Grace had fancied checking out the restaurant at the luxury hotel herself, but Sofia couldn’t see the grin on her face.
The muffled voices in the background were getting louder and louder and Grace could hear her friend’s name being called.
‘Gotta go. See you next Saturday. Kisses.’
The phone went dead before Grace even had the chance to reply. She’d have to get her stamina up. As well as the full week of teaching ahead, the whirlwind that was Sofia would be in town. All the more reason for a lie-down on a sun lounger now.
The sun was still hot on her back, and there were people down on the beach, although it was past six-thirty in the evening. Many more passed her on the path coming the other way, carrying their parasols and cool boxes, making for home or the many hotels and apartments.
Grace headed straight for the sunbeds and chose a pair with a parasol on the almost empty front row. She stripped off to her costume and lay back for a moment, closed her eyes and let the sound of the sea wash over her. She came to with a young guy in a white T-shirt and a man bun standing over her with a smile. There were worse ways to wake up.
‘Hi. I’m the sunbed guy.’
‘Of course.’
Grace scrabbled for her purse.
‘Listen, it’s usually ten euros for the set, two beds and a parasol. But as it’s so late in the day, I won’t charge you for the bed, as long as you buy a drink.
‘Perfect. I’ll have a fresh orange juice please, with ice.’
She paid him, including a small tip, as she’d been advised that Greeks didn’t really expect tips as such, just for you to pay the price as stated, which was a relief.
A fresh orange juice in Greece really was a different experience from anything you could buy in a British supermarket that marketed itself as fresh orange juice.
Grace smiled as the first sip hit her mouth and burst with flavour. Perhaps it was the sun that gave it that special ingredient.
She sat up a bit straighter and looked out to sea and then back along the beach. There were families with young children dotted around, and she smiled to see one young mum trying to take a spade away from a little girl intent on whacking her brother over the head with it.
Older teenagers in groups, who’d obviously come straight from after-school lessons, snacked on bakery treats wrapped in paper bags, their schoolbags abandoned on the sand. She hadn’t really thought this one through. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone who attended her language school among them.
Young couples, or groups of friends, sat on towels and drank after-work beers, while their more energetic counterparts took each other on at the beach volleyball court, or stood with their feet in the sea, playing bat ball, hitting the ball to each other and shrieking with laughter as an awkward missed shot made one or the other of them fall in the water.
One group in particular caught her attention. A blond guy was throwing a ball to a dog while a dark-haired woman in a white bikini and sunglasses lay on a towel on the sand. A couple of other men stood talking above her and glancing down surreptitiously every few moments.
The dawning realisation that Charlie and Anna were at the centre of the group made Grace reach for her sunglasses and hat, even though she was shielded from the sun by her parasol. Bumping into those two on the beach wasn’t what she’d signed up for.
From behind her dark glasses, Grace was convinced that neither of them would spot her. She watched Charlie bend down to talk to a little boy who had come up to stroke the dog, Buster, if she’d remembered right. Buster was a Miniature Schnauzer; she knew that because her cousin had one. Her cousin’s dog, Dora, was incredibly well behaved and easy tempered, allowed to go into work with her owner and sit beside her chair all day.
Charlie spent time showing the boy how to approach the dog and stroke him in the correct way, before allowing the youngster to feed Buster a treat.
Despite herself, Grace was impressed. Maybe she’d got him all wrong. She must try and stop making snap judgements. She’d surely been a lot more open-minded about people when she was younger. People could occasionally surprise you. At her age, not often, but you never knew.
An extra-long throw of the ball by Charlie had Buster racing her way across the sand. Grace watched in horror as the ball bounced and went straight under her sun lounger. Buster followed not long after, while Charlie was still way back on the beach. Grace tried to keep still as Buster snuffled around near her lounger, unaware that the ball was underneath. She loved dogs, almost as much as cats, but this one was going to bring its owner over too.
Grace reached under the bed to fish out the ball, which gave Buster the excuse to get his head into her beach holdall covered with green and blue starfish. She remembered a second too late that there was a slice of spanakopita in there that she’d bought at the bakery on the way for a snack tea on the beach. She was already a firm fan of the spinach and feta pies. Buster pulled his head out, with his teeth attached to the lump of pastry. She couldn’t really blame the dog, the temptation was too much, and it wasn’t as if she was going to eat it now anyway.
‘Here, boy.’
Grace held out her hand, but Buster wasn’t giving up his prize that easily.
She wasn’t sure if dogs were supposed to eat pastry, and it was a bit late to Google it, as Buster had already demolished half.
By the time Charlie arrived, the slice was history.
Looking down at his dog and back at her, the pile of flakes and torn paper bag on the sand gave it away.
‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. He’s such a pig. He’ll eat anything.’
