The Holiday (12 page)

But, like a tiny pull on a thread, it somehow tugged an answer out of him. ‘From the ... the death of a friend.’

It had taken real gut-wrenching courage to utter those words. Okay, he hadn’t been able to look Bones in the eye but, if nothing else, his efforts should have been rewarded with at least a round of applause. But all he had got was: ‘You mean the painful memory of that friend’s death?’

‘What else?’

Bones surveyed him thoughtfully. ‘Mark, you’ve been here for three weeks now, and to my knowledge, this is the first time you’ve mentioned this. Why’s that?’

‘Why the hell do you think?’

‘It’s not what
I
think that’s at stake.’

They had two-stepped like that for some time, and with each exchange, Mark gained a vicarious thrill in knowing he could outwit this inferior little man, who every now and then did nothing more constructive than dip his hand into his desk drawer and pull out a sweet.

His parents had tried this same trick on him when he was thirteen, taking him to see several child psychologists in the hope that he would walk away reborn. They had even tried hypnosis, but that had just been more of a challenge for him as he had forced his brain to keep alert, not to let it be fooled by the smooth tone of the doctor. But nothing had worked: he had always been too smart to let anyone know what he was really thinking.

But Mark was about to discover that Bones didn’t always play by the book. Gentle and ponderous he could be, but as the weeks went by, Mark came to realise that he had seriously underestimated the man. When it was necessary Bones had no compunction in pulling the rug from under Mark, then watching him crack open his head on the hard floor of his arrogance.

‘Now, Mark,’ he said, on that first meeting after thirty minutes of prevaricating, ‘I know that this whole scenario of ink blots and potty-training theories offends your intellect. After all, you’re a former student of criminal psychology, what possible help could I offer a fine man like you? Who in their right mind would want to share their innermost feelings with an insignificant person such as me? But think on this while you’re devoting yourself to blagging your way through this session. If you’re so clever, what are you doing here?’ He held up his hand. ‘No, that was a rhetorical question. For now, I am doing all the talking. And I’ll tell you what you’re doing here, Mark. You’re here because you’re not in your right mind. In fact, you’re in dire need of a clear-thinking outsider to give you a true perspective of yourself. And guess what, I’m just the man for the job. But don’t worry that you’ll become too dependent on me, I won’t allow that to happen. The needy love — hate relationship you fear might develop between us if you open up to me will not take root. Believe me, I am too good at psychoanalysis for that to happen.’

‘I’m bowled over by your modest claims.’

‘And I by your scarcely controlled rage and dislike of me. But that’s enough of the flattery. Let’s get this straight, you’re an alcoholic and a substance user, and it’s down to me to help you get your head clean. The fact that you’re here at all means that, deep down, you knew your number was up. And here’s an interesting point I want you to consider, and consider well. An intellectual understanding of addiction isn’t enough. You need to have an emotional response to it. So tell me about this friend who died and for whom you’re still mourning. Or was it a girl? A girlfriend, perhaps?’

Another silence.

‘Take your time. There’s no hurry.’

But still Mark couldn’t speak. And then, unbelievably, this extraordinary little man had the gall to stare straight at him and start whistling Joe Cocker’s ‘Let The Healing Begin’.

He didn’t know how it happened, just as he couldn’t explain the icy-cold feeling he had experienced the night before followed by the explosion of white heat in his body, but a tiny key slowly turned inside him and Mark heard himself say, ‘His name was Niall and ... and he drowned.’

 

Hearing the noise of a small engine, Mark raised his gaze from his notebook and looked down into the bay. Beneath a cloudless sky, where the turquoise water glinted in the glare of the sun, a motor-boat was cutting smoothly through the waves. Even at this distance he could hear its occupants laughing and joking. It made him wonder how Theo was getting on.

Izzy stood poised, every muscle taut, her toes clinging to the smooth rock, her arms in front of her, her eyes focused on the crystal clear water below. Modern Woman was threatening to push her in if she didn’t get a move on, but her mother was alerting her to the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of the water. Reckless!
Wantonly reckless! This is just how people end up with their backs broken.

