Page 12 of The Cruise Club

Fran and Sid enjoyed their walk around the village and now wandered along a path that bordered a horseshoe-shaped beach.

Having stopped to buy souvenirs in a gift shop, Fran was pleased with her purchase of an embroidered tea towel, a glow-in-the-dark statue of Adonis, and a bar of olive soap.

For Sid, she’d bought a T-shirt with the logo Opa! and insisted he wear it.

‘You haven’t needed your Greek phrasebook,’ Sid said as he spotted a shady bench beneath a fir tree and guided Fran to the spot.

‘You’re right, and I think we’re managing very nicely with my Greek greetings,’ Fran agreed.

She placed the little book on the bench, then kicked off her sandals. Taking the bottle of water from her cleavage, she drank thirstily and offered it to Sid. Wriggling her toes, she looked up to see a couple approach. ‘Kalimári!’ Fran called out.

The couple, tall and tanned, wearing hiking boots and shorts, looked bemused. They stared curiously at the middle-aged woman, colourful in her vibrant kaftan. ‘Kalimera,’ they replied.

‘Folk are very friendly,’ Sid mused, ‘those two look like serious walkers and must be heading up to the fort.’

‘I expect they’ll bump into Don and Debbie.’

‘It’s a very steep climb.’ Sid stared up at the top of the hillside where the ruins of the Venetian fort peeked out.

Suddenly, an old man appeared from the shadows. An unlit cigarette hung from his lips, and a dusty cap dipped low over his weathered face. He held a jar of honey and a sign in his grubby hands.

Startled, Fran greeted him, ‘Kalimári!’ she said.

The old man looked bemused and thrust his hands out further.

‘I think he wants us to buy his honey.’ Sid reached into his pocket and peeled off a ten euro note.

‘It’s pricey, I hope it’s good’ Fran commented as she took the jar and smiled at the honey seller. ‘Kalimári!’ she called again and placed the purchase in her bag.

With a furrowed brow, the old man cocked his head and stared wide-eyed at Fran. Shaking his head, he turned and silently moved away.

‘I’m hungry. Shall we find somewhere for a bite to eat?’ Sid asked.

‘Aye, that would be lovely.’

Taking Sid’s steady arm, Fran slipped her feet into her sandals, picked up her phrasebook and they set off.

Reaching a courtyard close to the harbour, Sid and Fran saw a man placing chairs around tables under a wooden gazebo.

Tall and well-built, his stomach bulged from the waistband of his trousers, and as he prepared his taverna, he began to sing.

His operatic voice carried across the courtyard to the gift shop, where a woman swept needle-shaped leaves, gathering them into piles.

‘Ya, Jimmy!’ the woman called out and nodded towards Sid and Fran. ‘You’ll frighten the tourists.’

But Jimmy continued to sing, his voice gaining momentum. ‘Toreador! Love, love awaits you!’

Side-stepping cracks in the path, Fran and Sid stopped to listen, and when Jimmy ended his song, Fran clapped her hands. ‘Kalimári!’ she applauded. ‘Your voice is wonderful, and I love that song from the opera Carmen .’

Jimmy began to laugh. ‘But you just said, “squid”,’ he said. ‘Next time, try “Kaliméra”. Good morning is a more traditional greeting.’

‘Oh, hell.’ Fran felt her face flush, her fingers tightening on her phrasebook.

Jimmy grinned and placed beefy hands on his hips. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

‘We’re gasping for a drink and something to eat. Can you recommend anywhere?’

‘My bar isn’t open yet, but you could try the Psaro Taverna.’ Jimmy pointed to tables beneath colourful umbrellas, a short distance away. ‘Spiros will be happy to serve you,’ he added.

‘Aye, that sounds grand,’ Fran thanked Jimmy.

‘My pleasure,’ Jimmy said and adjusted a chair. ‘Squid!’ he added with a wave of his hand and, with another belly laugh turned away.

Once they’d crossed the street to the Psaro Taverna, Spiros greeted them warmly. ‘Squid!’ he called out to Fran with a grin and ‘Opa!’ to Sid when he saw Sid’s T-shirt. Indicating that the couple joined others from the ship, Spiros guided them to a table overlooking the harbour.

Don, Debbie, Colin and Neeta sat alongside Carmen and Betty. Peter, who was pouring wine, stood at the head of the table.

‘SQUID!’ everyone chanted and began to laugh.

‘Blimey, news travels fast.’ Fran pulled at the collar on her kaftan and slid into a chair next to Don.

Don, his face flushed red and breathing laboured, looked like he’d just completed a marathon in ninety-degree heat, and drained a bottle of beer.

‘We were at the top of the hill when a Dutch couple told us there was a strange lady by the beach calling everyone a squid,’ he chuckled, ‘Debbie and I knew that it had to be you.’

