Page 66 of Old Girls Go Greek
‘For a while after she left, things got worse. The media wanted to know the most intrusive details of our marriage, which for years afterwards she was happy to give them. You know what they say – all publicity is good publicity. She did talk shows, in-depth interviews about life on the road with the band, glossy colour spreads of her new home in Hollywood or her wedding in Venice, relationship advice; she did it all. And meanwhile, back in London, every time she did something outrageous, I couldn’t get out of my house without journalists asking me what I thought. As if my opinion mattered. Who was I dating. Was there any chance we would get back together again. I suppose there were fewer so-called celebrities around then, and that’s why they were so fascinated. Then at one point they started going through my rubbish to find something interesting. I can’t imagine what.
‘About a year after all this blew up, I found myself on a panel show being quizzed about my sex life while another panellist, a woman I hardly knew, offered all sorts of inappropriate ways to cheer me up. And that was it for me. I couldn’t take any more of it, and of course I had no time to actually practise medicine. So I gave in my notice and left. And I went back to Africa and then India, trying to get my life and my self-respect back. And it worked. No one knew who I was; they only cared that I could help them. And after all, that’s what I had trained to do. And after that I did a lot of travelling, and yes, I was hiding from everything. I had a few short relationships which came to nothing, because of my inability to really trust anyone. And one of them went to the papers to tell them what I was like, how she was hoping we would get married. But then at last, I got to the time when no one cared whether my ex-wife was pregnant or not, if I was in a relationship with anyone new. There were new, younger, more interesting people to focus on, people who behaved far worse. And then I retired and bought a house near my sister and started renovating it.’
I sipped my drink, listening intently. No wonder he went to such lengths to avoid being seen after putting up with years of that.
I looked around, wondering for a moment how it would feel to know that there were camera lenses trained on me at that moment, snapping away as I scratched my nose or adjusted my bra strap.
‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m old news now, I’m sure of it,’ he said, noticing my unease, ‘but for a long time, those years left me with an inability to deal with the world again. And that took a very long time to get over.’
‘I promise I won’t go to the newspapers,’ I said. ‘Doctor Bill has drink with completely unimportant woman in Greece.I don’t think that would sell many papers.’
‘Doctor Bill, even that was made up. Nobody in my life had ever called me Bill. They thought it would make me sound more approachable. It could have been worse; the other alternative was Doc Willie.’
I snorted with laughter into my drink and choked a bit, and after a moment he laughed too.
‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘that does sound bad.’
‘I’m okay. Time moves on. Today’s sensation is tomorrow’s has-been.’
‘You’re not a has-been,’ I said firmly, ‘you’re a very nice person.’
‘I like to think so. And you’re wrong, you’re not completely unimportant. You’ve made me laugh more than anyone has for a very long time. And maybe you have helped me to see that a straightforward, simple life, which is what I want, is possible after all.’
We sipped our drinks in a companionable silence for a while. A few other people came in and ordered food and drinks, while outside the lights along the street flickered and shone out into the evening.
‘Gosh, it’s ten o’clock,’ I said.
‘Middle of the night,’ he agreed.
‘I’ll remember this evening when I am back home, and it’s raining and I am bringing logs in for the wood burner,’ I said.
‘I’ll remember this evening too,’ he said quietly.
We left the little café and headed for the hotel. Outside it was getting chilly as the warmth of the day cooled and I shivered in my thin cardigan.
‘Here,’ he said, and he took off his jacket and slung it around my shoulders. I’d seen that done in films, but never in real life, and I was faintly shocked by the gesture. But then I began to appreciate the warmth of it, and I snuggled my neck into the collar, breathing in the familiar lemony scent of his aftershave.
‘Nearly back,’ he said, and then he put one arm around my shoulders and rubbed the back of his jacket to warm me up. And I’m not ashamed to admit I felt like a teenager again. Just for a moment. And it was delicious.
Back in the deserted hotel reception, I shrugged off his jacket and handed it back to him.
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’
‘Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,’ I said.
‘See you tomorrow.’
And then just as I was turning towards the staircase, he took my hand, hesitated for a moment and then pulled me in towards him, put his warm hands on either side of my head and kissed me. Properly this time, not just a peck on the cheek.
I was stunned into silence. I hadn’t been kissed like that for – well, I couldn’t remember. It was certainly decades. Did people our age kiss like that? Yes, they did, and for a lovely few moments I stood in his arms and allowed the warmth of him, the scent of him and the strength of him seep into my cold body.
‘Gosh,’ I said.
‘Good night,’ he said with a smile that was almost shy and definitely uncertain. ‘And thank you for everything.’
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