The New Mrs D (8 page)

Whipping the bottle free, she pointed behind me, to reveal a long line of burning booze leading from my heels to a stunned-looking Greek man in the centre of the dance floor, lighter in hand. There was screaming, clapping and drunken cheering. The screaming was me.

‘WHAT ON EARTH . . . ?’

Argos raced towards me, stamping out the line of fire between the man and me as he ran. The crowd roared over my screams and at once, the man with the lighter snatched the bottle from Michaela and proceeded to spill more of the liquid over the floor before lighting it again, forming a perfect circle of flames before the cheering crowd.

Seeing my nonplussed face, Argos shouted into my ear, ‘It’s brandy.’

‘But I didn’t ask for brandy,’ I said.

‘It’s the ‘ring of fire’ dance, see? I wanted for you to see it. I didn’t want for you to be in it though. I’m sorry, lovely lady,’ he said, as another of the dancers tugged his shoulder. ‘I must go back and finish.’

Nobody had moved yet – not even Greta who was still holding the tablecloth in terror, still flashing her knickers. The only one too inebriated to notice my near ritual burning was Linda, who cackled with delight as a waiter delivered three more bottles of wine to the table, trying hard not to look in Greta’s direction.

‘Woohoo!’ She sang out. ‘Now it’s a party!’

Chapter Nine

The Greek dancing was fun. I was on fire!

O
n day three of The New Bernice Plan, I posted a photo of myself and Linda to Facebook, arm in arm, performing the ‘ring of fire’ Zorba dance. Within minutes of my posting, the well-wishing messages began to ping through in a series of mobile notifications.

Hope you are having a wonderful time, Mum!
Miss you!

Many congratulations to you both! Love Caroline & Michael XXX (Yawn)

Greece looks fabulous!

The last message was from David’s secretary, Iris. So, he wasn’t back at work. Having now set my phone not to accept his calls, my voicemail box was full of pleading messages that I couldn’t bear to hear, at least, for the time being. However, the text messages just kept on coming:

Missing you! Please answer or call me back. It’s not supposed to be like this, we should be together. I love you so much Mrs Dando.

Reading the last line again, tears welled up in my eyes as his words poured into my conscience uninvited.
I love you so much Mrs Dando.

‘I love you Mum.’

My mother looked up from her newspaper and grinned. ‘And so you should,’ she said. ‘Now shut up, I’m reading.’

Looking back down at my drawing of Adam Ant, I bit my lip and sighed. I loved Adam Ant too. I bet he wouldn’t tell me to shut up about it though. He would kiss me on the top of my head and tell me how lovely it was to have the loyal, unconditional love of a nine year old.

With a thumb rested over the reply button, I faltered in my resolve not to think about any of the disappointments of my life. David loved me, but he didn’t want me; all those nights when he’d left me in bed for a television rendezvous with some bum-waggling porn star had taught me that. My mother too had always seemed to do that showy love thing that is required of a parent, but it felt hollow somehow. The words ‘I love you too,’ would wrap around me like a very thin cloak; placating me, yet offering no real warmth. Even my father, right up until the day he died, had just seemed let down by everything I did. He must have told me he loved me at some point, but I couldn’t remember when.

Recalling the familiar yearning for sex that Argos had stirred in me as I’d watched him dance last night had brought it all home. My relationship with David marked the beginning of a sexuality death: mine. It was a wonder it wasn’t me switching over from squeezing my way to more painful thighs on the shopping channel to watching a
guy
writhing about in nothing but a tool belt. Then again, I could just see myself calling him:

‘Hello caller, what’s your name, honey?’

‘No, it’s Bernice.’

‘Hi sexy! What can I do for you?’

‘Erm . . . I don’t know . . . Are you any good with flat-pack furniture?’

I deleted the long line of texts on my phone. I mustn’t dwell on things. This could all wait until I go home.

A fishing boat was to take us out to a tiny, neighbouring island for the volcano climb today and Chris had agreed to drop me off at the harbour. As I walked towards his car, I saw that he was chatting to someone on his mobile.

‘Yes, er . . . okay, that will be good. Make it five if you like?’

