Page 65 of Deep Blue Lies
My fourth attempt I last what feels like a long time, but I suspect is less than ten seconds. But in that time something clicks, and when the board rises up beneath me, I bend my legs to absorb it, and for a moment I’m actually balanced, flying in the air. Then I’m flyingthroughthe air, and crashing headfirst into the water. I come up puffing from the effort, and swim back to the board.
On my tenth attempt I get it. We’re only going slowly, but that’s all it seems to need. I don’t understand how it actually works – but it does work. And it’s not even that unstable once it gets up and balanced. And then it’s – fantastic, like nothing I’ve everexperienced before. I’m literally balanced on this board, a metre above the sea, which is flashing by beneath me. And I can almost think myself into little movements left and right. If I put my weight backwards I go higher into the air, but I have to be careful because too high and the foil itself leaves the water and then it all comes crashing back down. I think I only manage thirty seconds, but it feels much longer. When I surface Sophia has the boat beside me, laughing but clapping too.
“That’s it, you were doing it!”
I want to do more, but it’s Leo’s turn. Apparently it’s his day off, and for the next twenty minutes I have a rest, sat at the back of the boat, while Leo flies behind us, crossing from one side of the wake to the other, and even pulling little jumps. I watch him, trying to pick up clues as to how he makes it look so easy. Finally he falls again and swims back to the boat. I turn to Sophia, asking if she’s going to have a go, but she shakes her head and tells me to go again.
“This is to distract you, right.”
I look at her. I’d actually forgotten this time.
It is tiring though. I only manage a few more runs before I’m so exhausted I can’t do any more, but I’m pretty thrilled to see where we’ve got to. My last run I must have done a half kilometre or more actually flying in the air above the water. Leo drives us back to the beach, and Sophia finally has a go. Her technique is different to Leo’s. She doesn’t try the jumps but her style is much smoother, carving up and down the wake almost like she’s dancing above it.
I struggle out of the wetsuit while Sophia and Leo put the boat away, then I walk down, hoping to help, but it seems there’s nothing left to do.
“That was amazing, thank you.”
“There’s a client meal tonight,” Sophia says, then she goes on quickly, “Once a week we all go out to eat with them in the fish restaurant in the harbour. I wondered if you wanted to come?” She looks at me hopefully. “You know, a bit more distraction?”
“OK, yeah,” I say after a moment, though I’m not quite sure what she means. Am I a client, or is this something else?
“That would be cool.”
FIFTY-NINE
I rest for a while, then walk down to the harbour as the light is falling in the sky. There’s just the slightest breeze now, enough to move the boats gently on the still, clear water. The gaps between the boats sparkle and shimmer in the reflected light from the lamps set up by the restaurants that hug the waterfront. Our table – three or four tables pushed together – has been set up right beside the water, impossible to miss, and inviting, despite my nerves.
I meet the group from the dive centre as they’re arriving, a big happy gaggle laughing and joking freely. Kostas’ boys are here too, which surprises me, but they seem completely at home out this late and with a group of adults. His wife’s here too, but I don’t get to speak with her. I feel a little shy and out of place at first, but Sophia grabs my arm when we go to sit, and steers me so we can sit together at the opposite end to her boss. She sits with her back to the water, the pretty strings of lanterns around the water’s edge illuminating the green streaks in her dark hair. Behind her the boats and the heavy, protective harbour wall loom in the darkness.
The clients from the dive centre are an eclectic mix – they’re fun and they don’t give me a chance to think about my problems. Sitting next to Sophia is a guy in his thirties who works in finance. I ask him about it and he begins to explain, but then waves itaway and says it doesn’t matter, not out here. He tells me instead about the dive they did earlier, to a World War Two wreck that’s sunk a mile or so out in the bay. I’ve never done diving, and to be honest it sounds scary. But cool as well. Next to me is another guy. He doesn’t say anything at first, he just listens to the banker, but when I turn to him he surprises me with his pure cockney accent, so strong I think he’s putting it on at first.
He tells me he only came to Alythos on a whim, and mostly to make up for a terrible mistake he made with a tattoo. Again I think he’s joking, but then he shows me the Manchester City Football Club logo on his upper arm, only apparently the colours are wrong.
“It’s Arsenal colours, see?” he says. “I was off me fuckin’ head. Me so-called mates thought it would be a laff.”
I tell him I think the colours are nice, and he calls me uncivilisable – which I’m not even sure is a word. But that’s the feel of the night. A space in time where people from all walks of life can come together and our shared humanity outweighs the differences.
And the food…wow. I thought I’d eaten well already here on Alythos, but this is something else. We don’t order from menus, instead Kostas speaks with the owner of the restaurant, and I suppose they must have it all worked out from coming here every week, but soon the waiters begin weaving between the tables, setting down dish after dish.
First it’s just bread, but warm and fresh from the oven. It’s served alongside small dishes of golden-green olive oil, thick with crushed garlic and oregano. Next to it, bowls of plump, glossy olives, black and green, marinated in citrus and herbs.
Then come the mezze plates –tzatziki, thick and creamy. There’s something calledmelitzanosalata, which is smoky and tangy from aubergines. Plates ofsaganakiarrive, wedges of golden, pan-fried cheese, still sizzling. The scent of lemon and honey rises up as the tattoo guy squeezes a wedge over the top, rubbing his hands.
“Wow, let’s get stuck into that.”
The waiters come next with grilled octopus, tender andcharred at the edges, and crispy rings of calamari, served with a wedge of lemon and a sprinkle of sea salt.
The meat dishes follow – plates ofsouvlaki, skewers of charred chicken and pork, the smoky scent mixing with the salty breeze from the harbour. A whole grilled sea bass, its skin crisp and glistening, is placed in the centre of the table, alongside a dish of roasted vegetables, more aubergine, courgette and peppers, caramelised and sweet. There’s carafes of red wine, and chilled bottles of white.
“Oh my God,” I say to Sophia, when I see the waiters coming out with yet more food. “I can’t eat any more.” But I do, and it’s even more delicious.
“This is amazing,” I tell her. “I think I’ve fallen in love with this place.”
“Yeah,” she replies, with a strange look in her eyes.
By this time quite a lot of wine has been sunk, and the talk turns again to water sports. It is the one common denominator, at least for most of the people at the table. A woman – I think she’s the girlfriend of the banker – tells me she was watching my foiling attempts, and she was impressed. She says she wants to try it, and then the banker agrees. Sophia calls out to Kostas, telling him to make a note.
There’s dessert, and afterwards Kostas’ wife leaves, taking the two children who finally seem exhausted after spending most of the night running around the restaurant and harbourside with other children from the town. The rest of us are brought tiny cups of Greek coffee, thick and strong. The rich, earthy bitterness cuts through the sweetness perfectly, and I’m done. I can’t eat or drink anything more. And then, as the waiters clear the last few plates, I start to worry about the bill. I see the guests begin pulling wallets from their pockets, and I want to contribute too, but Kostas puts a stop to all of it.
