With a perfectly straight face, he replies, ‘The wireless.’
Chapter 29
I thought I’d sleep well because travelling tends to wipe me out, but I struggle to drift off. The unfamiliar bed and surroundings mean every time I open my eyes, I get confused about where I am, thinking I’m back in the king-size bed in Rich’s flat.
At 5 a.m., I give up and pad to the kitchen to make myself some herbal tea. To my surprise, Pen is also up.
‘Can’t sleep, either?’ I ask her.
She closes the drawer she was rifling through and takes two eggs out of the fridge. ‘I was trying to find a whisk,’ she says, looking sheepish.
‘Are you hungry?’
‘Yeah, my body clock is all over the place.’
I put the kettle on and hop onto a breakfast stool.
‘Mark told me about your big secret.’
I freeze, unsure what to do or say.
‘Okay,’ I say, trying to buy time. Things are going to be athousandtimes more awkward if anyone else knows about what happened. ‘Why would he tell you?’
‘It came up when I got a lift back from Ally Pally with him and Yan.’ She smiles. ‘Is Theo as bad at tango as he is at salsa?’
Relief courses through me, and I mirror her smile. ‘I feel awful saying it, but he’s actually worse. Plus, he’s been learning the wrong type of tango.’
‘I know. Yan was inhystericswhen Mark told him in the car.’
She makes her scrambled eggs, and I make my tea, but after about half an hour, we start to feel tired, so end up going back to sleep.
I don’t wake up till after ten, and I would have slept longer if my room wasn’t so close to the kitchen. I can’t believe the banging and clattering Tig and Theo produce while they make breakfast.
Once I’m up and I’ve made myself a coffee, we decide to drive half an hour to Protaras because, however lovely it is to have a private pool, the beaches on the south-eastern tip of the island have crystal clear water, and it seems criminal not to go.
We’re driving home again, feeling that special kind of exhaustion you only get from a hard day at the beach, when Yan texts.
I ignore the first one, but by the time I’m back in my room and showered, he’s sent a whole string of messages, including a picture of him and Mark drinking flutes of champagne. They’re flying with BA, and somehow, they’ve managed to get upgraded to business class.
Congratulations on your engagement,(future) Mr and Mrs Marino, I text back, because, honestly, who photographs themselves with their arms interlinked like that?
Yan:What makes you think Mark is the top? Wink face, aubergine, splash.
Me:Stop being gross.
Yan:You started it.
Me:Put your phone on airplane mode and kindly fuck off. Smiley face.
I check the time – have they landed or are they still flying? I’m still not used to the fact you can text on planes now. I want to know how long I’ve got before Mark arrives so I can prepare myself. A quick check on the airport website tells me they’re due around eight. The same time as our dinner reservation.
We’ve been coming to ‘Saint Tropez’, a beach-front taverna in Larnaca since we were kids. It’s old – established in the 1950s when Saint Tropez was first famous. It’s open-air, with white tablecloths and wooden chairs painted sky-blue, and always packed. Mario and Niki are already there so we don’t have to wait for a table.
I’m wearing a white tank top and my new linen shorts. They’re cream with a pale pinstripe, the kind of thing you see in a ‘How to keep cool in the office’ feature. I mean, theykindalook office-y, but I’d never wear them at the clinic. Far too much thigh on show.
I grab a seat at the end of the table next to Niki and hand over her portion of shortbread and a pair of silver earrings in the shape of microscopes because she’s a biology professor.
Without any discussion needed, it’s agreed that we’re eating meze tonight, and before long, a steady stream of small plates start arriving at the table, along with bottles of local wine.
