Page 30 of Old Girls Go Greek
9
While he went back to his room to get ready, I changed into some smarter clothes, scattering discarded garments onto my bedroom floor like a teenager, and then hurried up the road to Athena’sto tell the others we would not be joining them. I was rewarded with a tight smile from Jillian and some very immature comments from Anita and Effie.
I puffed my way back down the road to the hotel and found Will sitting outside on the wall, making a big fuss of one of the kittens that was sitting next to him. I approved of that. I always thought there was something attractive about men who were kind to animals. No wonder David Attenborough had such a huge fan base.
I’d seen a lot of posts on social media recently, of young men playing the guitar or the piano with their cats, and the little animals were obviously besotted with them. And without exception, the young men were delightfully attractive. I wondered why that was? Did the cats like them because they were good-looking, or did liking cats make a man more handsome? Another of life’s important questions.
‘Right then,’ he said, ‘let’s go.’
The kitten stretched out a beseeching paw in his direction as he stood up and then reached down to scratch the little creature under the chin. I nearly melted.
The Colosseum was a lovely place, about a twenty-minute walk along the seafront from the hotel, and as we reached it, the sun was just setting into the horizon. The evening air was warm and scented with wonderful aromas coming from the restaurants we passed. I felt very happy and a bit nervous.
This wasn’t actually a date, of course it wasn’t. That was a thing I associated with teenagers and young millennials. Nicky had tried internet dating for a while and said it was fraught with danger. Phrases like ‘roaching’, which meant the other person was seeing multiple people, or ‘kittenfishing’, which meant the person was no stranger to Photoshop. In the end she had just gone out to the pub with a group of friends and accidently drank a pint of beer which belonged to Joe who was a physics teacher, and a year later they were married.
I hadn’t really had much to do with unattached men in aninterestingway for many years. It had usually involved paying a bill or trying to explain to a mechanic the odd noise my car made when I was reversing. He never did sort that out, and there had been a fair bit of eye-rolling between the patient Cain and the other chaps in the garage.
So of course this wasn’t a date, but to all outward appearances it came pretty close to it. And nor had I expected to be doing this. After all, I had read enough articles about older men dumping their wives for the company of younger women. Trophy wife. Arm candy. I’d never heard of an ageing billionaire leaving his fashionista wife for a grandmother.
And to be honest, I might have done my best when it came to my appearance, but I definitely wasn’t arm candy. At sixty-five I still hadn’t really got to grips with managing my hair, understanding my skin type or having proper manicures. And I’d never had my colours done, which had been a very trendy thing to do some years ago.
I did feel okay though. I was wearing a new shirt from Cotton Traders and some smart, pale pink trousers. And on the same shopping trip I had unexpectedly bought a dinky little pair of zebra-print kitten heels. I used to love wearing heels, but then it got to a point where I didn’t seem able to balance on them properly.
These were holiday purchases which a year ago I would never have considered. I could still remember opening my wardrobe at home to a host of navy-blue and grey garments which really didn’t seem to suit the prospect of spending a few days in the sunshine. Maybe that would go on my bucket list. Not to attempt to be fashionable, just not dreary in my clothing choices. Not so safe. This place had already shown me that colour could bring joy into a life, so why not to mine?
There were quite a lot of people about that evening, couples and families with small children who didn’t need to be dictated to by school term dates. Everyone looked happy, no one seemed to be arguing or complaining about something, and I felt myself relax even more.
We were shown to a table under some fairy-lit canopies, across the path from the restaurant, and on a sort of gravelly beach area, which was a bit of a challenge with my new shoes, but by balancing most of my weight on the balls of my feet, I made it without incident. As Will took off his jacket and draped it on the back of his chair, I took the opportunity to remove the grit from my shoes. And having noticed that every other woman within eyeshot was wearing trainers or flip flops, I sat back with a smile on my face, feeling rather glamourous and slightly pleased with myself.
On one side of our table there was the pleasant sight of lights from local restaurants glowing in the dusk, and on the other the dark expanse of the sea. My chair sank down a little into the stones as I got comfortable, and I made a mental note not to fidget too much.
After a short wait, water and bread were brought plus two large menus which came complete with helpful photographs of the food, and the waiter lit the two candle lanterns on the table, and they flickered charmingly in the delicate breeze from the sea. How lovely to have that outdoors. It wouldn’t be possible in Herefordshire; I was sure of that.
Fish, there was a lot of fish. But of course there was; after all, that’s what this area was known for, how many of the population made their living.
Fish stuffed with vegetables, salad with octopus, squid stuffed with rice, squid and octopus with peaches for the adventurous diner. I turned the menu over and perked up a bit at the sight of the desserts.
‘Would you like some wine?’ Will said.
I looked at him over the top of my menu, thinking how flattering the candlelight was and hoping it was having the same effect on me.
‘Love some,’ I said. ‘Something cold and dry and white.’
‘What an excellent idea,’ he said and called the waiter over.
We scanned the menus again and I wondered what on earth I was going to order. I didn’t cook fish much because it was so easy to get wrong and so I didn’t eat it much either. Fish finger sandwiches were the height of my culinary expertise. Here the fish came as an actual fish and I wasn’t very fond of my food looking at me while I ate it.
I pointed at one of the pictures that looked like some sort of stew. ‘Maybe I’ll have baked fish with tomatoes,’ I said. At least I recognised all the ingredients.
And then I decided that was a boring choice. And I stabbed at another illustration. Something I had always wanted to try and never had because it was always a dish for two people. Malcolm said it was disgusting and grumbled about ‘bottom feeders’ and ‘scavengers of the sea’ and ‘heavy metal content’, which always made me imagine prawns playing guitars.
‘No, I won’t, what about the Greekpaellerawith orzo,’ I said. ‘I rather think that is on my bucket list.’
‘Good choice,’ Will said. ‘We can share apaellerabetween us.’
We smiled at each other across the table, and I felt a new leap of unexpected delight. How strange that simply going along to the local art group had resulted in this encounter. Proof that you never knew where life was going to take you. I bet my daughter would have been astonished to see me sitting here in my new clothes and cute shoes with an attractive man opposite me. At a nearby table, a couple were taking a grinning selfie and I half thought of taking a surreptitious picture to send to Nicky, and then luckily thought better of it. I would just enjoy the moment. Perhaps I could get a sneaky shot of him later.
‘How’s the painting going?’ I said.
