Nine
Kalami Cove Apartments
There was no air conditioning in their apartment. How Sonya and Joey could even have considered booking anywhere in Greece in July without air conditioning Tess didn’t know. The furnishings were simple. Twin beds made with clean sheets and a light, contemporary biscuit-coloured cover, a wardrobe and a small dressing table with a stool that wobbled slightly when you sat on it. A small kitchenette area – two hob rings, a kettle, toaster and fridge – was at the other end, together with the shower room. The walls throughout were painted white and there was seemingly unnecessary double glazing with dark green shutters meant to keep it cooler. Despite having a tepid shower and dressing in a light gauze sundress, she was starting to perspire again.
It was so hot she had almost considered not wearing make-up. When was the last time she had done that? Watching Sonya touch up her cheeks with bronzing balls and a brush with more tufts than Donald Trump, she remembered exactly when the last time was. The day after the wedding. Her non-wedding. And the no-make-up-wearing had continued for a month afterwards. Not even a fingertip of BB cream. She shuddered. She was never going to let herself get like that ever again. That was why men were kept for nights at Nando’s and nothing more permanent.
‘By the end of this holiday I might not even need bronzer,’ Sonya stated, turning her head left and right as she checked out her reflection in the mirror. ‘I definitely think I’m looking less Draco Malfoy and more … Quaker Oats with brown sugar mixed in.’
Tess smiled. It was so good to see Sonya looking a little happier.
‘But, do I smell?’ Sonya asked with a sniff. ‘I think I smell. Can you smell me?’ She lifted her arm and smelled her armpit. ‘I’ve doused myself in a spritz with bergamot I picked up in Neal’s Yard but … well, what do you think?’ Sonya offered her armpit towards Tess.
‘I think I really don’t want to smell your armpit.’
Sonya dropped her arm and pulled at the collar of her Grecian blue skater-style dress. ‘It’s warm, isn’t it?’
‘There’s no air conditioning,’ Tess pointed out.
‘No, I know,’ Sonya answered with a sigh. ‘That’s a Joey thing.’
‘A Joey thing?’ Tess queried.
‘He’s never been keen on artificial air,’ Sonya stated, trying to unlatch the shutters that led to their small, ground-floor terraced area outside. They’d discovered earlier it had a view of the beautifully kept gardens and a sliver of sea in the distance.
‘Artificial air?’ Tess repeated. She was definitely getting to know Joey a whole lot more on this break without him even being here. He wasn’t much of a talker on nights out, but a man who liked pizza and Ed Sheeran had to be OK, didn’t he? And Sonya obviously thought so. Maybe she should have paid more attention.
‘Not real air,’ Sonya elaborated. ‘You know, like fans, electric heaters, and air conditioning, obviously.’ She sighed. ‘I bought him one of those little masks for the flight, you know, the ones Japanese people wear on the Underground.’
All air, artificial or otherwise, was being sucked from the room and only hot, stifling waves of heat were left. Tess looked at Sonya struggling with the latch of the balcony door and she moved.
‘It just won’t open,’ Sonya rasped. ‘And I’m melting like that witch in The Wizard of Oz!’
‘Me too,’ Tess answered. ‘Which one of us is going to turn to fizzing liquid first?’ She tugged at the clasp until finally it moved, shooting up and out and allowing her to push the slatted wooden doors open. A blast of even hotter air, like someone had opened an oven in the Great British Bake Off tent, hit her. Determined not to be outdone, she made for the outside anyway, heading for the corner of the patio in shade.
‘It’s hot out here too,’ Sonya remarked. ‘It’s hot, isn’t it?’
‘We need a fan,’ Tess agreed. ‘We should ask at reception.’
‘Joey says that all fans do is blow stale air at you.’
‘Right now I’m worried if we don’t have stale air blown at us overnight we might not make the morning.’
‘I’m dripping,’ Sonya said. ‘Under my arms, the backs of my knees … higher up …’
‘Why don’t you get us some bottled water out of the fridge,’ Tess suggested. She hovered over one of the wooden chairs, wondering if sitting would make her cooler … or worse. As her new heels were already pinching her toes she decided to sit as Sonya went back into the room destined for the kitchen area.
Tess gazed across the lawn to thick, lush grass so much tougher-looking than the light, skinny fronds of grass back home. Cream-coloured urns filled with reds, pinks and mauves were dotted around the lawns, all looking vibrant and showing no signs of wilting in the heat like her. Would this have been a little like Menorca? The colour and the sea she remembered from the brochures she had looked at with Adam, but he had made the final choice of hotel, said he’d wanted to surprise her. Something still niggled that perhaps, even then, six months before, he had been having doubts about the wedding, and their relationship. Had the honeymoon ever really been booked? And why was she thinking about this now? She blew out a breath. Obviously because of this ridiculous Internet starvation and the promise to Sonya to not hook up while she was here. And who knew what was going on at work. The whole Blackberry Boudoir empire could have been blown apart like a house of cards from a really strong sneeze. She should have got the branding signed off before she left. But they wouldn’t make a decision without her, would they? Unless … Craig, the new guy, was super keen and he had been sniffing around her at the water cooler. She shivered in the heat. As soon as she had Internet connection she would call Russell and check in. Checking in didn’t make you a work obsessive. It just made you conscientious, and everyone wanted ‘conscientious’ on their CV.
