Page 21 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘That’s boring, make something up,’ Beryl said, ‘just to satisfy us.’
‘I droned on about my divorce and he clammed up,’ I sighed.
‘I thought men liked hearing about how other men behaved badly,’ Effie said. ‘It makes them feel superior. One day I must tell you about Francis. We were mere acquaintances for years, and then one day I told him about Rupert and what he did at Glyndebourne with the colonel’s wife. Francis was absolutely thrilled and became a bit of a nuisance. Did I tell you, Beryl?’
‘Many times,’ Beryl said, ‘and it was years ago. This fledgling holiday romance is much more interesting.’
‘It’s nothing of the sort,’ I said, feeling myself blush. ‘Now, tell me about this monastery which, after all, is what we are supposed to be doing.’
‘You are a spoilsport,’ Beryl said. ‘It says on this noticeboard that it was built in the eleventh century and dedicated to Saint Nikolaos, the patron saint of fishermen and sailors. He gave gifts to children; I think that’s the same saint who became Santa Claus. I like the thought of that. The monastery fell down after an earthquake in the twelfth century, was rebuilt and then abandoned. So not much else I can tell you.’
‘It’s very nice though,’ Effie said, ‘as ruins go.’
‘If we brought our stuff over here we could paint this,’ Anita suggested. ‘It’s very atmospheric.’
On the way back we passed the café and it took about five seconds for the other three to decide they wanted some refreshments. I didn’t actually need anything after the first snack I had only recently enjoyed, but the others insisted I should try something, and so I gave in.
We sat down at another of the rickety tables and Beryl ordered for us in fluent Greek, which made us wonder what was coming. This time it was icy lemonade in tall glasses and four little cubes of baklava, which glistened stickily in the sunshine.
‘I wonder how the others are getting on?’ I said, my teeth a bit clogged with yet more filo pastry, walnuts and cinnamon. After the last time when I had apparently splattered food over my face, I would have to check my teeth for nuts this time.
Beryl straightened her yellow sunhat over her forehead.
‘When I left, Dennis was waxing lyrical about his painting and said it was going to be the best thing he had ever done. But then he says that about everything. Remember that bowl of fruit he did last October? He said he was going to make it into Christmas cards and then his wife told him she had already bought some from the Cat’s Protection League. He sulked for weeks.’
I gave a happy sigh as the laughter died down.
‘This is exactly what I was hoping for. A nice hotel, sunshine, some new friends and a few laughs. I’d be crossing it off my bucket list if I had one.’
‘I have a bucket list, I thought everyone did?’ Effie said, sipping her lemonade. ‘I’ve nearly finished mine. I just need a date with Colin Firth, to find a Vivienne Westwood original in a charity shop and a comfortable bra.’
‘One and two are possible, three not so much,’ I said.
Anita nodded. ‘Isn’t it ridiculous? That with all the technology and knowledge available, if you have any sort of bosom, bras still feel like straightjackets. I have a theory that at about seven thirty every evening there is a collective sigh around the nation as women remove them. My bucket list includes seeing the pyramids, crossing the Atlantic on a ship and having tea at the Ritz. Preferably with George Clooney. And I’d like to have a treehouse, with a ladder I could pull up so when Rick wants me to help with the weeding, he can’t get me. And I’d like to go to a ball, a proper one with me in a big flouncy gown and proper dancing, which of course I can’t actually do apart from square dancing and I don’t think the Cumberland square eight comes up very often. You must have some things you’d like to do before you croak it, Meg?’
Effie stood up, brushed a shower of pastry off her sundress and wandered off to look at the view again.
I thought about it. I hadn’t travelled much, and the places I had mentioned over the years that might be nice to visit, Malcolm had put the damper on. I had no need for designer clothes or handbags, and I didn’t really appreciate Michelin-star meals.
‘I wish I could surf,’ I said at last. ‘I used to when I was a child with one of those thin, wooden body boards with the curved end that nearly cut your feet off at the ankles if they hit you. But I mean the proper big-wave surfers you see on YouTube. Sliding down the waves at Bondi or St Nazaire. It never fails to amaze me how they do it, and how brave they are, with that huge thundering wall of water behind them. But perhaps more realistically I’d like to travel more. Go to Australia and watch the surfers there perhaps, or to Monument Valley to see if it’s as impressive as everyone says. And I’d like to go on the Orient Express to Venice, but every time I look at the website I nearly faint at the cost. What about you, Beryl? You haven’t said what’s on your bucket list.’
Beryl pulled a face. ‘Actually, I have an un-bucket list. Things I have done that I will never do again. It makes much more sense to me. Like getting married, drinking anyone’s home-made chilli vodka, bungee jumping, ice skating – I did it once and fell over nineteen times in thirty minutes. The only good thing about it was the hot chocolate at the end. Then I’ll never wear boots on a long-haul flight again; after ten hours, I couldn’t get them back on. And that fish spa thing, where thousands of fish nibble the dead skin off your feet. I spent the whole time screaming and trying not to throw up. I could go on. Oooh, and sleeper trains. I always thought they would be so much fun but having been on one, I now know they are noisy, rackety and everything that can fall off a shelf will do so, but not until after midnight. My adaptor plug fell out of the socket and hit me on the head. And the one I was on went really slowly through built-up areas in Hungary and then packs of stray dogs chased after it barking fit to burst.’
‘You always were such a drama queen. Look there,’ Effie said, pointing at the sea and sounding rather excited. ‘You could try that here.’
We all went to look. A speedboat was skimming across the sea, towing behind a young woman on water-skis. We watched in silence for a few minutes, admiring her slim figure in a red swimsuit, the way she swooped and turned behind the wake of the boat, her long hair flying out behind her.
‘Wow,’ I breathed, ‘fancy being able to do that.’
‘Not these days, not with my joints the way they are,’ Beryl said, ‘I’d probably dislocate both arms when the boat took off.’
‘I’d just be dragged off my feet and faceplant into the water,’ Anita said. ‘I’ve seen those videos on Facebook.’
As we watched, another speedboat appeared, pulling behind someone in a giant inner tube which was bouncing and leaping across the water behind the boat.
‘But we could do that?’ I said, liking the idea. ‘All you have to do then is hang on to the handles. That can’t be difficult, can it?’
We discussed this for a few minutes. The only one of us who had ever tried anything like it was Effie, who had been on a four-person banana boat.
