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“Oh,” I say, feeling touched by my brother’s noble gesture. With just over a year between us, George and I have always been close. “That was nice of him,” I manage a small smile. “How’re Vicky and the kids?”
“Vicky’s lost her job again,” she says, exasperated. “Let’s hope she doesn’t take an aeon to find another one this time.”
“She’s a smart girl, Mum. I’m sure she’ll find something else.” I take a sip of much-needed coffee, wondering if Vicky’s baby blues is lingering on a bit longer this time. She suffered from mild postnatal depression when she had Florian but it was over within a couple of months; it’s taking much longer with the twins. I frown, concerned, and a thump over my right eye reminds me that I’m still in the dog-house.
“George said it’s because she’s been taking too much time off sick.” Mum waves a hand. “Only God knows how they’ll cope with three children on your brother’s school teacher salary. I had enough trouble with two.”
She can say that again. Mum’s not really the maternal type. Although George and I weren’t deprived of anything as children, she always put her marriage and social life before us. I resented her for it at the time, especially during my teens. But I now know that I’ve probably inherited her non-maternal gene. Nick made it very clear early on in our relationship that he didn’t want any children, and I, having never really felt the burning desire to have any, agreed.
Mum takes the half-empty mug from my hand and places the tray on my lap. “Anyway,” she continues briskly, “I’ve made you a light breakfast.” The smell of the omelette makes me heave. “And I’ll see you downstairs when you’re ready.”
As she walks towards the door I reach into my open handbag by the side of my bed. “Your mobile phone is on the kitchen table where you left it last night,” she snaps as if she has eyes in the back of her head. “And no, it hasn’t rung or bleeped with any text messages.” My heart sinks, the very least I expected was a text message from Nick, especially today of all days. “Oh, and by the way.” She spins on her heel, resting a hand on the doorframe, “The restaurant called this morning; they found your other shoe. It was under a table, one of the customers handed it in - ha. Dad’s gone to fetch it for you.”
Thank God for small mercies, they’re Louboutins and cost me a week’s salary.
2
I know that Mum and Dad mean well, but after a day visiting monasteries, local bazaars, and shopping in Nicosia, the bright lights of Ayia Napa aren’t doing it for me. And I’ve had a niggling headache all afternoon, which I can’t seem to shift. I rub my temple as I follow my parents like a grouchy teenager.
Dad has chosen a busy, elegant restaurant in the heart of town that he and Mum frequent whenever they’re over. We’re quickly seated at a table by the window by an eager short, plump, balding waiter who addresses them by name. My parents are really fitting into the Cypriot lifestyle. This is their fourth visit in eighteen months. It’s nice to see them so happy and relaxed.
I sink into the soft leather high-backed chair as the eager waiter lights the candle on our table before handing us the menus tucked under his arm. Greek music drones softly in the background, black uniformed staff whizz around the packed restaurant, weaving between the tables like a choreographed dance group. But all I can think about is an early night and a good book, preferably a weepy.
Dad orders us a bottle of house white and a large Keo Beer for himself as I gaze out of the window, elbow on table, chin in hand. The resort is buzzing with people clad in shorts, t-shirts and strappy dresses, enjoying the balmy evening without a care in the world. A young couple saunter past, arms wrapped around each other. I smile sadly. I was there not long ago. I check my mobile phone for the umpteenth time. I really can’t believe that Nick hasn’t bothered to get in touch with me. Did I really mean that little to him?
“Kalispera.” A tall, dark, and quite handsome, waiter has appeared at our table. He’s wearing a thick gold chain around his neck and a matching bracelet. Where’s the eager, bald one gone? I liked him, he was jolly; this one has an air of arrogance about him. “Eiste etimi na parankiledeh?” he says, looking at me, pen hovering over his notepad. I’ve been mistaken for a local several times during my stay. It’s probably down to my dark features, and my newly acquired tan.
“We’ll have a few dips to start, please - tarama, houmous, tzatziki,” Dad says, taking control, “with extra pitta bread.” The waiter scribbles away on his notepad, nodding all the while. “And for mains. I’ll have the Stifado, please.”
The waiter inclines his head and nods. “Good choice, Sir.” Then mouths, “I’m sorry” at me. Perhaps I was hasty. He does have a nice smile.
“And my wife will have the same. What about you, Audrey? It’s a lovely beef stew type dish. Do you want to give it a go?” Dad drums his fingers joyfully on the table.
“I’m not that hungry, Dad.” I scan the menu quickly, the words a blur. “I’ll just have a Greek salad.” I close the leather-bound menu with a thud and hand it back to the smiling waiter who’s now blatantly staring at my cleavage. I tug at my V-line white cotton top feeling my cheeks burn. Perhaps I should be flattered, but it’s a bit difficult to feel enchanted when the man who’s flirting with you is wearing a thick gold band on the third finger of his left hand. Goodness, is this what I’m now destined for? A married man’s bit on the side?
“You really should have something more, darling.” Mum leans forward on her elbows, fingers entwined, and looks at me worriedly. “Look at you, you’re wasting away.” A chance would be a fine thing. I could only wish for a body as sculptured as hers. Although I’ve inherited my mother’s looks, George and I have taken after Dad where physique is concerned. We only have to look at a cream cake to gain weight. Okay, maybe I’ve lost a few pounds these last few weeks due to the stress of my break-up, but at 5’7” tall, and only an inch taller than mum, I’m still a size fourteen, hardly a waif.
‘So, how’s the long holiday going?” I ask brightly, changing the subject.
“Good. Nice and relaxing.” Dad takes a swig of beer and glances at Mum. I must say, the tan suits him and he does look a lot more relaxed these days. Albeit he’s put on a few pounds. “Just what we need at our age.”
The apartment they’ve rented is on a newly-built complex. The contract was originally for four weeks, giving them plenty of time to enjoy a nice break before my wedding. But when that went pear-shaped they decided to extend it so that I could join them for a while, to give me ‘a little time to get over it’ as Dad put it. But I’m going to need a lot longer than two weeks to get over this heartache. It’s torn me apart.
“You’re looking well,” I tell my parents truthfully, glancing at my mobile phone on the table as it lights with a Twitter notification. “Cyprus suits you.” Mum swirls a strand of sleek grey hair around her index finger, giving Dad a mischievous grin.
“Oh, Audrey,” Mum drones, placing a French-manicured hand over mine, “We didn’t want to tell you, not just yet…not with all the problems you’ve had recently. But…oh, you tell her, Lionel.” Mum always does this to Dad, starts something off and makes him finish it. Dad’s cheeks are on fire. He hates being told what to do.
“Not now, Ruby,” he replies sternly, pushing his dark-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of his nose before folding his arms.
“But, Lionel, she’s got to –”
Dad gives her a warning look. “Ruby.”
“Oh, what is it, you two? Come on, tell me?” I insist, my curiosity rising, “I’m a big girl. I can take it.” I tear a piece of warm pitta and dip it into the houmous. “You’re not renewing your vows are you?” I laugh, biting into the bread.
“We’ve decided to buy a little house in Larnaca and stay,” Mum trills, clapping her hands like an excited child. “Isn’t that fantastic? Just think, you and your brother will be able to pop over whenever you like.” I almost choke on my mouthful. I stop chewing and stare at them in horror. They can’t be serious. What about me? Have they forgotten that I’ve just been abandoned by the love of my life? They can’t walk out on me too. I don’t think I could bear it.
“But you can’t just leave,” I cry. A heavily tanned woman with a blonde bob at an adjacent table glances at me quickly as she reaches for her cocktail. I lower my voice. “What about the house, your friends… your grandchildren, for heaven’s sake.”
