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His voice takes on a menacing edge.
“They get sent somewhere far away?”
My lungs feel like they’re deflating and I’m struggling to breathe.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
Mac motions his head towards the island.
“That place. A hundred years ago, if you got sent there, it might as well’ve been the other side of the world. Goes to show ya. Distance, like everything, it’s a matter of perspective… And a matter of time. Don’t ya agree?”
His eyes bore into me as I squirm.
“That’s a nasty cut you’ve had there, love.”
I recoil, desperately wanting to bolt, but I’m hemmed into the space between the tables by the large Greek who’s shifted further back in his seat.
“You’re one of them,” I finally manage to gasp, terrified. “One of the Scousers.”
His skinny brown fingers grab onto my hand, squeezing it tightly so I can’t get it free and can’t leave.
“You got a bit damaged last time. But you’ve still got a very pretty face. D’you know what a Birkenhead smile is?”
“What d’you want from me?”
“We take a knife and we cut…”
Trying to wriggle free of his hand, I knock against the big Greek behind me, trying to attract the attention of the table next to us. But the big Greek guy is in the middle of a story and everyone is laughing at him, oblivious to my distress.
“As I was saying,” he grips me tighter. “We cut with the knife. From the corner of each mouth up to the ear. Put a big grin on ya face forever. No one’ll notice your neck, after that.”
“Let me go.”
I manage to raise my voice a little to him, though it comes out as a croak.
A young Greek woman at the next table thankfully turns around and nudges her boyfriend. They’re both looking our way now, obviously noticing my distress.
Mac releases my hand but pushes a business card into it. I instantly drop it into my apron pocket, like it’s burnt me.
He stands up to leave and the young couple look away.
“Gonna try somewhere else tonight. Bit chocka out here.”
I retreat as quickly as I can, but he follows me squeezing nimbly through the crammed table space.
Then, from nowhere he’s facing me again. And I’m cornered against a patio heater. I try not to freak out. No one’s probably paying any attention to me. It’s massively busy here. He’s standing facing me now, his cold eyes drilling into mine once more.
“If you hear from Sion Edwards, give us a call and I promise you won’t get hurt. Otherwise…”
His finger brushes along my cheeks, tracing a wide arc across my face from ear to ear.
“Use that pretty head of yours, Claire,” he says under his breath to me, nodding towards the island.
“And remember, chuck, these days there’s nowhere safe to hide.”
It takes me ten minutes to stop shaking. As I stand in the toilet looking into the mirror over the sink, I can hear the boss calling. They’re too busy for me to slope off, but I can’t go out. Not like this.
He shouts through the door.
“Claire? Get your ass out here. There’s tables to get food to.”
“Sorry, Boss,” I answer, still quaking. “I’ll be there right away. I’m not feeling well. I’ve got a migraine.”
“Me too. From all the complaining customers. Now get here and get going.”
I inhale deeply. Mac has gone. Dropping his card into the bin full of dirty toilet paper feels cathartic. He’s said his piece.
I dry my hands and emerge from the bathroom. Ducking my head, I refasten my apron. It’s a busy shift. Smile, serve, clear, repeat. It’s all I need to do.
Chanting that mantra in my head, I flash a smile at the boss, grab a tray of drinks from the bar and take it over to the waiting table.
I work on auto-pilot for the rest of the evening, smiling and serving until the last table’s cleared.
“What’s goin’ on with you tonight?”
It’s the boss again, Christos.
“Nothing.”.
“Don’t give me that crap. It was that old English man. He upset you.”
I shrug, but suddenly from somewhere deep down it’s too much and the tears begin to flow.
“Shit. I’m so sorry, Christos.”
He puts his arm around me and sits me down at the bar inside. Pouring us both an ouzo he sits next to me on a barstool.
“Tell me, Claire. What’s up?”
“There was this guy, back home. We used to chat when I worked the bar. We got to be good friends. I liked him, Christos. Anyway, turns out he’s in trouble. Big trouble with some seriously bad guys.”
I fill him in on how I got the scar and the conversation with Mac. I even mention the young man who followed me.
“I’m sure they’re watching my moves.”
“You have to get out of here.”
“How?”
“Claire, you’ve been a big help to me here. Leave it with Christos. It’s the end of the season. I’ll sort you out.”