With his free hand, he gestured at me to get in the car, before ending the conversation abruptly.

‘Cool. Anyway, I have to go now. Bye!’

I opened the door and climbed into the passenger seat which burned my backside for my trouble.

‘Ooh, hot!’ I yelped, drawing up my knees only to feel the thick skin of my thighs peel off the seat with a loud and very attractive schlupppp.

Chris grinned, pointing out the wicker seat pad under him, which had no doubt saved his legs from a scalding.

‘Yeah, two of those would be useful,’ I said, reaching under myself to pull the legs of my shorts over the backs of my legs. As Chris watched me in amusement, I realised that the process had lifted the hem of my blouse to reveal the ‘sit-down spillage’ − a plumptious roll of belly fat spilling over my waistband. I pulled my hands quickly out from under me to tug it down, and felt my thighs singe on the seat again. ‘Oooh ya!’

‘You okay there?’ Chris grinned.

‘Never been better,’ I lied.

‘Sorry, I very rarely have passengers in this old thing so I only have one seat pad,’ he said, before starting the engine. ‘So, how’s it all going so far, Bernice? Are you doing okay?’

I thought of the long version:

‘Well, I’ve been chased by Greek hit men for stealing their pencil; treated a little old lady and her lemons to a flying lesson, almost set my new group of friends on fire, oh . . . and I made a fish explode.’

But instead I gave him the short one, ‘Oh fine, Chris. I’m having a blast.’

‘Well that’s just great,’ he replied. ‘Because, I don’t mean to pry, but, did I hear you crying last night?’

Crying had occurred from time to time in my room, late at night after a wine or two, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t ever so loud that he would hear me upstairs.
Wait a minute . . .

‘There may have been singing as I rolled up to my front door after last night.’

‘Ah,’ he replied. ‘It’s a good job I didn’t come down to check on you then. Because I thought about it, but I, er . . . well . . .’

‘Wasn’t alone?’ I said, matter-of-factly whilst trying to recall what it was I’d been screeching in the early hours of the morning.

‘No, I wasn’t, to be honest.’ Taking off the handbrake, he pulled out of the drive.

‘A girlfriend?’ I cringed at my own nosiness.
Why did I ask that?

‘Do you think you could jump out and lock the gate behind us before we go on?’ he said, ignoring my question and not taking his eyes off the road.

Even though I knew I had no right to have feelings about any ‘girlfriend’ Chris might have, my heart sank. It was Ginger. I knew it! For the briefest of moments, I hesitated, wondering whether to just dive in and ask him about it. But it was such a nosey, mother hen thing to do. No, I couldn’t do it now. Maybe later, with some assistance from my old friend, Dutcheous Courageous. I opened
my door and jumped out of the passenger seat to lock the gate.

My mobile phoned beeped as I climbed back in. The text was from Suzy.

All fine. Mother home X

‘Oh, I really should call my sister,’ I said, to myself really.

As we rounded the bend towards the harbour, I spied Argos in nothing but a pair of shorts and hiking boots, standing beside a beautiful, blue fishing boat. As Chris pulled the car up in front of the boat, my tour guide for the day flashed me his most gorgeous smile. I belly flipped.

‘Catch you later then?’ Chris said.

‘Huh?’ I answered, fixing my huge, floppy, straw sun hat in place, sucking in the sit-down spillage and smiling back at the young stallion before me.
Sigh.

Chris looked from me to Argos, before asking, ‘I meant to ask you, have you had any word from David yet?’

I turned to face him and touched his arm in earnest. It was time to tell him
some
version of the truth. If I practised saying the words to him, I could say them to Suzy tonight, hopefully getting some insightful answers from her.

‘Chris, I think I should just tell you before we go any further, what has happened between David and me goes back a long way in our relationship. We have a lot to work out, even though the wedding was only last week and it sounds . . . well . . . ridiculous. I’m sorry; I know you’re worried about him, but I need to focus on myself for a little while. It sounds selfish but that’s just how it is.’ I wondered if Chris had called David. It seemed highly likely, but I went on with my speech anyway. ‘I just hope that you and I can still be friends.’

