Wish You Were Here (13 page)

‘What about Andy?'

‘What about him?'

‘Maybe he'll want to go with you.'

Tom laughed. ‘Do you know what, I'll put his name down on the off-chance that between now and then he completely loses his mind.'

Leaving the Apollo, Tom and I made our way along the same route to the same diner that we'd eaten at the previous day, where we were served by the same waiter. We then ordered the same breakfast and beer combo and ended up watching MTV again with the sound off. And at the end of the meal we even left the same amount of money as a tip as we had done the day before. As we stood up to leave, I found myself thinking that we'd been in Malia only one full day and yet we were already in danger of finding ourselves stuck in a rut.

‘What are you thinking?' asked Tom as we lingered at the entrance to Stars and Bars, roasting in the afternoon sun. ‘Back to the beach?'

‘We could do,' I replied, conscious of the fact that we had done just that yesterday. ‘What do you reckon?'

‘I'm easy either way,' said Tom, ‘although if I'm honest I quite fancy doing something a bit different.'

‘Different,' I echoed determinedly. ‘You're right. We do need to do something different. Any ideas?'

Tom thought for a moment. ‘I've got it,' he said eventually, ‘let's rent a couple of those quad bike things and visit somewhere else for the day.'

‘That, my friend . . .' I began as a gang of youths passed by yelling and shouting to each other, ‘. . . sounds like a great idea.'

Renting the quad bikes was the best thing we could've done to get us out of our post-Andy funk. Riding along with our throttles wide open and the wind in our faces we were young again and we were free. We cruised along the coastal road out of Malia and headed for Stalis, the next resort along. Every now and again, as we sped along, we would pass girls on lower-powered quad bikes than our own and as we'd overtake them I'd feel, if only for a moment, as though I really was king of the road.

As Tom and I sat down on the beach that we didn't have to pay for and got out our books, it occurred to me that if Malia was a metaphor for youthful excess then Stalis was its older, wiser sibling who had long since given up late nights and all-day drinking for the delights of good food and family life. The contrast couldn't have been greater. Slightly less Anglo-orientated than Malia (on our walk through the town centre we passed a Dutch-owned bar, saw German translations on several menus and passed a couple arguing in French), Stalis itself was populated solely by couples and families. The only people we saw under twenty-five were kids on holiday with their parents or other quad-biking migrants from Malia.

Although neither of us said it aloud, I could see that Tom was thinking the same as me: ‘This is where we should've come on holiday.' Not that the attraction of Malia to the eighteen-to-thirty crowd was lost on me but the fact was neither Tom, Andy nor I
was
between the ages of eighteen and thirty any more and as we hadn't been for a long time, there was no point in pretending anything else. Stalis was a resort built for grown-ups. People who had left their twenties well behind and moved on. But as I sat there on the beach devoid of loudspeakers and club music and surveyed the couples and families that surrounded us, it hit me that I actually didn't belong here either. Tom, with his family, yes. Possibly even Andy with Lisa. But me without Sarah? There was no place in this holiday world for a thirty-five-year-old single man. There was no resort designed for those recently dumped but disinclined to party until dawn. There was no middle ground at all because people like me simply weren't a big enough demographic to cater for. Market forces had dictated that we were invisible – we didn't exist. We weren't young and we weren't settled. And because we weren't at the beginning of our stories or in the happily-ever-after end zone, we'd been simply edited out altogether.

‘So what's your take on last night?' I asked Tom in a bid to derail this particularly depressing train of thought.

‘I think Andy's an idiot,' replied Tom putting down his book. ‘I haven't got much more to add than that.'

‘I suppose,' I replied. I thought for a moment. ‘How old do you reckon that girl Nina was?'

‘Twenty-three or twenty-four,' suggested Tom. ‘I can't really tell how old anyone is these days.'

There was a long silence. Taking this to be the end of the conversation Tom returned his attention to the
Rough Guide
but I was far from finished with the topic of Andy and his infidelity.

‘Lisa asked me to keep an eye on him you know,' I said looking out to sea. ‘When she dropped him off at mine on Saturday night. She said she'd sort of guessed what he wanted to get out of the holiday and asked me to try and stop him. And ironically, the reason I didn't manage to do what she wanted was because at the crucial moment I was on the phone with her.'

‘Lisa called you?'

I nodded. ‘She wanted to know how things were going. And what's worse is that I told her everything was going to be okay. She even sent me a couple of text messages this morning too.'

‘You didn't tell her anything about last night did you?'

‘Of course not but I feel bad about making out like everything's okay when it obviously isn't. I know Andy is my friend but . . .'

‘But what?'

‘But part of me feels like she deserves to know.'

Tom nodded. ‘I know what you mean, but if you want my advice I'd say don't get involved.'

‘I know but—'

‘She won't thank you, Charlie. And I doubt that Andy would either. Just stay clear. These things usually have a way of coming out without anyone's help.'

‘I know you're right,' I replied. ‘But it just feels wrong. No one likes being the last one to find out do they? No one ever likes to be the last one in on the joke.'

Tom and I ended up staying in Stalis for the rest of the afternoon. He carried on reading his
Rough Guide
while I dozed in the sun, flicked my way through a day-old copy of the
Daily Mail
and went for a number of contemplative footwear-free walks along the shoreline. At around five o'clock the beach began to empty so we took that as our signal to return to the madness of Malia. As we handed the quad bikes back in at the hire shop I couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed that we hadn't managed to cultivate a single envy-inducing anecdote during the day that might provoke Andy to jealousy. All we'd done was hire quad bikes, travel the short distance to Stalis and then sit on a beach that had a lower ratio of beautiful girls to middle-aged German men than the one we had left behind. Andy meanwhile had probably spent all morning and all afternoon feasting on a rotating diet of drinking, sex and post-coital napping. Of course he'd be gutted.

