‘And she is not here,’ his mother continued. ‘She has not been here for the past two weeks and she is not coming back for at least the next two more.’
This was terrible news! How was he going to sweettalk her over the distribution of marital assets if she wasn’t here in person to be charmed? Although, perhaps it wasn’t all bad. If the house was empty that meant easier access for him to assess exactly what assets were there. He had long suspected, with Kristina’s passion for high-end shopping, that maybe Chad was right and there could well be items in that villa her husband knew nothing about – expensive items his client was due a share of. He would take a walk there tomorrow.
‘Now, eat your stifado,’ his mother ordered. ‘I have a bar to run.’
And just like that, his mother stood up and left the table. Now there was no chance for him to ask any more questions about what had happened between her and his father. Elias had learned all his avoidance techniques from his mother, but she was still the master.
He put a fork to his food and hungrily guided it to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he let all the richness coat his taste buds, before chewing and enjoying the light texture of the meat and the gentle pop of the baby onions. There really wasn’t anything like his mother’s stifado.
Something was bothering him about Kristina not being at the property, though. What was she up to? And there was something familiar about the name Ms O’Neill. It was niggling at him that he had heard that name before. But, right now, he couldn’t think where.
Thirty-One
Taverna Kerasia, Kerasia Beach
Becky was the kind of fuzzy drunk that made you feel like a luxuriating cat who had been so well-fed that all it could do was lay out, belly upwards, eyes closed and doze under a warm sky. Perhaps Petra’s cat Plato was doing that right now back in Athens… Becky had all those feels, however she wasn’t laying outstretched on the white pebble beach, nor was her belly out, but she was mellow, humming inside from the delicious white wine she and Petra were sharing and the sound of the waves tumbling gently on the shoreline.
They had found the car. Or rather the car had found them. It had been half-hidden by vines and Petra had walked into it, her slight form rebounding off the bodywork and crumpling onto the patio. It was kind-of-red, kind-of-green-with-mould and looked like it hadn’t been driven in at least a decade. Neither of them had had the energy to start peeling off foliage to even see if it was moveable, so instead of heading to any shop or supermarket, they had taken steps down to the beach and had arrived at this picturesque shoreline. They had gazed out over the water, drinking in the serenity – Petra skimmed some stones again but without getting maimed – and then the heavenly aromas coming from the taverna had pulled them in. They were now sitting at a table closest to the water, under softly glowing lights, feeling all of the holiday contentment. At least Becky was. It had been at least twenty minutes and a whole slab of feta cheese since she had thought about It’s A Wrap and her pending pitch to the nursing home that she really needed to get on with. Perhaps now she had the stability of a house to work in instead of an aircraft, inspiration would strike.
‘I’ve gone from famished to fat in like ten minutes,’ Petra announced, putting her hands on her flat-as-a-Portobello-mushroom stomach and exhaling.
‘We’ve been here an hour,’ Becky said, finally taking a look at her watch. Back home in the UK she was forever looking at her watch. It was almost a compulsive tick. How long did she have to finish buttering the rolls? What time was Megan back from her meeting? How much time to kill before she could reasonably go to bed with a book and not feel guilty about not being a twenty-five-year-old party animal?
‘Have we? Shit. Time flies when you’re eating and drinking yourself stupid.’ Petra grinned and filled her wineglass up with more.
‘And we still don’t have… ouzo and shit for the house.’
Petra laughed. ‘Living together is going to be so much fun now you’re all loosened up.’
Living together. She only had two weeks. As fun as Petra was, they were very different people. And did Petra really see her as someone who was more tightly wound than a Coleen Rooney tweet? Was that the vibe she gave off to everyone? Maybe that’s what had made Elias run away and sucker his lips to someone who was free and easy and didn’t think through every scenario possible before making a decision? And why was she still thinking about Elias? He was someone she had met for a couple of days. Free and easy. Time to get back to How to Find the Love of Your Life or Die Trying. One of the crucial steps, the book said, was knowing when to cut your losses…
‘Where are you from, Petra?’ Becky asked her, sipping at her wine. ‘I mean, when you aren’t travelling the globe. Where’s home?’
‘I… don’t really have a place of my own right now,’ Petra admitted. Her mouth went back to her wineglass and she took a swig before giving Becky a small smile. ‘I bet you have a place of your own though. You seem like someone who would be solid in the sorted stakes.’
Sorted in some ways but completely floundering in others. ‘I’ve got a tiny flat. And when I say tiny I mean tiny. My bed touches both walls and there’s no room for a wardrobe so I have to fold and roll all my clothes into a chest of drawers.’ Becky smiled. ‘But it’s mine. So, do you live at home in-between voyages of discovery?’
Petra shook her head, her expression tightening a little. A heavy silence seemed to descend and Becky waited for her to say something. It appeared nothing was forthcoming and the young girl was now picking at breadcrumbs on the tablecloth.
‘Well,’ Becky started, ‘I moved out of home because my mum was moving away and because… my dad died.’
Petra looked up then, her eyes wide, her body language giving off that she was reengaged. ‘Oh… that’s sad.’
‘Yes,’ Becky replied with a sigh. ‘It was sad. It was very sad. But, he had been… not himself for quite a while and although we did everything we could to give him the best quality of life we could after his initial stroke… I don’t know.’ She took a breath. ‘Sometimes I think he was carrying on for us. That maybe the enjoyment he showed in trying to improve was for our benefit not his. He couldn’t do any of the things he loved anymore.’
Becky suddenly felt Petra’s skinny fingers in hers and the girl squeezed her hand tightly, reassuringly, as emotion threatened to get the better of her.
‘It’s alright,’ Petra said softly. ‘I lost my dad too.’ She blinked damp eyes before continuing. ‘And when I was little, he told me that… everyone we lose turns into part of the moon.’ She paused. ‘You probably think that sounds like something cheesy from a chick-flick, but that’s the reason he gave for the moon changing size and shape. I know it’s not a scientific fact – I’m not that stupid – but I like it.’ She smiled, eyes going skyward. ‘And when I look up at the moon, I imagine everyone up there having a big party and looking down at us waiting for us to come and join in.’
Becky’s heart was fracturing little piece by little piece. It was a beautiful thought that her dad and Petra’s dad and everyone else’s loved ones were part of something bigger, something they could all see every single night.