Strange Journey - Chapter 14

Previously

Embracing the evening

The door opened inward into a corridor, faintly light by a low light. Picture hung on the walls that Chris could barely see. They seemed to be of people in naval uniforms. No, they seemed to be of anthropomorphic cats in naval uniforms. Or maybe not, it was quite dark and he was not paying close attention.

"Straight ahead," said Costas. "They're waiting for you."

The corridor had a couple of doors off to one side, but straight ahead was one big door. That, presumably, was where he was to go. He walked up to it.

"Here?"

"Yes. Go on in."

He opened the door and walked into a darkened room. Or a room that was momentarily dark, until bright lights suddenly came on revealing a surprisingly large room full of people, all kinds of people. They were wearing party hats and holding drinks in their hands. And they were smiling at Chris. There was a banner saying "WELCOM JULIAN". And streamers.

Costas came in after Chris and addressed the crowd in a language other than English. Greek, Chris thought initially, but he started to wonder. The only word Chris recognised was "Julian". Except that it finished what Costas had to say and sounded more like "Julian!". The crowd cheered.

"We thought we would throw a little party for you, to show our appreciation," said Costas.

"Thanks," said Chris.

"It's not everyone that would do what you have done, it means a lot to us."

As if to support Costas, an old man in bright blue suit said something loud, emphatic and incomprehensible. The crowd laughed and broke into a round of applause in that awkward way of people at a party who have to suddenly find a way to clap while holding drinks and canapés.

Costas smiled at Chris and then said, "You'll need to say something."

"Will they understand me? Does anyone here speak English?"

"No, but you need to say something. It is expected."

The crowd did look expectant. Chris ran his eye quickly over them, trying to get a measure of the people present. They seemed a mixed bunch, both socially and in terms of their ages. A couple of disreputably looking young lads in shell suits were standing right behind some very proper older gentlemen in full dress military uniforms. Society matrons stood next to younger women who would not be out of place in a nightclub. One man was dressed in a cowboy outfit. Another was made up as clown. Two people were wearing panda costumes. There was even a pair of corgis looking down at him excitedly from on top of a bookcase - God only knew how they had got up there. These were just some of the people and animals present.

"OK, I'll say something. Ladies, gentlemen, this is quite a surprise and not at all what I was expecting when Costas ushered me in here. I thank you all for going to all this trouble and I would just like to say that it is very much appreciated. Now let's get back to the party - I tell you one thing, I could really do with a drink!"

He stopped, but the crowd did not react. Then Costas said something quickly and everyone laughed and gave Chris another round of applause. The corgis barked their approval. From nowhere loud music suddenly started playing and the strong light gave away to something more atmospheric, punctuated by occasional strobes. People went back to their conversations, sensing that the formal part of the surprise party was over.

"Here, drink this," said Costas, handing Chris a glass of white wine. He took a sip. It was good.

"Who are these people?"

"Just some people who are very impressed with what you have managed to accomplish. Not everyone can stick things out like you can. That means a lot. We respect that."

A young lad in a shell suit came lolloping over towards Chris and Costas. He pointed at Chris, did a little dance, then said something. Chris could barely hear what he was saying over the din of the music, but he heard enough to know that it was not English. Still, the fellow's demeanour seemed to indicate that he held broadly positive opinions of Chris.

"Thanks," said Chris. "I think."

The young lad did a bit more of his little dance and then indicated that Chris should join in with him. Chris felt that he did not really have much of an option, so he knocked back his wine, handed the empty glass to Costas and did his best to ape the young lad's moves. The dance had a hip hop quality that did not come readily to Chris, but he gave it his best shot. The young lad was either amused or impressed. Whatever it was, he called over his mates, and soon they and Chris were doing their strange dance in the middle of the room. A circle formed around them, a circle of people with smiling happy faces. And the people in the panda suits, whose faces were locked into permanent smiles. But Chris was not as adept at dancing as the shell suits, so he had to call a halt.

"Enough guys, enough," he said, panting. "I need a drink."

Everyone cheered. A woman in a dress that looked several sizes too small for her handed Chris another glass, smiling lasciviously as she did so. The young lad who had started the dancing patted Chris on the back and wandered off with his fellows.

"Hungry?" said Costas. "Come on, let's eat."

He led Chris over to a table laden with food - canapés of various types, but also more substantial fare - joints of meat, bowls of tri-coloured pasta, salads and so on. Tortilla chips and dips were also present. And cakes, lots of cakes. But, Chris noted, not much in the way of Greek food - the salad did not look like the horiatiki he had been eating, nor were the various bowls of food akin to the cooked dishes he had eaten. There was no briam or dolmades to be had here and the cakes did not look even remotely baklava-like. Still, it all looked rather tasty apart from the joints of meat. He put down his glass and piled a load of savouries and salad onto a plate.

"This is all a bit odd," he said to Costas.

"Yes?"

"Like, I said, it was not what I was expecting when I came in here."

"What were you expecting?"

"I don't know. Maybe some Mr Big who would demand the memory stick. Or maybe something more ominous."

"Well, I'm glad it was a surprise. It is always very annoying when people get wind a surprise party has been planned for them."

"Where are you from, Costas? Your accent doesn't sound very Greek."

Costas smiled. "Sorry. I'll try harder. Now, here's someone I want you to meet."

He brought Chris over to a man in Morris dancer costume. For a brief moment Chris thought this was one of those Morris dancers who perform with blackened faces for reasons lost in the mists of time, but that moment passed and Chris saw that the Morris dancer was a dark skinned man of African features. He said something incomprehensible to Chris in a tone that indicated his words to be of great importance. Chris smiled back.

"What's he saying?" he said to Costas, continuing to smile politely at the Morris dancer.

"It doesn't matter. Just keep smiling and nodding when he speaks. I'll be back."

Costas went over to talk to the clown, leaving Chris with the Morris dancer, who resumed his flow of words. Chris found himself thinking that he had been stuck with he party bore. Either way, the Morris dancer seemed to be expounding his philosophy of life to Chris, compelete with a variety of gestures and emphatic but incomprehensible comments that Chris felt obliged to agree with. He was wondering how long this would go on for when he registered that his skin was starting to tingle. Had something been added to his drink? That would be a bit problematic, but it was too late now.

The woman in the small dress came over with a bottle of wine, refilling Chris's glass, bending over as she did so to show off a terrifying amount of cleavage. She caught Chris's eye and winked. Chris looked at the glass in his hand and wondered whether he should drink any more. If it was adulterated, he could find himself in a lot of trouble if he increased the dose. Even if it was just wine, did he really want to get rat arsed drunk with all these weirdoes? But nervousness turned him against the idea of guarding his sobriety. And he had seen the woman top up the glasses of other patrons from the same bottle, so it was not like he was being singled out for special treatment. Unless the first glass was the one with the drugs, in which case this was just another friendly glass of wine. He could not really be bothered with trying to think everything through.

"Down the hatch!" he said, taking a big swig of wine. It tasted like wine, like the Greek white wine he had been drinking in Athens - so at least this was local. Well that was something.

The Morris dancer resumed his incomprehensible speech, but was silenced by the sound of the two corgis barking from atop their bookcase, the sound of their little yaps clearly audible even over the dance music filling the room. The Morris dancer looked up at them, nodded at Chris and went off to talk to one of the military men, whose stiff and formal pose could not hide a facial expression that screamed "Oh no, not this cunt" to Chris.

Two other military men approached Chris. They did not say anything, but just stood there looking at him.

"Do you speak English?"

No response.

"Français? Deutsch? Español?

Nothing. They just stared.

"Fuck this shit," said Chris. He looked over at Costas, who was joking with two of the clubby women, and decided to go and talk to the only person present who could speak English. But as he started to walk over, the room responded by changing shape. It had been roughly a square when Chris first entered it, but now it was turning into a very long rectangle, with Chris at one end by the canapés and Costas at the other. And the two ends were getting further and further apart. Chris tried to walk quickly over to Costas, but step after step took him no nearer. He broke into a run, but he might as well have been running on the spot for all the difference it made.

The corgis barked again. The room returned to normal. Chris was beside Costas and the clubby women. The women smiled at Chris. Their pupils looked dilated.

"Having fun?" said Costas.

"Yeah, I think… I feel a bit odd actually. Was there something in my drink?"

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Where's the bathroom, Costas? I need to, you know."

"Yeah sure, that might help." He said something to one of the women, who took Chris out of the room and into corridor, which now seemed very short. She pointed at one of the other doors. He tried it. It was locked.

"I'll wait."

The woman smiled and started to move to the sound of the music coming from inside. She was wearing a green top with a floral pattern. It was incredible, the flowers were crawling across her outfit, living vegetation behaving more like a mass of insect life than a pictorial representation of plant life.

The woman - or the girl, Chris started thinking of her as a girl - saw Chris looking at her top and smiled. She gave him a hug. She blew on his face and started running her hands through his hair. One of the shell-suited lads appeared and started rubbing his back, hands working out the tension. It was all good.

The bathroom door opened. A woman came out, wearing the red jacketed uniform of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, including the hat. She was followed by a person in a panda suit. The panda-suited figure waved at Chris and then mimed pelvic thrusts as though to indicate what had just been going on in the bathroom. No lack of interest in procreation there, thought Chris. But then he was struck by something, a distant memory it felt like.

"Haven't I seen you before somewhere?" he said to the Panda.

The Panda stopped its pelvic thrusting and looked at Chris with its blank mask of a face. It held out its two front paws - hands - with the palms up, to indicate either that it did not understand the question or did not know the answer. Then with a wave it ran off after the Mounty into the main party room.

