Page 3 of The Greek Café

‘Nonsense.’ She laughed. ‘I am only seventy. There is an eighty-two-year-old doing it. It’s not as if I have any health problems.’

Which is true. Mum is a picture of health, despite her penchant for a decent scone or a slice of carrot cake, and she enjoys living her life to the full. She told me that losing Dad made her realise she should grab every opportunity in life with both hands.

Sometimes I think she is filling up her diary to avoid the pain she feels when she is alone. I have heard her crying silently when I have stayed over. I guess everyone deals with grief differently, and I know she will never forget Dad.

I really ought to take some inspiration from her regarding grabbing opportunities though. Tomorrow I will go and have a chat with her. See what she thinks about me looking further afield.

Now, sitting with Mum in her kitchen, the familiar hum of Radio 2 in the background, I resist a slice of her delicious lemon drizzle cake, especially after all those drinks with Mel last night. Any more cakes and I won’t fit into my swimming costume.

‘So I am thinking I might apply for a few jobs abroad. Maybe at one of those large hotels, that have entertainment programmes.’

‘Sounds like a really good idea,’ says Mum. ‘You are only young once; go and explore the world. And to be honest,’ she says, in between mouthfuls of cake, ‘I do worry that life is passing you by a little.’

Great. Thanks, Mum. As if I really need reminding of that.

I have had plenty of holidays abroad over the years, but, apart from Cornwall, I have never really gone off anywhere on my own to have an adventure.

‘You’re right,’ I say to Mum as I sip my tea. ‘So maybe I will apply for a load of jobs around Europe and see what turns up.’

The holiday to Rhodes with James pops into my mind again, and I think I am ready to face the ghosts of my past.

‘You go for it,’ Mum encourages. ‘Your dad would be so proud to see you embracing life.’ Her voice chokes a little. ‘We miss him so much but one way to honour him and his memory is to try to do the most with the time we all have left ourselves. He would have wanted that.’

The thought of going off on my own has my stomach rolling with nerves. But then, maybe it’s high time I put on my big girl pants and went for it. My life here is going nowhere and, really, what’s the worst that can happen?

Two weeks later, there is a subdued goodbye at the gathering in the staff room, where myself and a couple of other staff are treated to cake, a few glasses of fizz and an assortment of cakes and sandwiches from a local deli. I try my best to be cheerful, given the circumstances. I can hardly wait to get out of here and home into my cosy loungewear and lose myself in a box set.

A few of my colleagues express their envy, saying that if the redundancy had been voluntary, they would have been off like a shot.

‘Twenty years’ redundancy pay isn’t too bad, I suppose,’ says one of the younger staff as she picks at some salad.

‘That’s true,’ I agree with a half-hearted shrug. ‘It’s not what I was really planning though.’

‘Sometimes life pushes us in the right direction though,’ says Jo, one of the receptionists who has also been made redundant. She has decided to return to college and train as a veterinary nurse. I guess she does have a point.

Before I went home, I took a glance at the empty pool, realising it would be the last time I ever did so as a trainer here, and pushed down a feeling of panic.

Last night, I had spent a couple of hours trawling jobs on cruise ships, when I found myself once more thinking about Greece. I cannot help but remember the wonderful food, the people, the breathtaking scenery. Everything about Rhodes lifted my heart, despite misreading the signs about being proposed to.

I recall a boat trip to Lindos with its glorious long beach and its twisting alleyways of white buildings dotted with shops and cafés. James and I sipped ouzos and I giggled as we walked hand in hand back to our hotel, me never being very good at drinking alcohol in the afternoon.

Another time we spent a day in Symi, wandering the cobbled streets and stopping for cold drinks at pretty cafés with pink bougainvillea spilling over their white walls. We spent a magical evening dining at a fish restaurant strung with lights that was perched on a cliff overlooking the harbour. The setting was so perfect; I truly believed James had taken me there to propose. He had booked the best table and even ordered a bottle of the most expensive wine on the menu.

But, of course, he hadn’t, and not long after he dumped me. Still, the view of the blue-green waters and the surrounding mountains viewed from our hotel balcony will stay with me forever, despite my heartbreak after he walked out of my life. I threw myself into my work after that, and am over him now. At least I think I am. I am not sure how I would feel if I ran into him though. It’s been so hard to think about that since Dad passed away.

During my job search, I came across a hotel in Rhodes, advertising for summer staff, that offered live-in accommodation. In a slightly elevated position amongst a pine forest that overlooks the crystal-clear sea, it did sound idyllic. It’s certainly a far cry from the South Side Leisure Centre with its outlook of drab grey buildings that include the local police station.

Once I’m home I flick the kettle and on impulse, I decide to apply for the hotel job. With the job market as competitive as it is, I’ll need to apply for as many jobs as possible, at home and abroad, and so I upload my CV to get the ball rolling, and break the ice.

I am a firm believer that whatever is meant for me will not pass me by. And, at this moment in time, I really cannot afford to be choosy. The redundancy payout looks great on paper but, with the cost of living and bills to pay, I won’t be long eating through that, especially with no partner to support me.

It really is sink or swim.

THREE

A couple of days later, I walk past a travel agents where photos of hotels with swimming pools are displayed alongside special offers for sunshine getaways. I visualise the warm sun on my skin as I stand gazing in the shop window.

I drop off some clothes at a charity shop, including an old leather biker jacket that I no longer wear. I pick up a couple of books whilst there, happy to find a new journal still in its wrapper that costs three pounds. If any of the jobs abroad come up, perhaps I can record my adventures. I am trying to harness the power of positive thinking. In fact, maybe I should be saying when a job in Greece comes up, rather than if.