‘You have to come home some time and he will still be here when you do,’ Jess reminds me, always one to give me a reality check.
‘I know that, but, well, I might feel differently after a break.’
I can only hope.
It was difficult to walk past the Little Italy Trattoria in town without glancing inside and torturing myself with memories of the evening I first laid eyes on Marco, and how he smiled at me every time he set something down on our table, making my heart race.
‘Don’t hate me, but is marriage really that important to you?’ asks Jess, taking a glug of her wine. ‘You and Marco were so good together. Does it really matter?’
‘Yes, it does. I mean, if I thought he didn’t want to get married right now, but would like to one day, I could maybe live with that. But he is vehemently against the idea of marriage, full stop. He says it’s an outdated institution that shouldn’t be forced upon people, and who needs a piece of paper etc… I hoped we might have had children one day, and would definitely want to be married then.’
‘Is anyone really bothered about that these days?’ she reasons.
‘Maybe not, but I am. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about Marco, talk of him is off the menu this evening. I am more interested in this one,’ I say, picking up the food menu and studying it. ‘I’m starved.’
We dine on tasty chicken fajitas and finish up with an Eton mess for dessert and a zesty cocktail. It’s Friday night after all, and I’m not in work until lunchtime tomorrow. There is a trio of musicians playing an easy going set of jazz music, and, glancing around, I notice lots of couples enjoying the ambience.
‘I’ve had a lovely evening, Jess. It was just what I needed. I’m glad you persuaded me to come out tonight,’ I tell her, feeling merry and relaxed, as we step outside onto the pavement into the August evening.
‘I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.’ She links arms with me as we take the short walk to our block of apartments, less than ten minutes from the high street. As we cross the road, I notice Marco and his father further along, closing the metal shutters of the restaurant. As he glances in my direction, our eyes meet and my heart sinks. He gives a wave and I wave back, before walking on.
The sooner I get away from here for a while, the better.
THREE
‘I hope this dog place brings you some comfort.’
Jess wraps me in a hug as she drops me off at the airport in her temperamental old car that thankfully didn’t decide to conk out en route.
‘And when you come back, maybe we ought to have a cheap girls’ weekend somewhere,’ she says. ‘I bet the others would be up for that. I saw a rental online for a refurbished cottage with a hot tub not far away from here.’
The others are a group of girls we met in the pub one Friday evening and quickly became friends with; a couple of them also attend the yoga class at the community centre. They are not exactly close friends like Jess and I, but a friendly bunch who I have grown closer to, especially these past couple of months.
‘Sounds good. And thanks, Jess. You really are a great friend.’
‘Even though I won’t work in the shop when you’re short-staffed?’
‘Yes, despite that. Anyway, I would quite like to keep the customers I have, thanks,’ I tease, although I think Jess is right when she says she might not possess the correct customer service skills when it comes to dealing with a difficult customer.
‘Cheeky.’ Jess gives me a final hug. ‘So, go on, off you go, you don’t want to miss your flight.’
‘Oh gosh, I am doing the right thing, aren’t I?’ I ask Jess, as I am suddenly filled with doubts.
‘Of course you are! Besides, my mum was in the shop the other day, and she said your deputy manager was telling everyone that she is in charge next week. I bet she’s polishing her badge right now, she’ll kill you if you don’t go.’ She laughs. ‘Seriously, though, it will do you good, putting a bit of distance between you and Marco. It might give you some clarity. I’ll miss you, though.’
‘And I’ll miss you too. Oh, of course you are right, I know you are, I’m just having a last-minute wobble, that’s all. It’s only for a few weeks.’
‘That’s the spirit. Text me when you get there. Safe journey.’
Standing in the queue for check-in, I can hardly believe I am doing this alone. Not that I have a problem with solo travel, I have done it before visiting friends, but it feels strange not to be texting Marco and telling him I will call him when I land in Greece.
The check-in queue is far longer than I expected, so I plug my headphones into my phone and listen to some music to while away the time. I’m looking forward to getting through to the airport lounge and having a drink.
I collect my suitcase from the baggage carousel, then head to arrivals. Judith has kindly arranged for a guy called Lars to collect me from the airport. Walking through, a young woman suddenly stops dead with her suitcase and I almost trip right over it.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She looks mortified. ‘I bent down to pick this up.’ She lifts up a book.
‘No harm done,’ I say brightly, as she had a genuine reason for stopping. I often wonder why people do that in supermarkets, with no apparent reason. It causes no end of arguments at the store when people stop without warning in the middle of the aisles with their trolleys.
