Keera leans against the terrace wall and listens to the laughing and giggling. Just half an hour ago, her mother and Julia were on the verge of hitting each other but now it seems that booze and admiring men have taken the edge off.
A very cheesy French album is playing loudly and, as Keera walks up to the bar, she can hear her mother singing along to it.
Julia is looking very undone, with her bare feet up on a barstool, the strap of her tiny blue camisole falling off her shoulder revealing a sexy curved shoulder and the swell of one breast. She has one arm around Stavros, holding a giant glass of wine, and Keera feels a violent urge for a drink.
Just one sip—
‘Look what the cat dragged in!’ shrieks her mother.
Bobbi clambers off her barstool and hugs Keera.
The alcohol fumes hit Keera and suddenly the idea of being drunk feels like the most appalling thing in the world.
‘What are you doing here, Mom?’ asks Keera, leading her mother away from the bar and up to the terrace, which is mercifully empty.
Bobbi has brought her glass and plonks it on the table.
‘I came to see you, honey bun,’ says Bobbi, grabbing her daughter and kissing her on both cheeks now that her hands are free. ‘What have you done with your hair, hon?’
Bobbi fluffs Keera’s wig a little with a disapproving moue. ‘It’s a bit drastic. You look like Barbie. Norm-core Barbie. That’s never been our brand.’
Then she stands back and looks at Keera critically.
‘It’s a wig, isn’t it?’ she says suddenly. ‘Why the fuck are you wearing a wig? What have you done?’
Keera sighs and pulls off the wig, revealing her freshly shaved head.
India had done it for her the night before and had then applied some Voya lime and mandarin lotion onto Keera’s skull, all the while telling her that she had a beautifully shaped head.
‘You’re bald!’ shrieks Dr Bobbi, sinking onto one of the seats on the terrace and taking a huge gulp of her drink.
‘Yeah, Mom, I shaved it off,’ says Keera with irritation. ‘Nobody’s died, OK?’
‘What about your career? Bald or Barbie, either one will kill that off. What the fuck have you done?’
‘Mom, we try not to use swear words on the retreat,’ Keera feels obliged to point out.
‘Like I fucking care!’ Bobbi’s up to full shriek now.
Keera wonders if everyone in Xanthe can hear her. Their view of tourists will be broken beyond belief. But then, last season, according to Adriana, the village hosted a week-long hen night and the place was awash with pink fluffy handcuffs, cowboy hats with glitter on them and parties into the night.
Bobbi is still shouting.
‘You’re crazy, crazy!’
The sound grates in Keera’s head.
She wants to do this away from everyone else.
‘Follow me,’ she says, ignoring Bobbi’s shouting.
There are stone steps and a wooden handrail behind the terrace. Keera and India climbed up here before to a hidden high point overlooking the hotel, the village and the sea.
‘Up here,’ Keera says and starts climbing up to the acropolis without waiting for her mother to reply.
‘Come down—’ begins Bobbi but Keera keeps climbing the smooth stone steps. She is not talking to her mother inthe bar or anywhere else with proximity to alcohol because then Bobbi will have more to drink, and drinking changes her mother into something else.
Like mother like daughter, Keera thinks ruefully as she climbs.