It was her own fault, of course. She shouldn’t have been so silly as to follow the crowd. Just because everyone else had thought it a good idea to drop anchor and spend time diving off the rocks, there had been no need for her to join in. She could have swum happily to the shore and left them to it. But oh, no, she’d had to pretend she wasn’t frightened and could go along with them.

‘It’s quite safe, Izzy,’ encouraged Max. ‘There aren’t any hidden rocks where you are.’

‘He’s right,’ agreed Laura. ‘It’s so deep none of us have ever reached the bottom.’

‘Perhaps if I jumped with you, it would help.’ It was Theo, and somehow he had sneaked up behind her without her noticing. But, far from reassuring her, his presence only added to her trepidation. The sight of him with water trickling from his hair, down his neck and shoulders to his chest had her heart shifting to her mouth.

‘I know I’m being silly,’ Izzy said nervously, ‘but I’ve — I’ve always been frightened of diving or jumping into the unknown.’

No! How could she have said that? It was a classic blurt-out-and-repent-at-leisure comment. An open invitation for him to take advantage of her.

Which he did.

‘Then take my hand and I will show you what fun it can be.’ And before she had a chance to protest he had grasped her hand, counted,
‘Éna, dhío
,
tría’
, and taken her with him. She screamed, but remembered just in time to close her mouth. And her eyes. She hit the water feet first, then sank into the cold and the dark, bubbles escaping from her mouth. A helpless, tumbling Alice came into her mind. As well as the thought that at least she had changed out of her skimpy little bikini and worn something that would hopefully stay on. At last she floated up to the surface. Theo was waiting for her. ‘Now, was that so very scary?’

She pushed her hair out of her face and blinked salt water from her eyes. She managed a shaky laugh. ‘I survived.’

He smiled. ‘Another go?’

‘Um ...’

‘The answer you are looking for is yes, Izzy. Come, now I will teach you to dive properly. Jumping is for babies.’

Max and Laura had swum to the shore and Izzy could feel them watching her with Theo. ‘The trick is to balance the weight and to lean forward,’ he said, showing her the correct position to adopt. Shyly, she copied the line of his body, but he turned to her and gently lowered her arms. ‘There, that’s better. You don’t want them too high. Now, this is how you use your hands to cut through the water. You see? Like this.’

After a few hesitant dives her nerves subsided and she began to get the hang of it. By her sixth attempt he proclaimed her a fast learner. ‘Congratulations, you are as good as Laura.’

‘Is that good?’ she asked, swimming alongside him.

‘It is very good.’

She turned on to her back and floated, letting the hot sun warm her face. She felt euphoric. She had overcome one of those niggling phobias she had had ever since she was a small child and the sense of achievement was fantastic. She closed her eyes and continued floating happily, smiling to herself, cherishing the feeling.

‘You have a lovely body,’ Theo remarked, after a few minutes’ silence, ‘and beautiful legs to go with it.’

Self-conscious, she flipped on to her front.

He laughed. ‘Englishwomen are not used to compliments, are they? Anyone would think I had just insulted you.’

‘You’re probably right.’

‘What? You think I insulted you?’

‘No. I mean, we’re not used to such open flattery.’

‘Did your boyfriend not tell you what I have just said?’

‘Um ... not exactly. Not in so many words.’

‘Which words did he choose?’

‘I can’t really remember.’

‘Ah, well, if they had been the right words they would have been memorable. Did he hurt you very badly?’

She blushed and swam away from him. She wasn’t used to discussing her problems with a man. Not even with Max who, through Laura, knew most of the details of her pathetic relationship with Alan. And now, apparently, so did Theo. ‘How much of my hapless love-life has Laura discussed with you?’ she asked, as he swam parallel to her.

‘Hardly anything. Just that there was a boyfriend who was very cruel to you.’

‘He wasn’t that bad.’

‘So why do you let his cruelty linger on? Surely he is past history. He is gone. It is time for you to be happy.’

