‘It’s true,’ said Leila, ‘you look a little off-colour, Pippa. It makes me happy to help Henrik. I promised to look after my small cousins today, but not for another hour.’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ I replied in a bright voice. So, she was kind-hearted as well.
But the happy Greek couple (who me, sarcastic?) were having none of it. Plus Henrik took little persuasion when Leila hinted Georgios might shout him a free beer. Within minutes the two of them were gone. I picked up my hat and sunglasses and turned to go. However, Niko grabbed my hand.
‘Pippa. Look, don’t go, I should have…’
Gently, I pulled away my fingers. ‘Whatever… Your personal life – it’s… it’s nothing to do with me.’ I coughed. ‘Congratulations. She seems lovely. Your parents must be thrilled.’
‘Yes, but… look…before… about the butterfly kisses…’
I forced a laugh. ‘Look at us, trying to relive old times. What are we like? I’m… I’m glad you’ve found someone, like I’ve found Henrik.’
‘About Leila… I was going to tell you, but–’
Urgh, give it up Niko, otherwise… too late. Prepare for an Epic Fail when it came to pretend civility.
‘But what? I saw the way you flirted with those guests back at the taverna. “Ladeez”? I mean, really? Then with me on the sand… all those mushy compliments… you never used to talk like that.’ I shook my head. ‘You were the last person I expected to turn into one of those bull-shitting Greek waiters determined to charm their way into customers’ good books and wallets.’ Damn my voice for wobbling, but what was he playing at?
He stepped forward, eyes dull. ‘You really think that of me, Pippa?
I bit my lip.
‘The things I said about you… every single one I meant.’
Yeah right – as beautiful as the blush of a sunset? Did I really fall for that rubbish? Henrik may not be the most romantic man in the world, but at least he was dead-straight. And for that quality alone, he was worth hanging onto.
‘Oh come on, admit it,’ I said, voice calmer now. ‘You’ve not given me one thought over these years. And I… I’d practically forgotten that annoying boy who used to pinch my sweets and ping the straps of my bikini top. It’s okay. Life moves on.’
‘You’re even more attractive when angry,’ he said and smiled.
I shook my head. ‘You could learn a lot from watching a famous film my mum loves, called Shirley Valentine… You might pick up some tips on how to get into foreign women’s knickers more quickly.’
Cheeks flushed scarlet, he scowled and promptly lifted off his vest top. He threw it on the ground.
‘Oh God, what now… Am I supposed to be impressed?’ I muttered. ‘Honestly, you’re unbelievable.’ Although… wow. Look at those pecs, clearly visible, as he’d not become nearly as hairy as his dad. Niko’s eyes sparked and he pointed to a line of small scars down the right side of his abdomen, an imperfection which contrasted Henrik’s smooth, unmarked chest. Annoyingly I longed to run my fingers – or my tongue (eek, did I really just think that?) across his deliciously firm, caramel skin.
‘You remember, no?’ he demanded.
I stared for a moment, praying for some cold shower to hover over my head, like the snowman’s personal cloud in Frozen. Then it clicked. The jellyfish attack. It had happened during that last summer, when we’d both just turned fourteen. One stung me and I panicked. Swiftly Niko had swum over, through a cluster of them and dragged me out of the water. In the process he got trapped by tentacles and injured ten times worse than I was.
‘I would do it again in a heartbeat. And I’m grateful… This scar is a constant reminder of happy times – of our friendship. And–’
‘Here we go, bullshit again. That’s like the Greek waiter in that film saying he loves Shirley Valentine‘s stretch marks.’
‘Stretch marks?’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t understand the words but get your tone – after all those summers together, now you dove-hole me as some shallow playboy?’
‘It’s pigeon-hole,’ I muttered. My stomach twisted. ‘Yes, well, I wouldn’t worry. Clearly Leila thinks you’re fabulous.’
‘She is the fabulous one,’ he snapped.
My throat ached as I thought back to her exotic appearance. What did Leila do for a living? Probably something super sexy, such as painting portraits or dancing.
‘Unlike Henrik,’ he continued. ‘You should know that last time he was here–’
A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air and dropping my glasses and hat, I span around. Old Mrs Dellis paced up and down, howling and pointing at the waves. The beach was still empty so I followed her finger and gasped. Mrs Dellis’ two small grandsons balanced precariously on red lilos, far out at sea, wailing almost as loudly as her. Niko ran towards the old woman. I followed his cue. Within a minute we were by her side. He spoke rapidly in Greek and in between more howls she responded.
‘Na para I eychi!’ muttered Niko (“damn” to you and me) and in a flash slipped out of his sandals and jeans.
‘Exhausted Mrs Dellis fell asleep,’ he barked. ‘Those kids snuck off with their inflatables, even though they are not allowed in the water on their own. This wind must have blown them out towards a current. Neither is good swimmer. If one of them falls off…’
We exchanged a brief look before Niko charged into the waves.
Two hysterical kids and one adult? Nope, that wasn’t going to work. So thanks to the mathematician in me – and to the amazement of a few elderly locals who must have heard the commotion and come down to the beach – I pulled off my blouse and stepped quickly out of my shorts. Thank God I was wearing matching underwear and had recently waxed. Blocking out thoughts of jellyfish, I ran across the sand, to make up the numbers, flinching as one foot landed on something sharp before I hit the warm waves.
Trouble was, that wind seemed twice as strong in the water, which increased the height of the waves – for every half-metre forward, I had to navigate a half-metre into the air.
Bobbing up and down, I got flashes of the children’s faces scrunched up, lilos colliding. As saltwater filled my mouth, I suffered a coughing fit and Niko turned around.
‘Pippa? You crazee woman! Go back!’ he hollered.
‘Not likely. You’ll need help,’ I shouted. A scream cut through the air from the beach. I stared at the lilos. One of the children had fallen off – the eldest, by the looks of it.
‘Theo!’ shouted Niko, before disappearing from view himself. I also dived under the water. Just a few more metres and I’d be at the inflatables. Hundreds of white bubbles blocked my vision, but eventually I could just make out Niko’s muscular legs and the black curly head of a child. He dragged the boy up to the surface and we all came up for air.
Spluttering, I glanced again at the lilos, whilst Niko tried to calm down Theo. Nausea backed up my throat. Both were empty, now. The youngest must have fallen in too. Oh skata (rude word, you can guess which one).
I took a deep breath and dived again, leaving Niko to deal with Theo, who kept gagging and flapping his hands. Frantically I paddled my legs, arms tearing through the relentless current. Within seconds I was under the red plastic rectangles, exhausted, despite having only progressed a couple of metres. A clump of seaweed floated past and my eyes stung as I forced them to focus towards the inky black depths. With brilliant timing I recalled the film Jaws. Were great white sharks common in the Aegean?
With all