Wish You Were Here (31 page)

‘Is this good enough for you, Charlie?' asked Lisa as she slipped off her sandals.

‘I think this is what I've been looking for all holiday,' I replied. ‘A bit of peace and quiet and a nice view.'

Andy laughed. ‘Are you sure you're actually a bloke, Charlie? Because you do a brilliant impression of a girl sometimes.'

‘Don't listen to him,' said Lisa, ‘this place is fantastic.'

I turned to Tom. ‘What do you think, mate?'

‘I think we need to get our shoes off and get in that water,' said Tom.

Barefooted, all four of us walked down to the water's edge and then in unison waded into the cool shallows right up to our knees.

‘You don't get pebbles like these on Brighton beach,' said Lisa dipping her hand into the water and picking up a large smooth grey stone with a long white swirl in it. ‘This one looks like a bar of soap,' she said, offering to me. As I took it, my fingers grazed her warm skin, sending a shiver down my spine. ‘You keep it,' said Lisa. ‘It'll be something to remember the holiday by.'

‘Have you got your camera on you?' called Andy as he skimmed a handful of stones across the water. ‘We should take a picture.'

I pulled out the camera from my bag and handed it to Andy who walked over to the small boy and asked him to take a picture of us all.

Knee deep in the water we lined up in a row with our arms around each other – Tom, me, Lisa, Andy – and then in his best English the boy yelled: ‘Cheese' and took the picture. He handed the camera back to Andy before running off to rejoin his parents and we all grouped around to get a better look at the camera's display. Though it might not have been the most brilliantly composed picture of all time – a small thumb was clearly visible in the corner of the picture – it still managed to capture the essence of what we were about: four people who were connected with one another more closely than any of us might like to admit.

It was just after six o'clock by the time we made our way back to Malia. And even as we parked the car a few doors down from Stars and Bars, Andy still wasn't giving much away about our final task.

‘So where is it we're going next?' asked Lisa, yawning.

‘I'm afraid there's no “we” in this next bit,' replied Andy. ‘This one's strictly for the boys.'

‘It's not a strip club is it?' asked Tom.

‘Of course it isn't,' said Andy rolling his eyes. ‘It's better than that.'

‘So what then?'

‘It's over there,' said Andy, pointing to the Angel tattoo parlour across the road. ‘And it's the perfect way to commemorate this holiday.'

I'd never given much thought to the idea of paying to have my skin permanently scarred in order to make some sort of indelible fashion statement, but if I had I would've definitely have been one of those people who rejected it on the grounds that: ‘It might look great now but what about when you're eighty-five, and about to take residency in a nursing home?'

This was the argument that I attempted to present to Andy and Tom as we crossed the road to check out various pictures of the proprietor's (a Mr Rodney Cross, originally from Dulwich, East London) handiwork. There were full colour 6"x4" pictures of arms, legs, calves, backs, faces and full bodies covered with everything from animals and Celtic symbols right through to sportswear logos and film stars.

‘Look, Charlie,' said Andy, ‘if you do end up in a nursing home with a tattoo on your arm it'll be a fantastic reminder as you freefall into dementia that once upon a time you actually had a life worth living.'

Tom laughed. ‘I'm with Andy on this one. If you make it to eighty-five and all you've got to worry about is a tattoo you had done over fifty years ago then as far as I'm concerned, you're doing pretty well.'

‘So that's two against one,' said Andy. ‘Are you in or out?'

‘I'm in,' I replied. ‘One hundred per cent.'

‘For the record,' said Lisa, ‘can I just say that I think this is one of the stupidest overly bloke ideas the three of you have ever had?'

‘Your objection is duly noted, babe,' replied Andy. ‘But what you don't understand is that sometimes a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. And right now what these men have to do is choose a cool tattoo design.'

