Wish You Were Here (10 page)

Leaving the beach towards the close of the afternoon we headed back to the apartment and came up with a plan for the evening: ‘free time' until nine o'clock, then a drink in the hotel bar, followed by a meal out at the nearest half-decent restaurant. Then the main event: the bars and clubs of Malia until the early hours. Tom called his wife and kids and then took himself off for a walk; Andy meanwhile went to bed and promptly fell asleep; and I returned to the balcony to continue with
Touching The Void
. A short while before we were due to leave I came in and had my first (vaguely warm) shower of the day and got ready to go out. By ten minutes past nine all three of us were standing in the kitchen (aka Tom's bedroom) in our best glad rags (me: T-shirt and jeans; Tom: button-down polo shirt and chinos; Andy: T-shirt and cut-off camouflage trousers).

It had felt good having some time to spend getting ready for our big night out. As if the effort I'd put into making myself look half-decent would somehow pay off in admiring glances. Ultimately, however, the focus of my efforts for the evening was the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat. In spite of some initial reservations I was beginning to believe that something might actually happen between us. So much so that I began to imagine her name on what I hoped would be a long list of women whom I'd always refer to as ‘The ones that came
after
Sarah'.

It was now just after eleven and Andy, Tom and I were in a taverna near the beach called Taki's Place, having just consumed our first authentic Greek meal of the holiday: chicken souvlaki in pitta bread with chips and tatziki followed by a litre of Carlsberg. As we waited for the bill to arrive we watched as a continuous stream of shirtless revellers screeched by on their quad bikes yelling to each other at the top of their lungs whilst attempting to run over anything that attempted to get in their way. It was like watching a junior facsimile of a hell's angels rally.

Leaving Taki's we began our expedition towards what Steve-the-barman had referred to as ‘the main strip' – the dozens of cafés, bars, clubs and takeaway restaurants that made up the heart of Malia nightlife. It was like on the streets around Wembley on Cup Final day: with each step we were joined by legions of merrymakers whose destination was the same as our own. Young guys and young girls, all ready to party like it was a Saturday night back home. We passed smaller bars and restaurants that tried to tantalise us with offers of cheap beer, football matches on TV and pirate films that hadn't even been released at the cinema yet but not a single one could match the allure of our objective. As we reached the crossroads at the heart of the resort we were finally able to see our promised land in all its neon glory and hear it in all its stereophonic disco splendour.

Crossing the road to the main strip was like journeying across a checkpoint between two different countries: in one there was law and order and in the other anarchy reigned supreme. Even before we'd reached the other side of the road we saw a girl throwing up on the pavement while her friends held her hair out of the way; two paramedics attending to a shirtless guy propped up against the window of a fried chicken takeaway; and a gang of guys with their trousers around their ankles mooning a group of giggling girls.

‘I've got a horrible feeling that tonight is going to be pretty grim.' Tom shook his head in despair as we stepped over a patch of sick on the pavement.

‘You are so wrong, my church-tastic friend,' countered Andy. ‘I've got a feeling tonight is going to be a night to—' he stopped suddenly as an attractive dark-haired girl caught his eye with a killer smile and reeled him in right in front of us.

‘Hiya, boys,' she said standing directly in our path. The accent was English and northern. ‘I'm Tasha. Where are you guys from?'

‘I'm Andy,' said Andy. ‘And I'm from Hove.'

‘I'm Tom,' said Tom uncomfortably. ‘And I'm, er . . . from Coventry.'

‘I'm Charlie,' I added nervously, wondering if all this personal information would be used against us. ‘And I'm from Brighton.'

‘I've been to Hove,' she said ignoring Tom and me and focusing her attention on Andy. ‘I've got an auntie down there. I'm from Chorley in Lancashire. Do you know it?'

‘Yeah,' replied Andy. ‘I've got family there too.'

‘That's brilliant.' Without any hesitation she reached out and held his hand. Unable to believe my eyes I looked to Tom to reassure me that this whole exchange was as weird to me as it was to him. He flashed me a puzzled look by way of return that said: ‘Surely it can't actually be this easy to go on the pull in Malia?'

