Us three, p.4
Us Three, page 4
‘She’ve never struck me as someone with a dicky ticker,’ Huw said, glasses firmly on his nose, hands firmly on his steering wheel as they trundled conservatively down the M4, two miles an hour under the speed limit.
‘Well, exactly,’ said Liz. ‘I mean, she’s hardly fat, is she, Huw? I wouldn’t call her fat …’
‘Noooo, not fat as such – but not skinny neither. I’d call it …’ He struggled to find the right word. He didn’t want to be too complimentary in his description of Patricia Harris, because if truth be told he’d always found her quite attractive. In a dirty, sluttish, Jackie Kennedy-esque kind of a way. ‘I’d say she was … well-proportioned.’
‘Pfffff, makes her sound like a sideboard!’
‘Er, OK … comely?’
‘Comely??? What, like a comely wench?’ Liz laughed.
‘Let’s say curvaceous then!’ Huw finally conceded, regretting it instantly and going bright giveaway red.
‘Oh my good Lord, do you fancy her, Huw?’
‘Excuse me, this conversation is hideous,’ Catrin interrupted, much to Huw’s relief. ‘That’s Judith’s mother you’re talking about!’
‘Sorry, yes, sorry,’ said Liz, crossing herself. ‘God rest her mean-spirited soul.’
‘And she’s not dead!’ Catrin exclaimed. Her parents were unbelievable sometimes.
‘The point is,’ Liz continued, ‘all your father is sayin’ is that Patricia Harris don’t look like your usual candidate for a heart attack, do she, Huw?’
And once again they were off, discussing various people they knew who had suffered heart attacks and comparing their physical stature with that of Patricia Harris, before launching in to discuss numerous diets, Liz fixating on the merits of the F-plan when it came to shifting the pounds. ‘I’m telling you, Huw, it’s baked potatoes morning, noon and night and the woman lost three and a half stone!’
An hour later, Catrin and Lana were sat in the airport lounge, miserably drinking their second coffee, staring at the information board and waiting for the revelation of a gate number. Lana suggested there was no point in all of them waiting, and maybe Mr and Mrs Kelly would like to be heading home. But Huw wouldn’t hear of it. ‘And what happens if the flight is cancelled and me an’ Liz are merrily wending our way back over the Severn Bridge, leaving you stranded on some airport bench?’
Lana wondered if Catrin’s parents would be happier if the whole trip was cancelled. But more than that, she wondered if Catrin herself wished it was cancelled. ‘It just all feels wrong, Larn,’ whispered Catrin forlornly. ‘Like it’s doomed or something.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lana said, though without much conviction.
But suddenly she was interrupted by a familiar voice. ‘Girls!’
They looked up and were met by the strangest of sights: walking towards them was … Gareth! And walking alongside him, passport in hand, rucksack on back, beaming smile on face, was Judith.
‘Oh my God, Jude! You came!’ screeched Catrin.
‘Babes! I don’t understand … what about your …’ stammered Lana.
‘Long story,’ interrupted Judith.
‘Found her at the bus stop by Lipton’s, I did,’ said Gareth, with a hero’s grin. ‘Bit hit and miss gettin’ here, like. Probably got a few points on my licence, but it’ll be worth it.’
‘Well, good God!’ declared Huw.
‘Cheers, Gareth,’ said Judith quietly, standing there in awkward gratitude as Lana planted a massive kiss on Gareth’s beaming face.
‘Haven’t I just got the best boyfriend in the world?’ she said.
‘Gate twenty-three!’ shouted Liz hysterically, who’d been watching the departures board like a hawk. ‘Gate Twenty-Three! Come on! Go you!’
Judith and Lana screamed with excitement and grabbed their bags. Catrin, seemingly stunned that they were actually, finally leaving, hurriedly hugged her parents and followed her two best friends as they made their way towards the gates. They’d not gone far when Catrin stopped in her tracks. Lana and Judith had gone several steps before they noticed. ‘What’s up?’ Lana called back.
‘I can’t do it,’ whispered Catrin, her voice drowned out by the airport noise.
‘What you on about?’ asked Judith, ducking out of the way of oncoming passengers.
