The Greek Holiday
Maeve Haran
The
Greek
Holiday
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Acknowledgements
For Georgia, Holly and Jimmy
One
‘Remind me why I’m here, in the boiling heat, about to spend ten days with women I’ve hardly seen for years and might not even recognize?’
Nell glanced at Dora, who, despite her protestations about the heat, managed to look cool and elegant in a bronze off-the-shoulder dress more suited to a cocktail party in Canary Wharf than a ten-hour ferry trip in the blinding heat.
‘Because it’s an adventure,’ Nell replied, grateful that she was wearing serviceable cotton. ‘Because we’re going back to the magical Greek island we fell in love with when we were eighteen. We used to be inseparable, remember? We were going to be friends forever – except maybe Moira. And then life got in the way. Husbands. Children. The demands of domesticity.’ She paused, embarrassed, remembering that Dora had neither husband nor children. ‘And in your case, your big job,’ she added quickly. ‘I think it’s a lovely idea getting together. Even Moira. And also it means a lot to Penny, and Penny’s an exceptionally nice person.’
‘How unfortunate for her,’ Dora drawled.
Nell looked round the dock at Piraeus, the port to the Greek islands, for any sign pointing to the terminal where the four of them were supposed to meet but could see nothing useful, and certainly no sign for Zanthos.
The truth was, they’d all been surprised when Dora had suddenly agreed to come. Dora had a glamorous life in public relations. Once Nell had seen a gossip piece in the paper with the headline ‘Pandora Perkins, the scariest PR in London’.
Nell consulted the email from Penny again, feeling grateful she didn’t have a life like Dora’s. Working as receptionist in a GP’s surgery couldn’t remotely be called glamorous . . . The shock hit her that, actually, she wasn’t. Three weeks ago she’d opted for retirement after that last run-in with the new practice manager from hell. She was now an ex-doctor’s receptionist. ‘Oh look, there’s a sign saying Passenger Terminal,’ she pointed out. They rounded a corner away from the line of huge ferries, each with its aft end open like a gaping mouth for all the cars and container lorries to drive in, and almost tripped over a red-faced man pulling two vast suitcases plus an overnight bag while his wife strode insouciantly ahead.
‘I wouldn’t mind one of those,’ Dora remarked, looking after them.
‘What, the suitcase?’ Nell glanced at the bags to see if they were made by Louis Vuitton, Dora’s usual taste.
‘No, the husband. I always wondered what they were for. Now I can see.’
They both giggled. Nell looked at her watch, grateful they had left plenty of time to find the terminal and buy their tickets. To be honest, Nell always left plenty of time for things. She thought people who were late were selfish and rude.
‘I don’t see why we didn’t buy the tickets online,’ Dora pointed out. ‘Queueing for tickets feels like masochism in this day and age.’
‘Penny said it would be cheaper.’ Nell realized that Dora probably couldn’t imagine a world where counting the pennies mattered. ‘You know your problem?’ She tried not to sound sharp. ‘You’re too used to turning left on aeroplanes. Experience real life for a change. We’re retracing the holiday we all shared when we were students. It’s significant. A milestone.’
‘I hate milestones. They remind me how many miles I’ve come.’
Dora’s attention was suddenly grabbed by two Orthodox priests who were walking past them swathed in black, with tall black hats and beards that would have made your average Shoreditch hipster choke on his sourdough sandwich. ‘Look, they’ll know, they’re Greek and it’s their duty to be helpful to strangers.’
Dora strode forward and shook the hand of one of the priests enthusiastically. He blanched with shock and stepped backwards, as if Eve herself had materialized on the smelly dockside, the fateful apple in her hand, ready to bring about man’s eternal fall from innocence.
‘Excuse me, but do you know where Terminal P1 is, to the Cyclades Islands?’ Dora enquired.
He shook his head violently and scuttled off in the opposite direction.
‘That was helpful,’ Dora complained. ‘To think I assumed meeting at the terminal would be like catching the Eurostar and I could buy a cappuccino and a copy of Grazia.’
