They land with dull, dusty thuds.
With reserved energy, I throw mine.
Smash.
The sound of ceramic.
Eyes turn to me. The cleaning waiter looks like I’ve stabbed him.
The dancers, ever the professionals, keep dancing, but one shakes their head at me.
‘You threw your actual plate,’ Lydia states.
‘I threw my actual plate.’
Sam’s shoulders bounce next to me as he tries to hide his laugh, but soon the others join in, and the dancers carry on.
My cheeks burn with humiliation, and a waitress takes my unbroken plaster plate and replaces my actual plate.
‘Do not throw,’ she says firmly.
‘I mean, you do say plate throwing. It’s going to happen,’ I say when she’s gone.
‘This is why the Greeks had to stop the tradition.’ Lydia sighs. ‘Brits.’
The audience applauds, and I join in, but it slows when I see two people waiting to find a table.
‘Oh, no,’ I whisper.
Sam follows my gaze.
‘Ah.’
Looking around the restaurant are Ollie and Alec. All the tables are full, nowhere for them to sit and be the perfect couple that they are. Until Alec spots me and says something to the waitress.
‘Did you text them?’ Sam whispers.
‘What? No, course I didn’t.’
To my horror, they’re walking towards me, and the waitress, the betrayer, carries menus.
Lydia looks at me.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Excuse me, these people say they know you and would like to know if they could join you for dinner,’ the waitress addresses us. ‘We don’t have any other tables and they would like to eat here.’
Fuck.
I look at Sam. To Lydia, who knows the real Sam, the coffee shop owner, the Athens citizen. She doesn’t know Alec doesn’t know who I really am. Tim and Jemima, the nudists, already half-cut on wine. Then to Ollie, staring at me, who thinks Sam is my boyfriend of a year, or six months. I can’t even remember anymore. Ollie, my ex-boyfriend, who no longer knows me.
‘Of course,’ Jemima says, before anyone else can answer. ‘The more the merrier.’
I squeeze Sam’s hand under the table as Alec sits at one head of the table, and Ollie the other, right next to me. He squeezes it back, offering me that comfort I needed.
‘Lydia, Jemima, Tim,’ I say as Ollie and Alec take their seats. Why did Ollie have to sit next to me? ‘These are Alec and Ollie.’
Lydia’s eyes meet mine. ‘Yes, Ollie. We have already met.’