"Excuse me for a minute," said Chris to the people around him. He walked into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him. It was the oddest bathroom he had ever been in - the floor was at a 45º angle. This made no sense, surely all the water would just drain out of the bath?

Chris climbed up to the sink, turned on the taps and splashed cold water on his face. The room straightened itself up a bit. He was not sure how long this moment would last, so he took the opportunity to relieve himself into the toilet bowl. A moment of slight lucidity returned and Chris wondered if he should try to leave the party and make his way back to his hotel. But he was in such a bad way that he feared what would happen once he got onto the street.

Wait! An idea suddenly came to him. He could ring Lotte. She would know what to do. He took his phone out but working it was impossible. Nothing he did with it could make anything happen. This was a bit annoying now.

He heard a barking noise from outside the bathroom. He went to the door and opened it and one of the corgis ran in and nipped at his ankles. The dog gave another bark and nudged his feet with its nose. It wanted him to rejoin the party. Chris could not really do anything else. He left the bathroom and went back to the room with the music. The corgi followed close behind.

The music was louder now. It seemed like a living thing, assaulting Chris, yet it was not unpleasant. And he felt that as well as hearing the music he could feel and see it. The other guests were dancing, but their gyrations reminded Chris more of trees swaying in the gusts of a storm more than people enjoying music.

Costas appeared almost as soon as Chris entered the room. He had two glasses of wine in his hand. He held one out to Chris.

"Julian. Here, have another drink."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea." While saying this Chris watched the corgi walk up the wall to join its fellow on top of the book case.

"It is a good idea. It's just what you need."

"It's just what I need." There really was no point in arguing. He took the glass and sipped some of the wine. It was good. It was just what he needed.

"There's something in the wine, isn't there?"

"What makes you think that?" said Costas. His skin was pulsating now, waves of movement coursing across his face. Chris found himself wondering what his naked body would look like.

"Everything is so strange."

"Everything is always strange, once you know how to look at it."

"I'm not sure it's always strange like this."

"It is for some people."

"There is something in the wine, isn't there?"

"Yes, there is something in the wine. There had to be."

"I'm not sure I like it." He had spotted that his own skin was pulsating now. At least on his hands. He suspected his face was, though Costas was too polite to mention it.

"Don't worry, we have our reasons. Just be careful of one thing - do you still have the memory stick?"

The memory stick! Chris had not thought of it an age. Did he still have it? He reached into

his back pocket and found that, yes, it was still there.

"I still have it. Do you want it?"

"No, not yet. I think now you should have some more food."

He was right, this was the most sensible of ideas. He made his way round the edge of the room to the table with the canapés, as the centre of the room where the others were dancing had transformed into a vortex into which he feared disappearance. The edges of the room, in contrast, had a reassuring stability. Or did until he reached the table with the canapés. The little food items were all running around the table and it was quite an effort to catch and eat them. It was only after he had scoffed quite a few that he remembered he was a vegetarian and started wondering whether eating mobile canapés was a betrayal of his principles.

Costas joined him again, once more accompanied by the woman in the very small dress. The dress was even smaller now and looked like it was barely containing her voluminous chest. Indeed, it looked like her breasts might pop out at any moment. She smiled at Chris.

"She is very grateful for everything you have done for us," said Costas, shouting above the noise of the music, which was very loud in this part of the room.

"Ah thanks," said Chris. He was not entirely clear on what exactly he was meant to have done for these people. Carrying the memory stick? That surely was not such a big deal? But he was happy to take any thanks going for it. Lord knows he never got enough of that in his everyday life.

"Perhaps you would like to go with her to a private room where she can show you some further gratitude?"

Chris had to turn this over in his head while Costas and the woman stared at him. Finally the penny dropped. He looked at the woman again. He realised now that it was not that the dress was getting smaller - she was getting bigger. Her expansion was checked only by the dress. If she were to pop out of it then nothing would stop her from filling up the room. Chris did not want this to happen.

"Ah no, I'm grand here… tell her thanks for the offer and everything, but I really must decline."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, I'm sure."

"Maybe later?"

"I don't really think so," he said, smiling politely at the woman, whose ever expanding face smiled back at him with a terrifying eagerness. "But you can say it to her if you like."

He hoped this polite turn of phrase would not constitute a binding contract. He notices the two corgis looking severely at him and wondered if he had made some terrible faux pas. Costas shouted into the ear of the woman. She leaned over towards Chris and pulled him down so she could kiss him on the cheek. He felt like he was being kissed by a horse. And then she was moving away into the crowd.

Chris did not want to chase the canapés any longer so he moved into where the people were dancing. The music swirled around him, a kaleidoscope of reds and yellows. The people danced with him, a manic dance of the damned. Dancing felt like a normal physical activity after everything that had been happening to him. Maybe he was getting his head together, shaking off the baleful influence of whatever was in the wine.

He thought this for a little while, but then the music changed into something more percussive. He felt now like it was literally punching him up and down the length and breadth of his body. It did not particularly hurt him as his body seemed now to be made of some kind of putty-like substance. In fact, it was not unpleasant. But it was changing his physical nature. He was no longer made of a solid putty-like substance, as he was changing into something more akin to jelly. He could feel the music breaking him down and dissolving him. Worse, he looked around the room and realised that the same thing was happening to the other party-goers. All, apart from Costas and the corgis, were melting into piles of jelly, shrinking down into the floor and merging into each other. Yet none of them seemed to be too concerned by it, continuing their desperate dancing as they lost all bodily cohesion and physical integrity.

He looked over at Costas for guidance. "What's happening?" he said, shouting as loud as he could to be heard over the infernal din. But Costas said nothing back, just looking back at him with an uncomprehending smile. Chris thought of asking the corgis for assistance, but it was too late. Everything went black around him as he became no more than a pool of goo on the floor, a pool of goo indistinguishable from and merged into the other pools that had once been the other party goers.

The story continues

Strange Journey - Chapter 13

Previously

Into Danger

Chris did not want to go directly to the Bar Apollo. He thought of returning to his hotel and changing into clean clothes. He had the time to do that but decided not to bother. If he was going to his doom then clean clothes would not make any difference to his fate. So instead he wandered through the streets of the city, zig-zagging to try and throw off anyone who might be tailing him. He was particularly worried that Lotte might follow through on her half-serious threat to follow him, as he did not want to lead her into danger. He threw the odd glance over his shoulder and saw no sign of her. Good. But he also was concerned that other people might be after him - Greek equivalents of Beppe and Beppe's associate, or more of those jump-suited weirdoes he had encountered the other night. He did not think there was anyone tailing him now, but he had no way of knowing for certain. He was an amateur at this game, most likely up against professionals, if he was up against anyone. They would be adept at blending into crowds and hiding themselves from their targets. So he moved quickly through the streets, trying to duck through and around crowds of people and to dart swiftly down side streets, in the hope that this would allow him to elude any followers.

If anyone was following him, they were getting an erratic tour of central Athens, one that went from the cafés near the Agora north into the somewhat less salubrious flea markets and then back down to the hill across from the Acropolis. Chris left the paths here and used the trees and greenery to mask his movements. He crossed over into the residential area beyond, realising that he was now not too far from his hotel. He took care not to go to near that, as it was one location he could imagine they (whoever they were) would have staked out. He curled back towards the centre and scurried through the streets some more.

Afternoon gave way to evening. The city grew darker, the streets became busier as partying Greeks joined the throngs of tourists. Chris grew more confident that no one would be able to follow him through this. He decided to rest and steady his nerves by ducking into a café for a swift coffee glass of tsiporou (the terrifying Greek spirit, until now something he had known only by reputation). He sat in a tucked away corner inside rather than one of busier tables outside, confident that no one would chance upon him there. The coffee perked him up. The spirit burned his mouth but gave him a renewed sense of confidence and invincibility. He did not know what would be thrown at him when he went to meet Costas in the Bar Apollo, but he was ready for it.

And now it was time to make his appointment. He left the café and strode purposefully the short distance to Virones Street. He saw the Bar Apollo, a busy looking spot with people sitting at tables outside, while inside there was a mix of patrons standing at the bar or sitting at more tables. The clientele seemed to consist of both locals and tourists, though it was not always easy to tell which was which. Chris strode purposefully in and ordered a Mythos beer at the bar, basically because he admired the tentacle-based artwork on the poster for it behind the bar. When the barman was giving him his change he cut to the real purpose of his visit.

"I'm looking someone. Name of Costas. Is he here?"

The barman looked at him suspiciously, as though trying to work out whether he was on the level or not.

"Costas? It's a common name."

"I was told to ask for him here. At the bar."

The barman stared at him some more and then twisted his head to indicate a dark recess of the bar in which some of the more disreputable looking patrons were drinking.

"That's him there in the corner. Reading the paper."

Chris saw a big man sitting on his own in the corner with a newspaper of a character not readily discernible from this distance. The man wore long hair and was bearded. He was quite dark-skinned, but no more so than most Greek people. He was wearing a leather jacket and looked like he would have been quite at home in the biker bar below the hotel in Milan. There was a look about his face that suggested a certain suspiciousness to his character. Chris also thought that his demeanour was one of a man used to acts of violence. He was like a tensed coil that was ready to spring forth. And for all the newspaper he held in front of him, he was clearly scanning the room around him as though looking for someone. The man glanced over at Chris and the barman, his face impassive.

Chris thanked the barman and started over towards Costas but then felt himself suddenly halted by a strong hand's descent on his shoulder. He found himself pulled around to face the towering figure of Gyorgy, more or less the very last person he wanted to meet right now.

