‘Who does Saffron stalk on social media? No, let me guess, The Weeknd.’
‘No, that’s all me.’
‘Oh, wow, OK, Faye, you have a type. Young, handsome guys with beards. I am just another face to you. And I cannot sing so…’
‘Well,’ Faye said. ‘Perhaps if you could sing too, there would be an even bigger statue.’ She laughed. ‘Actually I don’t know why I said that, could it get any bigger?’
‘Will you stop saying things like that? You will kill a guy.’
She laughed again and he found himself smiling on the inside at her infectious enthusiasm for literally everything, despite everything. She was strong, fortified, yet building that hadn’t made her hard; there was still openness, softness… things he lacked.
‘You don’t have to tell me anything about your family issues, you know,’ Faye told him gently. ‘I know I said I would listen, and I do mean that, but if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine too.’
He put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. ‘Efharistó. Thank you.’ Honesty. He rubbed her arm with his hand as he hugged her. ‘Listen, Faye, I want you to know that the woman you saw with me at the hotel?—’
‘You don’t need to explain,’ Faye interrupted. ‘We’re grown-ups. We aren’t tied to each other. We can see whoever we want to see and?—’
‘Nothing happened.’ He took his arm from around her and put the flat of his palm to his chest. ‘On my life.’ He sighed. ‘But, for a moment, when I invited her there, I wanted it to. So, you know, I’m still a shit.’
‘I didn’t think you were a shit,’ Faye said.
‘No?’
‘I just thought you were doing what young guys do.’
He nodded. ‘Ah, an age thing. Well, I guess Wiki told you my age, but I don’t even know how old you are, Faye. And, just so you know, it really doesn’t matter to me.’
She looked him dead in the eye. ‘I’m forty.’
He matched her gaze, unmoved. ‘And I said it really doesn’t matter to me.’ He took a breath. ‘But maybe it matters to you?’
Faye smiled. ‘Me being forty? Or you being twenty-five?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe you should run because I’m an Aries.’
She laughed. ‘Me too.’
‘Theé mou!We are in deep, deep trouble.’
‘Yeah.’
‘The deepest,’ he whispered, leaning in towards her. And next he pulled her tighter, squeezing, his fingers finding her ribs, tickling.
‘Don’t do that!’ she said, laughing. ‘It hurts.’
‘That is not pain. It is a… pathway to pleasure. Give in to it.’
‘Kosta, stop. Stop.’
He was so caught up in her laughter, her squealing, he didn’t notice they were drawing attention to themselves… until the singing began. He let go of Faye and she stood straight and suddenly they were in a ring of people around them and the statue, all of them belting out ‘The Hymn of Liberty’ – the Greek National Anthem. That song. The song of his country. The words his father had taught him with such pride.
Before Kostas could catch hold of his emotions, there were tears in his eyes.
Just over two minutes later, it was over and the crowd all clapped their hands in applause. He touched the left side of his chest in appreciation and then a girl ran up to him, a Greek national basketball jersey in her hands.
‘Iroas,’ she whispered, dark eyes shining.
Hero. And here, in front of the icon of him, knowing what he had come here to do, he had never felt less of one.
