The Reluctant Baker (The Greek Village Collection Book 10) (2 page)

Ellie’s
whole body feels soft, stroked lusciously lifeless by the warmth. Something is different. The pink behind her eyelids suggests there is bright light as well as heat. This cannot be home. Remnant dreams still hover but excitement, and just a touch of fear deep in her stomach, pull her awake. Where is she?

The room is unfamiliar. Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains. The crisp white towel over a chair is not hers. Realisation returns in a rush. She has done it! Really gone and done it, followed the whole thing through, stuck with her half-baked plan. Unbelievable! It wasn’t really even a plan-the places of which she dreamed were too unreal. They were where other people lived, locations in bright sun and landscapes soaked in warmth. Everyone wastes time looking at such images on the Internet, don’t they? Brief fantasies that, one day, she would be in those tropical places, become the sort of person who travels the world and with that travel, she would find her balance, peace, contentment even. It was a way to fill her days. Harmless. She didn’t really think she would do anything about these dreams. Not really. In all honesty, she would probably never have done it if it wasn’t for the second bottle of home brew one night when Marcus was late back, again. Presumably staying at Brian’s. Again. Maybe it was a knee-jerk reaction, booking to spite him and to show herself that she was worth something, even if he didn’t agree or didn’t seem to think so.

As she sits up and stretches out her legs, the warmth loosens her shoulder muscles.

She could have cancelled the package holiday the next day, when she was sober and Marcus came back full of hollow apologies. But there was, of course, the secondary motivation.

When the scandal erupted, Ellie gave up her A levels and, as the months passed and she got to know Marcus, it seemed increasingly unlikely that she would continue on to further education. She brought the subject up a few times with him, but each time he found a way to make it clear, without ever saying it directly, that there was no real point in her going back to school and that for now, at least, she must keep a low profile. She quietly tucked away the inheritance from her granny, that had always been earmarked for further education and did not mention the subject again. That money sure as hell was not going to be absorbed into the housekeeping. But a trip to Greece would educate her more than any geography lesson possibly could!

It was also the surprise of the personal welcome email from the hotel owner, a woman called Stella, that made her think twice about cancelling. The way it was worded made it feel exclusive, or intimate, perhaps. Yes, intimate is the right word. It was as if she really cared, as if when Ellie got there, she would be surrounded by friends, which of course was all nonsense and of course she was reading too much into it as usual, but it was the sort of nonsense she really needed to feel at the time.

A seagull screeches outside and she steps towards the balcony door, using her arm across her forehead to shield the glare. She watches it circle and glide on the thermals, its wings outstretched, not flapping.

The truth was, after a couple of days, she had actually forgotten about the holiday. Not completely, just the dates, the reality of its existence. So when she read the email reminder two days before departure, it dried her mouth, made her head spin and caused her to shake ever so slightly. Obviously it was too late to cancel by then and it wasn’t something she could discuss with Marcus, so after a couple of hours of consideration, she decided that her only option was to consider it money lost, nothing more. It wasn’t as if she had ever believed that she was really going to go.

She lets her arm drop and follows the flight of the seagull as it heads out to sea. It joins other birds and she tries to keep following the one with her eyes, but there are too many. It becomes lost.

The whole day of travelling passed without reality, as if she was not really there but instead was watching someone else. She had not really packed, just grabbed her favourite book, as she had not really believed she was going to go through with the whole thing. The first bus she might have taken anyway, as it went into town. The one to the airport was just to try it out, try and imagine what it would feel like if she was really doing it, with her passport in her back pocket but with no luggage. It wasn’t real. Then, suddenly, she was there, looking at a flight information board, the woman on the check-in desk asking for nothing more than her passport to issue her boarding pass. Even that had allowed reality to only return a little. But after the three-hour flight in which she had more than enough time to reflect, she began to panic. At first, she thought it was motion sickness and the air hostess brought her a plastic-lined paper bag, but when she began to feel dizzy, the feelings became all too familiar. Since being caught with Marcus, panic and stress have been her daily companions. She realised she didn’t even have the address of the hotel or any idea how to get there. When the plane landed, she moved reluctantly, responding to the physical pressure of the other people around her herding her through passport control, and before she was ready, she emerged into the vast, shiny terminal building. The heat hit her like a layer of silk. The feeling was so amazing that just for a moment, she forgot to panic and part of her believed nothing bad could possibly happen in such a place.

The man said her name with an accent so thick, she did not recognise it as her own. As her name was repeated, it sounded like a chant and she took it up in her mind as a rhythm. It was the waving of a piece of white card with her name on it in hesitant capitals that finally caught her attention. Of course, she booked the meet and greet option, a final twist of her credit card knife into the absent ribs of Marcus. Her relief came out as words, chatter, mindless details of the journey, and it was only after noticing that the driver nodded to all her comments whether good or bad that it began to dawn on her that he spoke no English.

‘Is it far?’ she asked, and he nodded and smiled.

‘Will it take long?’ Another nod.

‘Are we there yet?’ Another nod and more smiles.

After this exchange, she sat silent, wishing she had brought the sick bag from the plane with her as she rested her head against the window. After a while, sleep came over her.

The woman at reception, who introduced herself as Sarah, turned out to be English. She chatted away so easily, so warmly, as if they had known each other for years, allowing some of Ellie’s tension and fear to quell. But the normality of their conversation also gave Ellie a reality check on the enormity of what she had done. What on earth would Marcus say? Could she keep this from her parents? But the thought of ringing Marcus that night was more than she could cope with, and sleep again came to her rescue.

The blue of the sea is even more intense than it appeared on the hotel’s website, the sands more golden. The sparkling sea hypnotizes her, draining away all her cares until, from nowhere, a dark thought passes through her. She must get in touch with Marcus immediately, let him know she is safe.

