Forty-four
Passion Nightclub, Kassiopi
‘No one mentioned anything about it being a foam party!’ Sonya shrieked over the thumping beat of a Calvin Harris track.
Tess laughed. Her friend’s red hair and half her face were coated with surf-like bubbles as they danced in the very middle of this compact sweatbox of a nightclub. It was good though. Like Andras had promised.
They had clambered into Fotis’s truck just after midnight and it really had been a proper truck. Squeezed into the cab, a line of truck-driving trophies fixed to the dashboard, the very crazy, somewhere-near-twenty-stone Fotis had bounced them over the mountain to the village of Kassiopi. Even in the dark it was picturesque. Fishing boats and larger tourist vessels bobbed on the water in the harbour, glowing lamps lit the whole area and above them, on the hillside, were the ruins of a fortress, Greek flag still flying from its crumbling walls. Only the pumping disco sounds from Passion Nightclub stirred the darkness. It was just set back from the harbour and, as it was the only nightclub here, it was packed.
And now she was in the thick of the crowd, caught up in the group euphoria that came from hot, sunshine days, the holiday spirit and the accompanying ouzo served in shot glasses. This was better than any club she had been to in London. The vibe was so relaxed, everyone carefree and just enjoying the music. However, Andras, his dark hair damp, tendrils licking over his forehead, his shirt wet and slightly see-through where the froth had soaked it, was not adding to the chilled theme. His moves were melting her like a Magnum ice cream left out in the sun. She knew he was a good dancer from his Greek display the very first night they met but there it was for a crowd, here it was just him having fun and letting go. And if there was one thing Greek men seemed to do, it was let go. This was no conservative-side-stepping-back-and-forth-wondering-who-was-judging-you-dancing. This was every-single-sinew-working-like-Beyoncé-dancing. And it was hot!
‘So, Sonya!’ Tess called, turning away from Andras, stepping closer to her gyrating friend and dipping her head to her ear. ‘Are you going to try calling Joey again?’
Sonya shook her head. ‘Not tonight.’
She supposed that was the best idea. After twenty-three attempts to get him to pick up before dessert at the White House, maybe a little time-distance and sleeping on it was the best idea.
‘Sonya! You dance with me!’ Fotis had appeared in their circle, a big grin on his face, perspiration slicking his hair. He was so tall and so round, it was like dancing next to a circus strongman.
‘I won’t leave you,’ Tess murmured.
‘You will,’ Sonya said. ‘I’ll have another one of those Path Shooters.’
‘Alley Shooters,’ Tess corrected.
‘Yes! Ow, tennis elbow!’ Sonya said, as Fotis took her hand and shot her arm up into the air as the strobes started to flash.
Tess shimmied her way through the dancing throng to the bar area, positioning herself to wait for attention. The amount of wine she had consumed with dinner, plus aperitifs before they left Georgiou’s and now two shots down, she was starting to feel a little buzzed.
‘Hi.’
The Eastern-European accent made her turn her head and she smiled at the twenty-something, blond-haired guy on her right. ‘Hi.’
‘My name is Stefan,’ he greeted.
‘Hello,’ Tess answered, waving in an attempt to attract a member of the bar staff.
‘What is your name?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tess answered. ‘The music is very loud. I can’t hear you.’
He put a meaty hand on her arm. ‘What is your name?’ he repeated, leaning in close. He smelled of sweat, beer and gyros. It wasn’t a good mix.
‘Patricia,’ she said. That had tripped off the tongue.
‘Patricia,’ he breathed, more fumes heading her way.
‘Yes.’
‘I am Stefan.’
‘I know.’
‘You would like to dance close to me.’
It was worrying he hadn’t ended the sentence with a question mark. She shook her head.
‘I think you would like this,’ Stefan said. The thick fingers were back on her arm, this time spidering their way up towards her shoulder. She shrugged off the advance and took a step away, waving a twenty-euro note at anyone behind the bar who was going to deliver alcohol.
‘Come on,’ Stefan said. ‘Come and dance with me.’
This time there was nothing subtle about his moves. He lunged forward, body blocking her, hands primed to rove.
Tess stood her ground. ‘You touch me again and the only thing you will be dancing with is a medical professional.’
He stayed where he was, so close his perspiring body was almost touching hers. She needed him to back off now. She wasn’t sure she remembered whether you went for the balls or the windpipe first in self-defence.
And then, suddenly, Stefan was tipping back, moving away from her like he was being forklifted. A few people gasped, drinks spilled and it took a second for Tess to catch up with what was going on. Andras had Stefan by the shirt and was manhandling him towards the exit, just as one of her favourite Zara Larsson tracks came on.
She muttered apologies to clubbers as she hurried through the writhing bodies in a bid to catch up. Then, as she got closer to the entrance she fell out of the revelling crowd just in time to see Andras pushing Stefan towards the doormen, yelling something unintelligible. Was that Greek? English? She couldn’t tell. But when he turned around she was shocked by just how furious Andras looked. Hair a little displaced, shoulders wide, he moved towards her.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Did he hurt you?’
His voice was thick with anxiety. It took a second to respond. ‘No,’ she answered, swallowing as his tone affected her. Then fight mode kicked in. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’
‘What do you mean?’ he questioned loudly. ‘That guy, he was bothering you. If I hadn’t come over he—’
‘If you hadn’t come over!’ Tess snorted. ‘I’m quite capable of looking after myself!’
‘It did not seem that way.’
Suddenly she was overcome by just how hot she was. The club atmosphere began to close in on her skin, a wave of humidity rolling over her. She eyed the doors and took a step forward. ‘I’m going to get some fresh air.’
‘You can’t,’ Andras said, grabbing her hand.
‘I can do whatever I want,’ Tess stated.
‘The guy has just been thrown out of the club. He will be out there. He will be waiting for a taxi …’
She tutted and brushed past him, heading for the doors.