Page 60 of Deep Blue Lies

FIFTY-NINE

I rest for a while, then walk down to the harbour as the light is falling in the sky.

There’s just the slightest breeze now, enough to move the boats gently on the still, clear water.

The gaps between the boats sparkle and shimmer in the reflected light from the lamps set up by the restaurants that hug the waterfront.

Our table – three or four tables pushed together – has been set up right beside the water, impossible to miss, and inviting, despite my nerves.

I meet the group from the dive centre as they’re arriving, a big happy gaggle laughing and joking freely.

Kostas’ boys are here too, which surprises me, but they seem completely at home out this late and with a group of adults.

His wife’s here too, but I don’t get to speak with her.

I feel a little shy and out of place at first, but Sophia grabs my arm when we go to sit, and steers me so we can sit together at the opposite end to her boss.

She sits with her back to the water, the pretty strings of lanterns around the water’s edge illuminating the green streaks in her dark hair.

Behind her the boats and the heavy, protective harbour wall loom in the darkness.

The clients from the dive centre are an eclectic mix – they’re fun and they don’t give me a chance to think about my problems. Sitting next to Sophia is a guy in his thirties who works in finance.

I ask him about it and he begins to explain, but then waves it away and says it doesn’t matter, not out here.

He tells me instead about the dive they did earlier, to a World War Two wreck that’s sunk a mile or so out in the bay.

I’ve never done diving, and to be honest it sounds scary.

But cool as well. Next to me is another guy.

He doesn’t say anything at first, he just listens to the banker, but when I turn to him he surprises me with his pure cockney accent, so strong I think he’s putting it on at first.

He tells me he only came to Alythos on a whim, and mostly to make up for a terrible mistake he made with a tattoo. Again I think he’s joking, but then he shows me the Manchester City Football Club logo on his upper arm, only apparently the colours are wrong.

“It’s Arsenal colours, see?” he says. “I was off me fuckin’ head. Me so-called mates thought it would be a laff.”

I tell him I think the colours are nice, and he calls me uncivilisable – which I’m not even sure is a word. But that’s the feel of the night. A space in time where people from all walks of life can come together and our shared humanity outweighs the differences.

And the food…wow. I thought I’d eaten well already here on Alythos, but this is something else.

We don’t order from menus, instead Kostas speaks with the owner of the restaurant, and I suppose they must have it all worked out from coming here every week, but soon the waiters begin weaving between the tables, setting down dish after dish.

First it’s just bread, but warm and fresh from the oven. It’s served alongside small dishes of golden-green olive oil, thick with crushed garlic and oregano. Next to it, bowls of plump, glossy olives, black and green, marinated in citrus and herbs.

Then come the mezze plates – tzatziki , thick and creamy.

There’s something called melitzanosalata , which is smoky and tangy from aubergines.

Plates of saganaki arrive, wedges of golden, pan-fried cheese, still sizzling.

The scent of lemon and honey rises up as the tattoo guy squeezes a wedge over the top, rubbing his hands.

“Wow, let’s get stuck into that.”

The waiters come next with grilled octopus, tender and charred at the edges, and crispy rings of calamari, served with a wedge of lemon and a sprinkle of sea salt.

The meat dishes follow – plates of souvlaki , skewers of charred chicken and pork, the smoky scent mixing with the salty breeze from the harbour.

A whole grilled sea bass, its skin crisp and glistening, is placed in the centre of the table, alongside a dish of roasted vegetables, more aubergine, courgette and peppers, caramelised and sweet.

There’s carafes of red wine, and chilled bottles of white.

“Oh my God,” I say to Sophia, when I see the waiters coming out with yet more food. “I can’t eat any more.” But I do, and it’s even more delicious.

“This is amazing,” I tell her. “I think I’ve fallen in love with this place.”

“Yeah,” she replies, with a strange look in her eyes.

By this time quite a lot of wine has been sunk, and the talk turns again to water sports.

It is the one common denominator, at least for most of the people at the table.

A woman – I think she’s the girlfriend of the banker – tells me she was watching my foiling attempts, and she was impressed.

