Like all good decisions it had been a rash one. Making the phone call to Dad in Greece to ask to go and stay was seemingly stupid but as I stood at the airport gates, I knew getting away right now was for the best. I was never one to run away from my problems, just to accept them, but that was because my expectations were so low, I never was disappointed in the eventual outcome. Yet this time, as Ben had delivered his final blow it had hurt more than I thought it ever could, because this once – I had opened myself up and expected better, only to be crushed once again.
I didn’t want to leave, I wanted to fight but right now I wasn’t the warrior I needed to be, to fight a battle I’d go into sure to lose. I needed to give him time and I needed to give myself time. I was grieving too and it was hard because I didn’t feel like I had the right. I didn’t feel like I had the right to be sad. I’d known her the least and I yet I still felt trampled by her absence. At least with her just gone I still knew she was there... Now she was gone and only gone.
Death just didn’t make sense to me. I couldn’t wrap my head around the finer points. I was ignorant to the afterlife because I didn’t want to imagine a time when everything would just stop. But now I was suddenly seeing the potential in everything. In the car that I drove that could crash at any second. In a busy street where I could be attacked. In the plane I was about to board that could malfunction at any moment... I turned on the news and it would be filled with death and tragedy and sadness and I just couldn’t breathe. I was suffocating on this life that I was leading.
It was meant to be my freedom time. I had had a whole summer of activities planned out with Ben but now it was mid-July and our lives had been turned upside down because of one thing. I had never thought he would react as he did... I couldn’t understand where it had come from but I guess I had never really understood him fully as a person. I’d gotten glimpses of his suppressed temper but I never knew what he had been. He was right; I had been living in this bubble of his perfection and not taken the time to see the flaws, the very real flaws. Everyone has them and often a person falls in love more with those than the good parts; the little things that make them unique and special. But he hadn’t given me a chance to love them too.
I knew everything he had said at the railway was just him lashing out because of guilt and grief but I had allowed the words to eat away at me until they became very real thoughts implanted in my own mind. Maybe it had all been my fault. Most things were. Still, I wondered if he thought about me as half as often as I thought about him.
“Ticket please,” The smiling flight attended asked as I handed her my boarding card and passport.
I gave her them with a small, half smile back and once she’d checked everything was correct she motioned down to where I should go. I wheeled my hand luggage along the gateway and starred out at the bleak landscape and dreary English weather through the glass windows that would soon be replaced by the hot sun and sand of the Greek Islands, that I would call my home for the next month.
Another flight attendant checked my card again as I stepped onto the plane and pointed a finger to his right telling me that my seat was on the left hand side. I took my seat where there was already an elderly lady sat by the window who gave me a brief nod and grin before going back to her book whilst delving into her paper bag off toffee and placing a piece in her mouth, audibly chomping away. I took the aisle seat and hoped that the middle one would remain vacant through the flight, allowing me to stretch out a little.
The seat belt sign dung into action and the bright red clad attendants began the security demonstration.
“The exits are located here, here and here” the voiceover sounded and I tried to shut off my mind; not wanting to have a panic attack at the idea of the plane plummeting to the earth. I put my headphones into my ears and let the sharp heavy metal sounds drown out the sound of the plane becoming faster and faster until with the roar of its engine it lifted high into the sky and we were on our way.
I was suddenly aware how tired I was and must have fallen into a deep sleep because the next thing I remember was being tapped on the shoulder by the old lady next to me asking could she please get out so she could go to the toilet. I blushed, embarrassed and inconspicuously wiped at the drool that was threatening to escape the corner of my mouth. I had never been an attractive sleeper.
Looking up at the monitor I saw that we were less than twenty minutes away from landing and I allowed myself a glance out of the wing mirror to see the landscape below me. There was an abundance of blue as I saw the crystal waters below and in the imminent distance I saw the green and whites of Paros. I already knew it would be gorgeous from the few photos Dad had emailed through when the plans were finalised. I knew he lived up a rocky cliff that it’s local’s ascended by donkey. I knew their house was an egg white with a paisley blue roof and little storybook windows that looked like they were straight out of a scene from Mamma Mia. I had watched that movie several times before coming out here and had to remind myself now, as the plane nose dived into the local airport of Parikia, that the people would not be singing and dancing in the streets to Abba. However the tune to Dancing Queen was now stuck in my head and I hummed it to myself, earning another smile, if perhaps a little forced, from the old lady who had now returned to her seat.
My first thought as I stepped out into the sun was how much Daisy and Ben would have both loved it here, but I forced it to the back of my mind knowing this trip was for me and I needed to try to forget my life back home, even for a little bit.
I collected my baggage and went out into the arrivals lounge searching around for a familiar face. I saw him then; he looked different but the same. The tanned arms, white cotton shirt and greying hair were new, but he still looked like my dad.