"You little cock muncher," said Gyorgy. He had clearly been drinking heavily for some time.

"Uh, hi Gyorgy, I can't really talk right now," said Chris.

"Oh you can't talk? You little piece of shit. Thanks to you, Deirdre's told me to fuck off and says she never wants to speak to me again. Which is a bit fucking awkward as we work together. She says that if I ever talk to her about anything that is not work-related again she will have me reported for sexual harassment. And it's all your fault, you little limp-dick shit bagger."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and my wife," said Chris. He was not actually sorry, but he was trying to make it sound like he was. "But I really can't talk right now. I'm meeting a friend - "

He was interrupted by Gyorgy grabbing him and pulling him close and shouting in his face.

"Meeting a fucking friend? You'll meet my fucking fists first, you bag of goat excrement. Come on, outside!"

Gyorgy started manhandling Chris towards the door. Chris noticed that other customers were backing away in alarm. He had a somewhat surreal sense of regret at the realisation that he had spilt his beer over a chubby American tourist. He thought of using the glass as a weapon to strike Gyorgy with, but his grip was too tight for him to be able to move his arm.

Chris found himself being flung out on the street with such abrupt force that he dropped the glass. Time seemed to slow as he watched it fall to the glass and shatter, its disintegration bringing an end to any chance he had of besting Gyorgy in combat. Then a sudden burst of pain engulfed him. He realised that Gyorgy had hit him, hard, on the chin. He was dazed and felt almost as though he was about to lose consciousness. Gyorgy was shouting at him. People around were backing away.

"You gonna fight back, pissbag? Or are you gonna roll over and die like the little sack of shit you are? Either way, I'm gonna fuck you up! You'll be sorry you busted up me and your - "

There was a loud sound of an impact of wood on bone and cry from Gyorgy. Chris registered that Gyorgy was no longer shouting at him, because he was now lying on the ground in a semi-conscious state. Costas was standing over Gyorgy, with the remains of a chair, a chair he presumably brought down with force on the back and head of Chris's assailant. Costas was looking down at the man he had felled with a slightly maniacal gaze, as though he was checking to see if he was showing any signs of getting back up. He was not. Costas looked over at Chris.

"Julian," he said. "Good to see you again. Was this guy bothering you?"

"He was. Not anymore. Thanks."

"No problem." He threw the remnants of the chair to the ground. "Come on, we need to go. Are you OK?"

"Yeah, just about." And he was. If Gyorgy had hit him again he would not be OK, but as it was he could just about still walk unaided, though his jaw throbbed with pain.

"This way," said Costas, leading him off up the street at some speed. Chris followed as fast he could. "Come on Julian, we need to get away before the cops show up."

They ran on for a bit and then Costas slowed to a walking pace, gesturing to Chris to do the same.

"Slow down, Julian. We're out of the danger zone. No need to draw attention to ourselves."

"Sure," said Chris. "By the way, my name's not Julian, it's -"

But Costas interrupted him.

"Shut it. Didn't they tell you anything? I don't care what your real name is, to me you're Julian. And I'm Costas. Got it?"

There was a barely controlled aggression to him that that frightened Chris. The propensity for sudden controlled violence that had laid down Gyorgy could so easily be turned on him.

"I got it. Sure."

They walked on. Costas was striding with purpose now, as though they were heading somewhere in particular and not just walking to get away from the Bar Apollo.

"Eh, where are we going?"

"To meet someone."

"Don't you want the memory stick?"

"No."

"But I thought -"

"You think too much. Did they tell you I wanted it? No. They told you to come and meet me and do what I say. And what I say is come with me."

Chris followed meekly along, albeit with the sinking feeling that he maybe should have paid more attention to the two women in the white jump suits. His sense of direction was not great but he sensed they were walking north. The streets were still busy but the people were looking less like tourists and the local beautiful people. Instead it was like they were moving into the part of town that the recession had not passed by. Or maybe it had not needed to pass them by because these were the people that had never known anything other than hardship. Chris felt there was an increasingly edgy quality to the streets as they walked further, with the glances of passers-by becoming suspicious and hostile. But the presence of Costas was a considerable protection. If people regarded Chris in a hostile manner, their faces showed only fear when they saw his companion. His presence parted the crowd ahead, with people skulking on either side and casting their eyes away from Chris once they saw who he was with.

"How far are we going?"

"Not too far. Far enough."

Chris found himself wondering whether he would not be better off ducking down a side street and making a break for it. But he did not fancy the idea of being pursued by Costas. And he suspected that the people on the streets where would not aid his escape - they would be only too eager to hand him over to his pursuer. So he followed on, racking his brain desperately for something that would get him out of this pickle.

Costas stopped suddenly at the entrance to an apartment block. A look said to Chris that he should do the same. Costas rang a doorbell, Chris noticing that he seemed almost to be tapping out a code on the bell. No voice came over the intercom, but the door buzzed and Costas pushed it open. "Come on," he said to Chris.

Chris followed him into the dingy entrance hall. There was a smell of something whose source Chris did not want to find. They passed the lift and instead made for the stairwell, which seemed to have seen some use a men's toilet. Costas climbed, Chris followed close behind. They came out on a landing, a bit less repulsive than the entrance hall, though there was still a sense of decay in the air. And those stains on the wall? Chris tried not to wonder.

Costas stopped at the door into an apartment.

"Here we are," he said.

"Here we are," said Chris.

Costas gestured at the door.

"It's not locked. In you go."

"In I go," said Chris, reaching forward to open the door and let himself in."

The story continues

Strange Journey - Chapter 12

Previously

Getting to know you

In the morning Chris got up and showered. He was still tired, but tired in the life-affirming way known only to those who have spent the night shagging. He hummed the theme tune to Match of the Day to himself as the warm water cascaded over his body. At least he thought it was the Match of the Day theme - he had little or no interest in football and had not seen that programme in years; he did not even know if it was still on television. If it was then maybe with the passage of time it now had a different theme tune entirely. But the theme of his youth was the one he knew and that is the one that came out of him.

Then unbidden came a thought that disconcerted him. This whole business with the memory stick, it was like he was some kind of character in a spy film. And what happens in spy films? The other side try to block the hero. Sometimes they do this by force, as with Beppe and his friend in Milan. Sometimes they try bribery, as with the two women in the white jumpsuits. But sometimes they try to play the hero for a fool by using a beautiful woman to trick him. Chris had never been the kind of guy women threw themselves at, but he had not been suspicious about Lotte's intentions, until now. The suspicion that Lotte had just seduced him so that she could steal the memory stick burned into him like poison, making him feel almost physically sick. He finished his shower quickly, dried himself, and came out of the bathroom to gather up his things and check that he still had the memory stick.

Lotte was lying in bed, reading a book. Chris picked his clothes up off the floor and dressed quickly. It was too warm in Athens to wear a jacket, so he taken to carrying the memory stick in the back pocket of his trousers. He felt for the memory stick. It was not there. He looked on the floor, where his clothes had fallen when he had torn them off last night. No sign of it there either. He looked over aghast at Lotte. If she had taken the memory stick, her coolness was incredible, as she was lying there reading when she could have escaped while he was in the shower. But maybe this was some complicated spy game, where they wanted to string him along as long as they could for their own nefarious reasons.

Then Lotte looked up from her book. "Oh… Chris…" she said, reaching over to the table beside of the bed and holding up a memory stick - the memory stick. "Is this yours? I found it on the floor."

Chris managed not to snatch it peremptorily from her hand. "Thanks," he said as calmly as he could manage. "I was wondering where it had got to." He took it from her and smiled.

She got out of bed, still naked, and walked towards the bathroom. "I will shower now. Then we should go out to eat."

They went out to a local café for breakfast.

"It's funny, we know so little about each other," said Chris. "Like our names."

"You are Chris, I am Lotte."

"No, but surnames. Mine is McCarthy."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr McCarthy."

"And you?"

"My surname is Fücker, but I understand that people in English speaking countries find this amusing, so when I am abroad I used my mother's name."

"Which is?"

"Kuntz."

She laughed.

"No, I am joking. My surname is Meyer. It is a very common name in Germany."

"So I hear."

"What else should we know about each other?"

"Were you ever married? Do you have children?"

"I have no children. Maybe one day I will. And you?"

"No, no children. And were you ever married?"

"No, I have never married. But I have had lovers. Perhaps one day I will marry, but not now. I like my freedom."

"It's nice to be free."

"Are these the words of your granddaddy?" she said, stretching out the last syllable.

He laughed. "God, the Soup Dragons. Where are they now?"

"I do not know."

"Are you working or studying?" asked Chris.

"I work in a library."

"Sexy."

"Sexy?"

"Books are sexy. Librarians are sexy."

"Really?"

"Well you are."

She laughed. "And you? What do you do?"

"I'm a civil servant."

"Civil servant? What is that?"

"Oh, you know, I work for the state… in the public administration…"

She looked blankly at him. He fumbled in the recesses of his memory for the correct German word, cursing how useless he was with foreign languages. How much of his life had he given over to studying German? And now he was with an actual German person and completely unable to communicate with her in any language other than English. But then the word came to him.

"Beamter! Ich bin Beamter."

"Ah sehr gut," said Lotte. Chris detected a certain patronising tone to her voice. "Du sprichst sehr gut Deutsch."

"Yeah, one of my many talents," said Chris. "I wish I was any good at speaking foreign languages. I've studied German for years and I can't really say anything in it. How did you get so good at English?"

"Ah, you English-speakers, you are always amazed that people can speak your language. We learn it in school and we learn that we cannot expect that there will be people who can speak German when we leave our country. And of course, because of our unfortunate history, it would not be appropriate for us to travel around Europe demanding that the people of other countries speak to us in our language."

