Twenty-Five
On board the flight from Kefalonia to Corfu
Becky now knew that figs made into a liqueur were definitely not as good for you as figs ingested in other ways. OK, it was probably the fault of the alcohol content of the liqueur and not the fruit, but she had never known a hangover like this one and she remembered a New Year’s Eve party where she had happily scooped up homemade punch out of a bucket with a cracked The Simpsons mug. That was one of the things she still blamed Dean for.
She had avoided everyone in Argostoli this morning and last night, when Agelos had sped them back to their hotel, she had pretended to be asleep in the back of his truck, so she didn’t have to look/talk/interact with Petra or Elias. It had turned out to be quite hard to feign sleep when every time Agelos hit a pothole – of which there were many – her head had slammed against the window. And it was even harder to pretend she had nodded off when Petra was running her hands through Agelos’s hair as he drove, telling him they should swap numbers and meet up again on her travels, maybe in Corfu. Becky had gritted her teeth hard, the image of Petra and Elias locked together in an embrace still in high definition in her memory bank. Was no man safe with Petra around? Why didn’t Agelos seem bothered Petra was loose with her lips? Or was everyone a lot more unconcerned with everything than she was?
This morning Becky’s thoughts had felt a little clearer, if not the whole of her head thanks to the fug of her hangover. Clarity said that Petra did what Petra wanted. And Becky hadn’t ever voiced that she quite liked Elias herself. Perhaps, because until last night, until they had talked and drank and danced together, she hadn’t really known that she might want to kiss him, dinner party meat daydreams aside. And with that taken into account, she only had herself to blame. She should have acted more quickly. Sod the so-called kiss waiting time as suggested by Hazel’s book! If she had taken charge and kissed Elias herself, he would have been with her on the dancefloor and not near Petra. But, in turn, if Elias had felt anything for her, if he had wanted to kiss her, he wouldn’t have run away in the first place. However, even if second thoughts had made him flee, it wasn’t exactly great etiquette to end up locking lips with someone else within seconds. Still, at least Becky had now discovered that there was something not nice about Elias after all. So much for being Mr Flawless!
As the passengers filed onto the aeroplane Becky took a swig from her bottle of water and prayed both of her original travelling companions would be seated elsewhere on the plane. A few dozen rows back would be ideal. She had hidden at the very rear of the coach from the harbour to the airport and waited for them both to depart before she got off outside departures. Strangely, given their closeness last night, Elias and Petra hadn’t sat next to each other on the transfer. Petra, sitting alone, had loudly told the tale of her cave rescue – with an added man-eating jellyfish as an enhancement – to the two lads with the giant backpacks. Elias had sat at the very front of the coach, eyes glued to his phone.
‘Good morning.’
Oh no! This could not be happening again. Becky had read several articles about how difficult it was to get seats together on a plane if you were travelling with a family, or even as a couple, that prior booking was the only sure way, but it seemed through some twist of fate she and Elias were destined to be paired together on every plane they stepped onto.
‘Hello,’ she answered with a sigh, undoing her seat belt and moving out into the aisle so he could shift in.
‘I did not see you at breakfast,’ he said, popping his case in the overhead locker then moving to his seat.
‘No,’ Becky answered.
She needed to sound less mad. Sounding mad would give the impression that she cared. She needed not to care. Or at least project to Elias that she didn’t care. In her drunken haze last night she had read a few pages of How to Find the Love of Your Life or Die Trying. Confidence was key. No one fell in love with someone who thought little of themselves. Not that falling in love or finding that elusive ‘the one’ was going to be a thing on this housesitting holiday. But she was going to be open to a romantic connection… just not with someone who led her on then snogged someone else. Had Elias actually led her on? Or was that simply her own mind filling in pieces that weren’t really there?
‘No,’ she said again, forcing her mouth into a smile. ‘I took a walk to the harbour to see if I could see the turtles everyone says live here.’
‘Oh,’ Elias said, settling into his seat. ‘I would have liked to have seen them too.’
If he wanted to be asked, he should have not kissed Petra. Grr! She was taking this too seriously again. She did not need someone to couple up with her, nor wear matching tracksuits or cuddle up and gorge on foods covered in humus! Confidence! Love you!
‘There weren’t any there,’ Becky responded. It was true. She had broken two bread rolls into pieces and tossed them into the sea, the early morning sun warming her shoulders. But no turtles arrived and the bread was happily eaten by a shoal of fish.
‘That is unfortunate,’ Elias answered, putting his bag under the seat in front of him.
‘Well, being on this island at all was really already an unexpected treat,’ Becky said.
‘Like our visit to Athens,’ Elias told her.
Out of the corner of her eye she could see he was looking at her. She must not engage with those beautiful eyes. She did not need to be thrown back to thoughts of a lonely mandolin solo and her swaying like a less lithe, less dark-haired version of Penelope Cruz. As for those perfect lips… not so perfect anymore.
‘I cannot wait to finally get to Corfu,’ Becky breathed. No whiff of having enjoyed the memories they had made. It was time to move on to what she had come on this trip to do – housesit, indulge in sunbathing and sea-swimming, luxuriating in more space than she had in her flat in Wiltshire. She whipped the safety procedures card from her seat pocket and tried to look engrossed.
*
Elias watched Becky reading instructions on how to vacate the plane should an emergency occur and knew she was doing this to avoid talking to him any further. It was entirely his fault. He had felt such a pull towards her it had terrified him. He should not have suggested they danced. It hadn’t exorcised any ghosts, it had just made him yearn for a feeling he had told himself he could live without. He did not want to admit the possibility that it might not be true. Instead of telling Becky some kind of truth – maybe without the finer details – he had fled. And then there’d been Petra. That young, silly, fickle girl who had no real life experience. She had pounced on him, a full-on kiss he hadn’t been able to avoid, but just for a millisecond he had responded. A millisecond where he acted out the emotions that Becky had pulled from him. And now conversation was stilted between them. He had done that. He had hurt her. And that was what feeling something did. It hurt people.
‘Becky…’ he began. He wanted to say something. But ‘sorry’ wasn’t the right word. How could he explain that he had wanted to kiss her and that had scared him so he had run away and lingered a very brief moment too long on the lips of someone he had absolutely no care for? Perhaps it was better to say nothing. Nothing had really happened on that dancefloor, nothing other than the reactions inside of him.