I breathed a sigh of relief. One awkward conversation down, now I could call Suzy and have the full, proper one. I resigned myself to having to call her tonight when I got back to the apartment.

Chris lifted his cap and scratched his head. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘You seemed so happy. What was he doing? Cheating?’

‘I honestly can’t answer. If you want to know if he’s hurt me, then yes, he has. But I’m not sure how much of it is my fault as well as his. Just don’t hate me. I promise you, there’s no need.’

He shook his head and guffawed. ‘I don’t hate you. And you know you’re welcome to stay at the villa,’ he said. ‘But please, I know it isn’t my business, but don’t bring anyone back. It wouldn’t be right.’ He looked again at Argos, who was still watching us as he greeted other guests boarding the boat.

I swallowed hard. ‘Oh God, no way!’
What must he think of me?

Before I could consider this a moment more, I heard Linda call out my name and turned to see her standing with a blonde, frizzy-haired, slender woman with huge, white-rimmed sunglasses that were much larger than her face. This, I supposed, was Eydis. They were waiting to board the boat. I waved them on, mouthing ‘Just a minute!’

Chris started up the car before turning to look at me again. I don’t know why, but it was a look that hurt my heart.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It just feels sad and, well . . . weird, you know? David and I have been friends a long time.’

‘And you don’t like to see him hurt. I know. I remember.’

Still looking at me, he pursed his lips as if he was about to say something but had changed his mind.

‘Look, I have a lot of thinking to do,’ I continued. ‘I’m not even
about
to think of moving on or doing anything silly and this honeymoon alone thing is no picnic in the sun . . .’

‘Binnie!’

We both looked up to see Linda calling, raising a huge glass of wine to me from the boat, and before us the most fantastic sight which instantly changed the mood. Six shirtless, hunky guys with ripped torsos – all wearing luminous green shorts, green fluorescent sunglasses and flip flops – were lining up to board the gang plank, carrying picnic baskets and holdalls, chattering away like old hens. One of them was – rather bizarrely – carrying a snowboard. Chris’s mouth fell open, just as all the men, spotting Linda gesturing, turned in unison and waved at me.

‘Woo hoo! Hurry up, Binnie!’

‘That’ll be the dance troupe Linda’s girlfriend was bringing along today,’ I told him, squirming but not able to stop myself from grinning. ‘Today is supposed to be fun. Just the tonic for . . . erm . . .’ there was a pause as I turned back to see his still-astonished face. ‘Taking my mind off things,’ I finished.

‘Well,’ he replied. ‘I have a feeling it’s going to work. Enjoy! But, can you at least try to stay a bit more sober?’

Maybe I looked doubtful at that point, but I didn’t mean to. Chris took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘No more singing at two in the morning, okay? And no getting into any of that Binnie-esque mischief you’re famous for.’

‘I’ll be on a tiny island with nothing on it but a volcano that’s been asleep for thousands of years,’ I laughed, giving him a hug. ‘What mischief could I
possibly
get into?’

Chapter Ten

Climbing up a volcano to throw something in as a sacrifice to the Gods. All I have is my picnic and David. I can’t tell you how much I’m going to miss him.

E
ydis turned out to be from the East End of London with ‘a Cambridge education,’ to use Linda’s gushing words as she introduced us.

‘Looking forward to the volcano climb then, Binnie?’ Eydis asked me as we sipped way-too-early glasses of boozy Tsipouro. She looked for all the word like she could be up and down several mountains in a day and still have time and energy for an evening jog on the beach.

‘Absolutely,’ I lied. ‘It should be a piece of cake in this heat.’

Behind us Roman – as I learned his name was – the snowboard-carrying dancer, was chatting to Argos in the most wonderful Italian accent, and looking completely smitten. ‘This Titsy-pouro is magnifico!’ he said, ‘Dove posso comprare?’

‘You are aware there was a mini eruption on a nearby island a few days ago, aren’t you?’ Eydis continued.

‘Oh, that’s exciting!’ said Linda.

‘Yes,’ I said, grimacing. ‘Near death experiences are what I live for. Shall we go there next?’

‘Good,’ Eydis laughed. ‘You will get on well with my boy, Roman.’