"I suppose. But they tell us in school that we should learn other languages, but we are still all rubbish at it."

"There will always be people who can speak English. You have little need to learn other languages."

"Your English seems so much better than what someone would learn in school."

"I spent time in your country. Sorry, in England. I studied in Bristol for a year. It was only then that I achieved real command in your language. Since then I have visited England and Scotland many times. I am interested in British music and have travelled to see my favourite bands play at home. Also, I was a big fan of the Scottish band Belle and Sebastian and used to travel to meet-ups of their fans."

"Wow, Belle and Sebastian… they've really gone off the boil lately."

"Yes, I think the old fans have all moved on to other music. As have I. But many of the fans will be my friends for life."

"Bee-Eff-Effs." Lotte looked at him quizzically. "Best friends forever. It's a colloquial phrase."

"I see."

They finished their breakfast and went off to see some more of the city's ancient sites. They walked hand in hand through the ancient Agora, agreeing that the little Temple of Hephaestus had a definite charm to it. Chris had to laboriously explain what he meant by the adjective "dinky". Lotte filed away this information for future reference.

It was a hot day. They sat in the shade under one of the trees that had sprung up in the Agora site. They kissed, attracting the disapproval of the various parkies whose job it was to prevent people from climbing on the ancient monuments. Then Lotte spoke.

"I am going to the Peloponnese tomorrow. You could come with me."

"Where are you going?"

"I will go to several places, but tomorrow I am going to Nafplio for a few nights."

"Where is that?" Chris had not planned to be anywhere other than Athens and so had not really researched locations in the rest of Greece.

"It is in the north east of the Peloponnese. A few hours from here."

"What's there?"

"I have read that it is a nice little town," said Lotte. "What you might call 'dinky', perhaps. But for me the real reasons to go there are the places near it. It is not far from Mycenae and Epidauros."

"Oh wow. I would love to see those."

"Well come with me."

"I will. Well, I would like to." He shuffled uneasily. "But I may not be able to. I have something I have to do in Athens."

"Business with your wife?"

"No, not with her. But business. I suppose that is what it is."

"Beamter business?"

"No, not that." He paused and then continued. "I can't really talk about it. I have something I have to do. If it's over in time I will come with you but if it isn't, well…"

"I see."

"But I would like to come with you. It's just… well I just don't know how long this will take."

"This sounds very mysterious, Chris. Do you have another woman here in Athens?"

"What? Oh Jesus no, nothing like that. No, it's just… well I can't really talk about it."

"It does not matter. You know where I will be. If you are finished in time you can come with me. If not you can follow afterwards." A slight pause. "If you want to."

"I do want to!" He took her hand again. "But I might not be able to. But I will ring you as soon as I am free."

"I will be taking the bus in the morning. If you are doing your business then I suppose you will have to follow in the afternoon or evening."

"Well I might be able to come with you tomorrow. I have to meet someone this evening and that might be the end of it."

"This is very fascinating, Chris. I think I will secretly follow you to see who it is you are meeting."

"Please don't do that, Lotte." He was surprised by the vehemence in his voice, but if the memory stick business turned nasty he did not want her mixed up in it.

"I am just joking. I do not think I would be very good spy."

They strolled around the Agora some more. Then they went off to see the Temple of Olympian Zeus, but it was closed. They could still see it through a whole in the surrounding fence so that seemed almost as good as actually being in there. After ambling around Athens for a while longer they decided to stop for a late lunch that merged into an early dinner. Chris took care at this stage to steer them away from the immediate vicinity of the Bar Apollo and Virones Street. He reckoned he would be heading there afterwards and did not want to make it easy for Lotte to follow him.

They ordered a carafe of wine with their food. Lotte noticed that Chris drank more than three quarters of it, which she put down to nerves about his mysterious business meeting. She was now rather intrigued as to what he was up to. But he was clearly so disinclined to talk about it that any queries would just annoy him without eliciting information, so she let him be. Maybe when it was over and if he did come on to the Peloponnese he would tell her all about it. Until then she would remain curious but hoped to avoid idle and pointless speculation.

Chris looked at his watch. "I have to go." He threw some money down on table and got up. "I'll be in touch."

"Will you?"

"Yes. If I can." He leaned over and kissed her quickly, then took her hand. "Goodbye Lotte. Talk to you soon."

And then he was gone. Lotte finished her drink, wondering if she would ever see him again.

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The story continues

Strange Journey - Chapter 11

Previously

Endings and beginnings

Chris did eventually fall asleep. His dreams were a strange amalgam of his thoughts and fears about Lotte, the jumpsuited women, the cops on the train, his wife, and so on, with even Gav making an appearance at one point, for no obvious reason also wearing a white jumpsuit but not the wig and make-up (because that would have been weird). When he woke in the morning he was still tired.

His hotel did not serve breakfast, so he went out to a nearby café and had a croissant and something called a fredocino, which he ordered almost by accident. It was some kind of mixture of coffee and chocolatey milkshake and to Chris it tasted like the very nectar of the Olympian Gods. With some food in his tummy and caffeine coursing through his veins Chris was in a better position to face the world. So what was he to do today? He had two obvious things on his list - getting rid of the memory stick and getting in touch with Deirdre. But he had to look for Costas in the Bar Apollo in an evening, and he knew Deirdre would be at work during the day. And he liked putting things off, so he persuaded himself that right now would not be a good time to ring his wife. That was something best left to the afternoon, no one likes when their loser husband rings them in the morning when they have just settled into work. So he decided that as he was in Athens for the first time in his life he had better go and do some tourist stuff. The Acropolis was the obvious thing to go for here, so he headed off to that. He thought of ringing Lotte and seeing if she wanted to visit it with him, but again he found himself thinking that this would be an inappropriate course of action, so he went on his own.

Anyone with the slightest appreciation for things of ancient beauty will be impressed by the beauty and otherworldliness of the Acropolis and the buildings upon it. So it was with Chris. Even the teeming mass of other tourists did not diminish the experience for him. If anything, they added to it, the gawping hordes of short-trousered people of all nations making the whole experience more vibrant than it would have been if he had had the site to himself. The behaviour of the other tourists was fascinating to Chris, yet he noticed that they mostly seemed to be trying to ignore each other and pretend that actually they were the only visitors to the Acropolis. People were endlessly trying to photograph themselves or their friends with the Parthenon or Erectheum in the background, but with no other tourists in shot, a Sisyphean task that Chris felt would be mendacious misrepresentation of the site's true nature. But the ways of the tourist are strange and implacable. Chris was also fascinated by the tourist who was wearing what looked like the traditional garb of some east Asian country (perhaps the man's own). Chris thought of asking to take his picture, but feared being misunderstood.

After the Acropolis he had lunch and a drink and decided that there was no putting it off any further, he really would have to get in touch with his wife. But he could not ring her from his mobile, as she would recognise the number and not answer. And even if she did answer, he did not want to have a potentially fraught conversation with her on the side of the road where absolutely anyone passing by could be listening in. So he went back to the hotel to ring her from his hotel room, figuring that if she saw an Athens number come up she would be more inclined to answer. Once back there he dawdled for about an hour before finally plucking up the courage to pick up the phone and dial the number.

"Yasas?" came her voice at the other end of the line.

"Deirdre, it's me," was all he could think to say.

"Who is this?"

"Chris. Your husband."

"Chris? Oh Jesus Christ. Are you in Athens?"

"Yes. I need to see you."

"Well I don't need to see you. If you have something to say, can't you send me an e-mail?"

"Oh come on Deirdre, don't you think you owe me the courtesy of meeting me for what might be the last time?"

"I don't think this is a good idea, Chris."

"Oh for fuck's sake, I've come all this way."

"Well more fool you. It's over Chris. Deal with it."

"I want to see you saying that to my face."

"Oh what, you think I wouldn't be able to?"

"Eh, no, you wouldn't," said Chris.

"Well I would. And what's more, I am willing to show you. There, your reverse psychology has worked. There is café called the Petite Fleur on Omirou, just east of Solonos street. This is in Kolonaki, do you know where that is?"

"Kolonaki? Yeah, I have a map."

"OK, see you there at four. But Chris, I'm warning you, don't go psycho on me."

"I won't. See you there."

"Bye."

She hung up.

He walked quickly over to the café, which was quite a distance away from him in the more commercial part of the town. When he got there, she was already seated at a table outside the café. Chris noted that the place was a good bit busier than he liked. He really would be happier not having witnesses all around for this, but it could not be helped. In any case, they looked like they might mostly be Greeks, so hopefully they would not be able to follow their conversation.

"Hello Deirdre," he said, sitting down opposite her. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, I suppose." She had a coffee in front of her but she was more engaged with the cigarette she was smoking. She only smoked when she was nervous. "But you really shouldn't have come all this way."

"Well I have always wanted to see Greece. I did get to visit the Acropolis this morning. It was very nice."

"That's great, Chris."

"But I didn't come here for that, I came here for you."

"Oh Chris, Chris. It's over. We're finished. I'm not yours anymore."

"I can't believe you mean that."

"Yes you can."

"No I can't."

"Yes you can. I know you too well, Chris, I can tell your insincerity. You're only going through the motions here, we're only having this conversation because you feel you ought to, but you don't really care and you know there isn't the slightest chance I'll come back to you."

"I have to try, Deirdre. I can't let what we've had together go without fighting for it."

"Oh yeah, sure you can't. You're saying the lines, but you don't believe them. You know it's over. Accept it. I've moved on, I've found someone else. You should do the same."

