Claudia's Big Break (11 page)

‘Who are you? My personal style icon?' Sophie was indignant. ‘This coming from a woman who's wearing ancient black shorts and a white T-shirt that's gone a dirty grey colour from years of washing.'

‘Take it easy. I'm just saying we've been here like two minutes and you're already hopping on the boho bandwagon.'

Despite
Marie Claire
urging us to have a boho spring, I wasn't feeling the vibe either, but I kept my mouth shut.

‘What? It's the quintessential Santorini look,' said Sophie.

Granted, Sophie's top was groovier than your average peasant'd wear, but it had a definite gypsy edge to it. The whole ensemble looked fabulous on her but I doubted she'd wear it once she left Santorini. Possibly to the beach, but even then I wouldn't take bets.

You know how tourists happily embrace new looks in foreign lands — torturing and twisting their hair into thirty-six tiny plaits while confidently embracing the grass skirt and scooped-out coconut-shell bra — only to arrive home and discover they look a smidge silly. No matter how thrilled one is with one's new shark-tooth necklace or sari, chances are, people back home will stare.

‘I think you look great, Soph,' I said. ‘Wish I could wear that garb.'

Sophie and Tara looked at me, puzzled.

‘Boobs! I couldn't get away with wearing clothes like that.'

‘Oh,' Tara said. ‘I thought you meant it was an ugly look at best only attempted by two year olds and nannas who don't know any better.'

Sophie sniffed. ‘At least I don't wear tatty clothes from five years ago and try to pass them off as vintage.'

‘My clothes aren't vintage and I don't feel the need to dress in the latest fad just because it happens to be trendy.'

‘Trendy? Who are you, my mother?'

‘All right, all right, let's just enjoy the view, hey?' I said, taking a deep breath. ‘We're on holidays remember.'

At Kamari we positioned our deckchairs on the black sand beach underneath huge blue and white striped umbrellas so our bodies were in the sun and our heads in the shade. Then I set about fixing my beady eyes on the beautiful people happily strolling the beach and watching to see if they flinched while walking barefoot on the unforgiving pebbles.

‘Does my bum look big in this?' Sophie asked after she'd discarded her new clothes to reveal a burnt orange crocheted bikini sitting on her lightly sun-kissed frame. Yeah, yeah, and her blonde curls bounced around her shoulders too. Surprise, surprise, she looked stunning and was fast attracting envious glances from passers-by.

Meanwhile, I was wearing one-piece miracle swimmers, basic black, which, according to the promotional information, were made of a patented fabric blend delivering three times the holding power of ordinary swimsuits, without needing inner linings or control panels. Whilst wearing them, I apparently looked five kilos lighter. Ha! Anyway, they were comfortable. (Isn't sporting comfortable clothing one small step away from accepting your body isn't what it used to be and never will be again?)

Sophie persisted. ‘Does my bum look big in this?'

‘What bum? You don't have one,' Tara said.

‘Yeah, your back is the width of a Marlboro Light,' I said, shaking my head. ‘You wouldn't know the first thing about the pain of buying new swimmers every season.'

‘Don't know why you bother,' Tara replied flatly. ‘I've had these for years.' She pulled at the worn navy Lycra that used to be a shoulder strap.

‘Yeah. I think I remember them from our Hawaiian holiday,' I said, laughing.

‘Hmm. I guess they have had their day.'

‘Day? Try decade,' I said, and then felt a bit catty, even though it was true. Tara's style, if you could call it a
style,
was minimal, simple. No tizz. No fuss. She was the type of person who wore clothes until they fell off, then went and bought an exact replica of the clothing that'd died.

Tara was still smarting over the swimmers comment when she took off with Levi to the water's edge.

‘Her swimmers
are
atrocious,' I said to Sophie when Tara was out of earshot.

‘Preaching to the converted, lovie. You don't need to convince me.'