She groans. ‘Stupid,’ she mutters to herself. It would have been so much easier to have left a note. Why on earth had she not done that? He is bound to be cross. No, not cross. He would never be cross. He’ll be concerned about why she has done this, perhaps. He will want to understand, be explained to, analyse, and no doubt help her. She half hopes he is cross. At least that would show a bit of passion.

Reluctantly leaving the balcony, she finds the phone by the bed and dials the number. If it connects, he will be able to find out where she has rung from. Does she want that? She replaces the receiver. But won’t she tell him anyway? She dials again. It seems to ring for ages. Saturday. The clock on the wall says it is eleven o’clock. What time will it be in England? Maybe he is at Brian’s, but surely after she didn’t come home last night…

‘Hello?’ He sounds too calm, and so near. He could be in the next room.

‘Marcus?’

‘Hey. Where are you then?’ He sounds cheerful.

‘Um, well, not at home.’

‘No. I can see that. Oh, and sorry I didn’t make it home again last night, but I did say it might happen this week. Got a bit carried away with re-landscaping around Brian’s trains, you know. Plus one too many beers in the process.’ He chuckles. ‘I know it’s not far and I could have walked, but it seemed a long way last night. I would have rung but by the time I thought about it, you would’ve been asleep. What’s for lunch?’

It takes her a moment to think.

‘There’s a shepherd’s pie in the top of the freezer.’ She pauses to gain the courage to speak again. ‘Listen, it’s my turn. I might not get back tonight.’ She waits for his response. There is none. ‘Marcus, did you hear me?’ Silence. ‘Marcus?’ Maybe the connection is lost?

‘Yup, found it. Do I oven it or nuke it?’

‘Did you hear what I said? I said I might not be home tonight.’

‘Oh. Are you at your mum’s then? Best if you warn me of these things really, you know, just so we’re on the same page.’

He’s so blasé, so infuriating.

‘No I’m not at Mum’s. I’m abroad.’

‘Yeah right, good one. So nuke or oven?’

‘Seriously. Look in the drawer.’

The drawer under the telephone table is where they have keep their passports and their marriage certificate. She can hear the drawer open, things being moved about, the slowing of movements as he realises her passport isn’t there.

‘Where?’ There is no anger, no concern, just enquiry.

‘Does that matter?’

‘No, you’re right. Space and time are just a concept. Okay, let’s try why?’ That kind of talk, ‘space and time are just concepts’ used to impress her not so long ago, back a whole year before she left school. Part of her wishes it still did. Right now, all that impresses upon her is that nothing seems to rile him. Nothing seems to matter.

‘Well, I…’ is as far as she gets.

‘No, it’s okay, I get it. I get the "why". You need your space, you need to grow, find yourself, that’s why we are here, to experiment, expand, explore. So I guess you can’t answer the question of how long, either?’ His voice doesn’t even register interest.

‘Two weeks.’

‘Oh, right. Well, I hope you find what you need.’

‘Is that it then?’

‘Well, it’s up to you really, isn’t it? What you do with your life. Who am I to demand things of you?’

‘My husband! It was you who demanded I marry you.’

‘That was different, and I didn’t demand. It seemed necessary, at the time.’ He speaks disjointedly.

‘Was it different, or did it just suit you better?’ As the words leave her mouth, her eyes fill with tears. Was that the truth? She puts the back of her hand to her mouth to stop the sob and holds the receiver at arm’s length.

‘Ellie?’

Putting the phone back to her ear, she breathes deeply, focuses on the room key in her hand.

‘Look, it’s fine. You needed a break, you’ve taken one. Don’t cry, love. Come on, it’s fine.’ His voice is softer now.

There is nothing she can think to say, nothing short and succinct anyway, nothing that won’t lead to a long discussion or her getting even more upset.

Looking up from the key, the sun outside beckons her. She desires the warmth to touch on her face, melt away her knotted muscles that have returned so quickly.

‘Marcus, look, um… I’ll call you later, okay?’

The phone replaces with a satisfying click.

She rocks her head from side to side to release the tension. Now that he knows, there is no reason why she cannot enjoy being here. A shiver of anticipation runs down her spine. The view from the window is hers, all hers. Although it would have been nice if he had been just a little put out. He never shows the slightest sign of possessiveness; is that normal?

The view is idyllic, a line of palm trees stretch up into the endless blue sky and beyond them, the sparkling sea in the bay cools the foothills of the mountains on the far shores.

She could easily lose herself in this landscape. Two weeks will be enough time to filter her thoughts. When she returns, she will have a clear head and a settled heart. Everything will feel so much better.

She stretches and yawns noisily. Just being here feels empowering. Her jaw slackens and her head rolls back on her shoulders as she lets the sun coat her face.

The gentle lapping of the sea is just audible, as are the muted sounds of the few early risers talking to each other as they lounge on sunbeds down by the water’s edge.

This year has just been one big emotional mess. She has been embarrassed, humiliated, and ridiculed, and things have happened that should never have happened. It will be a lot to mull over in two weeks.

Focusing on the reflecting light on the water’s smooth surface, her eyes wash with tears. The beach seems to stretch forever in either direction towards unknown towns, alien places, and just for a second, the world seems a little too big and she forgets to breathe. Maybe that’s why Brian’s model railway world is so alluring to Marcus—the containment, the control, all so easy.

‘Bloody Brian and his railway,’ Ellie tells the breeze as she steps back out onto the balcony. Up in the attic, he has a whole world of little trees and sheep in fields by the line, and trains that go round and round. For a boy of eight, that would be fantastic, but for men in their thirties! Why could Marcus not appreciate it but just stick with the car share to work with Brian? Then at least he would be home in the evenings and she would not be alone.