Tig’s screeching voice cuts through our conversation. ‘Oh my God, Maz, how can you not have seen this?’
I grimace like I’ve bitten into a lemon. Why does she have to talk so loudly? Maria’s sittingrightnext to her.
Her shriek wakes Mark, who looks up bleary-eyed. His confused gaze lands on me; there’s heat in it, but not from anger. The eye-contact stretches uncomfortably, before a familiar song makes us both turn our heads.
Tig is playing our tango from the other night, and the other girls are watching her phone, mesmerised.
‘I must have seen this a hundred times,’ she says. ‘It’s so dreamy.’
‘That’s pretty,’ I say, keeping my tone light. ‘What is it?
‘It’s a tango that went viral on TikTok,’ says Pen. ‘It was all over social media a few weeks back.’
Tig turns her phone so I can see.
‘Wow,’ I say. It’s a breathtaking spectacle – a couple dancing in an Italian piazza while bystanders stop and watch in wonder.
I can see why Tig finds it all so dreamy. But it’s also highlighted a small problem. This isn’t a ballroom tango – the dance Theo has spent hours trying to learn – it’s an Argentine tango. The steps are completely different, as is the hold, which is much more intimate – foreheads pressed together, legs wrapped around each other. Anyone who’s watched five minutes ofStrictlywould know the two dances are very different. Theo, I take it, leads a glitterball-free existence.
Chapter 26
‘What a beautifulArgentinetango.’
My words have the desired effect. Mark looks at me sharply and sits up.
Theo is smiling indulgently at Tig, looking none the wiser.
‘My round,’ announces Mark, standing. ‘Nella, will you give me a hand?’
‘I’ll help you, mate,’ says Theo. But Mark ignores him and waits for me to stand.
Mark’s basically issued me an order, but we need to discuss our tango problem, so I get up without grumbling.
We take everyone’s requests – Pimm’s being the popular choice – and set off for the drinks tent, Theo eyeing us as we leave.
‘Why’s he so suspicious?’ I ask, as we fall into step.
‘Why do you think?’
I frown. ‘He knows about the tango snafu?’
He looks at me like I’ve said something baffling, but doesn’t contradict me.
‘I’m sorry about your mum,’ I say, after we’ve taken a few steps in silence. ‘Is she okay?’
He drags a hand through his hair. ‘Yeah, a nurse spotted the issue before any real harm was done. Imighthave overreacted. Guilt over the fact I’ll be on the other side of the Atlantic in a couple of weeks.’
‘I didn’t think Greek mum guilt worked on you.’
‘Why? Because I’m only half Greek?’
He sounds defensive and, too late I realise my oblique criticism has hit an altogether different nerve.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean …’ I try a friendlier tone. ‘You’re the Greekest person I know.’
‘How so?’ he asks cautiously.
‘Well, unlike the rest of us, you’ve lived in Cyprus.’