I watched as Tara and Levi splashed in the sea and played on the black sand. As much as I hated to admit it, because it sounded ridiculously parochial, the Greek beaches I'd seen so far didn't do it for me. This beach didn't compare to the shorelines back home. Sure, the fine black sand was a novelty, but what about the uncomfortable pebbles? Try lying against your towel on those without succumbing to serious stone bruising. The good news was that there weren't any high-rise hotels shadowing the beach.

I surveyed more of the long stretch of beach, quite taken with an enormous rock rising out of the sea. Further down, three elderly Greek men fishing on an ancient pier caught my eye. They lived the good life, out in the midday sun, laughing and smoking hand-rolled cigarettes with not a care in the world. Obviously, lung and skin cancer didn't factor into their thinking. Those guys probably guzzled ouzo until the early hours of the morning, then were up the next day, fishing, smoking and drinking strong Greek coffee. What a life.

‘Tell me about Jack,' Sophie said, after several minutes' lazy silence.

Jack? Perfectly charming Jack. ‘He's okay,' I said.

‘Well, if you want my two cents' worth,' Sophie said, ‘I think he's delish!'

I rolled my eyes.

‘What?' Sophie continued. ‘I'm married. I have to live vicariously through friends. So far, you and Tara have offered very slim pickings.'

‘Yeah, well, I didn't come all this way to hook up with an Australian.' I closed my eyes and lay back in my chair.

What was I saying? I didn't come here to hook up with any man — Australian, Greek or Icelandic!

I was sound asleep when Levi tapped me on the shoulder with two fistfuls of pumice. ‘You were snoring.'

‘Pardon?' I yelped as his cold little paws pressed against my warm skin.

‘Snoring like Daddy.'

‘Was not.'

‘Yes you were. Wasn't she, Happy?'

‘
Happy?
' I opened my eyes to find a small boy about Levi's age standing in front of me completely nude, nodding his head and playing with his penis. I hoped he was wearing full body sunscreen.

‘See. Happy says you were snoring,' said Levi, who was also nude and tugging on his own penis.

He wasn't making any sense. ‘Where's Mummy?'

‘Ober dare.' He pointed to where Sophie, Tara and another woman were chatting. Thankfully, when they saw me the three of them walked over.

‘Claudia, meet Angie. Harry's mum,' said Tara.

Harry.
Okay, so Levi wasn't so peculiar, he just had articulation issues.

Angie was thirtyish, English, pretty and tall, with honey-blonde shaggy hair and an olive complexion. She had a small red heart-shaped tattoo on her left shoulder, inscribed with the word
Harry
. I soon found out that she was a divorced lawyer and that she and Harry lived in London, just off Marylebone High Street, near a fancy cheese shop.

‘Harry and I are here on holidays,' Angie was saying. ‘In fact, I'm celebrating the first anniversary of my divorce.'

It wasn't long before Sophie began quizzing her about why her marriage had broken down. For a complete stranger, Angie was remarkably candid.

‘Peter was a complete shite,' said Angie after Levi and Harry had momentarily released their penises and started to fling pebbles into the ocean. ‘I came home from work early one day and found him banging my neighbour in the shower. Harry was in the next room watching
The Tweenies.
Poor love.'

‘Then what happened?' Sophie asked.

‘I stood there watching them — only fog, soap lather and a shower screen separating us. When he saw me, he asked for a towel. Wasn't even embarrassed. Banging bastard.'

‘Then what?' Sophie asked, mesmerised.

‘I said a few choice words, then kicked them both out, yeah.'

‘Yeah,' the three of us repeated.

I was distracted, trying to place Angie's accent. I guess she sounded a bit like the Queen, but then my experience with English accents boiled down to Billy Elliot and Mary Poppins with not a lot in between.

‘Was the neighbour married?' Sophie asked.

‘Nah, she was a singleton, keen to bang a married man —'

‘Why would you say that?' I asked.

