“You've had longer conversations than seventy per cent of my hook-ups in the last few years.”
“Well, that's on you and Grindr,” I say.
Jake waves my comment away. “The point is, he's very attractive. You scrub up well enough. And my God, he seems very into you. I’m afraid there wasn’t time for me to grill him about his age or that of his mother’s, so yes, it may indeed be a weird Mummy kink, but who fucking cares if it means he gives you theEat, Poke, Lubenight of your life?”
I pull my shoulders back. “Are you serious? Mummy issues? I'm hardlythatmuch older than him.”
“I said a Mummykink, not Mummyissues. Two very different things. Says the man with a Daddy kinkandDaddy issues but hey...”
“Oh, Jakey,” I say wanting to pull him into a big hug... and to put a fist in my father's face even though he's currently 2,500 miles away. “But we have dinner tonight.”
“No, we don't. Not if this works out. Just please... enjoy yourself. You deserve this,” he says, before pointing a slightly concave finger at Marty. “You deservethat. Even if it's just for one night.”
I feel a frightening number of different things in response to my brother's suggestion, so I take a deep breath and tell myself they will pass. With my exhale, I blow Jake a kiss.
“Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl. Haven't you got to go?” I say. Behind my brother's head, I see his assistant manager, Lionel, running across reception carrying a stack of towels. Jake turns to where I'm looking.
“Oh, Meryl-Streep-in-Mamma-Mia, Lionel! Not the guest linen!” He charges off in pursuit.
I turn back to watch Marty some more, hopefully, while he's not looking, so I can let my eyes roam his back and better, his backside, but then I see he's not alone. There's a woman standing next to him. There's ayoungwoman standing next to him and they're talking together,intimately.
There's a young woman standing next to him and they're talking together, intimately,and she's resting her hand on his arm.
There's a young woman standing next to him and they're talking together, intimately, and she's resting her hand on his arm,and she has the kind of beauty that only the young are blessed with- the unspoiled, smooth and very symmetrical kind.
“Oh, fuck,” I say out loud to myself, wishing I hadn't abandoned the last few mouthfuls of my mojito. “That sucks donkey balls.”
Chapter Four
Marty
I’m standing at the bar trying to catch the staff’s attention so I can order two mocktails for myself and a woman who is doing something to me. Something strange and brilliant and terrifying. I’m not sure how I got here, but I might be happy I’m here. Maybe.
Actually, I do know how I got here.
It all began a few months ago when I reluctantly agreed to accompany my parents on a luxury holiday to celebrate their thirtieth wedding anniversary. Then this morning my mother woke me at the arse crack of dawn, bossed me around until I was in a taxi on our way to the airport, where we barely spoke a word to each other until we’d all had coffee, and even after that our limited conversation had felt like a huge effort. It was no different on the plane when I grabbed the single seat across the aisle from the rest of them and shoved my headphones in my ears but didn’t listen to a single song.
Music is still hard for me.
I felt a bit bad about ignoring them all, so once we got to the airport I collected the bags from the carousel and pushed the trolley to where we found our transfer car. But then my mother gushed about how helpful and strong I was and how happy she was that I was with them and that made me shove my headphones in again as soon as we were on our way. I still didn’t listen to anything as I watched the island pass us by. The sunshine reminded me of a million places I didn’t want to think about. The heat took me back to sweaty days I shared with someone I missed. And the blue of the sky taunted me with so many memories, I closed my eyes for the last twenty minutes.
As soon as we got here, I realised that Mum and Dad must have spent a ton of cash on this holiday. From the champagne offered upon arrival – which I insisted they all drank while I sipped an orange juice – to the way the receptionist called me ‘Sir’ even though I am almost certainly younger than him. This resort is pure luxury, and it made me feel an uneasy amount of guilt that my parents couldn’t be here by themselves. I mean, they could have. I told them to, many times. But they would never have gone if I hadn’t agreed to join. They would never have left me on my own.
So that’s how I got here, to Crete.
As for how I got to be standing at this bar, well, that’s a longer story, even if it took less time to play out.
It began by me walking into our villa and realising it was the most luxurious accommodation I’d ever stayed in, and for that reason and a hundred others, I couldn’t stay inside it a minute longer. I couldn’t hear my father boast about how many different types of coffee pods we had, nor could I watch my mother clasp her hand over her mouth at how “simply stunning” the view was. Not that she was wrong – it was a truly impressive panorama of the peninsula – but it hurt to have such beauty in front of me. And when Maeve started to do a video of herself standing by the pool – ourown private pool, for Christ’s sake – I knew I had to get out of there. I rushed to what was my room, dumped out the contents of my duffel bag and filled it with my gym gear, trainers, a change of clothes and a pair of swimming shorts. Then I yelled out that I was going to go find the gym and I ran out the door before anyone could stop me.
There followed nearly two hours of the treadmill, the stationary bike, the rowing machine and then far too many reps on far too many weight machines. When my legs started to shake and my hollow stomach grumbled at me for food because it hadn’t had any since the sub-standard airport breakfast, I stopped and finally took in the view, too tired to resist its splendour.
The rugged beauty of the view appealed to me. It was breath-taking and memorable, but not in a pristine or lush way, rather in a very raw and rough way. I liked how the blush-red soil, arid climate and sun-filled days didn't seem to be a hospitable environment for much more than low-growing bush, olive trees andsome cacti, meaning the volcanic mountains inland were a mix of muted greys, earthy greens and terracotta oranges. This contrasted with the sparkling sea that these jagged hills tumbled into. The water’s bottomless blue was as calming and clear as a cloudless sky, as long as I didn’t let any memories creep in.
I accepted then that this was probably one of the better things I'd agreed to do with - or rather,for- my parents in the last few months. Indeed, I had spent most of the last few weeks moaning profusely to Dad about bringing our race bikes to ride early every morning here but looking at the landscape, I suddenly couldn't wait. It would be good to explore the roads for the first time tomorrow morning, to feel a breeze in my hair and some more muscles ache in my legs.
“Hey, dickhead!” A voice snaps me out of my thoughts and back into the beach bar. A voice that is both angry and familiar.
“Shit,” I say and close my eyes, not bothering to turn around.
