38
Eleanor
The waitress set down the extra dish of saganaki Eleanor had ordered.
Thanking her, Eleanor drew the small plate directly in front of her. It was her favourite – graviera cheese fried in olive oil, brought straight to the table with just a squeeze of lemon. It was so freshly prepared that the golden crust still gently sizzled.
Using the edge of her fork, she sliced into the crisp saganaki, which oozed melted cheese. She dropped a corner into her mouth, closed her eyes, chewed. Salty, lightly zested, a hint of a crust. Utter perfection.
Melted cheese was the closest thing to happiness Eleanor experienced these days. It was to be savoured. She popped a second piece into her mouth.
Her mobile trilled, startling her.
No one called Eleanor except her family, and they knew she was in Greece. It would be some ridiculous PPI call interrupting her cheese moment. She’d enjoy telling them to go fuck themselves because: cheese. That was the sort of person she was these days, someone who quietly enjoyed swearing at strangers.
Her phone was tucked into her new handbag, which hung from the back of her chair. Reluctantly, she set down her fork, wiped her hands on a napkin, then searched for the phone.
She was surprised to see Ed’s name on-screen. ‘Why are you calling?’ she said warily.
‘Where are you?’ he whispered.
‘Greece,’ she whispered back.
‘I mean, where are you right now? Are you with everyone?’
‘Yes.’ The other hens were finishing their meals, chatting as they passed around the last plate of calamari.
‘I need to speak to you on your own.’
‘You are being strange.’
‘Yes. I am. But please … I need to talk to you …’
She eyed the saganaki ruefully – it was only worth having when it was hot. ‘Give me a minute.’ She took one final, delectable bite, then clambered from her seat. No one asked where she was going, so she didn’t say.
She crossed the cobbled square, where tourists milled at the edge of tavernas, studying the menu lecterns. Dusk had given way to night, and the square was lit with lamps and long strings of bulbs, giving a beautifully festive feel.
Eleanor moved towards the church, the waft of incense drifting from the open doors. She stood with her back to one of its towering stone walls, beside an ancient lemon tree in fruit.
‘So?’ She wondered whether this had anything to do with the news that Lexi was pregnant. Had Lexi told him a moment ago on their video call? Had Bella given the game away?
Ed’s voice was low, clipped. ‘There’s a woman on the hen do.’
‘Six of us, actually. It’s sort of, like, the point.’
‘Ana.’
‘Yes, I’m sharing a room with her.’
‘Who is she?’
‘A friend of Lexi’s. They met at a yoga class—’
‘Yes, yes. Lexi’s talked about her. But what do you know about her?’
‘You’re being odd.’
‘Eleanor. Just tell me what you know,’ he demanded, failing to hide his impatience.
‘Okay, well, she’s from Brixton. She’s a sign-language person. An interpreter, that’s the word. For her job. That’s what she does. Her sister is deaf, so she—’
‘Does she have children?’
‘Ana? Yes. A son. Luca. He’s fifteen. She doesn’t look old enough—’
‘Oh God …’ Ed said, his voice strangely distant.
‘Ed?’
There was a long silence.
‘Why are you asking me about Ana? About Luca?’ As she spoke, a memory she’d not thought about in a long time began to rise to the surface.
Ed’s voice was quiet. ‘Ana is short for Juliana.’
Eleanor hadn’t heard that name spoken in years, and even then it was whispered behind the closed doors of her father’s study.
‘Oh,’ she said, looking across the square towards the taverna. Her gaze fixed on Ana, who was sitting close to Lexi, their heads leant towards one another. ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’
39
Fen
Fen folded her arms across her chest. It had been so long since she had felt this way, as if she were ashamed of her entire body: the boyish haircut; the tattoos; the holes she’d pierced through her ears and nose; her too-broad shoulders; her high, small breasts flattened within a sports bra.
His voice, hissing in her ear: You disgust me.
These thoughts were so old, so well-worn, she was surprised they could still hold any power.
That was the thing about fear: avoiding or running from it only magnified it. To overcome fear, Fen knew, one had to face it. It was as simple – and as hard – as that.