‘I just … I’m homesick already. You two are braver than me.’
‘Bollocks we are,’ said Lana. ‘You’re much better travelled than me an’ her. You’ve been to Majorca!’
‘And Yugoslavia,’ added Judith, who’d made no secret of the fact that she’d always envied Catrin’s family holidays.
‘Furthest us two have been is that crappy youth-club trip to Belgium,’ said Lana.
‘And Bristol Zoo, to be fair,’ said Judith with a wry smile, and Catrin managed to smile back.
Final Call for passengers Harris, Kelly and Lloyd booked on to flight AF369 to Athens, came a tinny, nasal announcement over the PA system. Please make your way immediately to Gate Twenty-Three, where boarding is about to close.
All three ignored it.
‘Aw Cat! Come here,’ said Judith. ‘Lana! Group hug, come on!’ And the three of them huddled together amidst the throng of holidaymakers. ‘We are going to have the best time, OK?’
‘Yes, she’s right,’ said Lana.
‘Sorry,’ sniffled Catrin. ‘I’m being silly, I know …’ and a sob caught in her throat; she felt like a tired four-year-old.
‘OK, so you know what we need to do?’ asked Lana, a wicked smile in her eyes.
‘No, Lana,’ said Judith, laughing. ‘We are not singing the song. Not here!’
Catrin started laughing through her teariness. ‘We’ve got to get on the plane!’
‘Not before we sing the song. You know you want to,’ said Lana. ‘It always works!’
Back in 1973, when the girls first met in Mrs John’s class, Catrin’s father had invented a silly song, which he’d sing to the tune of ‘She’ll Be Coming Round the Mountain’. Ever since then it had been their anthem. And as they stood, arms around each other’s shoulders in a group hug, the trio of best friends – two of them reluctantly at first – launched into their well-worn theme tune.
Catrin Kelly, Judith Harris, Lana Lloyd!
Fell into a muddy ditch and got annoyed
All their clothes they were a-smellin’
So they went back to Coed Celyn
Catrin Kelly, Judith Harris, Lana Lloyd!
‘Here’s to Greece!’ shouted Lana.
‘To Greece!’ shouted Judith and Catrin, and off they ran, towards Gate Twenty-Three.
6
Catrin
Catrin need not have worried. Three weeks later, her anxiety about leaving home had vanished without a trace into the hot Aegean. She couldn’t believe she’d ever doubted coming – she was having the time of her life. The three of them had soaked up the sun to saturation point and were living on a diet that largely comprised ouzo and olives.
At Skiathos they’d landed unwittingly on a naturist beach, where they were reprimanded by a naked Scot with a droopy moustache for not being nude enough, and on Kos they’d naïvely accepted the offer of a bed for the night from some friendly young men who turned out to be Armenian terrorists. They’d dressed up in togas for a Greek-themed night on Paros and watched the royal wedding of Fergie and Prince Andrew in a beach bar on Mykonos, where Lana had sung the Welsh national anthem at the top of her voice in an attempt to express her republicanism. And now, with eight Greek islands under their belts, they’d finally landed in Crete.
The Samaria Gorge had been at the top of Catrin’s must-see list for this entire trip. She’d read about it in her dad’s National Geographic magazine and was mesmerized by the photos of this ancient gorge, snaking its way between the Lefka Ori and Mount Volakias. The daytrip wasn’t cheap, but Catrin promised Judith and Lana that they wouldn’t regret a single drachma of the eighteen hundred it was costing them. Despite protests from Lana the night before about wanting a few beers at Lexi’s Bar, Catrin had put her foot down and insisted they had an early night. ‘We’ll need to be up at six, and then it’s at least an eight-hour hike. You’ll thank me in the end.’ And she’d poured them each a glass of Sprite and shuffled the cards for canasta on the balcony.
The bus was parked by a row of cafés on the north side of Chania Harbour. Angelina the tour guide was ticking off names on her clipboard, smiling a kalimera at every passenger. Those clambering aboard were a mixture of ages and nationalities and Catrin was impressed at how lively everyone was, considering it was only seven a.m.
