Page 19 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said.
‘The trip our group took to Warwick Castle at the beginning of April; it really brought the feel of the place alive for me. This place is even better,’ I said, warming to my subject.
Underneath the olive trees there was a crash and a bit of shouting. It seemed Susan had knocked Dennis’s collapsible easel over and also spilled her painting water on his shoes. June was dabbing at him with a paint-daubed rag and Dennis was looking furious.
‘We could go and help,’ I said.
‘Or we could stay out of their way and go over to that café and get a coffee or something,’ Will said with a nod.
‘Excellent,’ I said and grinned up at him.
Well goodness me, I wasn’t expecting that at all.
Effie was having a cigarette away from the group, but I could see Beryl and Anita watching us edge off, and Anita gave me an enthusiastic thumbs up.
It wasn’t so much a café as a shack with a few metal tables and chairs arranged outside under a red and white awning. I sat down, my chair rocking slightly on the uneven ground.
‘Greek coffee?’ Will asked, and I nodded.
The owner busied himself with a mighty-looking urn and after much hissing of steam and clattering of china, Will returned with a loaded tray.
‘I got somegalaktobourekotoo. I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, putting a small plate in front of me. ‘I’ve only recently re-discovered them. Filo pastry, vanilla custard and orange syrup.’
‘I don’t mind at all. What’s the worst that can happen?’ I laughed, pulling the plate towards me. ‘Thank you.’
We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying the rich smoky taste of the coffee, which contrasted so well with the sweetness of the pastry. Simple as it sounded, it was one of the most delightful things I’d ever eaten. To do so on the top of a sun-drenched crag overlooking the Mediterranean was an added delight.
And my companion somehow added to the event. I kept sneaking little glances at him, liking what I saw. He had a fine profile, clean jawline and close-cropped grey hair, so perhaps he had been a Marine. Or a secret agent. I could almost imagine him creeping into a deserted warehouse with his gun ready to dispatch the criminals within.
‘Isn’t this marvellous,’ he said, ‘exactly what I was hoping for.’
‘Beautiful,’ I agreed. ‘Have you been here before?’
‘Not to this island. I’ve been to some of the others as I told you. This is perfect.’
‘It is, isn’t it?’ I said rather too enthusiastically.
We sipped at our coffee, which was hot and sweet, and I had almost plucked up the courage to ask him about himself when he turned to me.
‘So, tell me about yourself. What brings you here, Meg?’
I swallowed my mouthful and wiped the sticky flakes of filo pastry from my mouth with a paper napkin, which unfortunately was one of the one-ply, cheap sort, and bits of it stuck to my chin very unattractively. I peeled them off and tried to look more comfortable than I felt.
‘I moved to Lower Begley in January, following my divorce. It was quite traumatic actually because Malcolm – that’s my ex-husband – kept hiding things from my solicitor and in the end we had to go to court’ –why did I need to tell him about that? Change the subject– ‘and I tried a few activities, because once I got the house straight, actually I was a bit bored. I quite liked the yoga class, and I’d even bought a mat and the little blocks you can use if you aren’t very flexible, but then I got wedged – oh, never mind. Then I saw a notice about this art group in the village hall, which is only a short walk from my house, so terribly convenient. It’s on a Tuesday morning, so that worked for me too. I needed something new to do. I was getting stuck in a rut of housework and gardening, you see, neither of which I’m very good at, and as I said, I was on my own too much. I wanted some company; a new hobby, I suppose. It’s easy to make friends when one is young. You meet other women at antenatal classes, or toddler groups or at the school gates. At my age it is a bit harder. And Anita – the one over there in the yellow sunhat and the blue dress – she was there too and she turned out to be my neighbour. And she mentioned this trip soon after I joined. Apparently there was a spare place because Gwen was having her garden wall repointed…’
I realised I was rabbiting on and had hardly stopped to draw breath. Was I nervous? And if so, why?
‘Anyway, enough about me, tell me about you,’ I said at last.
‘Nothing much to tell,’ he said. ‘I’m single, I’m retired, I just needed a break.’
‘A break from what?’
‘Everything.’
And that was that.
Oh. Well, didn’t I feel a fool, going on about my divorce and Gwen’s wall and yoga blocks. Although it was true; I had got stuck on the second afternoon when my back seized up, and it had been very embarrassing.
