‘Is this really happening? Is this really…real?’
‘Let me see it! Oh my God, of course it’s real, silly! Pack your bags,’ Rosemary exclaimed.
‘No. No. I’m not going. At my age? Fly into the arms of a stranger? That’s how people get into documentaries!’
Rosemary didn’t say anything at first. Just kept munching on her pizza.
Then she sighed. ‘Okay. I get it. It’s a lot.’
I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself.
That night, after she left, I was lying on the couch under my favourite duvet when my phone buzzed.
A text from Rosemary, ‘Can you believe it! I got an invitation too! Flying to see my Jean in Bordeaux. Yay!’
‘Jean?’ I frowned. ‘She didn’t even mention Jean.’
I stared at the message for a long moment.
Then I got up, went to my desk and opened the dating site. I had an irresistible urge to write to him, to thank him, and to accept his offer. But the screen was blank.
His profile was gone. Our messages were gone. Everything was gone.
He must have deleted his account. Probably thought I’d ghosted him. But I still had the address. He’d sent it in an earlier message. I’d scribbled it on the back of a grocery receipt.
What’s more, I had a photograph. And a plane ticket.
If not now, when? If not me, then who?
I walked to the kitchen, poured a cup of tea, and whispered into the night,
‘To hell with it. I’m going to Greece.’
As I stepped off the ferry at Paros, the sun hit me like a soft warm slap.
The air smelled different. Not like it did back home. It was saltier there. More wild. I dragged my small suitcase behind me – it rattled like a stubborn child refusing to be dragged towards adventure.
Past the sleepy cats stretched out on the windowsills as if they’d ruled the island for centuries. Past the grandmothers in black shawls who swept the doorsteps of their homes.
I kept my eyes on the blue dot on the screen of my phone. My heart was pounding like it hadn’t in years.
What if he’s not there? What if this is all a strange dream and I’m standing in front of a stranger’s house in Greece?
I stopped at the gate. Deep breath. Shoulders pulled back. My fingers hover over the bell. Zing. The door creaked open.
Wait… What?! No way! Rosemary!
Barefoot. Dressed in a flowing white dress. Her lipstick was fresh. Her hair was curled into soft waves. She looked as if a yoghurt advert had come to life.
‘Rosemary? Aren’t you supposed to be in France?’
She tilted her head like a curious cat.
‘Hello,’ she purred. ‘Have you arrived? Oh, darling, this is so unlike you! You said you weren’t going to fly. So I decided to…take a chance.’
‘You’re pretending to be me?’
‘Technically, I created your account. Taught you everything. You were my… project. I was just at the final presentation.’
‘But… how? Andreas’s account is gone. And the messages, too.’
‘Oh, I saved your address, deleted your messages, and removed Andreas from your friends. Just in case you changed your mind. I didn’t know you knew how to save pictures or a ticket.’
I wanted to scream. To cry. To slam my suitcase shut and scream. But I didn’t. At that moment, another shadow moved towards the door.
Andreas…
‘Hello, ladies.’ He shifted his gaze from me to her.
Rosemary immediately pressed herself against him, grabbing his hand.
‘This is my friend Rosemary. She just happened to be here. We told you about her, remember?’
‘I came because of your invitation. But…’
He looked at me. His eyes were as dark as the waves of the sea.
‘Well… it’s strange. Martha had already arrived earlier, but…’
‘I’m Martha!’ I whispered.
Rosemary chirped sweetly.
‘Oh, Andreas, my friend was just a little worried about me leaving. She’s always babysat me. So she probably flew here to see if everything was okay and if you were a fraud.’
Andreas was clearly fascinated by Rosemary. He laughed at her antics.
‘All right… Stay. You can work things out. We have plenty of room here.’
Whatever magic that was supposed to be here had been stolen….
My friend was playing against me. But I had a chance to stay and make things right. Andreas deserved the truth, even if it wasn’t as sparkling as Rosemary’s.
‘I’ll stay,’ I smiled, accepting the rules of Rosemary’s game.
Dinner was delicious, the view was beautiful, and the mood was as dragging as Rosemary’s silk blouse after a croissant.
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She smiled and giggled, filling the air with her voice like a perfume with nowhere to go.
‘Andreas, do you have grandchildren?’ – purred Rosemary. purred Rosemary. purred Rosemary.
Finally! Here it is. My chance.
I slowly set my fork aside, raised my head, and with the calmest expression I was capable of, asked: ‘Didn’t he tell you he had a grandson named Richard?’
Rosemary’s face trembled, just for a second. Then she brightened.
‘Oh, that’s right! Your…Richard!’
I smiled politely.