‘How long are you here for?' asked the girl, still holding Andy's hand.

‘A week or so,' said Andy coolly. ‘Maybe longer if you're lucky.'

I couldn't believe it. Andy was recycling the lines that he had used on Susie from Newcastle right in front of us.

‘So is this your first night out?' asked Tasha.

‘We arrived late last night,' said Andy. ‘I would've gone out last night but these guys weren't up to it.'

‘Well at least you're here now,' said Tasha confidently. ‘And as this is your first night out then you lads should kick things off tonight in style . . . at the Eclipse, where we've got a two-drinks-for-the-price-of-one promotion going on all night.' Without pausing for a reaction, Tasha started dragging Andy in the direction of a dark, empty neon-clad cavernous bar. I could see the dilemma writ large on Andy's face. On the one hand he was flirting with one of the most attractive girls we'd seen so far but on the other she was only talking to him in order to drag him and his hard-earned money into an empty bar. Though he was clearly offended that she was so openly exploiting her sexuality (and his own), at the same time it was quite clear that there was part of him that just didn't care.

Andy looked at Tom and me forlornly as though he couldn't bring himself to walk away without our assistance.

‘I think we're going to have to give your bar a miss tonight, Tasha,' I said, wrestling Andy's hand away from her. ‘We're going to Pandemonium. Maybe another time, eh?'

‘He's right,' said Andy in a voice that registered genuine disappointment. ‘Maybe another time, eh?'

It was as though Tasha had just flipped a switch. In the blink of an eye she went from sex kitten to ice queen. The flirting stopped. The smile turned to a grimace. And Andy's face free-fell into disappointment. If we hadn't forced him to start walking away I'm sure he would've rushed back to Tasha and begged her forgiveness. In fact, even when we were well out of her reach he couldn't help turning around to watch as Tasha waylaid a group of lads coming the other way using the exact same technique that she had so skilfully employed on him only moments earlier.

The situation was so tantalisingly ripe for Tom and me to use as ammunition against Andy that we didn't have the heart – it would've been too easy. Instead, taking into consideration the fragility of his ego, we made the decision to move briskly on without further comment. This was difficult, because in the space of the next three bars we were stopped by two bikini-top-wearing girls from south London offering us free introductory vodka shots on behalf of Bar Go-Go, virtually manhandled into Galaxy bar by three Scottish girls in pink sparkly hats who offered three drinks for the price of one, and nearly lured into Club H
2
O by a gorgeous girl from Birmingham with huge false eyelashes and an offer of a free fruit cocktail.

‘It's quite insulting really,' said Tom as we extricated ourselves from the grip of the girl-with-the-false-eyelashes. ‘These girls think just because they have great bodies and are drop-dead gorgeous that they can get us to do anything they like.'

‘Well they can,' said Andy. ‘The only reason I'm not standing in that first bar drinking the second of my two-for-the-price-of-one beers is because of you guys. Alone, I'd have folded like a pack of—' Andy stopped and pointed across to the other side of the road. We were here. We'd finally reached our destination: Pandemonium. Yet another neon-lit bar that, while not exactly empty, wasn't all that full either. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that I was convinced that it would be here where my luck would finally begin to change. Here I would rid myself of the spectre of my ex-girlfriend. Here I would meet the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat.

‘Are you ready, Charlie?' asked Andy.

I looked at my watch. It was five minutes to midnight. ‘I'm as ready as I'll ever be,' I replied and then, taking a deep breath, I looked both ways and crossed the road to meet my date with destiny.

Even from my short experience of the strip so far I knew that most bars in Malia relied heavily on loud pounding club music to provide ambience. The difference with Pandemonium was that the music was turned up just that little bit louder, as though the extra volume might make it stand out from the crowd. It was only when we reached the bar and were pointed by a barman in the direction of some banquette seating that we discovered that Pandemonium had one further trick up its sleeve: waitresses in bunny-girl outfits.