Checking the final head-count, Angelina looked at her watch – and, tapping a hand-held microphone to check it was switched on, she explained that although there were still two more passengers to arrive, they couldn’t wait any longer.
Mikos the driver closed the doors and started the engine, accompanied by some enthusiastic cheers.
Just as they began pulling away there was a frantic banging on the side of the bus and Mikos put on the brakes. The doors opened again and a young guy, mixed race, late teens, climbed aboard, breathless, in shorts and a vest with a small rucksack on his back. He looked like he’d been running for hours. ‘Sorry, so sorry.’ He could barely speak.
Angelina smiled sympathetically. ‘And you are Mr … Cook? Or Mr …’
‘Blythe. Mr Blythe,’ said the guy. ‘Eddie couldn’t make it. He’s the Cook. Well, no, he’s not a cook, he’s gonna be a vet, I just mean he’s the Cook, on your list. Mr Cook.’
Angelina looked thoroughly confused. She ticked off his name from her list and invited him to find a seat. He headed up to the back of the bus. Catrin, who had been momentarily distracted by the kerfuffle, returned to reading in her guidebook about the abandoned village of Samaria, which it said they would reach halfway into their hike.
Suddenly a voice.
‘Can I sit here?’ It was the latecomer.
‘Er … yeah!’ She moved her sunglasses and cardigan to make room for him, inwardly disappointed that she no longer had two seats to herself on which to stretch out.
He put his small rucksack in the rack above them, along with the sweatshirt he’d had tied around his waist, and sat down hard into the seat.
He took several glugs from his water bottle and sighed with relief. ‘That’s better,’ he said to no one in particular.
Hidden behind her guidebook, Catrin watched curiously as a drop of sweat scurried from the guy’s forehead, trickled down his nose and loitered uncertainly on the top of his lip. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, then turned to her.
‘I’m Solomon,’ he said.
And Catrin was completely floored by his unexpectedly beautiful smile.
They’d ended up chatting for the whole journey whilst Judith and Lana both slept in the seats in front of them. She was fascinated by his faint Geordie twang and the way he lit up when talking about stuff that excited him. They had a huge amount in common. A startling amount, in fact.
He, too, was on his travels before going to university – spending a gap year seeing the world with his mate Eddie. ‘The no-show Mr Cook?’ Catrin smiled.
‘That’s the one,’ said Solomon, smiling back. ‘And he was meant to be coming today, but the stupid dork got so drunk last night he couldn’t even move this morning. He went to this bar called Lexi’s?’
Catrin laughed, thinking how Lana could so easily have been Eddie, had she not put her foot down the night before. ‘Yeah, I know it,’ she said.
‘I should probably have stayed with him this morning just to make sure he was OK – he could be dead now, for all I know! But the thing is, I’ve been looking forward to the Samaria Gorge for almost the whole trip.’
‘Me too,’ she said.
‘And Eddie knows that! Like, I first read about it when I was, like, ten.’
‘National Geographic?’ she asked, catching him off-guard.
‘Yeah! How d’you know?’
‘Me too!’ she replied.
There were a lot of ‘me too’ moments in the conversation, both from Catrin and from Solomon. Two lifetime summaries crammed into a forty-five-minute bus journey. They both had an older brother called Tom, a love of Elvis Presley and an allergy to cats. ‘And yes, the irony’s not lost on me,’ said Catrin.
‘Sorry?’ Solomon looked confused.
‘That my name is Cat and I can’t go near them!’
‘Oh yes!’ And his eyes lit up as they carried on discovering common ground: neither was remotely artistic, both were good swimmers, and they shared a passion for maps and globes. But weirdest of all – really weirdest – was that they were both left-handed lapsed Catholics who were off to study medicine in October.
‘Cardiff. What about you?’ she said when he asked which medical school.
‘Cambridge, actually. Trinity,’ he said, a bit embarrassed.
‘Wow – brain box then,’ she laughed.
‘No, not really. Just lucky. I had a cousin went to Cardiff,’ he said, changing the subject. ‘He had an amazing time.’
‘Yeah, I’m looking forward to it. And it’s far enough away from home for me to feel like I’m doing my own thing, but near enough if I run out of food or can’t afford the launderette.’ Catrin smiled.
