Lizzie Allen - PS Olive You

Fortunately, our meal was interrupted halfway through by his mobile.

Unfortunately, the call was from Theodora.

He listened quietly while chewing on his sea bass en croute with grinding concentration.

‘I see,’ he said, pausing to take a swig of wine. ‘And where is it?’

He eyes settled on me with a look of annoyance.

‘I understand. I’ll get her to see it on Monday.’

Theodora would have prattled on for a quarter of an hour longer but Andrew didn’t suffer gasbags lightly.

‘Got to run. Thanks for your assistance Theodora.’

He hung up and poured another glass of wine thoughtfully.

‘Fay, I hope you are taking this house-hunting thing seriously.’

‘Of course I am,’ I replied, pushing my lettuce around the plate.

‘Theodora tells me she’s found a perfect property but you’ve refused to view it.’

‘I drove past it. Just to have a look. You can see it quite easily from the gate.’

‘Did you go in?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It seemed a bit far from the Chora.’

He studied my face whilst cleaning out the inside of his cheeks with the tip of his tongue. I could feel myself blushing as I tried to lie my way out of the corner I was painting myself into, but how could I explain the truth to him? What was the truth anyway? That I didn’t want to pull the carpet out from under the man I’d become obsessed with? Oh my God, I was actually obsessed with him, wasn’t I?

Ridiculous! I thought to myself.

I hardly knew the man.

Barely spoken to him!

I got up and noisily started clearing away the plates.

Some bloody feminist you are! I mentally screamed.

Can’t seem to exist five minutes alone in the universe without switching allegiance to some other penis-wielding vassal.

At the mention of the word penis my subconscious skipped to thoughts of Urian naked.

I wonder if he’s well hung.

Bet he is!

I picked up my rolling pin and began caressing its long shaft with a suddy sponge. Seconds later I dunked it beneath the water with a loud splosh as if to silence my thoughts.

Stop this! It’s just pure lust.

The rolling pin emerged from the water covered in more suds than before. Suddenly, another thought occurred to me.

Isn’t that what we accuse men of doing all day long. Lusting after women?

Hang about! Perhaps that does make me a feminist after all.

I squirted more washing-up liquid onto the rolling pin with alacrity and began lathering it up again.

Hell yeah! I’m lusting after a man like an oversexed…sex…machine.

I am empowered enough to make men the object of my lust.

Well, Urian anyway.

I jumped as Andrew suddenly sharpened into focus through the suds of the rolling pin. He’d come over to the sink and was staring at me as if I was a science experiment. Blushing crimson, I made a pretence of taking out the garbage mid-washing up, leaving a trail of water and suds across the floor. Andrew dumped the rest of the dishes into the sink with crash

‘Well I think you should see it’, he snapped. ‘Sounds perfect. Two hectares with its own borehole.’

I hastily returned to the sink, skidding across the floor in alarm.

‘You can’t drink the borehole water,’ I replied desperately.

‘Is it hooked up to the mains?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Really! What have you been doing all week?’

‘The same thing I do back home in Chelsea,’ I muttered to myself as I started drying the dishes. ‘Sweet bugger all.’

‘What’s that?’ asked Andrew chipperly.

‘Nothing,’ I replied with a sigh. ‘I’ll ring Theodora tomorrow.’

Theodora’s man-sized hands clutched onto the steering wheel with military purpose. They were attached to short stubby arms that disappeared into the armholes of a shockingly yellow sundress. Flabby puckerings of flesh gathered at the armpits and her batwings wobbled alarmingly over every hump.

As we thundered along the dirt track towards Urian’s farm at maximum speed, an undeniable sense of smugness filled the air. Theodora had worked out the pecking order in my marriage:

Andrew – Head Honcho

Fay – Minion.

Her toadying days, such as they were, were over.

A plastic strawberry bobbed from her rear-view mirror, seeping sickly sweet vapours of rotting watermelon into the airless car.

‘That’s a nice smell,’ I said insincerely, flicking at it with my forefinger.

‘Smells exact of strawberry, isn’t it?’ she said pleased.

‘Yes,’ I lied, wiping my fingers down the side of the chair.

A herd of goats appeared further down the track. Theodora slammed on the brakes and hooted at the young boy minding them. He didn’t look too fussed. The more Theodora cursed and bellowed, the slower he went. The deadly strawberry vapours ebbed and flowed through the afternoon heat as we waited for the bedlam to subside.

‘You haf nice name,’ she said, trying to be charming.

‘Thanks.’

‘What this mean, Fay?’

‘Actually it’s not Fay. That’s just what everyone calls me. It’s Faith.’

‘Ah, Fayeth. Eeez like – to haf belief, no?’

‘Yes,’ said I, who believed in nothing. ‘My father chose it.’

‘Verrry verrry good man your father. He live London?’

‘No, actually he died a few years ago’.

She made a ‘tch, tch’ sound with her tongue. Silence filled the car again.

‘Have you lived on Iraklia long?’ I probed, wondering how well she knew Urian’s family.

‘Since I retire.’

‘You seem too young to be retired’ I lied.

She was pleased with the pseudo compliment. ‘I hav fifhafty two years,’ she said proudly.

Her sausage fingers gesticulated with large rings glinting in the sun.

‘In Greece government say OK, you retire fifhafty if you haf dangeros job.’

I looked at her with interest.

‘Really? What did you do for a living?’

‘Hairdresser.’

‘Hairdresser?’

‘Neh. I was making hairs thirhaty years.’

‘And that was dangerous?’

‘Of course!’ she replied seriously. ‘Fumes verrry bad’. She shook her head gravely from side to side and dropped her double chin to her chest to emphasise the severity of her situation. ‘Chemicals verrry dangeros.’

‘And the government gives you a full pension from fifty?’

This made her click her tongue in annoyance.

‘No full.’

She pointed indignantly into the air with her chubby forefinger.

‘Ninety per-ha-cent only.’

I digested this news in silence. Andrew would not be pleased to hear his angel Theodora was one of the scroungers he admonished for bleeding the state dry with phony disability claims while working on the QT as an estate agent.

I couldn’t wait to tell him.

Ahead the young lad started pushing the goats with his bare hands off the road. As soon as he pushed one, another would return.

‘Do you have any other family on the island?’ I asked, changing the subject.

‘Sister,’ she said, hooting pointlessly. ‘She also retired.’

I couldn’t help myself. ‘She have a dangerous job too?’

‘Yes. Baker.’

I nearly guffawed out loud.

‘What’s dangerous about baking?’

‘She breevist in that flour,’ she said, getting out the car. ‘Verrryy dangeros.’

I watched her trundle over to the terrified boy like Shrek and begin haranguing him and the goats off the road. She was the least disabled person I had ever seen. Her flour-inhaling sister was probably equally as robust and running some other scam across the island.