"But Deirdre, I love you…"

"No you don't! When I got the job out here, you said you would be out every month or so to see me, but you never visited."

"Well work was kind of busy…"

"And then when I came back home for a weekend you were stuck in the office the whole time instead of giving me some attention."

"But you picked my deadline week to come home! I was up to my tits with the big project."

"Too up to your tits to hang out with the wife you haven't seen for six months?"

"Well it was a very big project."

"Oh fuck that. You didn't care and you don't care. You're only here now because you feel you ought to, not because you give a shit."

She was starting to cry now.

"You already said that."

"That's because it's true!"

Her raised voice was attracting the attention of the café's other patrons now.

"I do care. I wouldn't have come here if I didn't."

"Oh don't give me that, you're just trying to feel like you're the good guy in this whole stupid story."

She was quite upset now. Chris was starting to reply when he felt a hand descend firmly onto his shoulder. A voice behind him spoke.

"I think you're upsetting Deirdre. You should go."

Before he could turn around he saw Deirdre looking behind him.

"Oh for fuck's sake Gyorgy, I can handle this."

"Gyorgy? Gyorgy?" said Chris, standing up and turning around to face the man standing behind him. He was tall, taller than Chris, tanned, with hair cut short at the front but visibly flowing behind him. He had the physique of someone who clearly liked to work out. Chris was more of a lover than a fighter (and not much of a lover, he had to admit), but even if he had been in the mood for fisticuffs there was no way he was going to get into a suicidal ruck with this pumped Adonis. Still, that would not stop him trading a few childish insults. "So this is your new man," he said to Deirdre. "And his name is Gyorgy. What kind of stupid made up Greek name is that?"

"Who said I was Greek?" said Gyorgy. "I am from -"

"Leave it Gyorgy," said Deirdre, "I can handle this. I don't need you to fight my battles for me."

Gyorgy looked hurt. "Are you sure? It looked to me like he was upsetting you."

"Stop patronising my wife!" said Chris.

"Your wife, my lover," said Gyorgy, with a look of insufferable smugness on his face. It was all Chris could do not to swing at his stupid face.

"Oh shut up the two of you!" shouted Deirdre. "I never want to see either of you idiots again." Before they knew what she was doing she had thrown some money down on the table to cover the cost of her coffee and stormed off.

Gyorgy looked at Chris with a strange mixture of rage, astonishment and pathetic misery. For a brief moment Chris thought that he was about to have his face punched in but then Gyorgy ran after Deirdre.

"Baby, please, come back! Hunky's sorry!"

Chris decided to leave them to it, heading off on the opposite direction. He felt drained now. His attempted reconciliation with Deirdre had proved even more of a disaster than he had expected. Her remarks had cut him to the quick, as was always the case when she said harsh things to him. He found it hard not to conclude that she had read him like a book, that he was an unfeeling monster only going through the motions of pretending to care about their marriage.

So now what? He could kill time and then go to the Bar Apollo to hand the memory stick over to Costas. Then he would have done everything he had to and could slink back to Ireland, assuming he was not murdered first. But he felt deflated by his encounter with Deirdre and in need of self-validation. He knew what that meant and took out his wallet, in which he had secreted the note with Lotte's phone number. He rang her there and then on his mobile, asking if she wanted to meet for a drink or food later. It turned out that she did. So they found themselves meeting at a small restaurant for dinner.

"So," said Lotte. "How are things with you?"

"Well, I met my wife."

"And how was that?"

"Not great. It's over between us. Completely. No chance at all of us ever getting back together again. And I knew it all along. I only came here because I thought I ought to. I never thought there was any chance of getting back together again."

"Oh you look so sad."

Lotte was stating the obvious but her voice communicated such concern that Chris could not be moved. He did not want to completely wallow in self-pity, so he changed the subject by asking her what she had been doing in Athens.

"I have been a busy tourist," she replied. "I was at the big archaeological museum, which is up beyond that roundabout where we got the metro. It is very impressive, but not in a nice part of town. And yet there are so many things in the museum, so many beautiful things. You should go there Chris."

"I should."

"And then I went to the Acropolis."

They compared notes on their Acropolis visits. Perhaps they were minded to agree with each other on things, but it was remarkable how similar their views of that great monument were.

After dinner Chris was onto a third beer and he started being maudlin again.

"Five years we were married. Five years. And it's all over now. I can't believe she's left me like that."

"Oh Chris, you are so sad."

"I am sad. My heart is broken." He felt a bit ridiculous saying it.

"She is still there in your heart."

"I suppose she is."

"Perhaps what you need is for someone to help you get her out of your heart."

"Help? How?"

Lotte smiled a wicked smile. "I think I know a way."

He caught her drift. They paid the bill and went back to her hotel, which was nearby and, Chris noted, considerably nicer than the one he was staying in. They kissed in the lift up to her room, and then embraced more fully once they had shut the door behind them. They went at quickly, just about leaving enough time to put on a condom, that they did not properly undress. Their outer clothing tangled around their flailing limbs, like they were animals caught in a trap.

"Jesus Christ," said Chris when it was over.

Then they undressed and got into bed and soon they were at it again. Afterwards Chris held Lotte in his arms.

"Holiday romance, it is good," she murmured.

"Good for you, for me the end of my marriage," said Chris. Post coital mopiness with a slight undercurrent of whininess had descended upon him. He turned away from her.

"Oh poor Chris, don't think of silly wife. She is fool for leaving you. Poor silly Chris." She turned around and kissed the back of his neck, before starting to nibble at his ear. One thing led to another and soon they were engaging in a sensational third round of lovemaking, after which they both fell into an exhausted sleep.

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The story continues

Strange Journey - Chapter 10

Previously

Choices

Chris felt like an icy cold hand had grabbed his heart. Julian. The voice had called him Julian. That was the name the man he would use with the man he was to give the memory stick to. The owner of the voice knew who he was.

He turned around to see who was behind him, ready to run or to fight. He was surprised to see him facing two slight-looking women, both wearing white jumpsuits. They sported similar black bob haircuts that he felt had to be wigs. They were made up with dark eye-shadow that spread so far around their face that they would have looked like pandas, were it not for the thick red lipstick smeared about their mouths. The effect of the odd costume, make-up and wigs was to obscure their real appearance and make them look like they shared a collective identity.

"Julian? I think you're mistaking me for someone else," he said, playing for time.

The woman on the right smiled. The woman on the left smiled too. The woman on the right spoke.

"Don't worry, we know that Julian is not your actual name."

"But we know you will go by the name Julian," said the woman on the left. "We don't know your real name. We don't care what your real name is. But we know who you are."

"We know what you have," said Right.

"We want it," said Left.

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Chris. It was relatively easy to feign bafflement. Even though he did know what they were talking about, everything else about them made no sense.

"We must apologise," said Right. "We chose badly when we recruited associates in Milan. Their methods were cruder than we would find acceptable."

"And they were unsuccessful," said Left.

"Our approach is different. Where they tried force, we try persuasion."

"And inducements," said Left. She held up a shopping bag containing objects whose nature was not immediately apparent to Chris, though an explanation was soon forthcoming. "One hundred thousand Euros. It can be yours. If you give us the memory stick."

"That is a most interesting offer," said Chris. "Though of course I still have no idea what this memory stick you are talking about is. But if I did… there is still the matter of those French cops who are going to haul me in for drug smuggling if I don't deliver the stick for them."

The two women looked at each other and then looked back at Chris. They smiled at him again. Their smile now was patronising. Chris did not like being patronised.

"Oh dear," said Left. "Did you really think they were cops?"

"They have no power over you," said Right.

"Take the money, give us the memory stick," said Left. "You will not hear from them again."

"And if you do, laugh in their face. They can do nothing."

This was not unconvincing. And it was hard to say no to someone offering you a hundred thousand Euro for something you did not want. But Chris hated people telling him that what they wanted was in his best interest. And he was genuinely fascinated by this whole business with the memory stick. Almost like a spectator in his own story, he wanted to see how it would end, and he felt that taking the money and giving them the stick would be like walking out of a cinema before the end of a film.

"No dice," he said, almost surprised that this was the phrase that popped out of his mouth. "Thanks for the offer, but you keep your money and I'll keep the stick."

"You are making a big mistake," said Right.

"Oh right, I suppose this is the moment when you both take out guns and try to shoot me, or else your accomplices come out of the shadows and try to take the stick from me by force?"

"Nothing so crude," said Right.

"Those are not our methods," said Left. "Your mistake lies in refusing the money - think what you could do with it."

"And think of who you are giving the stick to. You don't know anything about them. You don't know what they are going to do with the information it contains."

Chris had not thought of this. But what could the stick have on it? Sensitive commercial secrets? Some top secret bullshit government information from somewhere? Did he really care what anyone did with this information? No, he did not.

"I don't know and I don't care."

"Please," said Right, her tone almost pleading. "You have been forced to carry this stick. The people forcing you are not your friends. We are not your friends either, but we are making a generous offer to you for the stick. Does that not count for something?"

"If the money is not enough," said Left, "more could probably be arranged."

"You really want the memory stick," said Chris.

"To be honest," said Left, her voice sounding far more natural than it had at any point up to now, "we do not particularly want it. But we do not want it to reach its intended recipients. The consequences of that would be disastrous."

"Why? Who are these people I am to give it to?"

The two women looked at each other again, before turning back to Chris.

"We cannot tell you that," said Right.

"I'm sorry," said Left. The woman on the right nudged her. "I mean, we're sorry."

"We mean we're sorry," said Right, sounding somewhat irritated.

"That's what I meant," said Left.

"Stop fucking it up!" said Right.