“Dad!” I squealed and ran into his arms; then we embraced for what felt like the longest time. I had missed this. I had thrown away so many of these moments because I was mad at him for leaving but he was still my dad and I wanted to bring back all the times like this I could of had.
“God, I’ve missed you kiddo!” He said and pulled away, holding onto my arms to look me in the eyes. I noticed they were welling up and I felt mine do the same in response. “Come on, let’s get you back to the house, I bet you want a rest after the journey!”
I nodded; although I had slept practically all the way, I still felt fatigued, still drained more from the past few months rather than the few hours journey.
We were in the car driving along when I noticed neither of us had said anything in a little while and the previously comfortable silence became suddenly awkward in my mind and he must have sensed this too because he spoke up.
“Claire is making Moussaka for tea, hope that’s alright with you?” he asked with a sideways glance.
“Yeah... Yeah that’s fine...” I responded but there was tightness in my voice from the mention of his girlfriend. She wasn’t someone I was looking forward to spending more time with it had to be admitted.
“Look, I know you’re not her biggest fan but try to get on, for me?” I shot him a raised eyebrow and he reddened slightly, knowing he wasn’t really in a position to be requesting favours from me. But I felt a little guilty, at least he was trying, I should try to do the same. It’s not like I had ever met her anyway.
“Okay...” I offered, “but I’m not making any promises I’ll like her!” he smiled at this, seemingly content and the silence swept over us once more. It was comfortable again now and I was enjoying more just looking around my surroundings, taking in the beauty as we drove through country roads.
Once we got to a port we had to get out of the car and make a short crossing by a little fishing boat to Naoussa. It was just after noon and the sun was high and blazing in the sky and it sparkled like diamonds on the aqua blue waters. The boat whizzed along, propelled by its old Greek fisherman who greeted me as “omorfi” when I climbed on, later explained by my Dad to mean beautiful; I reddened at this. Soon we pulled up in the harbour and I took in an intake of breath as I was sure I was about to step out to heaven itself. I knew it would be breath taking but I was not prepared for the true reality and I itched to unpack my art book and brushes to start sketching.
There was dazzling white for as far as the eye could see as the buildings rose up to where a magnificent chapel stood tall on the highest peak. The houses were charmingly decorated with window boxes that bore an abundance of brightly coloured flowers that on closer inspection smelt even more heavenly than they looked. There were also orange and pomegranate trees that climbed the walls and their smells were even more intoxicating. Allowing myself to once again glance back at the waters I saw them to be filled with an array of pastel coloured fishery boats, with the fish piled high on their decks, their silver scales reflected in the sun. The beauty was blinding as we navigated the labyrinth pathways of this whitewashed wonderland and my clothes clung to my body from the impressive heat bating down overhead.
Finally we reached an open courtyard and I stood before an enchantingly quaint house that bore the brightest pastel pink and lemon flower in some ornate blue window ledge boxes. The door was also blue and my Dad pushed it open and beamed at my awe-struck face.
“Welcome home!” he rejoiced, dropping my bags in the entrance as I scanned around the room. The whole place was bright and alive and full of charm and character that seemed to be a running pattern throughout. The chequered cobalt table cloth was set for three with a basket of fresh bread in its centre.
Stood in the corner, stirring something in a pan, where its exquisite smell wafted through the kitchen, there was a woman. Claire was pretty, not a conventional pretty but she had a look that was warm and inviting and blonde hair that was pulled neatly into a low plait down her back. For a wavering instant I got chills down my spine as I suddenly had visions Daisy in her place but on closing and opening my eyes she turned back into Claire. She looked young, although I knew her age to be thirty-eight, this was young however compared to my Dad’s forty-nine and I remembered the countless times I had heard my mum on the phone to her friends bitching on how he traded her in for a younger model.
Claire turned and brushed her hands on her apron, holding one out to me, “Lucy! It’s so nice to finally meet you!”
Her smile was genuine and infectiously affectionate but she wasn’t going to win me around that easily. I recalled my promise to my dad however and gave mine in return with a quick, “Yes, likewise.”
“Well shall we eat? It’s just cooked!” She motioned to the table where I took a seat and willed myself to not like the food.
This was impossible. As I took in the first mouthful my taste buds went into overdrive and my stomach rumbled, craving more. I practically devoured the lot. She was an excellent cook to give her credit and it was much better than the rabbit food I was used to being served by Mum.
I took in a sip of water before commenting honestly, “Claire that was exquisite!”
She brightened visibly, glowing and again I was reminded of Daisy. “Oh really, it was nothing!”
“Don’t be so modest!” my Dad scolded her lightly and gave her hand a quick squeeze whilst looking lovingly into her eyes. I remembered then I was supposed to hate her.
“So Dad, I was thinking about showering and then going to have a bit of an explore around if that’s alright with you?” I did want to get a look around the place; I couldn’t comprehend the magnificence of it all on just the short trip up here.
He smiled, “Of course sweetie. Why doesn’t Claire go with you to show you round?”
