Wedding Night

“Well, we’ve hardly been enjoying the usual ‘honeymoon pleasures,’ have we?”

“That’s not my fault!”

“Who turned me down this morning?”

“I was waiting for the cove! We were supposed to be doing it at the cove!”

I can see that Sarah is uncomfortable, but I can’t stop myself. I feel as if I’m boiling over.

“There’s always some excuse,” Ben snarls.

“I’m not making excuses!” I exclaim, absolutely livid. “What, you think I don’t want to … you know?”

“I don’t know what to think!” Ben throws back furiously. “But we haven’t, and you don’t seem bothered about it! You do the math!”

“I am bothered about it!” I yell. “Of course I’m bothered!”

“Wait,” says Sarah, looking warily from Ben to me. “You guys haven’t …?”

“There hasn’t been the opportunity,” says Ben tightly.

“Wow.” Sarah breathes out, looking incredulous. “That’s … unusual for a honeymoon.”

“Our room was messed around,” I explain succinctly, “and Ben got drunk and we were stalked by butlers and I had an allergic reaction and basically—”

“It’s been a nightmare.”

“Nightmare.”

We’re both slumped in gloom, our energy gone.

“Well,” says Sarah with a twinkle. “We’ve got empty rooms upstairs. Beds. Condoms, even.”

“Seriously?” Ben lifts his head. “There’s a bed upstairs? A private double bed that we could use? You have no idea how we’ve wanted to hear that.”

“Loads of them. We’re half empty.”

“This is great! Great!” Ben’s spirits have zoomed up. “We can do it right here at the guest house! Where we first met! Come on, Mrs. Parr, let me ravish you.”

“I won’t listen,” jokes Sarah.

“You can join in if you like!” says Ben, then adds to me quickly, “Joke. Joke.”

He holds out his hands to me, his smile as endearing as it’s ever been. But the magic isn’t working. The sparkle has gone.

There’s silence for what seems like forever. My mind is a maelstrom. What do I want? What do I want?

“I don’t know,” I say after a long pause, and hear Ben inhale sharply.

“You don’t know?” He sounds as though he’s at the end of his tether. “You don’t fucking know?”

“I … I have to take a walk.” Abruptly, I push back my chair and stride away before he can say anything else.

I head round the back of the guest house and up the scrubby hill behind. I can see the new hostel—a concrete-and-glass building plonked in the space where the guys used to play football. I stride straight past it and keep walking down the hillside till I can’t see it anymore. I’m in a little dip in the land, surrounded by olive trees, with a derelict hut that I dimly remember from the old days. There’s rubbish here too—old cans and crisp packets and the remains of some pita bread. I stare at it, feeling a swell of hatred for whoever left it here. On impulse, I go round the small clearing, picking up all the trash, working with a burst of energy. There isn’t a rubbish bin, but I gather it together and put it next to a large rock. My life might be a mess, but I can clear a patch of land, at least.

When I’m done, I sit on the rock and stare ahead, not wanting to visit my thoughts. They’re too confusing and scary. The sun is beating on my head and I can hear the distant bleating of goats. It makes me smile reminiscently. Some things haven’t changed.

After a while, the sound of puffing makes me turn my head. A blond woman in a pink sundress is climbing up the hill. She sees me on the rock, smiles, and heads toward it gratefully.

“Hi,” she says. “Can I—”

“Go ahead.”

“Hot.” She wipes her forehead.

“Very.”

“Are you here to look at the ruins? The ancient ruins?”

“No,” I say apologetically. “I’m just hanging out. I’m on my honeymoon,” I add, as an excuse.

I vaguely remember people talking about the ruins in my gap year. We all intended to go and look at them, but in the end none of us ever bothered.

“We’re on honeymoon too.” She brightens. “We’re at the Apollina, but my husband dragged me here to look at these ruins. I told him I needed a sit-down and I’d join him in a minute.” She gets out a bottle of water and takes a swig. “He’s like that. We went to Thailand last year; it nearly killed me. I went on strike in the end. I said, ‘Not another bloody temple. I want to lie on the beach.’ I mean, what’s wrong with lying on the beach?”