"Jesus, give me a break. It's not easy to talk like this I'm some kind of fucking robot."

"Not in front of him!"

"Who said you could boss me around? I thought we were all equal?"

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"Ladies please, stop fighting," said Chris. "Or continue fighting if you like. I'll be on my way."

He walked off. Every moment he expected something untoward to happen - a gunshot, some kind of ray gun or poison dart bringing a veil of unconsciousness or death down on him, or as previously mentioned the sudden appearance of more jumpsuited weirdoes to wrestle him to the ground. Instead he just heard the two women bickering behind him, their voices receding as the distance between him and them increased.

"Now look what you've done. You fucking idiot."

"I'm the fucking idiot? This whole approach was your idea."

"You signed up for it. But you couldn’t stick to it. Like the fucking idiot you are."

"I don't have to take this. I could ask for reassignment."

"Well go right ahead, see if I care."

That was the last he heard of them. Or maybe he heard the words "blue chapter", but he was so far away by that point that they could have been saying anything.

He returned to his hotel and went to bed, though this time he was very careful to barricade his door with his bag and a chair provided by the room. Even so, various anxieties meant that he found sleep hard to come by. There were the jumpsuited women, of course. He had barricaded the door, but he bet that they would not find it much of an obstacle if they really put their mind to it. Or they could come in through the window. He had not barricaded that, and the balcony would be relatively accessible to people who were able to climb up walls. He had closed and locked the window, but surely they would be able to open that? And if they were to come in now, would they not be angry because he had refused their offer? Indeed, he found it hard not to think that they would be doubly angry, because they would probably want to patch up things between them by venting their fury on him. So if they showed up, he would be in trouble. They would not be offering him any more money for the memory stick.

But he did not just worry about being assaulted by the jumpsuited women. There was also the question of what would happen when he handed over the stick to Costas in the Bar Apollo. Would Costas wish him hearty thanks for his efforts and send him on his way, perhaps after buying Chris a beer as a sign of his gratitude? Or would Costas kill him to stop him telling anyone about his odd adventure? Put like that Chris had to concede that maybe the women had a point, that maybe he was being a fool to serve as a data mule for that mysterious shower of gobshites. But he felt that he had gone too far to back out now and he had a detached curiosity about how the whole escapade would end.

And of course, leaving aside the memory stick, there was also the small matter of his fucking wife, who was after all the real reason he had come to Greece in the first place. He still had to confront her and, what? Beg her not to leave him? Chris felt that in this regard he was completely wasting her time, for in their time together he knew that when Deirdre had settled on a course of action there was no turning her from it. Yet, as with the memory stick, he felt that he had to follow the story through to the end. Even if he had no hope of success, he was like an actor in a film who could not deviate from the script assigned to him.

He also thought of Lotte. Gav had said that she was clearly enamoured of him (though not of course in those words). Chris was daring to believe that he might be right about this, that Lotte's behaviour towards him was more than friendliness. He felt a bit conflicted about this, given that he was in Athens on a desperate mission to try and save his marriage, but simple vanity made Chris like the idea of an attractive woman like Lotte being attracted to him. He found himself imagining her undressing and climbing into bed beside him, imagining caressing her body and climbing on top of her. Maybe Gav was right, maybe German women really were all uncontrollable once you got them in the sack. He hated himself for thinking like this.

The story continues

Strange Journey - Chapter 9

Previously

Continuing journey

As he lay back in the lounge trying to sleep Chris found it hard not to think that he really should have taken up Lotte's offer. It was not every day an attractive woman invited him back to her room only a couple of hours after meeting him. And even if she was genuinely just offering him her spare bed he would probably have got a lot more sleep there than he was getting in the lounge. The Australians now had several hours of drinking down and their arguments about which of them were sleeping where were becoming more heated. And louder, thanks to the magic of alcohol. And added to the cacophony were the cries of people calling on them to be quiet and let everyone get some rest. That so many of these cries were in languages the Australians did not understand (i.e. any language other than English) was not really helping to resolve the situation. On the other hand, here the only thing keeping Chris awake was the noise. He suspected that being in a bed in the same room as that beautiful German prove far more distracting to his need for sleep.

Eventually the arguments and conversations died down to an extent that it was possible for Chris to slip into the arms of sleep. But it seemed like he had abandoned wakefulness for only a few seconds before he was jerked awake once more by a series of announcements over the ship's tannoy system. It seemed they would soon be making a night docking at the port of Corfu and it was necessary to announce this repeatedly in many different languages. The insistent tones prevented Chris from dropping back off to sleep, but he thought to himself that once they actually docked he would quickly be able to nod off.

As the ship came into the port, the Australians roused themselves back into life. It seemed like they were all getting off here rather than journeying on to Patras. But one of the Australians seemed to have drunk herself into a terrible stupor and her companions were having terrible trouble waking her. Simply carrying her off the boat seemed not to be an option, so instead her countryfolk were trying a succession of ways of waking her up. These ranged from shouting at her (her name was Tina, as Chris learned from the repeated cries of "Tina! Tina! Wake up! Wake up Tina! You have to wake up Tina!" and variants thereof) to slapping her face to throwing water on her, often with several of these and other methods being tried in combination. Soon other passengers were getting involved and offering their own suggestions as to what might bring Tina out of her sweet dreams. Many of these were either nonsensical or thankfully incomprehensible to the stoutly Anglophone Australians. Chris was quite taken with the Orthodox priest who started offering up some loud musical prayers to bring the poor Australian girl back to wakefulness. Or maybe he was calling down some terrible curse on the Australians and all of their kin back home in the southern hemisphere; as Chris did not know any Greek the priest could have been saying anything.

Yet whatever the priest was saying, it seemed like his prayers did the trick. Tina suddenly and indignantly rejoined the waking world.

"What's all the fucking noise? I'm trying to sleep!" she cried out.

"Tina, you can't sleep now, we're in Corfu. Come on!" said one of her compatriots. The pulled her into an upright position and attached her rucksack to the back and then the whole tribe of antipodeans launched into a chorus of "Tie Me Kangaroo Down" as they marched out of the lounge. Their departure did lead to another bout of shuffling and scuffling as people moved into the spaces they had vacated, trying to grab a better seat than the one they had left. Chris also reckoned that a number of people who had not paid for lounge seats were now bunking in to get some free kip in the hours before morning. But the moving and arguments over places soon subsided and Chris was able to sleep once more.

He still woke early enough. Passengers around him were stirring and even though he would like more sleep, his body clock was confusedly telling him that it was much later than he wore up yesterday, so really he ought to be awake and up today by now. His fatigue protested, but Chris that resistance was useless - he was not going to get any more sleep now. He rested in his seat for a while and then he decided it was time to get up and see what there was to see outside now.

The boat now had land on either side of it. Chris was not one hundred per cent sure of the geography of the voyage. Possibly they were now moving up the Gulf of Corinth, with the land on one side being the Peloponnese and the other northern Greece. Or maybe it was the Greek mainland on one side and Ithaca on the other? He had read something on that train website about the boat going by the island of Odysseus in the morning, so maybe that was it?

And then Lotte joined him. She was looking radiant with her long hair clearly having been washed and dried that he was suddenly conscious of how stinky he felt after spending the night in his clothes with no chance to shower or change. He almost thought of finding some excuse to run away from her so she would have to turn her nose up at him, but he stood his ground.

"Good morning, have you slept well?" she said.

"Not really," he said. "But it could have been worse."

"You should have joined me," she said.

"I probably should have. Oh well. How did you sleep?"

"Soundly. Though I was able to hear sounds of sexual congress from the cabin next to me. The walls are not very thick."

"How unfortunate. I on the other hand was in a room full of argumentative Australians."

"Just be glad they were not Austrians," said Lotte, making reference to some obscure Germanophone stereotype of which Chris knew nothing.

"Do you know what that island is?"

"Why yes, I have looked at my map. It is Ithaca. You know, the island that Odysseus was from and to which he wanted to return after the Trojan War."

"It seems a lot bigger than I had imagined."

"Well he was a king, so I suppose he had to be king of somewhere fairly big. And there is the other island behind it, which might make it look bigger than it is."

They looked out at the view for a while. Lotte broke the silence.

"You are like Odysseus, making a long journey to see your wife once more."

"I'm not sure she will be as pleased to see me as Penelope was."

"Will you have to kill an army of suitors?"

"I'm not really much of a fighter," said Chris. He then thought of hospitalised Beppe, who might disagree. "And I don't think she has an army of suitors. Just the one. Well, she said she had met someone else. But you don't know Deirdre, beating up her new man would not really be the way to win her affections."

"It is so seldom like that in real life."

They gazed out at the islands some more and then went inside to get a coffee and croissant for breakfast.

"Damn good coffee," said Chris, engaging in a somewhat ineffectual impersonation of Agent Cooper from Twin Peaks.

Lotte looked quizzically at him.

"Ah yes, irony. It is hard in a second language."

"That's probably why Germans have that reputation for being humourless."

"Yes, and the fact that we are too hardworking to have time for making jokes."

She said this with such a deadpan expression that it took Chris several moments to realise she was making a joke. He laughed.

Time passed. Gav appeared and latched onto them once more, telling them more anecdotes about his life. Chris reflected on how nothing anecdotal ever seemed to happen to him. The ship inched on towards Patras. It arrived. They left the ferry and made their way out into the unprepossessing terminal. Chris liked how there seemed to be no arrival formalities here. The magic of Schengen, he assumed.

