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George doesn’t ask me how I’m coping with my break-up and I get the feeling he’s treading on eggshells in an attempt to avoid the subject altogether. He was livid when he found out that Nick had left me, threatening to go round there and sort him out, as brothers do. You see, apart from Nick being his future brother-in- law, they’d become good mates over the years, often spending the weekend in front of the TV cheering on ManU, sometimes even travelling up to Manchester to watch their heroes live in action. I’m sure he misses him too, although he’d never admit it, of course.
So we don’t talk about my shambles of a wedding. I don’t mention that I dread going to sleep each night for fear of dreaming about Nick, nor do I embarrass myself by telling him about my “episode” last night. Dr Charalambos said my faint was due to stress and dehydration. I also overheard Dad whispering to him outside my bedroom door, telling him that I said I saw my ex- fiancé just before passing out, yet that was impossible as he’s in England. The doctor told Dad not to worry, assured him that I’d be fine, it wasn’t unusual for patients to hallucinate under extreme pressure or stress.
Maria wanders into the lounge humming under her breath and starts polishing furniture as I read out my return flight details to George.
“Everything okay?” I ask dubiously, pushing a hand through my hair, he sounds a bit put out. “If picking me up is a problem…”
“No, no, of course, it’s not a problem,” he croaks, then clears his throat, “Everything’s fine. I’ll pick you up as planned.”
“I’ll see you in a few days, then.” I put down the phone and chew the inside of my lip. I know when George is lying to me.
* * *
I spend my last day in Cyprus on the beach with Dad. Mum’s gone to a yoga class with Maria. I can’t believe how quickly she’s settled in, making friends, taking part in local activities. I often feel quite homesick on a fortnight’s holiday.
I find a secluded spot away from toned, bronzed, bikini-clad bodies. I don’t want to feel more depressed than I already am. I used to be quite slim when I was younger but that was way before I began my love affair…with food. Nick always said that he loved my voluptuous curves, told me I didn’t need to lose any weight. He insisted that I got rid of all my size-ten-for-when-I-get-thinner outfits stored at the back of my wardrobe. Naturally, I ignored him. Nick always told me what I wanted to hear, which is how we got ourselves into this mess in the first place.
I throw my orange beach towel onto the sun lounger while Dad secures our belongings onto the metal steeples of the straw umbrella, the sun beating down onto his bare tanned shoulders. I hope he doesn’t burn. Dad is quite fair-skinned. “September’s the perfect time to visit Cyprus,” he says, grinning. “The kids are all back at school, not so many tourists, and 30ºC is just about right for us.” He reclines onto his lounger and opens his newspaper, sighing contently.
I strip down to my black bikini and recline on the sunbed. It isn’t long before I feel the scorching sun stinging my shoulders, despite the fact that I’ve smothered myself in Factor 30. Why do I always burn? Nick goes a lovely golden brown almost immediately. Oh God, I’ve got to stop thinking about him.
I close my eyes and try to relax as Maria’s words sweep into my mind.
“Audi, no thinking about that bastad Nik,” she warned, waving a finger as she climbed into the car next to Mum this morning. “Glear your mind and breathe.”
“Clear my mind?”
“That’s o’right.”
“Well, that’s easier said than done, Maria. I can’t….”
“Ah.” She reached out and covered my mouth with her warm fingers. “Breathe in one, two, three, breathe out one, two three… juuuuuss relax.”
The smell of the salty sea whisks its way to my nostrils as it gently laps against the shore, slowly lulling me to sleep. One, two, three, inhale – four, five, six, exhale.
“Shamishi, Locmades, Bommbes, Nero,” yells a voice. I hoist myself up on my elbows, squinting at the sun. There’s an elderly man holding tightly onto the handlebars of a pushbike kiosk. His white, colossal moustache beaming against his tanned, leathered skin, shielded from the sun under a fisherman’s hat. So much for a meditative snooze. I glance at Dad. He’s cradling his knees and staring out into the ocean; thin, white hair blowing in the warm breeze. I haven’t seen him looking this content in a long while.
A middle-aged couple with a young boy have just arrived with portable chairs and an umbrella. “Townies,” Dad says from the side of his mouth as if the family are aliens, “no beach in Nicosia.”
The man whips off his top immediately to reveal a large hairy belly, then plunges the umbrella into the sand like a warrior before running and diving into the sea. Dad and I exchange knowing glances and smile.
“Dad,” I say, after a while.
“Yes, love?”
“I am happy for you, you know.” The wind has picked up and it’s humming in my ears. I lean my head back and gaze up at an aeroplane soaring through the sky, descending towards Larnaca Airport. “It was just a bit of a shock, that’s all. Of course, I want you and Mum to be happy.”
“I know, honey.” He smiles as a light gust blows through his maroon t-shirt, ballooning the chest and the sleeves. “And you can visit us anytime. You know that, don’t you?” I nod vigorously and press my lips together hard, beating back the tears. When did I turn into this quivering, vulnerable wreck of a woman? This isn’t like me at all. I used to be strong, independent, fun to be around. What’s happening to me for Christ’s sake? I can’t let a man destroy me. I’m worth more than that.
The middle-aged man is back, a welcome distraction. He’s wet from the sea, his bits semi-erect in his tight black Speedos.
“I’m going for a dip,” I announce.
“Right you are, my darling.” Dad has made a start on the newspaper crossword, one of his favourite pastimes, which requires no interruptions.
“Won’t be long, Dad.” I stand up. Speedos-man catches sight of me as I saunter towards the ocean and gives me a long, leery stare. I feel his eyes burning into my back as the sea tickles my feet.
I’m usually frightened of the sea. I’d only dare venture in if Nick was close by to rescue me from drowning. I can’t count the times he tried to teach me how to swim, to no avail, of course. But today, I don’t seem to care. Its warmth envelopes me as it laps smoothly against my chest. I bounce blissfully on the soft sand beneath my feet, the waves gently carrying me further and further into the ocean. I close my eyes and tilt my head back. Water gushes into my ears, encasing me in a bubble of dark solitude. My toes brush against the soft grains. If I let go I could just float away from all this angst, all this pain. It could all be over in a matter of minutes.