It was like discovering a long-lost friend. When he was talking she’d steal secret glances at him. Not in the way strangers look at each other when they’re engaged in polite chat on a bus journey to a Cretan gorge. These glances felt almost voyeuristic: she was absorbing him, taking in the texture of his cropped, black hair and the way he ruffled it when he was trying to remember a name; taking in the deep brown tones of his laughing eyes, which she noticed were flecked with hazel. She’d just begun following the contours of his lips when she realized he’d asked her a question.
‘Sorry?’ she asked, feeling caught out.
‘The Agia Irini Gorge?’ Just wondered if you’d done it,’ he said. ‘It’s much shorter than the Samaria – like, three hours? And loads quieter, ’cos less people know about it.’
‘Oh right – well, to be honest I had to persuade the girls to come today, so it’s doubtful they’d do a second gorge. I suppose I could always go on my own …’ she mused, aware that she was hinting for him to join her. Ridiculous – she’d only known him half an hour.
‘Yes, why not? You’ll be perfectly safe,’ he replied. Her hint had clearly been too subtle. But then he took her completely by surprise. ‘I’d have offered to come with,’ he said, ‘but we’re going home tonight. Eleven p.m. flight. Squeezing this trip in, to be honest.’
‘Oh!’ She couldn’t help showing her disappointment. And thought she detected his, too.
Before she could find out, their conversation was brought to an abrupt end by Angelina announcing their arrival at the entrance of the National Park. Lana and Judith stretched and stirred. ‘Aw, I was having an amazing dream,’ Lana mumbled sleepily. ‘There was this dog and it was wearing my shoes!’
Solomon stood up and pulled down his rucksack from the overhead rack. Catrin sensed he wanted to carry on talking, or maybe even ask if he could join them on the hike, but the people behind him were impatient for him to move on, eager to get off the bus.
So they had a jagged and awkward farewell. ‘Nice talking to you!’ he said cheerily as he set off down the aisle.
‘Yeah, you too. Enjoy the hike!’ Catrin knew she sounded hysterically enthusiastic.
‘Who was he?’ asked Judith after Solomon had disappeared from earshot.
‘Oh, no one,’ she replied. ‘Just some guy.’
Lana complained for almost the entirety of the initial two and a half miles. She was cold. She was hot. She was tired. Her feet hurt. Her head hurt. She was thirsty. She was hungry. When they arrived at Neroutsiko, the first natural spring en route, a long queue of thirsty travellers had formed, desperate to refill their water bottles. ‘I wanna sit down,’ Lana declared.
‘Oh Larn, you’ve got to change the record, mun!’ said Judith. ‘You’re worse than a three-year-old.’
Sensing a potential row, Catrin stepped in. ‘Tell you what, if you can bear to walk a few more minutes we’ll reach the little chapel of Agios Nikolaos, which is a kind of resting place. And there’s more water there.’
‘As long as we can have a snack,’ Lana mumbled petulantly.
‘Of course.’
‘Are we nearly there yet, Mum?’ said Jude mockingly. Lana flicked her on the arm and they carried on walking.
Fifteen minutes later they reached the little chapel and quenched their thirst at the spring.
‘Come on, let’s find somewhere to sit,’ Catrin said, in an attempt to jolly them along.
Behind the chapel they found a little patch of dusty grass next to a cluster of magnificent cypress trees. Catrin took some Greek bread and tzatziki from her rucksack and cut an apple into six pieces. She shared it all out like a patient parent and felt the tension instantly dissolve.
‘Amazing what a bit of food and drink can do,’ she said, and lay back with her eyes closed for a couple of minutes’ rest. Gently dozing in the sun, she felt soothed by the sounds of nearby traveller chat and singing wood larks.
‘Tallest cypress trees in Crete, y’know!’
Catrin opened her eyes and squinted upwards. Solomon was standing there, admiring the view.
‘Oh hello,’ she said, caught unawares by how pleased she was to see him again and worried that she might be looking a bit sweaty.
‘Alrigh’ mate?’ said Lana. ‘You were on the bus, weren’ you?’
‘Yes, I’m Solomon,’ he said. ‘Call me Sol though if you like.’