Gav insisted they take a taxi into the bus station. On the way in they passed where someone had written "This is Sparta!" on a wall. Chris wondered whether the slogan had a vague political significance or if it was just people echoing a line in a popular film. He also thought it odd that people would write graffiti using Roman script - it suggested they wanted English-speakers to read it. Or maybe some Anglophones had made the graffiti, confused as to where exactly in Greece they were. Chris wondered all these things but reached no definite conclusions.

The taxi rolled into central Patras. The town seemed a lot more picturesque to Chris than he had expected. The buildings nestled at the edge of hills whose name he wished he knew as they probably had some name evocative of the ancient history of the country. The sunny weather probably helped make the town look so appealing, that and it being the first place in Greece he had seen. But there was an unpretentious attractiveness to the streets and buildings. Chris was also struck by the people. They were far less stylishly dressed than the good folk of Milan, but they almost looked like they did not need to. The men and women seemed like the most beautiful folk he had ever seen. Well, the younger ones anyway. It was easy for him to imagine this once having been a land of demigods and goddesses. The handsomeness of the men also made the fabled fondness of the ancient Greeks for same sex relationships seem like a far more appealing prospect than anything similar in Ireland.

Not everything about the town was beautiful. They passed the train station, now boarded up and falling into dereliction, the north Peloponnese branch of the railway line a victim of the country's economic crisis. Overall though, the city did not show much in the way of obvious signs of Greece's economic woes. The central square was not full of ragged beggars, but Chris knew that the superficially calm and pleasant exterior might well hide domestic scenes of quiet desperation, as people struggled to survive in the aftermath of the economic tsunami that had swept over their country. But there was nothing he could really do about that.

The taxi dropped them at the bus station. They went inside and found that they were in luck - there was an express bus leaving for Athens in a few minutes. It was only as they boarded the bus that Chris registered that he had ended up both paying Gav's share of the taxi and buying his ticket to Athens. Come to think of it, he had also found himself buying Gav a load of beers yesterday, as well as picking up his food bill. But he decided not to make a fuss about it. Whatever else about his Welsh "friend", Chris suspected that Gav had far less money than he did. So subsidising his travels was for Chris a form of charity. Or maybe Chris's deep-seated desire to avoid confrontation was in play here again. Either way he reckoned he was right not to bother trying to get Gav to cough up. Gav would be unable to pay his share or else would use feigned inability to pay as a a tool to escape his commitments. Chris knew a waste of time when he saw one, and that's what trying to get money out of Gav would be.

Their bus pulled out of Patras and headed off on the way east to Athens. They were on a coatal road, which meant that on their right they had the majestic hills and mountains of the Peloponnese, their slopes looking parched and dry in the late summer. Sometimes they passed roads heading off south, looking like they had been cut into the rock. But of course they could just be following river valleys. On the other side they could see the sea and beyond that occasional glimpses of northern Greece.

Bus journeys have their own peculiar relationship to time. Before long Chris had lost any sense of how long they had been on the bus and found it hard to believe that they would ever not be on the bus. He dozed for a bit. Sometimes he woke up and realised that his head had fallen onto Lotte's shoulder. He pulled himself back up again but as he slipped back into sleep his head would find his way back there again. She did not seem to mind. There was a definite erotic charge to feeling himself so close to her like that, but it was one he was far too tired to really appreciate. Less erotically appealing was the fact that Gav too was also falling asleep for much of the journey, with his quietly snoring head having a tendency to end up on Chris's other shoulder (they had drawn the short straw and found themselves seated at the back of the bus, with Lotte at the window).

Sleep began to elude Chris and he found himself taking more of an interest in the countryside around them, what he could see of it from his obscured vantage point. They were no longer by the sea. They were crossing the Corinth canal, which seemed to be have been cut straight through the isthmus at sea level, a prodigious feat of engineering yet one that seemed to Chris to be at least somewhat pointless. But even if the canal did not serve any great purpose as a way of moving ships and goods, it made for an effective marker of where the Peloponnese ended. Once they had crossed it, Chris felt that he was now on a bus travelling through Attica. It would not be long now before they were in Athens.

Now they had the sea on their right. Chris tried to remember maps he had seen of this part of the world, to work out whether he was looking at anything as exciting as the site of the battle of Salamis or somesuch. Every hill looked like it might have been where Xerxes sat on his throne, watching the destruction of his fleet. But there was sadly no kitsch reconstruction of the enthroned Persian emperor, so the precise hill remained unmarked for him.

They passed what must have been the port of Piraeaus, vast ships sitting in the bay waiting to dock. Gav, clearly now awake once more, nudged Chris in the ribs.

"Here, is that where I've got to get my ferry to Turkey?"

"Looks like it might be."

"Maybe I should stop the bus and walk down there."

"It looks a bit far. And I don't think they'll stop. It's an express bus."

"Oh I could make it stop. But you reckon it's too far to walk?"

"It looks like miles. And you wouldn't know the way."

"Yeah, you're right, I'll go on to Athens and go down from there."

Now they were in the outskirts of Athens. This was the non-descript sprawl that surrounds all great cities. Non-descript identikit sprawl. They could really have been anywhere, only the Greek script on the signage signifying that they were not in Western Europe anymore. And the Roman alphabet seemed to be in not inconsiderable use. Chris was no great partisan of the Latin side of the schism between Greece and Western Europe, but he felt a certain tinge of sectarian pride at the site of a strip club that prominently advertised its wares using the Roman alphabet (and English language).

And then they pulled into the bus station. Chris was surprised. It did not feel like they were properly into the city but that they were still penetrating its outer reaches. This area of dual carriage ways surrounded by low-rise buildings did not look remotely like a proper urban centre. But then bus stations were often a good bit away from the centre of a city, largely because of the problems of getting buses through built-up areas.

Chris had read his guidebook obsessively so he knew there was a local bus they could get from the bus station to a metro station further into Athens. But as the bus drew to a halt, he suddenly remembered that that bus stations often have a reputation for being a bit seedy and sketchy. Was this one of those bus stations where shady customers would be waiting to prey on unwitting travellers? It did not look too bad. There were people loitering around, but they looked pretty much like people would who were waiting for a bus (or waiting to meet people they knew who were arriving on a bus). But then again, serious criminals would hardly make it their business to look like stereotypical criminals, would they? So he was somewhat on edge when they descended from the bus and collected their bags. But no marauding mobs of thieving wastrels descended on them, and it seemed like they would be able to go on their way unmolested.

"How'm I going to get to that harbour place from here then?" said Gavin.

"I don't know for sure, but I think you can get the metro," said Chris.

"Can I get the metro from here?"

"I think it's a couple of miles away."

"Ah Jesus, I'm not walking a couple of miles."

"Come with us," said Lotte, taking charge. "We will take another bus to the metro station."

This is what they did. The local bus took them into areas that looked more properly urban to Chris. But this was a shabby urban of unkempt streets and unappealing buildings, buildings that looked like they were badly maintained and not used to regular cleanings. The same could be said of the people on the streets, who looked like they came from the less affluent end of Athenian society. Or so Chris hoped. It would be a bit depressing if this turned out to be the relatively swanky bit of town, though it would explain why so many people had made remarks about hearing that Athens was a right kip when they heard he was coming out here. But many of the people on the street looked like they were not native Greeks, with headscarves and African features being not uncommon. Chris had heard that immigrants were somewhat marginalised in Greek society (as they were in his own), so it was logical to assume that this was probably a somewhat marginal part of Athens.

The bus journey finished on an unprepossessing side street. They made their way up to an open square on which there was a metro station. The square turned out to be a roundabout. There were a lot of people milling about. Many of them looked like they were either insane or dangerous (or both). Chris was glad that he was not here on his own and that they would not be staying there long. They descended into the depths of the metro station. And then they parted, for Gav was taking one line south to Piraeus while Lotte and Chris were travelling on the other into central Athens. Gav hugged Lotte, making lewd facial gestures to Chris while he did so. He then gave Chris a big manly bear hug, the smell of several days' worth of accumulated sweat being something that he reckoned he would never forget. And then he was gone.

Chris travelled only a few stops with Lotte before she revealed that she had to get off to go to her hotel. They had no time for involved partings as she jumped up to leave the carriage. But she handed Chris a note that she had obviously prepared earlier.

"My phone number. Ring me if you want to meet for a drink. I am in Athens for a few days."

She kissed him quickly on the cheek.

"Goodbye Chris."

"Goodbye Lotte."

And then she was gone too, leaving Chris on the train, alone with his thoughts.

He travelled on a few more stops and then emerged from the metro into the area he was staying in. He was slightly to the south of the centre, in a residential area. This part of town too was quite run down, but unlike the areas he had come through on the bus the buildings were nicer, as though the shabbiness was almost a form of entropy chic rather than the sign of urban decay and social malaise. There also seemed here to be an abundance of cats on the streets, which gave it a somewhat picturesque quality. He ventured on to his hotel, checked in, and made his way to his room. It was rather Spartan. Chris found this irony amusing. After showering and changing into clean clothes he decided to head out for food. He thought of phoning his wife, but he needed to eat now and could not face the idea of a fraught dinner with her. He also thought of phoning Lotte and seeing if they could dine together, but it did not seem appropriate. So he explored the local restaurant area, somehow ending up in a pretty second-rate Italian restaurant despite the presence all around of so many places serving Greek food. He ate a substandard pizza of the kind that would shock an Italian, but in his hunger he found it sufficient for his needs, particularly when washed down with a Greek beer. And then he strolled around some more and decided to head back to his hotel.

He was ambling along, thinking about the last few days and admiring some of the pretty cats he could see staring at him, wishing he had brought some food for them (do cats like leftover pizza?), when he heard a woman's voice behind him speak.