He walks me back to my rented accommodation, a room in his aunt’s house and chats to her by the front step while I retrieve my camera and send Christos my shot of the stalker boy.
She pats my shoulder as I move past her to my room. Even though she doesn’t have a word of English or me of Greek, her touch tells me that she’s looking out for me and I disappear gratefully up the stairs.
Later, looking out of the window I see a movement in the street. I switch off the lights and crouch down, peeping out from under the window.
It’s the young man again and he’s looking up towards my room. I’m certain now that Mac has paid him to keep an eye on me.
It’s after midnight and I’m not sure what time-zone Jason’s in. I try calling him but there’s no response. He’s probably overhead somewhere in the skies.
In the end, I send him a text.
Jason, I need your help. Call me when you can. The Scousers sent someone to try and get me to tell them where Sion is. And I'm being followed. They haven’t given up. I’m scared.
???
An email landed into Shaun’s new account. He’d only created it for Claire so he was a little surprised.
‘Check our channel.’
Shaun raced into the living room and fired up the games consul.
Jason: Claire sent me a message. She’s working in a restaurant in Crete. The Scousers sent a man there. He threatened her, tried to get her to tell them where you are. She’s going out of her mind. How do you want to play this?
Shaun leaned back from his laptop and rubbed his eyes. This was bad. He clicked onto his advert page. It was a little rough but he didn’t have a choice. He had to put his plan into action.
Shaun: Hi Jase, Tell her that her social media accounts are being watched. She needs to stop posting where she is. Send her the job details. We’ll need to get her out of there. Whatever you do, don’t tell her it’s me. It’s not safe for her to know.’
???
Since our conversation, Mac hasn’t been back to the café and both Christos and I have come to the conclusion that the Scousers are a bit desperate.
Christos has found out that the young man with Mac is working the summer as a chugger, getting tourists off the street to dine in one of the restaurants up the road.
As of yesterday he’s unemployed Christos tells me, and somehow his accommodation has also become double booked. He’s been told to move on from Plaka. That’s how it works around here. Everyone’s related to everyone some way or other and they all help each other out.
I click open the message from Jason. We’re only using texts now I’ve found out they’re watching my social media posts. It’s made me a little paranoid, still, perhaps I can turn that to my advantage?
Jason’s message blows my mind. I knew he had some jet-setting friends but this is amazing. It’s a job opportunity. In New Zealand.
I click on the link and wait impatiently for it to load. And I’m not disappointed when it does. The photographs are of a large coffee-coloured wooden mansion on the shoreline of a lake. In front of the house is the whitest of sandy beaches and to the side are ferns the size of trees. The waters of the lake reflect the forest around it. It looks lush and tropical. Remote and wild.
Inside, the pictures show a state-of-the-art kitchen and a large living area that looks out onto the lake.
I picture myself standing by the shore. I’ve always wanted to go to New Zealand. It’s been a dream since I was a kid to find the father that I’ve never known. At last, this is my chance.
Excitedly I skim-read the advert. Am I what they’re looking for?
‘Enthusiastic’? I can certainly be that. An ‘allrounder’? What does that even mean? I’ll give anything a go, even painting though I’ve never held a paintbrush in my life.
Jason says it’s a friend of a friend who has to go away so needs someone to get the place ready for guests, and then needs help running it.
To me it sounds like fate.
And what do I have to lose? I need to get away from Greece now they’ve found me.
It takes me almost an hour to draft my enquiry, and by the end I’m running late for work. Everything I write about myself sounds so clunky and lame. So I finally plump for a simple email. If the employer wants more information, he can ask me or arrange a call.
Dear Mr Cobain,
I would love to come and help get your Lake Lodge ready for guests. I am the enthusiastic allrounder you are looking for. I’m a waitress and a bartender and am free for the next six months so I can start straight away.
Please let me know if you would like any more information.
Best wishes,
Claire Williams
I check my sent folder. It’s gone.
Shaun Cobain. It’s odd thinking of another person called Sion. His name is spelt differently, of course, but it still feels like a good omen especially because he also has the coolest surname in the world.
I quickly dismiss the fantasy of Shaun Cobain as the great Kurt’s cousin. And anyway, the mysterious Mr Cobain probably won’t even reply. There are bound to be hundreds of applicants, thousands even, applying for a cool job like this one. I try to dampen my hopes and dreams. This is another hook in the ocean. I probably won’t get a bite.
