are a better person and you shouldn’t think of him for a second longer.’

I gave a small squeak in lieu of a response, not trusting myself to say actual words in case I let slip that I was having a little weep. I was angry at myself for being affected like this, and I knew Amira was talking sense, but personal insecurity has a lot to answer for, especially when it’s ramped up by the thoughtless actions of another individual. It was stressful enough being out there in the dating world without having to navigate this kind of minefield.

Amira knew me too well to let me get away with that.

‘Don’t you dare shed a single tear over that waste of space. You’re a kind, lovely, gorgeous person, and you deserve only the best. The right guy won’t keep you hanging like that. In fact, any decent guy wouldn’t behave that way, especially when you’d obviously had a good time together. And before you deep dive into existential angst over-analysing every second of the date – yes, I’m speaking from personal experience here – in your heart of hearts, you know that you didn’t do anything wrong. He’s one of those silly player types, who can’t see a good thing when it’s staring him in the face. He should be so lucky to be with a wonderful woman like you. The girls at A&E agree, don’t you?’

I heard a muffled cheer and a couple of shouts of ‘Forget the bastard’ in the background.

‘Amira, you should have said you’re at work,’ I hissed, torn between being horrified I was dragging her away from saving lives, and being mortified that Amira’s colleagues were now privy to the disaster that was my love life.

‘Babe, in a miraculous turn of events, I’m having a break. By which I actually mean I’m hastily shovelling a stale sandwich into my mouth before going to the loo for the first time today. But honestly, I’m happy to hear from you, and everyone here is feeling invested in your adventures, so they’re happy to hear from you too.’

‘Thanks, guys,’ I said feebly, embarrassed now I was painfully aware that I’d been on speakerphone throughout the entire conversation.

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