Page 64 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘What do you think? Let’s get a nightcap, shall we? Are you warm enough?’
And when I said I was, he reached out, took my hand and tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Just like that. So he couldn’t have been thinking negative thoughts about me after all my angst and overthinking, could he?
We walked off together down the street towards the sea, the noise from the hotel fading behind us. After a few steps, he adjusted his long stride to my pace. And my thoughts were tumbling over each other in a way they hadn’t done for a long time.
It wasn’t that I was pleased to be getting a man’s attention after so many years of being practically invisible, it was that he was another human being treating me with kindness and respect. Two important things I had missed out on. Small acts mattered. Little gestures of consideration were what made my heart soar that evening, and the way that we were together, communicating as new friends.
* * *
It was surprisingly crowded as we walked down the little coast road. Most of the restaurants were open and looked busy. The older people like us had gone, and it was time for the tribes of younger holidaymakers to come out. Groups of young men passed us in a cloud of aftershave and hair products. No jeans and t-shirts but smart trousers and shirts. They twitched nervously at their cuffs, smoothing their hair down, casting glances at the girls as they passed. The girls in white trousers, ruffled crop tops and hair extensions which they tossed about like weapons of mass destruction.
Was it easier for young women these days? I’d thought so once, with all their freedoms and expectations, but perhaps it wasn’t. Maybe underneath the nail treatments and flicky eyeliner, they were just as insecure and confused as my generation had been at that age. The boys too, not knowing what was expected of them. What to do to catch and hold a girl’s attention, all of them wondering if they were attractive enough, buff enough to pair up with someone.
And yet even at my age I guessed people felt much the same. I might have decided that I had no interest in a new relationship, but was that true? I had blithely discounted the idea, noting the drawbacks of older men. ‘Set in their ways’ was the expression most of my friends used about their husbands, but wasn’t that true for older women too? Perhaps I was set in my ways as well, unwilling to change. If I wanted my life to improve in the ways I had imagined, then I would need to do something about that.
In my head I might have felt about thirty-five, but one glance in the mirror showed that wasn’t true. Perhaps it was the same for men.
I sneaked a look up at Will’s profile, seeing traces of the young heart throb he had once been, but this evening of course he looked older too: his hair grey when once it had been dark; there were wrinkles on his face, crow’s feet around his eyes accentuated by his tan.
I thought not for the first time how annoying it was that these things somehow made a man better looking while women were urged to buy expensive creams and potions or ‘get a little work done’. I bet no one ever suggested that to George Clooney or Patrick Dempsey.
Sensing my gaze, he looked down at me.
‘Okay?’
‘Yes, fine. It’s busier now, isn’t it?’
He laughed. ‘All the young people coming out to play. Not sloping off to bed early with a good book and a cup of tea like I usually do.’
‘Me too,’ I said, delighted to think he agreed with me. ‘There’s nothing I like better than a cold winter’s evening, the electric blanket on full power, a cup of tea and a biscuit. Sometimes my cat will even curl up on my feet if he feels like it. I’d rather he did that than be out hunting and the risk that he might bring me a late-night snack of his own choosing.’
‘Does he often do that?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. Twice recently he brought in mice and let them go under the bed, which of course makes for some very entertaining moments. And he is always so furious when I take the poor things away from him. Then he will sit at the end of the bed and glower at me.’
‘I like the sound of Ivan.’ Will chuckled. ‘I’d love to meet him.’
‘Knowing Ivan, he would be all over you like a rash, and you would think I had made up the story of his baleful nature and bad behaviour.’
‘I like that about cats. Dogs always seem to be consistent and uncomplicated, happy to please, but cats can be very sneaky.’
Interesting, I thought. He was talking about a time after this holiday was over when it sounded as though we might keep in touch. Even if the thought had been prompted by my slightly sinister cat.
We got to the far end of the beach road where the wine bars and restaurants had almost petered out, and still we hadn’t stopped for that nightcap. At last, as the only thing in front of us was a boat yard and a few ramshackle sheds, we turned round and retraced our steps.
‘What about here,’ he said as we passed a café which was still open but practically empty apart from a man behind the counter who was hunched over a newspaper and sipping something cloudy and white that was probably ouzo.
‘What do you think?’ Will said, and I nodded.
‘Not ouzo,’ I murmured, ‘or retsina. They don’t agree with me.’
‘Oooh yes we do,’ he said in a silly voice, and I laughed.
The room was enlivened by a small electrically powered water feature in the middle where a waterfall trickled onto the figure of Poseidon complete with his trident. They really shouldn’t put these things in places where older women were going to be sitting. Did I need to go to the loo? No, I was okay for the moment.
We sat down at a table in the corner and the boss came over with two menus and his notepad ready.
‘A Greek mojito,’ I said, pointing at the picture. ‘It’s got Metaxa in it and I’m getting a taste for it.’