Agreeing that Mr Cross's work was of a sufficiently high standard to let him loose on our skin, we made our way into the shop and told the woman standing by the till our requirements: three reasonably straightforward tattoos, no colour, done as soon as possible. In return she took our money, booked our time slots and handed us several large portfolios of designs to look at.

‘I've found my design,' said Andy after five minutes of flicking backwards and forwards.

‘Me too,' said Tom.

They both looked at me.

‘I haven't seen anything so far that says, “Please be on my skin forever,” I replied. ‘I could be here a while.'

‘Not that I'm endorsing what you're all doing in any way at all,' said Lisa, taking the portfolio in Andy's hand away from him and flicking back a couple of pages, ‘but I have to admit I quite liked that one.' She pointed to a design in black ink of a Celtic-looking sun. ‘It's quite subtle and wouldn't look too hideous.'

I wasn't convinced.

‘How about this one then?' said Andy turning the page to a small circular Chinese-looking design of a dragon chasing its own tail. ‘I was seriously considering having it for myself before I found the one I really wanted.'

‘Cheers,' I replied, ‘but I don't think dragons are really me either.'

I looked at Tom. ‘Come on, mate, you must have some sort of suggestion too?'

Tom shook his head. ‘I think you already know what you want but you're just too scared about making the decision.'

I couldn't help but laugh. Tom was spot on. ‘Okay, you're right,' I replied. ‘I was just playing for time but my mind's made up now. So let's go and get ourselves a tattoo.'

When I emerged from the back of the tattoo parlour three quarters of an hour after Andy and Tom had had theirs done, all Andy would say was that his tattoo was in the middle of his shoulder blades while Tom told me that his was on his right shoulder. Given that we were all being so secretive, I suggested that we have a grand unveiling in a few weeks' time as a sort of post-holiday reunion. Tom thought that was a great idea but Andy just laughed and said that he would have to see.

‘What time is it?' asked Andy as we emerged from the tattoo parlour. The early evening sun had long since disappeared and we were now standing right in the middle of the constant bustle of night-time Malia.

‘Dinner time,' said Tom looking at his watch. ‘I'm starving and we've only got half an hour before the coach arrives to pick us up.'

‘What kind of food do you want?' asked Andy.

‘The fastest food possible.'

As we headed back to the Apollo feasting on takeaway McDonalds we were laughing and joking so much that the events of the morning seemed as though they had happened a million years ago, to someone else entirely. Were Andy and I back to being friends? It was hard to tell. The damage we'd inflicted on each other was hardly going to heal overnight. The important thing to me, though, wasn't that we were back to normal. Rather that it seemed that we were both willing to make the effort to fake our friendship until such counterfeit feelings were no longer necessary.

Liberating our suitcases from the Apollo's secure room we sat on the steps outside to wait for the coach. Within five minutes the Club Fun tour coach finally reared into view and it pulled up directly in front of us.

‘We should have said goodbye to Steve-the-barman,' I said as the coach driver opened up the vehicle's storage bay and began loading up a small mountain of luggage.

‘No worries,' replied Andy, ‘I'll do it for you later.'

‘How are you going to do that? You'll be—' I stopped and looked at Andy's face and suddenly realised what he meant. ‘You're not coming back home are you?'

‘No,' said Andy, ‘we're not.'

Lisa's face confirmed that Andy wasn't joking. Andy reached across and gently traced a small line along Lisa's right hand. It was a small gesture. A gesture of love, I suppose. But even though I tried to fight it the gesture broke my heart.

‘What are you saying?' asked Tom. ‘That you're extending your holiday?'

‘We're thinking something more permanent,' said Andy.

I don't know why I was surprised. If I'd learned anything from this holiday it was this: given the right degree of provocation, anyone could lose the plot. All it took was a partner leaving, a doctor diagnosing cancer, or the betrayal of a close friend and it appeared the rule book for normal behaviour could be abandoned completely.

‘I know it's a lot to take in,' began Lisa. ‘We can hardly believe it ourselves but we've talked about nothing else and it's what we want.'