My face dropped, that was something I didn’t want. “No thanks it’s alright I’d rather go by myself.”
I saw Claire give a tight-lipped smile but the hurt was evident.
Just try Lucy...
“But maybe tomorrow...” I offered with a sigh and again her face lit up.
“Oh tomorrow would be perfect! I can take you to the markets that they have here and you’ll love them I’m sure!”
I smiled, it did sound like fun but I was adamant I wasn’t going to like this woman for my mother’s sake.
I excused myself from the table and after getting directions to my room and the bathroom I went upstairs. My room was small and simple but a part of me loved it more than my room back home. Back home it was filled with angst and posters of rock bands and heavy colours yet here the walls were white (of course) and the curtains were a faded lilac with little flower patterns cut delicately out of them, whilst a thin gossamer white curtain hung behind, blocking some of the light. The bed had thick crisp white sheets with an assortment of cushions lain decoratively on the pillow whilst a faded brown bear sat gazing its glass eyes up at me. There was a little wooden desk in the corner that only had upon it a lilac vase that held a single flower, which of all the luck and irony possible; was a daisy.
I brushed at my eyes that threatened a tear and stripped off my clothes wrapping one of the powder blue towels laid on my bed around my body before crossing over into the bathroom. I let the water run till it was just hot enough and washed off my fatigue from the plane. Once I was done I went back into my room and brushed through my hair, deciding the weather was warm enough to let it air dry naturally. I hadn’t really thought my packing through on inspection, as I rifled through my battered suitcase, settling at last on a pair off cut off jeans and a Rolling Stones emblazoned t-shirt. I felt dark and out of place compared to this picturesque backdrop and willed that the market tomorrow sold some clothes that would make me feel like I fit in more.
I grabbed my watercolours and art book, trying not to think whose gift it had been, and walked out of the house. I stood for a moment, not knowing which way to turn to but decided I wanted to visit the grand chapel on the hill and so headed the direction I assumed was upwards. I passed by low hanging archways, up cobbled steps and found myself stood finally in front of “the Church of the Assumption of the Virgin”, admittedly a bit of a mouthful.
It was more grand and impressive than it had appeared from a distance and I gaped open-mouthed at its majestic splendour. It rivalled all the churches I had seen back in England that was for sure. Naturally it was white and its windows blue, but the doors and large turrets were a burnt brick and the golden crosses that stood on its turrets touched the gates of heaven themselves; glinting as they were in the now slowly setting sun.
I couldn’t contain my intrigued and walked up the steps. Opening the door and cringing at the creek when it noisily swung open. The place was illuminated by flickering candlelight as a few locals knelt by a statue at the front in silent prayer. Around the outskirts there were a couple of tourists taking in the tapestries and immersing themselves in the culture and historical significance of the building. It all became too much for me though and with a pang in my heart I stepped hurriedly back outside.
I was silly to think I could just walk away from my problems back home. It had only taken a moment in a holy place to be once again reminded of the pain and closeness to loss and grief that I felt. I walked sombrely down the steps and sat on one of the lower ones, gazed back up at the building and the centre spire which bore the largest cross. I closed my eyes and without thinking, said a silent prayer for everything just to be better. I pleaded that if anyone could hear me, could they please make things better.
A sudden gust of wind teased my damp hair and I opened my eyes again, reaching over for my sketchbook. Looking out, you could get a good view of the whole town from up here and I began busily sketching an outline before letting my watercolours guide their own paths across the page as I tried to do justice to the many colours in the setting before me. When I looked up again I found the sun to have fully descended and in its place the streets were illuminate with low lights that gave a romantic glow and hum to the atmosphere. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself for a second and then turned the page, hurriedly sketching away. I was unaware of what I was drawing until I came to the eyes. They weren’t deep enough, they weren’t round enough, they weren’t mysterious enough as I recalled from the first time I had looked into them and tried to work out the secrets which they hid.
Ben looked back up from the page at me now. How I had captured his likeness startled me as I traced my index finger over his shaded collar bones, which I had committed to memory each time he had lain next to me in bed, determined never to forget them if I was to ever lose his touch. Now I had lost it and this was all I was left with; this piece of canvas with blank eyes and unresponsive lips that I yearned to kiss even now.
“What are you doing right now?” I questioned the sketch as though he was listening to my every word, “Are you thinking about me? Do you miss me like I miss you?”
It was no use. It was no different here than England. I wake up and it’s his face I see. I go to bed and he’s the last flickering thought in my mind before he joins me again in my dreams. Then in the day it is him I see whenever I close my eyes or indeed allow my thoughts to drift to remembering a moment, however fleeting, when he was mine.
The teardrop smudged one of the tendrils of his messy hair and I shut the book tight, not allowing myself to ruin the image even more with my heartbreak. I had to get back now before anyone started to worry and so I stood tall to my feet and walked off alone, back down the winding path to the prospect of a new tomorrow where I was unaware of what lay ahead.