As I opened the front door to the apartment, I half expected to see Andy and his new lady friend entangled in convoluted sexual congress on the kitchen table because that would've been Andy all over – an exhibitionist in need of a shockable audience – but there was nothing on the kitchen table save a half-empty bottle of water and two plastic carrier bags from the local mini-market.

‘You'd think he'd call us just to let us know he's not dead,' I snapped as we walked through the kitchen into the bedroom.

‘Not Andy,' replied Tom, choosing to stretch out on our absent companion's bed. ‘He's far too self-involved to worry about what we think.'

I sat down on my own bed and looked over at Tom. ‘Do you think we should call him?'

‘And let him think we've got nothing better to do than sit around and wait for him to turn up?' asked Tom. ‘You can do what you like but leave my name off the petition.'

Tom was right. Calling Andy would be a bad move which would only serve to further inflate his ego. At the same time, I had to admit that I was beginning to miss having Andy about. This was the conundrum faced by everyone who invited Andy into their lives: he was twice as entertaining as he was annoying but it was impossible to separate one part of the equation from the other.

‘Okay,' I replied, ‘you're right, I shouldn't phone him. It's a bad idea. But the thing is I feel like I ought to at least try and do something, because I've got this horrible feeling the longer this thing carries on, the worse the consequences are going to be.'

‘I'm not so sure myself,' said Tom. ‘My guess is Andy will carry on seeing Nina until she goes home and then he'll hang out with us for the rest of the holiday. Come Sunday night he'll fly home and carry on as though nothing happened. And what's more, he'll get away with it. Because Andy always gets away with everything.'

‘Maybe you're right,' I sighed. ‘I don't even know why I'm that bothered what he gets up to. I mean, why do I care?'

I'd meant the question rhetorically. I didn't really want to know why I cared at all. But then I looked at Tom as I said it and there was something about his face that changed just for an instant, that made me curious.

‘What?' I asked.

‘Nothing.'

‘
What?
'

‘Look,' said Tom, ‘you didn't mean it as a proper question so it doesn't matter.'

‘No,' I replied. ‘Come on. Let's hear what you've got to say.'

‘Fine. I think you care because you sort of wish it was you that had pulled last night and you're sick and tired of always being envious of Andy.'

‘That's rubbish,' I replied. ‘I'm not envious of Andy.'

‘Fine,' said Tom. ‘It was just an observation.'

‘But I'm not.'

‘I said, fine.'

‘But you don't believe me.'

‘It doesn't matter what I believe, does it? All that matters is what's true.'

‘And you think it's true that I'm envious of Andy?'

‘Why else would you still be hanging out with him after all these years when most of the time all he does is rub you up the wrong way? He does the things you wish you could do.'

‘You've never liked Andy though have you?' I countered. ‘It's been the same ever since college.'

Tom shook his head. ‘You're wrong actually. It's not him I don't like. He's an idiot and nothing much is ever going to change that.'

‘So who is it you don't like then?'

‘You . . .' said Tom fixing me with a disappointed stare ‘. . . when you've been round him too long. That's always been your main problem. You lose sight of who you are too easily and let Andy lead you around like a lost sheep.' He sighed and then climbed off the bed as I looked on speechless. This wasn't like Tom at all. Yes, he was sometimes confrontational with Andy but he'd never been like that with me before.

‘What's wrong?' I asked. ‘Why are you being like this? This obviously isn't about me or Andy, so what's it about?'

‘Nothing,' sighed Tom. ‘I was well out of order.' He paused and laughed. ‘You'd think someone had died and made me minister of home truths the way I've just carried on. It's not like I couldn't be told a few myself.' He shrugged and looked at me. ‘Are we all right?'

‘Yeah of course,' I replied. ‘But don't you want to talk about whatever it is that's bothering you?'

‘No,' said Tom. ‘I'm fine. I'm probably just tired or something.'

There was a long silence.

‘So what now?' I asked eventually.

‘I thought I'd have a shower, call Anne and the kids and then have a sleep,' said Tom. ‘Assuming his lordship is otherwise engaged tonight what do you want to do later?'

I shrugged. ‘I don't care, really. Just not the strip if we can help it.'

‘Well, this might not be your thing,' began Tom. ‘But I was reading in the
Rough Guide
this afternoon about a little village not too far away from here called Mohos.' Tom reached down to the floor, pulled the book out of his bag and flicked through it until he got to a page where he had turned down the corner. ‘We could get a taxi there, have a bit of a wander round, a drink and something to eat. What do you think?'

‘Sounds okay,' I replied. ‘Be ready to leave about eight?'

‘Sounds good to me,' said Tom. ‘So what are you going to do until then?'

I looked around the room for inspiration and spotted some through the patio doors. ‘Finish the day the way I started it,' I replied pointing to the balcony, ‘making the most of the sun.'

As Tom began getting ready for his shower I finally got off my bed and plucked
Touching The Void
from my bag. I was getting tired of all the tension between the two friends on their snow-covered precipice. I wanted something a bit lighter . . . a bit less full-on and so I opened my suitcase, pulled out
The Da Vinci Code
(the second of my three holiday reads), went out on to the patio and closed the door behind me.

Sitting down in my favourite patio chair with my feet up against the railing, I began reading the first paragraph of my book. A few sentences in, Tom turned on the shower and so distracted me that I stopped reading. I tried again a few moments later but then a group of girls talking loudly passed by underneath the balcony and I stopped again. When I eventually picked the book up some five minutes later, my heart was no longer in it. I was bored but I didn't want to read. I wanted to be entertained without actually leaving the comfort of my balcony seat. And then the answer came to me. I pulled out my mobile phone from my pocket, typed out a text message and pressed send.