"Julian. We need to talk," she said, in English, clearly addressing him.

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The story continues

Strange Journey - Chapter 8

Previously

Temptation

They checked in and then waited outside to board their boat. Departure was not going to be for some time so they had a few beers at an open-air café by the terminal. Or rather Lotte drank an orange juice, Chris nursed one beer, while Gav drank several. Gav was in a garrulous mood.

"I'm from Port Talbot. In Wales, you know? But I've lived all over. Me friends call me Welsh Gav. Like I'm some kind of comedy national stereotype. Not me friends in Wales, mind, just me friends outside. But most people call me Welsh Gav because I haven't seen me friends in Wales in while. It's a long time since I was home. Can't really go back, to be honest, there was a bit of an incident. Best not go there, both meanings."

He laughed to himself. Chris hoped desperately that Lotte was finding Gav as much of a dose as he was. She did laugh with him, but it was impossible to tell whether she was just being polite or else was genuinely entertained.

After some time that for Chris seemed to stretch on to an eternity of unfunny anecdotes they were able to board the ferry. After they had walked on Lotte said suddenly, "I must go to find the cabin I have reserved. I will look for you later." Chris thought she was saying this primarily to him. He hoped so, but now he was stuck with Gav.

"So you're not sharing a cabin with her?"

"What? Oh no," said Chris, "we've only just met. On the train down."

"She's one sexy bird. Great pair of tits."

Chris felt that he should really say something to put a stop to this kind of talk from Gav, but avoiding confrontation was so hardwired into his make-up that he said nothing. But Gav was not to be stopped.

"You're gonna have your go on her?"

"What?" Chris was shocked by the directness of the question.

"She's all over you, man. Get in there."

"Er, I can't really. I'm a married man."

Gav thought this was hilarious. "Ah yeah, sure mate, but just because you're getting fed at home doesn't mean you can't have the odd takeaway now and then, know what I mean? And if you ask me, you don't look like your wife's cooked up a good meal for you in a while. Know what I mean? So treat yourself to a good nosh-up, eh?"

Chris did not know what to say so he continued to remain silent.

"Those German birds," continued Gav, "they're fucking out of control in the sack. They're all very proper the rest of the time, but when you get their kit off - it's the fucking invasion of Poland all over again! No stopping them, man, no stopping them. Total sexkrieg." He spoke like a man who was something of an expert on the lovemaking habits of women in all countries of the world.

Chris finally snapped. "Jesus Chris will you stop talking like that?"

"Yeah sorry mate, no hard feelings, we're just mates together. No harm done."

"Oh, here's the lounge with the airplane seats. I've booked a place in here."

"I'm just gonna find a place to doss down on the deck," said Gav.

This was music to Chris's ears.

"We'll meet up later for a few beers."

This was not. But Chris was happy to see the back of Gav at least for a while as he made his way into the lounge to find his seat and dump his bags. He sat back in the chair and a wave of fatigue came over him as he remembered how little sleep he had had the night before. He fell into a state that was almost but not quite sleep. He would have fallen further had not a large group of Australian students arrived and commenced a load and interminable discussion as to who was meant to sit where. This kept Chris awake, but he was still glad of being able to sit quietly in a chair without having to talk to anyone or respond to other people's talk. Despite the noise and fuss around he him he drifted into a state on the borderlands between sleep and wakefulness.

He did not so remain forever. He began to feel hungry and thought about getting some food. He also wanted to see Lotte again. And he wanted to get away from the Australians, who were still arguing about where they were all going to be sitting. Their discussions had started involving other passengers and were becoming increasingly fractious. A Greek Orthodox priest travelling in the lounge with his family was trying to broker some kind of settlement. Or maybe he was just telling everyone to shut up because they were harshing his buzz. Either way, Chris had had enough. He left the lounge and wandered out into the ship to see what was to be had. There was a restaurant, but it was completely full up with people queuing out the door for it. What Chris could see of the menu made it look like it was all meaty stuff - nothing for the likes of him. There were also a couple of bars where snacky stuff could be had, including sandwiches and pizza slices that looked at least semi-edible. That might do him, he thought. But he wanted to find Lotte first, as he thought it would be nicer to eat with her than on his own.

She was sitting alone at a table on an open deck at the back of the ship, reading from a book while drinking something that may have been a gin and tonic or perhaps just a lemonade. She saw him first and waved to catch his attention. He waved back and came over to sit with her.

"Do you want to go and get something to eat?"

"I am hungry but if we wait here they will come and serve us," she said.

"How is your cabin?"

"It is nice and quiet. Comfortable for one, though I think it would be rather small for two. And you, are you in a cabin?"

"Oh no, I decided just to get a seat in the lounge."

"And how is it?"

"It's comfortable, though a bit noisy. I hope it quietens down later."

A waiter came by. Lotte called him over and they ordered food and drinks to go with it.

"And I'll have a bacon sandwich, with some chips, and a beer," said a voice that Chris realised was that of Gav. "Good job I found you, eh?"

"Are you in the lounge too?" said Lotte.

"What, me? No way. I'll be sleeping up on the deck," he said, pointing up towards the top deck. "Unless I receive a better offer." He chuckled.

"Do you have a locker to leave your bag in?" asked Lotte.

"None of that," said Gav. "But who'd want me stuff anyway? Nah, I left my bag upstairs and told this Spanish guy up there I'd rip him a new hole if anyone touched me bag. I don't think he speaks any English but he caught my drift well enough."

Chris found himself thinking that he had not charged anyone with the task of watching his stuff. Furthermore, in the confused atmosphere of the lounge it would be very easy for a disreputable person to have a snoop through his possessions for anything valuable. Not that he had anything worth stealing… apart from the memory stick. He felt his breast pocket for its reassuring outline.

"Giving your tit a feel, eh?"

"No!" said Chris, increasingly irritated by Gav's jocular comments. "Just checking… something." He said no more. The less he gave away the better. For all he knew Gav might be another one of the people trying to stop him bringing the memory stick to the rendezvous in Greece. So too might Lotte, he realised with a sinking feeling. She seemed like a nice friendly sort, but then he remembered all the noir films he had seen where the woman turned out to be a sinister presence luring a man to his doom. Lotte did not come across like some kind of siren trying to use her feminine wiles to relieve him of the memory stick, but she would hardly be a good operator if she came across like that. The realisation that he would have to be careful with her depressed him, as he was growing fond of her and wanted to like her without suspicions getting in the way. But the awareness that he was growing fond of her also depressed him, as he was after all a married man travelling to Greece in a desperate attempt to save his marriage. He should not really be letting himself fall for attractive German tourists on the way.

Lotte and Gav had been carrying on their own conversation while all these thoughts were racing through Chris's head. "So you've never been to Turkey then?" Gav said.

"No, never, but it is somewhere I would like to visit. There are so many places to see in the world and so little time."

"I've never been there either, but I'm going to make it there now. A mate was telling me that it's a great spot so I'm gonna check it out. It's meant to be really chilled but with great clubs and stuff."

"It might depend on where you go there," said Lotte.

"Yeah? Do you reckon? Where do you think all the good stuff would be?"

"Well I do not know, I have not read about the country closely. But I think Istanbul would have a lot of things happening there as it is meant to be a very modern city."

"Yeah, I might go there then."

"But other places I think are more conservative and quiet - there may not be these nightclubs you want there."

"Oh no, I don't want that. I want to be where the clubs are, where it's all happening."

"Do you have a guidebook or anything for Turkey?" said Chris. He already knew the answer would be in the negative and tried to keep a note of condescension out of his voice.

"No way man, I don't go for them. I'll just sort it out as I go on."

Their food arrived, together with their drinks. Conversation died as they ate. Afterwards they started talking again, particularly after Gav ordered them all another round of drinks. He started explaining the rules of rugby to Lotte. The realisation that he was stuck in the company of a rugger bugger made Chris's heart sink still further. But then Gav got up from the table.

"I'm off for a piss - I'll be back." He said the last words in a faux Arnold Schwarzenegger accent.

Lotte and Chris sat silently for a moment. The Lotte spoke.

"Did you say it was noisy in the lounge where you will be sleeping tonight?"

"Yeah, but maybe it will quieten down later. I certainly hope so."

"If you think you will have trouble sleeping, you could come and stay in my cabin," she said. After a short pause she continued. "There is a spare bed."

Spare bed or not, this was an appealing offer, but Chris understood himself well enough to know that if he did find himself sharing a room with Lotte he would start trying it on with her, and then he would not really feel himself able to take the moral high ground with Deirdre when he arrived in Athens.

"Oh thanks," he said, "but I think I'll stay where I am. I wouldn't want to put you out."

"It would be no problem for me."

"I know, but you said yourself the cabin would be a bit small for too. I'll let you enjoy it yourself. It's best if I sleep in the lounge. Anyway, I don't know what my wife would say if she found out I was sharing a room with a strange German woman on boat to Greece."

"I am not a strange German woman! And she need never know."

"I'd know. And I am trying to save my marriage. So I must decline."

"I understand." She looked into his eyes and smiled. He smiled back. It seemed like she really did understand. Chris thought about trying to sleep alone in the lounge with all those Australians when he could be in the cabin with this wonderful woman, either in the spare bed or in hers. In his heart he felt that he was making the mistake of his life, but so be it.

They sat momentarily in silence until Lotte spoke quietly.

"Chris?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell Gav I have a spare bed in my cabin."

"Don't worry, I won't." They laughed.

Gav returned before too long. "Don't think much of the bogs here, man," he said, before giving a detailed listing of the problems he had found with the lavatory he had visited.

The story continues