‘That must have been the hiking couple,’ Fran muttered. ‘Whatever must they think of me?’

‘How does a squid go into battle?’ Don asked. ‘Fully armed!’ He guffawed.

‘Did you get to the fort?’ Fran asked, keen to change the subject.

‘Oh yes, and it was worth the effort,’ Don replied, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. ‘You can see for miles up there, but the climb nearly killed me.’ He held out his bottle for Spiros, who quickly refreshed the beer.

Peter handed Fran a glass of wine, and she noticed everyone had a jar of honey on the table. The old man had enjoyed a profitable day.

‘I propose a toast to the honey seller,’ Fran said.

‘The best things in life are un-bee-lievably sweet,’ Don added.

‘What did you get up to?’ Fran turned to Carmen.

‘I went for a walk and found some ruins of Venetian buildings,’ Carmen replied. ‘A local man called Jimmy told me where to go and explained that an earthquake in 1953 caused a great deal of damage, but the ruins have been left as a reminder of the island’s history.’

‘How interesting,’ Fran sipped her wine, ‘and did this Jimmy sing to you?’

‘Yes,’ Carmen said, ‘did you hear him too?’

‘The whole village did, he has a wonderful voice,’ Fran grinned.

Spiros appeared with an assistant, whom he introduced as his sister, and they loaded plates of delicious food onto the table. ‘Eat, eat…’ he instructed, and everyone began to tuck in.

To Fran’s surprise, Betty was the first to reach out and dig deep into a bowl of moussaka, filling her plate and adding fluffy yellow potatoes bathed in olive oil.

‘Your mum is hungry,’ Fran commented as she helped herself to a stuffed vine leaf. ‘Does she like Greek food?’

‘Not to my knowledge, but she’s been drinking ouzo for the last two hours and seems to have worked up an appetite.’

Fran looked at Betty, whose bonnet had slipped to one side.

Several strands stuck out from her ordinarily neat hair and her cheeks were pink as she called out to Spiros to turn up the music.

As ancient folk melodies sounded throughout the taverna, Betty closed her eyes and held up her arms to sway in a Zorba.

Fran turned her attention to Colin and Neeta.

‘I like your headgear,’ she said to Neeta, who wore a pink baseball cap with a pineapple motif. ‘I wouldn’t mind one of those for myself.’

Fran noticed that Colin’s shirt had a pineapple print. ‘Do you like pineapples?’ she asked, remembering that the couple had a similar motif on their togas at the Greek night.

‘Oh yes,’ Neeta butted in. Wearing a tiny halter top, she leaned across the table and ran her pink-tipped nails softly along Sid’s arm. ‘Are you into pineapples, Sidney?’

Fran giggled as she watched Sid’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. Neeta’s pert breasts were threatening to spill into his souvlaki.

‘Sid loves them, don’t you dear?’ Fran said.

‘Really?’ Neeta’s eyes were wide, and she moved closer to Sid.

‘Well, er… I like pineapple rings that come in a tin,’ Sid spluttered and edged away from Neeta, ‘and I’m quite partial to a pineapple chunk if Fran goes to the sweet shop.’

‘Interesting…’ Neeta smiled.

‘Oh look,’ Fran said, pointing to a figure coming out of the water. ‘Isn’t that man from our ship?’

Everyone turned to stare at the nearby figure on the beach.

‘I think it’s that writer fellow, Ruskin Reeve,’ Sid said. ‘What a good idea to have a cooling swim on such a hot day.’

‘Have you heard of him?’ Fran asked Carmen as she forked a cube of saganaki.

‘Oh yes,’ Carmen said, ‘Ruskin Reeve is the reason I’ve come on this cruise.’

Fran noticed Carmen’s eyes gleam. ‘Really, dear, why’s that?’ She forked another cube of the crisp golden cheese.

‘He writes novels and is a bestselling author. Have you heard of the TV series Detective Inspector Blake Investigates ?’

‘I certainly have. Sid and I love the series and save them for my night off.’

‘Well, that’s the author on the beach.’

‘My goodness, I’m sure Sid will want his autograph, he loves reading detective novels.’

‘Ruskin is going to host a talk and is running workshops.’ Carmen grinned. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘That’s nice. Do you like detective novels?’

‘Actually, I am an author, too.’ Carmen lowered her head. She felt embarrassed to admit her career, fearing Fran would probe and want to learn more.

‘Really?’ Fran clapped her hands. ‘But that’s fantastic, what do you write?’

‘I’ve only written one novel, and it’s called The Rainbow Sleuth .’

Fran reached for her wine and called out, ‘Oi, Sid! Have you heard of The Rainbow Sleuth ?’