‘Now this is what I call a holiday,' bellowed Andy as a waitress resplendent in pink fluffy ears, hot pants, fishnet stockings and heels passed by our table carrying a tray of tequila shots. ‘What do you think to that, church boy?' Tom didn't reply. ‘The girls in the bunny outfits,' said Andy this time nudging Tom with his elbow. ‘Fit or what?'

‘Hmm,' said Tom in a noncommittal fashion. He turned his head slightly and gave the waitress a cursory once-over, shook his head and then looked away as if to ponder some higher vision. It was only when Andy and I followed his line of sight that we realised that the higher vision Tom was pondering was the highlights of the England test match playing on a miniature TV screen above the bar.

‘I like sport as much as the next man, but how can you be watching cricket when there are women like this . . .' said Andy indicating yet another waitress slinking by our table, ‘less than three feet in front of you?'

‘Leaving aside that I'm happily married with two kids,' said Tom, ‘. . . fact is we're doing really well.'

One of the bunny waitresses approached our table. ‘All right, lads?' she asked in a pronounced Liverpool accent as she leaned in towards us in an effort to be heard over the music. ‘What can I get you boys tonight?'

‘Anything you like, darling,' leered Andy.

‘Three beers will do,' I replied quickly, giving her an excuse to ignore Andy.

‘Budweiser do you?' she asked smiling in my direction.

‘Yeah,' I replied giving her the thumbs-up. ‘That'll do nicely.'

She turned and headed in the direction of the bar to deliver her order.

‘Why don't girls at home look like that?' wondered Andy as he turned his head to get a better view of the waitress's legs.

‘Because all the girls at home who do look like that are here,' I replied. ‘I'm guessing they come for a holiday and stay because they can't stand the thought of going back to another grey summer in England.'

‘But do you think it's in the rules that you have to be a babe in order to be allowed to stay? Pretty much every girl who has spoken to us since we got here has been amazing.'

‘Don't know,' I shrugged, ‘but I don't suppose it can hurt can it?'

We both fell silent as we spotted our waitress wending her way through the now-crowded bar with an almost balletic grace.

‘There you go, lads.' She set the bottles down on the table along with a bill. Andy snatched it up immediately and then, presumably possessed by the spirit of Hugh Hefner, handed her a large Euro note and told her to keep the change.

‘What?' protested Andy once she was out of earshot.

‘What do you mean, what?' I replied.

‘So I gave that girl a tip, big deal!'

‘No, Andy, you gave that girl a gigantic tip because she was wearing a bunny outfit. You've been like a dog on heat since we landed last night.'

Andy rolled his eyes in despair. ‘For once in your life, Charlie, why don't you have a go at being a bloke? It's actually quite a bit of fun when you know how.'

‘What's that supposed to mean?'

‘It means stop being such a self-righteous eunuch and grow a pair, because you're beginning to drag me down,' replied Andy.

‘I'm dragging you down?' I repeated. ‘I thought this holiday was supposed to be for my benefit?'

‘It is,' replied Andy, ‘but as the saying goes “You can lead a horse to water . . .”' He paused and looked around the room. ‘I'm just saying instead of moaning about being thirsty all the time why don't you get yourself a drink?'

‘And
I
will do,' I replied, willing the girl-in-the-cowboy-hat to choose this moment to walk into the bar, ‘but don't forget
you've
got a girlfriend.'

Andy nearly choked on his beer. ‘Are you bringing Lisa into this?'

I wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I wished Lisa hadn't asked me to keep an eye on Andy. And I sort of wished this night was over because it was already becoming too much of a strain.

‘Forget it,' I replied, realising I hadn't got either the energy or the inclination to argue. ‘I shouldn't have said that. And I'm absolutely in the wrong.'

‘Too right you are.' Andy looked genuinely infuriated. ‘I'm here to have a good time so just leave Lisa out of—' Andy stopped as two things happened simultaneously: first, the guy behind the bar turned the music down so low that for a few moments we could actually hear the conversational hubbub in the bar, and second, a huge commotion erupted near the entrance.