Page 36 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘Ooh, I had one of those too,’ June said. ‘The ones with the little ribbon round the neck? I’m afraid I left mine in the sun on the kitchen windowsill and it went a bit soft. So my husband put it in the fridge to harden up again, and when I went to eat it, it looked more like the Easter Godzilla than the Easter Bunny.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Dennis harrumphed, which seemed to be something he said on a regular basis. Luckily at that moment, the minibus pulled up and we all got on.
The drive to the ruins took us about half an hour, and we enjoyed the views as we drove along the coast road. It really was such an attractive place, with the white houses gleaming in the morning sunshine and the sparkling Mediterranean below them. We slowed down as we passed a little marina with some boats parked up, and I craned round to look as we passed.
There was a woman washing the deck of one of them with a mop and bucket. Perhaps she was going out for a sail later with her family, to a place where the water beneath the boat would be the colour of turquoise and crystal clear. Maybe there was a laden picnic basket on board with some Assyrtiko wine, a block of feta cheese and some rustic bread and a tub of perfect olives from a local grove. What fun, to be able to do that. I wondered if Will had done things like that when he had a boat. Perhaps I would ask him later.
Occasionally, Gregor grumbled at some of the other drivers who made him slow down from his usual rackety speed, but we arrived in the car park without incident and clambered down to collect our belongings from the boot.
In just that short time, the day had heated up quite a bit, and we fanned at our faces and agreed it probably wasn’t a bit like this back in England.
‘I checked on my phone, it’s raining and eleven degrees in Lower Begley,’ Anita said. ‘Raining and five degrees in Scotland.’
‘They won’t get much birdwatching done then, will they?’ I asked.
Anita laughed. ‘Rick and his friends haveallthe kit. Don’t worry about them. Waterproof jackets and trousers, waterproof notebooks and pens, hand warmers, thermal base layers, camera covers. Waterproof chairs and portable hides. I thought birdwatching was quite a cheap hobby, but trust me, it isn’t. Not to mention the tartan-strewn hotel they stay in near Inverness. In fact, this holiday is probably a lot cheaper than theirs.’
We left Gregor smoking and happily grumbling away to some other coach drivers in the car park and made our way up the track to the entrance. As we did, Will fell into step beside me and we both slowed our pace.
‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ he said. ‘I really enjoyed it.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘Wasn’t it fun?’
Now I really was feeling a bit fluttery and silly.
Well. It had been fun apart from the falling over bit, but I didn’t mention that, and I felt a swell of gratitude towards him for not doing so either.
‘We should do it again,’ he said. ‘Only if you wanted to. No pressure.’
I looked up at him, his eyes shaded behind his usual dark glasses and the rim of his hat, and smiled.
‘I’d love that,’ I said.
‘Really?’ He sounded startled, though why he should, I had no idea.
‘Of course.’
‘Oh, right then. Good. That’s excellent. Splendid,’ he said, sounding even more surprised.
‘Come on, you two. Hurry up,’ Dennis bellowed. ‘Our private tour sets off in five minutes and June and Susan have already wandered off.’
‘I expect they have gone to find a loo,’ Anita called back, doing the universal explanatory gesture of hand washing. ‘In fact, that’s a great idea, let’s do the same. Never turn down the opportunity, that’s what I say.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Dennis muttered, yet again.
‘Your admirer is getting more and more tetchy as the week goes on. He will be going off you, Anita, at this rate,’ I said.
‘Good,’ Anita said, ‘I can do without listening to more of his tales of his time in India and his father’s tea plantation and how his mother managed all the staff.’
‘I don’t think I’d like to have staff,’ Effie said. ‘I had a cleaning lady back when I was modelling in Milan, and I used to clean up before she arrived. I was always so embarrassed about the state of my apartment.’
‘Not so bothered these days, going by the state of your flat,’ Beryl murmured.
‘A clean house is the sign of a wasted life,’ Effie fired back.
We found the loos, which were spotlessly clean and well appointed, and I looked at myself in one of the mirrors as I washed my hands.
My reflection of course was familiar, but did I actually look old? I was nearly sixty-five. Which meant in no time I would be nudging up to seventy. I was no longer middle-aged, and I couldn’t pretend I was. On winter days when it was cold and raining, and I hardly left the house unless I had to, I felt my age. I read a piece in the local paper recently, where there had been an interview with a lady of 101, and she was still apparently hale and hearty, and she put it down to good genes and a tot of whisky at bedtime. This morning, with the sunshine and blue sky above me, and the company of good friends, I felt quite hale myself, but I couldn’t stand whisky. Perhaps this was the other secret. Being happy. Feeling positive and receptive to life.