‘Come on, it must be round here,’ Nell said. Even though it was so early in the season, the sun was beating down and Nell found she was sweating profusely. There were people everywhere, pushing and shoving. Apart from two little boys sitting on the harbour wall fishing, it was more a scene from hell than a Greek holiday fantasy. She’d been told you could see the Acropolis once you were on the ferry, but at the moment all she could see were angry-looking people shouting at each other and a row of smokers sitting puffing away next to a heap of suitcases. They rounded another corner to find a bright-red-painted building with ‘Passenger Terminal’ written above it.
Not only was it closed, but chained and padlocked. They plonked themselves down on the bench outside and leaned on their pull-along bags. ‘Oh, bloody hell.’ Nell wiped the sweat out of her eyes. ‘I know. Why don’t we ring Penny? I bet she’s found it.’
She delved into her backpack just as a curious figure came into sight, wearing a long dress in a rather unfortunate shade of purple, embroidered with the kind of key patterns you find in Greek temples, and reading a book as she walked along, apparently oblivious of the chaos around her. Her hair was an untidy birds’ nest that made Nell think of the Edward Lear poem about the old man who found two owls and a hen, four larks and a wren had all made a nest in his beard.
Nell suddenly realized who it was. ‘Moira!’ she greeted the third member of their little troupe. ‘Have you found the right terminal yet?’
The newcomer closed her copy of Robert Graves’ Greek Myths and Legends and looked round hazily. ‘Sorry, no. I’ve just come from the Archaeological Museum in Piraeus. You really ought to go.’
Dora lifted an eyebrow just enough to imply that archaeological museums were not exactly on her list of essential activities.
Moira taught classics at one of the most famous colleges in Cambridge, and lost few opportunities to remind you of it. ‘I’m so excited,’ she announced, staring off into the blue distance of the sea. ‘Our ferry stops at Ios, where Homer was buried, and I want to get off and at least offer some kind of libation. The only thing is you only get six minutes.’
‘I hear Ios is a party island now,’ Dora pointed out bitchily. ‘Vomit in the streets and twenty-four-hour booze cruises. What would Homer think of that?’
Moira shook her head in horror. Nell watched, fascinated, hoping no larks or wrens flew out.
‘Though in the Odyssey he does talk about the wild wine that leads men on to sing at the top of their lungs,’ she informed them, ‘and to dance and blurt out stories better not told.’
‘I’ve had some of that,’ Dora agreed.
‘Me too,’ agreed Nell. ‘Though not for far too long.’
‘We’ll have to put that right,’ laughed Dora. ‘Do you remember retsina?’
‘The one that tastes like Dettol?’
 
; ‘The very same. We’ll see if they have some on the boat.’
‘When we find it,’ Nell sighed, her usual energy beginning to deflate in the heat. ‘Oh yes, I was going to ring Penny.’
‘Hang on,’ Moira pointed behind them, ‘isn’t that her now?’
Dora and Nell turned round just as a smiling figure bore down on them about twenty feet away, looking almost the same as she had when they first met as students – frumpy clothes, straight fair hair, freckled face and an air of almost desperate eagerness.
‘My God,’ whispered Dora. ‘She’s wearing an Alice band! At our age! I gave up those when I was twelve. And she looks so keen to please, just like this spaniel we had when I was a kid that never stopped wagging its tail. Even at burglars.’
‘Not a spaniel,’ Nell found herself whispering back. ‘A golden retriever. Dora,’ she added guiltily, ‘you’re a bad influence. Behave yourself. Hello, Penny,’ she greeted her friend with a smile. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’
‘Spanakopita!’ Penny announced proudly.
‘Is that “good morning” in Greek?’ Dora enquired, trying to suppress a giggle.
‘That’s kalimera,’ Moira corrected repressively.
‘Don’t you remember, girls?’ Penny gushed. ‘When we caught the boat last time we were starving and this is what all the Greek people were eating. They’re spinach and cheese pastries.’ She held out four greasy triangles.