Sid turned, pleased to be diverted from Neeta, who’d edged her chair closer. ‘Yes, it’s a cosy crime mystery that came out a few months ago. I read it on my Kindle.’

‘You’ll be interested to know that our girl here,’ Fran wrapped an arm around Carmen, ‘is the author. Isn’t she clever!’

‘I’ll say.’ Sid grinned. ‘I hope there’s another book coming out soon. It’s going to make a cracking series.’ He raised his beer to Carmen. ‘Well done, lass, now we can say that we’ve met someone famous.’

‘I’m not famous,’ Carmen insisted. Suddenly embarrassed, she removed her glasses. ‘Ruskin Reeve is the celebrity you must meet.’

‘So why are you so keen to meet him?’ Fran asked as she lifted a dish of keftedes and spooned a meatball onto her plate.

‘I’m hoping I’ll gain some inspiration.’ Carmen sighed. ‘I’ve got writer’s block and I can’t seem to write a word, but my publisher has given me a deadline, and there’s not a prayer that I’m going to make it.’

‘Now, don’t worry your pretty head about little things like deadlines,’ Fran rattled on. ‘A good holiday will soon sort all that out, with all the inspiration you’re going to get during the cruise.’

‘I hope you’re right.’ Carmen frowned.

‘Of course I am, and Sid and I will help. You need a good plot for your rainbow sleuth and some interesting characters?’

‘If only…’

But Fran patted Carmen’s arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said reassuringly and tore a slice of pita, dipping it into a bowl of tzatziki.

A writer, how interesting! Fran thought and turned her gaze to Betty, who’d heaved herself out of her chair and was now gripping Spiros’s hands to shuffle across the cobbles.

Spiros, who’d been handing out complimentary shots of ouzo, supported Betty with care and guided her movements to the lively Greek music, causing Fran to smile as she watched the two strangers, generations apart, sharing a moment of connection.

‘Your mum’s a dark horse,’ Fran whispered to Carmen, ‘and not as infirm as she’d like us to believe. Will she be doing cartwheels next?’

‘You never know…’ Carmen set down her glass and sighed.

‘A couple of drinks and a handsome Greek, and she’s away.’ Fran chuckled.

After another round of ouzo, Sid rose out of his chair. Sensing that Neeta, who was squiffy, was about to grab his hands and encourage him to dance too, he moved swiftly to Fran’s side.

‘May I have the pleasure?’ Sid asked and held out his hands.

‘The pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart,’ Fran said and rose to her feet.

After a few too many shots, everyone was glowing as the liquorice-sweet liquor took hold, and they surrendered to the infectious rhythm of the music.

Spiros’s mother came out of the kitchen with his sister, who beckoned Jimmy over, and they joined in too.

Forming a wobbly line in the middle of the taverna, guests draped their arms over each other’s shoulders and, with mixed steps and much laughter, attempted the sharp kicks of the dance.

Don threw his leg too high and almost tipped over, while Fran fell against Colin as the music got faster.

Sid, who couldn’t escape from Neeta, looked away as her breasts, barely contained in her top, bounced in a rhythm of their own, the halter straps straining gallantly.

‘SQUID!’ they all called out as the music ended and they stumbled back to their seats.

‘More oooozo!’ Betty held up her glass. She’d abandoned her wheelchair and, staggering, held onto Carmen’s shoulder.

Peter stared nervously at the party and clenched his hands. Everyone appeared to be red-faced and swaying and he was doubtful that he’d manage to manoeuvre his inebriated guests up the hill to the minibus.

‘We’re leaving for the return journey to the ship!’ he suddenly announced.

Reaching for his clipboard, he was grateful that their driver had driven swiftly to the harbour following Peter’s urgent call. Now, surveying the scene, he thought of the uncooperative goats they’d met on the road.

‘I’m like a frazzled shepherd,’ he muttered as he saw Debbie hug a lamp post as though it were a long-lost friend while Don, staggering slightly, attempted to ease her away.

Betty, meanwhile, was wobbling towards the bar.

‘No! Betty, the bus is over here. No, over here !’ Peter repeated, gesturing wildly.

He was relieved to see Sid and Fran take charge of the older woman and manipulate her into her chair with a fireman’s lift.

As the giggling guests were finally ushered onboard the minibus, Peter closed the door, and the engine chugged to life. He wondered if his colleagues accompanying other cruise guests had as much trouble with their charges and with relief, settled deep into his seat and stared out of the window.

Spiros and his family stood with Jimmy, by their taverna, and waved at the retreating guests.

Raising his hand and forcing a smile, Peter considered if being a tour rep in Ibiza with a party of wild young millennials would be easier than caring for the vintage squad in the minibus.

This lot made herding cats in the middle of a storm look easy.

As Peter waved goodbye to Spiros, he whispered, ‘I should’ve taken that office job…’