‘Why wouldn't I?' replied Angie. ‘What self-respecting woman goes around shagging other women's husbands? Can't they find their own?'

‘I . . . maybe she was lonely,' I ventured.

Inside, I was shaking. I knew that's what the majority of women thought about other women who slept with married men, even if they were recently separated. And they were right. I had no excuse. To his credit, Marcus never told me he was lonely or that his wife didn't understand him. He simply said that they'd stopped being lovers years ago and, though friendly, had stayed together for the sake of the kids. I actually got the impression he quite liked his family. Not that Trish and his kids were a hot topic of conversation between us, but whenever Marcus mentioned his sons, his eyes would light up, confident and happy, like
life's
great and I'm having a ball
.

I listened silently to more stories about Peter the banging bastard — followed by Alex the workaholic. Even Tara threw in her two cents' worth about Anthony.

‘At least you lot have had the opportunity to have husbands,' I said. ‘Why are all the men I meet happily committed to remaining single and then they marry as soon as I'm out of the picture?' (Okay, I wasn't talking about Marcus.)

‘Marriage is outdated,' Tara said. ‘No offence, Soph. But men can have sex without marriage. They can enjoy the benefits of having a wife without actually getting that little piece of paper that says you're bound for life.'

‘Yeah, I know,' I said. ‘I've realised I probably won't end up getting married, much to my mother's horror.'

‘You'll find the right person eventually,' said Sophie. ‘Besides, they're
all
the right person until the lust wears off. And then they're like an annoying flatmate who hogs the shower, won't put the toilet seat down and comes home from work late expecting dinner on the table.'

‘Gee, when you put it like that —' I said.

‘It's true,' said Sophie. ‘Alex doesn't even pick up his socks.'

‘Yeah, but he didn't pick them up before you were married either, did he?' I said.

‘My marriage might have been a disaster, but I'm so glad I have Harry,' said Angie, looking over at Harry and Levi who were licking pebbles and giggling. ‘He's worth every ounce of unhappiness I went through with Pete. Harry brings a love and contentment to my life I can barely describe. And now we have the freedom to do what we like. No one will ever again tell me what to wear or when to come home, and I'll never have to lie about the two new pairs of shoes I buy in my lunch hour.'

I thought about my most recent shoe purchase: outrageously expensive maroon suede boots, sitting on display underneath my dressing table at home, gorgeous but unworn. Half a size too small. I swear my feet grew by the week. ‘Sounds like prison.'

‘It was,' said Angie. ‘I just didn't realise it at the time — more fool me.'

‘I was lucky to escape from Anthony when I did,' Tara said.

‘But don't you think your soul mate is out there somewhere?' asked Sophie, ignoring Tara.

‘Maybe, but when I find them, I certainly won't need to sign a contract telling me I have,' said Angie.

‘I thought Alex was my soul mate. We used to have so much fun together.'

And they did. Even though their weekdays were manic, with both of them working long hours, every weekend without fail they'd head to the beach or go sailing or drive to the mountains for a day's hiking. They were always busy together, focused on enjoying each other's company. Sophie and Alex were an ideal couple — apart from the fact that Sophie didn't really like being Alex's second wife.

‘What went wrong?' Angie was asking her.

‘Life, I guess. Growing up. The pressures of Alex's work, not falling pregnant. Falling pregnant. Having Levi.' Sophie stood up and dusted sand off her legs.

We watched as she strode down to the water near to where a couple of fishing boats had just pulled in.

‘Come on,' I said, grabbing Levi's and Harry's hand. ‘Let's see what they've caught.'

We weren't the only ones with that in mind. Several minutes later, a large crowd, including Tara and Angie, had gathered around the men, who proudly held up octopus, moray eels and mottled brown flying fishes before carefully arranging them in crates with dozens of other fish I'd never seen before. After a quick inspection, locals bargained over prices. It was loud, frenzied and fascinating to watch.