My Secret Lover

any good at all.
    But it may just be that I’m lazy.
     
    The drama therapy sessions take place
in a rather beautiful gazebo type thing where you can see the sea stretching
away for miles.
    ‘Today,’ our leader is saying,
focusing specifically on me with the kind of expression alternative practitioners
always seem to use. It’s not exactly unfriendly, because there’s an encouraging
smile, but it brooks no dissent either. ‘Today, you’re not going to believe
this... today, we are going to become one great big green wobbly jelly! Is
there a problem, Lydia?’
    I could share what I’m thinking.
    It’s probably very uptight of me not
to.
    Actually, I think the yoga must have
had some beneficial effects because I feel rather calm.
    I smile back at her.
    ‘No. You carry on.’
    I’m calm as I stand up and walk away.
    I’m calm as I pack my belongings.
    I’m calm as I wave goodbye to all the
people who constantly, and rather oppressively, offered to share my problems,
and let’s be honest, didn’t come up with any solutions when I did open up one
evening after two bottles of retsina.
    They’re eating gado gado together.
    Did I say the food is quite
delicious? I could definitely recommend the food.
    Probably not a good idea to set off
in the middle of the day, with the sun blazing, but I’m very cool and collected
as I start the long walk back to the village, from where I’ll catch a bus to
the ferry.
     
    * * *
     
    ‘What’s to lose?’ Michelle said, when
I told her I was going to buy Fern’s holiday as soon as the funds were back in
my current account. It was the least I could do in the circumstances.
    ‘You’re in Greece, you’ve got your
flights booked. If you don’t find your inner self, you can always leave and
have a holiday.’
     
    * * *
     
    Wish I’d had the foresight to ring
for a taxi, but would have spoiled the symbolism.
    I am walking away from my problems
instead of embracing them.
    I feel better already.
     
    I wonder if there’s motorbike hire in
the village?
    If there is, I shall take off and
feel the wind in my hair.
    Although, it may not be quite the
same with a suitcase. I now understand the point of rucksacks. Always thought
they were just another way men with beards, prevented themselves from having a
good time.
     
    It may take me a week to walk to the
village at this rate.
     
    I should have worn in the new sandals
as my mother advised. Or had the foresight to buy some of those silicone caps
for my toes.
    God, it’s hot!
     
    *
     
    It didn’t seem nearly this far on the
coach that brought us here.
     
    I think I’m getting dehydrated.
     
    Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the
midday sun!
     
    Possibly hallucinating because that’s
a motorbike I can hear.
     
    Getting closer, getting closer.
     
    Zooms past, spraying a cloud of dust
all over me.
     
    Oh F off your F-ing self, or whatever
it is in Greek!
     
    Help! He’s turned round.
    English Tourist Butchered in Greek Island Road Rage!
     
    The motorbike swishes to a halt
beside me.
     
    ‘Lydia?’
     
    Must be hallucinating, because it’s
the nice BBC reporter.
    He’s wearing a patterned shirt, and a
funky long pair of shorts.
     
    Must be the sun. Or a weird dream.
    Oh God, if they’ve sent him, it’s bad
news.
     
    ‘It is Lydia?’
    ‘Yes.’
    Any minute I’m going to wake up.
     
    ‘Hello, I’m Andy 42,’ he says.
    ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
    ‘I came to find you,’ he says.
     
    I close my eyes. But he’s still there
when I open them.
     
    ‘How did you know where I was?’ I ask
him.
    ‘You left clues in your last e-mail.
I did the research.’
    ‘But how did you know it was me?’ I
ask. ‘Just now. When you went past?’
    ‘Not many people with Steffi Graf’s
legs,’ he says.
    ‘I have one question,’ I say,
climbing on the back of the bike, putting my arms round his waist.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘How do you keep your shirts so
nice?’
     
    * * *
     
    I have no house, no car, no job and I
am not getting married.
    I am riding pillion, heading to an
unknown destination with someone I have only just met.
    I think this is what happiness feels
like.
    If my life were a film this would be:
     
    THE BEGINNING



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