‘I will?’ I glanced back at him, arms now draped over Argos’s shoulder, laughing like a hyena.

‘Sure! You wouldn’t think it to look at him, but he’s an ex-member of the Dangerous Sports Club at Oxford Uni. Crazy bunch! The board is for a bit of additional thrill seeking,’ she explained.

‘Sounds like fun,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think they’ll get to do much snowboarding in Greece.’

‘Haven’t you heard of people snowboarding down volcanoes?’ Eydis asked. ‘That’s what he plans to try.’ She pointed to another of the troupe who was carrying a large, black holdall. I cloaked my chest and shoulders safely under the sarong and turned to look. ‘They have a camera to make a video for YouTube,’ she finished.

‘Snowboarding on volcanoes? How is that possible?’ Linda asked the question that had been in my head too. But just as Eydis was about to reply, Ginger, Edvard, Hughie and Greta came over to us. Much to my amusement, Greta was almost tripping over herself to ogle the dancers.

‘Hullo, lassies,’ Hughie said, to my boobs.

‘Hello, Hughie,’ I said, pulling my sarong protectively over my chest.

‘Ye know,’ he said with a smile. ‘Ye shouldnae hide those things. Now whit were ye saying aboot snowboarding?’

‘Nothing,’ laughed Eydis, tapping her nose to indicate secrecy.

Greta looked nonplussed. ‘Weel, they forecast a wee bit o’ rain,’ she said, ‘but ah didnae hear aboot any snaw.’

Unable to contain her disinterest, Ginger strode away.

‘Argos!’ she said, grabbing his arm. ‘How lovely to see you again.’

Turning to look at the young tour guide myself, he winked at me whilst accepting Ginger’s hand and kissing it, I giggled and went all a-quiver like a silly schoolgirl. Oh, grow up woman! What was I? Twelve?

‘You don’t have a spare twenty in there do you?’

I tugged David’s wallet out of his back pocket and made off with it, laughing as he grabbed at my hand to get it back, and missed.

‘Hey, give that back to me!’ he said, sounding angry.

‘What’s the matter, David?’ I teased. ‘Afraid I’m only after you for your money?’ As I snapped the wallet open, he lunged for it again and I pulled away. ‘Hah! You can’t have it!’ I squealed, utterly delighted to be winning the game.

‘Just give it to me!’

The fury in his voice began to scare me and I stopped laughing. ‘What’s your problem?’ I asked, feeling hurt. I looked down at the now open wallet, intent on closing it and passing it back, when a flash of familiar colour met my eyes. Tucked into one of the pockets there was a photo, with the edge just poking out. ‘What’s this?’ I said.

‘BINNIE, GIVE THAT BACK!’

I pulled the photo out and gasped, staring at it in disbelief. ‘Why would you have this?’ I cried. ‘Why is it in your wallet?’

David made a final swipe at the wallet and won it back from my fingers, which were now limp and unresisting. ‘Why, David?’ I pleaded for an answer, needing one badly, but guessing that I knew it already.

‘I didn’t know that was there,’ he said, sounding sheepish. But in another moment, he seemed to rethink things and his anger returned. ‘Why are you going through my stuff anyway? This is mine!’

‘I wasn’t going through your stuff,’ I retorted. ‘I just wanted to borrow some cash for petrol.’

‘Well, next time I’ll get it for you. For God’s sake, woman, can’t a guy have any privacy?’

Tears pricked my eyes, pain searing my heart like a hot knife through butter.

‘I . . . I didn’t mean to pry,’ I began, all the while not being able to believe I was the one apologising. He was the one with the photo in his wallet! And of all pictures, it had to be that one.

‘Please, David,’ I begged, waving the photo at him. ‘You have to tell me. Why are you carrying around this photo?’

He shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think I picked it up off the floor one day and shoved it in my wallet intending to hand it back to you. What’s the matter? Are you crying?’

I shook my head.

‘What, do you think, that I kept it in there on purpose?’ he went on. ‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not being silly,’ I cried. ‘You had that in your wallet, David. And, for that matter, not one photo of me! How am I supposed to feel?’