‘I am happy.’

‘Are you? You don’t always look it.’

His directness made her defensive, and equally candid. ‘Well, I’m
sorry
I look so miserable, but when you’ve given every little bit of yourself to a person and then they smash you apart, it’s hard not to keep playing the same game of putting yourself back together. It becomes a habit.’

‘Did you really love him so much?’

‘Fool that I was, yes, I did. Or perhaps I only thought I did.’

‘But that could be hindsight distorting the memory. Let us conclude that you did love him. Did you plan to marry?’

‘I was keener than he was. As daft as it sounds, I saw us having children and growing old together. I suppose that must sound very dull to a man like you.’

He frowned. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You don’t give the impression of being the type to be interested in settling down.’

‘Ah, you believe, just as Laura does, that I want to spend the rest of my life playing the field. That I am destined to spend an eternity chasing pretty young girls even when I am wrinkled and white-haired and hobbling round on a stick. Is that the future you predict for me?’

For a moment he looked quite cross, his thick brows drawn together, his eyes narrowed. At a loss to know what to say to placate him, and feeling that she ought to, she said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t ...’ but her words trailed away as in one fluid movement he swam up to her, placed a hand behind her neck and kissed her on the mouth.

The kiss, so sudden, so unexpected, was over almost before she had realised what he was doing, and when he pulled away, he smiled and said, ‘Perhaps I just haven’t been lucky enough to meet the right woman to settle down with.’

Izzy stared at him, stunned. Where had that come from?

 

Though it wasn’t yet high season, the waterfront at Áyios Stéfanos was busy with boats searching for a mooring spot at the rows of wooden jetties. Max waited patiently for a large tourist-filled caique to manoeuvre itself into position before he, too, found a suitable space alongside a stylish yacht with a Norwegian flag. He cut the engine and the boat drifted gently into place. Theo helped him secure it, and when all was done they strolled along the jetty to Galini’s.

Max had had the foresight to book a table in advance, and it was just as well: the taverna, with its ringside view of the pretty sheltered harbour and all its comings and goings, was almost full. But, then, Ayios Stéfanos was always popular: it was one of the most visited beauty spots along this part of the coast, and despite the number of tourists who came to the small fishing village, it had lost little of its original charm. Theo had considered buying a property here for himself, but in the end he had decided that he preferred the quiet of Áyios Nikólaos with its less obvious congregation of tourists. It always amused him that even on holiday the British needed to be with likeminded folk. Just as they required tea made in a proper pot — none of this bag-in-a-cup nonsense — they needed a safety-net of their own culture around them. Right across the island one could see the invading colonies massing accordingly: the lively youngsters in the south of the island down at Kávos with its sun, sea, sex and cheap package deals; the Kensington-on-Sea crowd in Ayios Stéfanos, with its air of sophistication and quality, and further north, the middle ground of Kassiópi, where the mix of nationalities and type was greatest. But what annoyed Theo most about the British on holiday was their lack of integration. Some visitors came to the island year after year, but never made an effort to get to know the people who lived here or learn to speak Greek. Not even
kaliméra,
or
kalispéra.
Why be so insular? It was beyond him.

They were shown to their table and Max immediately ordered some drinks. The waiter listened politely as he tried to get his tongue round the words and phrases Theo had been teaching him, but only when he stumbled over the word for ice and looked to Theo for help did he come to his aid.
‘Págho,’
he said, with a smile.

‘Another five minutes and I’d have got it,’ laughed Max, when the waiter left them alone.

‘Another five minutes and it would have melted,’ teased Laura. She opened her menu. ‘I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m starving. And as for you, Izzy, you must be exhausted after all that expert diving tuition.’ She shot Theo a sly sidelong glance.

He gave her a knowing look in return, then immersed himself in his menu. So, she had seen him kiss Izzy, had she? He had wondered at the time if she had noticed. But, as predictable as his actions might have seemed to Laura, it had come as something of a surprise to him. An irrational impulse had seized him and he wished for the life of him that he could explain it.