She says she wants to try it, and then the banker agrees.

Sophia calls out to Kostas, telling him to make a note.

There’s dessert, and afterwards Kostas’ wife leaves, taking the two children who finally seem exhausted after spending most of the night running around the restaurant and harbourside with other children from the town.

The rest of us are brought tiny cups of Greek coffee, thick and strong.

The rich, earthy bitterness cuts through the sweetness perfectly, and I’m done.

I can’t eat or drink anything more. And then, as the waiters clear the last few plates, I start to worry about the bill.

I see the guests begin pulling wallets from their pockets, and I want to contribute too, but Kostas puts a stop to all of it.

“Don’t worry,” Sophia tells me quietly. “It’s all covered by the dive centre. The guests pay, but they get a reduced rate. The instructors get fed free. And tonight, you’re one of us. ”

Her words warm me. I like the thought of being one of them.

Then there’s a split. Some of the younger guests want to head on to a bar the other side of the harbour, where there’s a dancefloor.

Sophia looks at me questioningly, and I’m tempted, but I don’t think I can actually move after my crashes and all the food.

She laughs when I tell her, and very naturally takes my hand.

“Don’t worry then, I’ll walk you home.”

So then we bid goodnight to the rest of the group and moments later we’re alone, walking back up through the town, Sophia still holding my hand.

For just a moment it’s awkward, and I’m not sure what exactly is happening, but there’s an ease to her that relaxes me.

And she knows everything. Every building we pass, she tells me who lives there, and she seems to have a story about everyone.

On our right is the home of the man her father fished with.

There’s a big house on the left, set back from the road, with a lush garden which is where the former owner of the ADR lived, when he was out here and not in England.

She shows me Kostas’ house too, more modest, its little front yard almost completely taken up with a RIB in for repair.

We fall quiet as we near the back of town where my apartment is.

We’re still holding hands, and though I definitely want to, I’m not sure what this is, or where it’s going.

For the first time I sense uncertainty in Sophia too.

I glance at her, hoping that she won’t notice, and take in the dark strands of her hair falling across her face.

She’s very pretty – beautiful – and it’s not like I hadn’t noticed before.

Her skin, her bare shoulders, are smooth and look so soft to the touch.

Her hand is tanned and delicate in mine.

I think suddenly of Kevin, my last boyfriend.

He wasn’t one for holding hands, but when he did they were like plates of meat.

Boyfriend. That word stops me in my tracks. Is there something romantic about this?

Suddenly, Sophia stops.

“What?”

Her mood has changed .

“Nothing,” – she looks perturbed – “I just thought I saw someone up ahead.”

I look, but I don’t see anything.

“Where?”

“Up there, they’re gone now. If there was anyone.”

Somehow this pierces the atmosphere, deflates it quietly.

She’s already dropped my hand and doesn’t re-take it.

Sophia seems to read the shift in mood just as I do, but I don’t know if she shares my confusion about what was happening.

We stop outside my door and she points to a passageway between the buildings opposite I hadn’t noticed before.

“That’s a shortcut to my house,” she says, with a kind of goofy smile on her lips. I stare at her face a few moments, unsure how to reply.

“Do you want to come in for a while?” I say in the end.

“I don’t have much, but I did buy a bottle of Metaxa on my last visit to the supermarket.

I wanted to see what my mum saw in it.” The word “mum” comes easier to me now, using it almost like a joke.

Or perhaps not, I may be about to confirm that she’s not my biological mother, but that doesn’t mean she’s not “Mum”. I’m beginning to understand that now.

“OK.”

I unlock the outer door and we step inside, cross the dim hallway to the entrance to my apartment. But at once I see there’s something odd. At my front door there’s something hanging from the handle. I get closer and see it’s a plastic shopping bag.

“What’s that?” Sophia asks, but I don’t answer. I take it off and look inside. I think I know before I even look, just from the feel of it. But I’m still baffled.

“What is it?” Sofia asks again, confusion in her voice.

“It’s my laptop,” I say, pulling the shattered glass, plastic and metal parts from inside the bag. The totally smashed-up remains of my laptop. “Someone’s brought it back.”