Nell was the first to take one. ‘Delicious!’ she pronounced.
Moira ate hers in one bite and almost choked while Dora screwed up her face, reluctant to risk getting grease on her unsuitable outfit.
‘Well, here we are,’ Penny was almost bursting with excitement. ‘The adventure begins! The terminal’s just round that corner.’
They lined up for their tickets, which turned out to be very easy to buy once you found the right place, and just as Penny had said, considerably cheaper than pre-ordering online.
Tickets in hand, they went off to look for the ferry, pulling their bags behind them, a strangely assorted group: Nell pretty and neat in beige cotton shorts and crisp white shirt, her dark hair in a bob; Moira looking like a member of the Bloomsbury Group on holiday; Dora rich and glamorous, looking as if she might own the ferry line rather than being a foot passenger; and lastly Penny, who did indeed rather resemble a retriever eagerly chasing a ball.
‘Thank goodness for pull-alongs,’ Penny grinned round at the others. ‘Do you remember last time we had to carry our suitcases right across Athens because we couldn’t afford the bus fare?’
They reached the water’s edge, where a row of ferries was lined up.
Dora’s gaze fastened on a small, sleek vessel called Sea Cat 3, which was clearly built for speed. ‘I don’t suppose we’re going on that one?’ she asked longingly.
‘I think that’s ours there.’ Moira pointed to a large, lumbering vessel with a yellow funnel. ‘It stops at six different islands, and one of them is definitely Ios. I really will be able to get off and make my libation!’ She could hardly contain her classical joy. ‘And we should see the sun set over some of them.’
‘Terrific,’ commented Dora.
‘Try and view it as a mini-cruise,’ Nell suggested pacifiyingly.
‘A cruise without a four-star restaurant, a spa, or even a swimming pool?’ Dora replied waspishly. ‘I’m going to sit over there in the shade.’ She pointed to the bright orange waiting area.
When she was out of earshot, Moira raised her copy of Greek Myths and whispered to Nell behind it. ‘I have to say, I do wonder why on earth Dora is joining us.’
Nell glanced over at Dora, who was elegantly raising a real old-fashioned cigarette to her shimmering bronze-lipsticked lips. ‘Yes,’ she replied calmly. ‘The same question had occurred to me.’
To add to Dora’s annoyance, the boat was packed with people returning home for the festival of a local and much-revered saint. The green fabric banquettes had been instantly colonized by entire families, the children sitting on their parents’ knees or running up and down screaming with joyful exuberance; the passageways were choked up with suitcases and baskets full of food being taken home for the festival. The only available seating was in the cafe area.
Nell went off to inspect the menu. ‘Well, basically, girls,’ she reported cheerily, ‘it’s moussaka and chips or moussaka and chips.’
Above their heads an enormous TV screen relayed a football match at maximum volume. ‘Time to resort to the grape,’ Dora announced, plonking down a bottle of retsina and four glasses. ‘Let’s see if it tastes as bad as we remember.’
Moira rather primly put her hand over her glass. ‘I don’t really drink.’
The others looked at her in amazement.
‘Euch!’ winced Dora. ‘It really does taste like Dettol!’ But she drank it all the same.
After they’d finished, Dora went off to explore whether there was any chance of a cabin, announcing that it was the only way she could survive the night.
‘There must be some reason she’s come,’ Moira insisted. ‘I mean, slumming it with the likes of us is hardly her scene.’
‘Of course she came!’ Penny replied, shocked. ‘It’s a reunion. I’m sure she wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
Outside the cafe window, the sky was turning apricot with streaks of magenta. ‘Come on.’ Moira grabbed her rucksack. ‘We’ll miss the sunset.’
‘But what about the seats?’ Nell asked, panicking at the thought of a whole night sitting on the crowded and none too clean floor. ‘Why don’t I stay here and keep them?’
Their dilemma was solved by the return of Dora, announcing she had secured a cabin with four bunk beds. ‘Imagine – the purser said we could have it cheaper if we let a stranger have one of the bunks, but I couldn’t see who would agree to sleep on the floor.’