I hugged the picture to my heart, like it could somehow stop it from breaking. It was one of my favourite photographs; I’d taken it myself. In the shot were four of my girlfriends at a hen party weekend we’d gone to in Spain, several years before I’d met David, back when I still had my own friends. All four of them were waving glasses of champagne and all were sporting tiny, string bikinis.

‘What do you think, that I have it there to ogle your mates or something?’ he boomed, still intent on making me feel silly. ‘You are bloody paranoid! Why don’t you stop being so pathetic and grow up! I love you, goddammit. This stuff,’ he said, taking the photo off of me and tearing it in half. ‘It’s all in your own head!’

Within the hour we’d reached our destination, a little early-morning merry thanks to our additional shared liquid breakfast from Hercules’ rucksack – the videographer for the dance troupe. I held on to my oversized sunhat, which was flapping away in the breeze and followed Eydis down the line to introduce us to them all – Roman (Italian), Hercules (Greek), Dominik (a Scot), Feargus (an Irishman), Bertrando (French-Italian) and Jasper (Philippine) – she explained a bit about their act. ‘My boys are all incredible athletes and dancers who tour with the troupe only in the summer at the moment. I hope to make it a full time career for them.’

Greta was especially enamoured with Dominik – a smouldering, dark-haired ‘hunk of Scottish beef’ as she called him.

‘Oooh, if I wis forty years younger, ye’d be in stokin’ up ma fire,’ she said, pinching his cheek.

By the way she was pawing and drooling over them all, I wondered if she knew, as I did, that every one of them was gay. Even forty years ago she couldn’t have had any of them ‘stoking up her fire’. Unattainability aside, they were gorgeous, fun guys; all international graduates from British universities, brought together by Eydis. The group was called Gelle.

‘What is that terrible smell?’ asked Hercules, covering his mouth and nose with a handkerchief as we all stepped off the gang plank at the end of the journey.

‘Aww, Hughie, ye huvnae, huv ye?’ Greta asked, punching him on the arm. He smiled, seeming proud to take credit for the overwhelming smell of fart that was in the air.

‘It is the sulphur,’ Argos explained. ‘There was an eruption here a day ago. It is the gases from the volcano.’

‘Hold the phone. There was an eruption here a few days ago?’ Linda gasped.

‘I thought it was on Santorini?’ said Eydis.

‘Yes, there was one there too. But the one here was very, very small. Nothing to worry about. They happen all the time,’ Argos assured us.

‘Should we really be here then?’ My stomach did a little somersault as I asked this, and not just because of the stench. What exact thrill had David planned for us, bringing me to Death Valley?

‘Here we are, Binnie, the old volcano tour I’ve been dying to do for years!’

‘David, what is that glittery red line down the side of the mountain? It’s heading straight for us!’

‘Oh, it’s nothing. Did I mention we were going for a swim? JUMP!’

‘Really, it is fine,’ Argos said, offering me a kind smile. ‘There has been no major activity on this island for many, many years.’

‘There was enough to bring the army out here,’ I said, pointing to some camouflaged jeeps parked on the road near the shore.

‘Oh, they are . . . what do you call them in the English? Scientists?’ he replied.

‘Volcanologists,’ Eydis corrected him.

He blinked at me through dark, long eyelashes and our eyes locked, until mine became unable to resist the hike south to eye up his muscular torso for the hundredth time. If this guy fancied me as much as his eyes were telling me, there was a God after all.

Trudging our way up to the volcano caldera, my group found ourselves lagging behind the rest, overtaken by eager and much fitter tourists from the three other boats anchored at the island. As our group, with its six sexy, flamboyant men in scant, fluorescent clothing passed three male volcanology-types standing beside a military Jeep checking a map, they looked up. As they stared, Hughie offered them a staunch salute.

It was forty minutes later when we reached the caldera, shattered and full of Tsipouro. My heart was thumping so hard, I had started to accept death.

‘Hey, look at that!’ Argos was pointing up into the sky. Everyone followed his gaze to see a large bird of prey circling overhead.

‘Now I know I’m unfit,’ I said. ‘I’m a drive thru menu for vultures.’

