‘Some garlic bread for the table, please,’ Lydia says, before switching to Greek. Once the waitress leaves, she gives us her full attention. ‘Sorry. I explained we’re still waiting for two others before we order food.’
‘I looked at the menu like I’m not going to order one of their pizzas,’ Sam says.
‘Oh, they make the best pizzas here. You haven’t been before?’
‘I’m always working.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘No Name Coffee Shop,’ Sam replies.
Lydia nods. ‘Love that place.’
The two of them talk about the coffee shop, discussing how neither of them has noticed the other before. My wine arrives, which I sip as Sam and Lydia talk about their separate lives in Athens. If Sam was nervous before arriving, he doesn’t show it now. Unless his trick is to keep talking to fill the silence.
The garlic bread has just been placed on the table when two people walk in and I gasp. Because they are clothed. And they’re waving at me like I’m their best friend.
‘Oh, how wonderful to see you,’ Jemima exclaims, taking a seat next to Lydia.
‘If it isn’t the boys,’ Tim says, as if this is a nickname we’re familiar with. ‘Hotel, coffee shop, painting workshop. Anyonewould think we’re on holiday together,’ Tim guffaws, and Jemima hoots.
‘I never got to see your paintings,’ I say to the couple.
‘Yes, you will have to.’ Jemima picks up her phone with excitement. She scrolls through what I assume to be pictures until she turns her screen to me, showing a crude painting of me. The biggest thing there was… ‘Your penis caught my eye.’
My cheeks sting as Sam and Lydia stifle their laughs.
‘We’re going to put them up in the lake house,’ Tim says, showing me his own interpretation of my naked form. Apparently, I’m just cock and balls to him. ‘We own one in the Lake District.’
‘Ah, that will be… lovely,’ I manage.
‘Where will you put yours, son?’ Tim asks Sam. ‘The coffee shop?’
I try to imagine the painting of me on the walls of Sam’s shop.
‘I need to finish it first,’ Sam says. ‘But I’m not sure where I’ll hang it yet.’
‘Well, wherever you decide, it will be perfect,’ Jemima beams.
‘You’ll have to come to another class, when Lydia is modelling. Cracking buttocks.’ Tim announces.
‘Cheers to that,’ Sam says, cheeks ever so slightly flushed.
We cheer to Lydia’s buttocks and then, to my great humiliation, to my ‘crowning jewels’, as Tim puts it. I’m glad when the waitress comes and takes our pizza order, large enough to share.
A jaunty beat of traditional Greek music fills the restaurant, cutting our conversation short. Men and women dressed in red and black dance around the tables as waiters and waitresses hand us plates. I touch mine, feeling the lightness.
‘Plaster,’ Lydia says. ‘To avoid injuries. It’s been a dying tradition in Greece for a while now, but this restaurant keeps it alive.’
With each movement and to shouts of joy, a plaster plate is thrown onto the floor, breaking up into dust. The waitresses clap along, while a waiter moves stealthily to clear away any debris.
As the dancing party approaches our table, we get our plates ready. I lift mine, feeling the icy touch.
‘On the count of three…’ Lydia signals, her eyes alight as she beams at the dancers.
Lydia throws her plate. Tim and Jemima.
Sam throws his own plaster.