‘I’ve got the water, and there was a bottle of wine in the fridge with a little note about it being a welcome gift.’
Sonya put both bottles on the table and retrieved two tumblers from underneath her armpit before plonking them down as well. Tess was reaching for the alcohol before she thought too much about where the glass had just been resting.
‘So, here we are,’ Sonya said, settling herself in a seat. ‘In Corfu.’ She sighed. ‘In Greece.’
‘Yes,’ Tess answered. ‘And is it everything you’d hoped for?’
She immediately regretted her words. Of course it wasn’t what her best friend had hoped for. Sonya had been hoping for a break with Joey, getting into Roundhead positions too saucy for the re-enactment battlefield.
‘Sorry,’ Tess said quickly. ‘That was a really stupid thing to say given the circumstances.’ She went to carry on, to add that she wished she was Joey but then stopped herself. What would a life be without a little artificial air sometimes?
‘That’s OK,’ Sonya said. ‘I know what you meant.’ She sighed. ‘And it’s been almost twenty-seven minutes since I reached up to my chest to find my almost-engagement necklace wasn’t there.’ Her fingers scrabbled towards her décolletage.
Tess grabbed her hand, steadying it down towards the wine glass on the table. ‘I’m going to fill these glasses up and we’re going to look out at that view and think about nothing else but the here and now.’ She unscrewed the cap on the bottle and poured the wine. ‘And tomorrow,’ she added. ‘We can plan for tomorrow.’ She pushed a glass towards Sonya then picked hers up, swigging back the cool alcohol. It was good. It was sweet and soft with notes of pear and apple.
Sonya smiled, leaning an elbow on the table. ‘Well, what me and Joey were—’
‘Tch, tch, tch, tch,’ Tess broke in like Judge Rinder. ‘We don’t need to mention his name every five seconds.’
‘I wasn’t. I was just saying that me and Joey—’
‘Girl power?’ Tess stated. ‘Two singles for the summer?’
Sonya frowned. ‘I can’t even talk about Joey at all?’
‘Not unless you let me go on my dating app.’
Sonya folded her arms across her chest. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘No?’
‘No, because you’re not having a relationship crisis,’ Sonya reminded her. ‘You’re not the one whose soulmate has asked for space.’
Tess swallowed. No, her soulmate just hadn’t turned up. He’d left her in a wedding car, doing circuits of the ring road while the chauffeur hummed Richard Marx’s ‘Right Here Waiting’.
‘Sorry!’ Sonya exclaimed, hands going to her face, expression a mix of horror and exasperation. ‘I didn’t mean that.’
Tess smiled. ‘Listen to us. What are either of us doing thinking about stuff back in England when there’s a whole beach of possibility just down there.’ She pointed towards the scene with her wine glass, liquid sloshing out and on to the table.
‘We should find a man,’ Sonya blurted out, slugging back some wine and shaking her head like the alcohol content had stung her.
‘Um … the boyfriend-who-must-not-be-named … me not allowed to sneak a look at Hooked Up … remember?’
‘I meant a man to show us around. A guide man! Yes!’ Sonya banged her hand on the table. ‘Ouch, RSI …’ She cupped one hand with the other. ‘So, in Barbados, where my mum and dad went, there were these lovely little men all in air conditioned Mercedes who would take you around the island for a good price. You know, the fish markets, the best dirty restaurants …’
‘Did you say “dirty”?’
‘Dirty in a good way. Local and authentic,’ Sonya added. ‘Where the islanders eat.’ She sipped her wine. ‘And he told them all the stories, you know, who had an affair with which celebrity when they came to town … how Rihanna was his third cousin … who was murdered where …’
‘You want us to find someone to drive us around Corfu telling us where the killings happened?’
Sonya’s eyes widened. ‘Or we could do it by boat!’ She clapped her hands together. ‘Wouldn’t that be lovely? Slipping into the little coves, looking for dolphins, eating …’
‘Where the dirty locals eat.’
Sonya laughed and flapped a hand. ‘The way my perspiration is going I’m halfway to being a dirty local myself!’
Tess smiled. ‘Me too.’ She took a sip of her wine and sat back in her chair. ‘OK. Let’s do it. Let’s find a guide man.’
‘Ooo, it’s so exciting!’
Tess held her wine glass up. ‘To finding a guide man.’
Sonya chinked her glass and giggled. ‘And getting dirty.’
‘Sonya!’
‘What?’ She sipped at her drink. ‘I meant eating goat intestines or whatever the Greek delicacies are, not seeking out a sex shop!’
‘Amen, sister. Here’s to Greek delicacies.’