‘To stay here?' I asked.

‘It's as good a place as any,' replied Andy.

There was a long silence. I could feel the time slipping away.

‘I know it's none of my business but are you really sure?'

‘There are just too many distractions at home,' explained Lisa. ‘Too many ways to get lost. That's what went wrong with me and Andy: we both ended up being too focused on things that didn't matter. We need to take this time out together if we're ever going to make things work between us again.'

‘We're thinking a year to begin with,' added Andy. ‘And if we're still happy . . . maybe we'll even make it permanent.'

‘What about your jobs?' I asked.

‘We'll sort something out,' said Lisa.

‘And your house?'

‘We were sort of hoping you'd keep an eye on it for us,' said Lisa. ‘We've rented somewhere here for a few months – that's what we were up to this afternoon – it's not much but I can't see us needing to do much in there apart from sleep. And as for work . . . look where we are . . . there must be hundreds of bars and restaurant jobs going. And if there aren't, well, we'll just have to sort something else out.'

The more I tried to reason the whole situation out in my head, the more I came to realise that every hole I tried to find in their plan seemed to point out my own inadequacies rather than theirs. The truth was I was jealous of their spontaneity. I was envious of the fact that they had succeeded where I'd failed. For both Andy and Lisa, whether they stayed together forever or split up after a week, this would always be the holiday that changed their lives. The Andy standing in front of me right now was different from the one who had left England over a week ago. And that's what bothered me. He had changed and I was still the same. I'd be going back to the same flat, job and life that I had left behind seven days ago.

‘Are these going to the airport?' asked the coach driver pointing to our luggage.

‘Yeah,' I replied. ‘Just these two please.'

‘Are you sure?' he asked eyeing Andy and Lisa's luggage. I looked at Andy and then Lisa waiting for their confirmation.

‘Yeah,' replied Lisa. ‘We're sure.'

The driver shrugged, loaded up the last remaining suitcases on to the coach and closed the hatch. There was no going back now.

‘So this is it,' said Andy thoughtfully.

‘I'll say my goodbyes first,' said Lisa. She put her arms around Tom and squeezed him tightly, burying her face into his chest. ‘I hope everything goes well tomorrow. I'll be thinking of you.'

Initially confused, Tom looked at me and the guilt must have been written on my face. ‘I told Andy earlier in the week,' I apologised.

‘That's okay,' said Tom. ‘I'm glad in a way. It'll be nice knowing I've got friends rooting for me.'

‘Well, count me among them,' said Andy shaking Tom's hand firmly.

‘Look after yourself, Charlie,' said Lisa embracing me.

‘You too,' I replied. ‘I really do hope everything goes well for you guys.'

‘It will,' she replied. ‘I'm sure of it.'

‘Look after yourself, mate,' said Andy stepping towards me.

‘I will do,' I replied. ‘And if you need anything at all while you're out here, just let me know and I'll sort it out for you.'

‘Cheers.' Andy paused as if he wanted to say something else but then at the last minute his face changed and he shook my hand. ‘Don't go thinking things will change,' he said. ‘Because they won't. From now on you're dead to me. Absolutely dead!'

At the sound of the electronic ding the seat-belt light over my head switched off, thereby setting off a commotion of seat-belt unclicking. Even though it had been half an hour since the plane had taken off, my mind was still very much on the ground, wondering from minute to minute what Andy and Lisa were up to and when might be the next time I would see them. Releasing my seat-belt I stretched my arms in the air, yawned and turned behind to see if I could see what Tom was up to. Due to a computer error, we'd been allocated seats in different parts of the plane and Tom was now sandwiched between a dour-looking youth wearing multiple gold chains and a smiling middle-aged woman with painted-on eyebrows and a deep orange tan. Looking at Tom's companions, I realised I'd fared much better: a pretty but hassled-looking mother, with a sleeping baby on her lap and a napping toddler on the seat next to her.