‘I… don’t know.’ Had she? Becky tried hard to remember the whole conversation from the plane to Athens. It all felt so long ago. All she really recalled was her telling Elias she was in the armed forces…
‘Do you think he’s stalking me?’ Petra asked, now all wide eyes and cheekbones yet somehow showing deep vulnerability. Becky was starting to feel differently about Petra since the revelation that she too had lost her father.
‘No… I… no.’ She shook her head. That wasn’t the vibe she was getting. But she was second-guessing her every thought at the moment.
‘Because it wouldn’t be my first stalker rodeo,’ Petra said, inhaling a mouthful of wine. ‘This one holiday in Nicaragua there was this nature reserve guide who started turning up everywhere I went… and I mean everywhere. The final straw was when I went for a pee, behind a tree, on a hike in the middle of nowhere and there he was! I mean, WTF!’
‘I don’t know,’ Becky said with a sigh. ‘I don’t know what it is. I just, have this feeling about him.’
‘He is hot,’ Petra said, running her tongue over her top lip. ‘If I was older maybe…’
What? If she was older? Hadn’t she already been there in Kefalonia?
‘Or, you know,’ Petra began again, ‘if I was looking for something serious. He comes across as a bit serious, don’t you think?’
He did. Sometimes. Other times he came across as light and fun and full of some sort of unique energy Becky was drawn to. And then there was his eyes and the tattoo she was intrigued by…
‘We could Google him,’ Petra announced.
‘No!’ Becky said at once. Why had she responded so vehemently? It would give her every answer she required. Or it could tell her nothing at all.
‘Ooo, let’s do it!’ Petra said, thumb already working all over the screen of her phone. ‘He was super cagey when I asked him what he did for a job. Why wouldn’t you be honest unless you had something to hide! This is a great idea of yours.’
‘Stop!’ Becky ordered. Her heart was racing now. The last time she felt this panicked it had been when Megan had been admitted to hospital with suspected appendicitis. It hadn’t been. It had been severe constipation put down to a weekend of too much prosecco and not enough fibre ironically at a food and beverage expo. But the initial fear that her sister might have to have an operation, and the fact she was the next-of-kin on hand had been terrifying. That had been after their mum’s move to Blackpool, when their relationship became more about the business than it did about them being sisters… ‘Petra, please don’t.’
‘Why not?’ Petra asked, fingers poised.
‘Because…’
‘Because?
‘Because… perhaps…’
‘Perhaps?’ Petra shook her head. ‘Are you sure you’re only twenty-five because sometimes you talk like my auntie and she’s sixty.’
Becky knew why she didn’t want Petra to use Google. Because the parts about Elias she wanted to recount when she got back from her travels were all the good parts, the bits where she had felt free and strong and alluring in his arms. That’s what she wanted to keep as a sweet Greek holiday memory. If they used Google to find out more about him, she was confident she was going to be faced with a different reality. Perhaps it was a case of the less she knew the better. Although, as far as the security of Villa Selino went, maybe it was better to be forewarned. She had already tried to call Ms O’Neill but there had been no answer. She would try again before she emailed. As much as she wanted to know if the villa really was going on the market, she also didn’t want her employer to think she couldn’t deal with day-to-day tasks. That was what she was supposed to be here for.
‘I don’t know,’ Becky responded with a sigh. She should be feeling relaxed, gazing out over the bright water, the headland of nearby Kassiopi jutting into the ocean, sunshine sprinkling the water with flashes of silvery light, boats tied off to day-glow buoys… but something was amiss. She either had to try and find out what it was, or she had to let it go. There was definitely nothing in the opening chapters of How to Find the Love of Your Life or Die Trying about how to deal with potential suitors pretending to be estate agents. If he was pretending…
‘Googling now,’ Petra announced, as if Becky hadn’t offered any warnings at all.
‘Petra, no! Please!’
‘Well, well, well,’ Petra said, eyes out on stalks as she gazed at her screen, picking up another meatball and biting into it.
‘What?’ Becky asked, taking another slice of bread from the basket and tearing a section off. She had to have something to occupy her while Petra went all erotomaniac.
‘There is absolutely nothing on the internet about him. Nada. Nicht. Rien. Mị̀mī xarị.’
Becky didn’t have a clue what language the last words had been spoken in, but her heart was beating softer now. If there was nothing on the internet, then perhaps she had misjudged him entirely. What had she been expecting to find? That he was that axe murderer they had joked about in-flight? Maybe she even owed him an apology. What was the name of the village he said his parents lived in? Lia-something. Was that the village Petra had run to? The one with the burgeoning boxes of blooms and the cute stray dogs? They should find it. Find him. She would hopefully have heard from Ms O’Neill before tonight…
‘Of course,’ Petra began. ‘It’s very suspicious that there isn’t anything. I mean, if he’s an estate agent that has flown from England to sell a house, he must be good at what he does. And if he’s good at what he does there should be something on the web.’ Petra scoffed. ‘Even I get a mention for winning a thumb-wrestling competition in Amritsar.’
Becky sighed. If she Googled Rebecca Rose what would come up about her? A big, fat blank? Or maybe something about It’s A Wrap? Perhaps her father’s obituary? Loving husband and father taken too soon – a life half-lived, half-of-the-life lived in a garden shed and the rest in a nursing home. But loved and very much missed…
‘I say we walk to the village for some drinks tonight,’ Petra stated, crushing a sardine head between her fingers. ‘It must be that village that Elias is from. We can check out the locals and get the lowdown on him from the villagers. These Greek villages are a hot bed for gossip. If there’s something amiss with him they are going to know about it. What d’you think?’
‘I think we shouldn’t have taken the Aston Martin out,’ Becky told her. ‘I think I probably shouldn’t have come to Greece at all.’ Did she really mean that?
‘What?!’ Petra exclaimed. ‘But if you hadn’t done that, you’d never have met me!’
Becky made no reply but smiled at her newfound friend.
‘Come on, you can’t help but like me. I am the party,’ Petra said, pouting then thrashing her head around, her plaits whipping at the air then slapping her cheeks as they descended.
Becky couldn’t help but grin at Petra’s nonchalance towards pretty much everything. But until her softly spoken reminiscence about her dad last night, she was almost as secretive as Elias. There wasn’t much she could tell anyone about who Petra was. If the girl turned into a grifter and the prized cars went missing the police would be laughing into their Greek coffee if all she knew was her first name and the fact she had ‘Peter’ tattooed on her arm.