‘I would have,’ instantly volunteered Penny.
‘I know you would, Penny,’ replied Dora, who seemed to have softened somewhat now she had the prospect of a cabin. ‘But I was only joking.’
‘Come and see the sunset before you go to bed,’ Moira suggested.
‘Yes, come on Dora,’ Nell seconded. ‘It’s your first night in Greece! Enjoy it! You don’t have to stay up late.’
It was a glorious evening on deck. The wake of the ship seemed to be made of liquid silver and the wind that blew through their hair was warm and caressing. Nell stared up at the stars. She thought she could see Orion’s belt but didn’t dare point it out for fear of a half-hour lecture on the other Greek-myth-inspired constellations from Moira. She hadn’t seen so many stars since she’d taken Willow to the London Planetarium. She wouldn’t think about Willow on this beautiful night. She’d accepted Penny’s invitation because it had felt like getting away from what she knew was becoming an unhealthy obsession with the daughter who wouldn’t talk to her. And surely it would be fun to spend some time with her three friends from college, ill-assorted though they might be? Wasn’t that part of the fun? She certainly hoped so. She made herself concentrate on the thousands of stars and planets above her, sharp as jewels in the blackness of the open sky.
‘I wonder what the weather’s like at home? Horrible, I hope.’ This mild statement seemed almost blasphemous on Penny’s lips.
Towards the stern on the top deck, a group of lively young people sat on their bags drinking wine and playing guitars.
‘Do you remember how incredibly bold it was, going to Greece when we were young?’ Nell’s voice seemed to hum with pleasure at the memory. ‘Not like now, when they all fly to Bali or South America. The Greek islands were the height of adventure. An unknown frontier!’
‘And no hotels or Airbnb!’ Penny laughed. ‘Just a little Greek lady dressed in black waiting at the dock to offer you a room.’
The group of young people were clearly in Sixties nostalgic mood. ‘If You’re Going to San Francisco’ segued into ‘Leaving on a Jet Plane’.
‘Do you remember t
he cafe in Zanthos that had the only jukebox in the village?’ Penny asked them. ‘And the one record it had was “Black Magic Woman”, and we played and played it? I’m going to ask them if they know it.’ She jumped to her feet.
‘Oh, God, stop her, someone,’ Dora begged, but it was too late. In five minutes they were all joining in the chorus.
It was too much for Dora, who got to her feet and made for the cabin, where she sank gratefully onto the bunk bed, trying to ignore the smell she hoped wasn’t carbon monoxide and deafen herself to the clanking and clattering of the ramp going down at the first island to let off cars, vans and loud, excitable pedestrians. She stopped herself thinking about how many years it had been since she’d last heard that song.
At least, she comforted herself, things couldn’t get much worse than being below the car deck in a two-foot-wide bunk bed in thirty-degree heat.
Moira announced she was going to find the purser and ask when they would dock at Ios, while Penny and Nell went into the bar and bought a bottle of wine to share with the singers on deck. They were an assorted bunch who had met each other at a hostel in Athens and decided to travel on together to Ios, where apparently the party never stopped.
They ranged in age from about seventeen to thirty, the girls mainly in tiny shorts and tank midriff tops, the men in Lycra and t-shirts, as if they might be about to jump onto a bike and join the Tour de France.
‘They’re like a modern version of us,’ Nell laughed.
‘Without the Afghan coats and hippie shawls,’ Moira agreed. ‘Do you remember that Berber wedding dress you found in Kensington Market and wore for about two years till it smelled worse than a camel?’
Nell laughed at the memory. ‘I loved that dress. It absolutely appalled my mother. Which was part of the charm.’
‘Do you think they mind having us oldies sitting with them?’ Penny asked anxiously, suddenly reminding Nell of a gun dog who has dropped its master’s pheasant and fears an angry reprisal.
‘I doubt they’ve even noticed,’ Nell replied. ‘And if they have, we probably remind them of their parents.’ She stood up, holding out the bottle. ‘Anyone for a top-up?’