As we continued to watch it circle overhead, Hughie said,

‘Looks like that rain’s coming in after a’ Greta.’

The skies had indeed begun to look darker and there was an ominous rumble of thunder in the distance.

‘Okay!’ Argos announced, clapping his hands. ‘I think it is time we started back down.’

‘Already?’ I complained.

Linda grabbed at my hat and pushed it back on my head. ‘Come on, sugar,’ she said. ‘Time to go.’

‘Mr Argos?’ Roman was on his feet, tapping him on the shoulder. ‘Is there anywhere here we could-a board down?’

‘Board down?’

‘Yes, board down. Like with the snowboarding?’ He waved the board at Argos and grinned hopefully.

‘Sorry, it is not possible here, the land is too dry.’ As he answered, a further rumble of thunder and some first spots of rain disagreed with him. Turning to the rest of the group, he shouted, ‘Time to make ways back to the boat!’ Again he clapped his hands, just as a loud clap of thunder simultaneously crashed. Perhaps believing he had ecclesiastical backing, everyone began to pick up their things more quickly and make their way back towards the path.

‘It’s very busy up here,’ Hercules said quietly. ‘We could just hang back. How dangerous could it be?’

‘Getting hit by lightning on top of a volcano?’ Linda said sardonically, ‘Oh, I don’t know . . . quite?’

‘Excellent!’ Roman cut in excitedly. ‘Let’s do it!’

‘Yes, wonderful idea,’ Eydis replied, grabbing a concerned-looking Linda by the arm. I could see my friend wrestling both with a desire not to lose her cool in this first meeting with her much younger girlfriend and her instinct for self-preservation.

‘Aye,’ Hughie agreed. ‘We just need tae look oot for any o’ they splootering gases!’

‘Ah willnae walk ahint you then!’ Greta chuckled.

‘We can catch up with the group shortly What do you think, Binnie? Fancy a little adventure in the rain?’ Linda winked at Eydis. So, looking cool and agreeable won. I’d rather have been following Argos down the hillside with my tongue hanging out, but found myself nodding in agreement too, even though I had no-one to impress. Not anymore.

‘Bride or groom?’

The elderly usher tapped a carnation on my shoulder as I stared in wonder at the incredibly high ceiling inside the chapel at Oxford University. Behind me, Michael, his mother, father and sister were greeting lots of well-to-do relatives they hadn’t seen in an age, in a series of stiff handshakes and air kisses.

‘Thanks,’ I said with a smile, taking the carnation from the man. ‘I’ll eat it later.’

Michael’s mother watched me with raised eyebrows before giving her husband one of her familiar, ‘Where DID our son find that girl?’ looks. Michael lurched forward, grabbed my hand and dragged me away to our seat.

‘Can’t you at least try to behave in a civilised manner?’ Michael hissed into my ear. ‘They are my family!’

‘I was only being jolly,’ I said. The truth was, I was just being myself.

His father directed us to a pew as far away as he could from any relatives who might notice they’d brought a commoner with them. At least, that was how I had interpreted it at the time. At just nineteen, I’d begun to tell myself the whole world disapproved of me.

‘Michael,’ his mother said to him just a few weeks later. ‘What do you see in that girl? She just isn’t, well, like us.’

Nobody in the group ahead, hot on the heels of Argos and the other tour guides, was in any hurry to look back, which was perfect for our plans. The rain was heavy, but it was a lovely warm rain, the kind you could dance in naked. If you were Gelle. Or Hughie, I thought . . . and then shuddered.

‘There’s some bubbling activity here in the ground,’ Linda said, leaning over what looked like a small, hot puddle. We had reached the cordoned off area of the caldera – thrill seekers in forbidden territory – armed with a snowboard, binoculars and flip-flops. Wrenching her backwards to safety I jeered, ‘Do you want a melted face?’

‘Ooh, yes please,’ she said. ‘I laugh in the face of a melted face.’

‘Not before we have seen the volcano-boarding Roman!’ Roman shouted, putting his snowboard at the edge of a very steep embankment.

‘Wait for the camera!’ Jasper shouted. ‘Hercules, get ready!’