Читать книгу ELVIS SAILS AGAIN - DAVID J CHRISTOPHER - Страница 6

If Jock could have heard the airport announcement as he sat in the hot Nidri office Skyping with HQ, it would have brought a relieved smile to his sun kissed face. The Gods of Delay had smiled on him today.

"We regret the delay of flight FABA 8788 to...... PREVEZA and any inconvenience this may cause to its valued passengers."

"Blah, blah, blah. Oh better and better," muttered one of those valued passengers, feeling anything but. Richard did not look as though he was about to go on holiday. There was no carefree smile across his face, indeed Richard's bonhomie had been in short supply all day.

"It's going to be fun, you'll see," said his wife Anne hopefully.

"This is not sailing as I know it," he replied sulkily. "This is no more than a floating guided tour of the busiest spots of the Ionian. The idea of being shepherded around from one place to another like a group of Hi De Hi campers, fills me with abhorrence. Sailing is supposed to be about the feeling of freedom, not being tied to some pesky convoy."

The holiday had been a retirement present from his largely well-meaning, if indifferent, co-workers at the Falmouth based pump manufacturers that Richard had managed for the last fifteen years. Recently his management input had been limited as retirement loomed on the ever nearer horizon. With the new Chinese owners taking over last year his title of managing director had become largely symbolic.

"This was Joy's fault. The most misnamed person I've ever known. She's had it in for me since the day I inherited her from Dick. For the last twelve years I've heard nothing but how bloody marvellous he was as a boss. She's been waiting for this day, I tell you."

"Well you're free of her now. Think of all the time we'll spend together now you're retired," Anne said stony faced as she considered precisely that.

"A sailing holiday. How perfect," he lied to his audience as he opened the golden envelope at his sparsely attended leaving presentation.

Somehow he had managed to continue looking both pleased and grateful as he read the Sailaway brochure out loud and realised that he had been given a one week all expenses paid flotilla holiday for four.

"How lovely, we can take another couple with us," Anne had said when he showed it to her later. "What about Charles and Cynthia?"

"But the woman never stops moaning," he told his wife. "Charles is okay but hell, Cynthia? Really? The boat's only thirty-four feet long. You can't get away from anyone on a boat that small."

"But I know Charles has always dreamt of going to Greece, and I feel so sorry for him married to Cynthia," said Anne.

"Sort of a booby prize is it?" Richard commented laconically.

But as ever he had given in to Anne. So now, early Friday morning, all four of them sat around plastic picnic tables in the departure lounge of Gatwick Airport's south terminal, waiting for the budget airline to invite them to board. Ahead lay a three and a half hour flight to Preveza followed by a two hour coach transfer down to Nidri. Allowing for the two hour time difference they should have been due there at about 5pm local time. Clearly that was not going to happen now. Richard sat gazing out across the concourse towards the runway. It was early September but already what passed for summer in the UK had gone. It was raining and about 17 degrees centigrade.

"Well at least the weather will be good," he said to himself. "Should be 30 degrees plus and wall to wall sunshine where we're going."

"Apparently they get lots of thunderstorms in Greece at this time of year," piped up Cynthia as if on cue. "And we'll have to wear factor 50 when the sun is out, otherwise we'll fry."

"Any more coffee anyone?" asked Anne brightly.

Richard shook his head. He couldn't understand why modern coffee outlets insisted on serving their product in paper buckets. He was now of an age when drinking large quantities of any liquid carried with it multiple pit stops, and he felt another one coming on.

Charles and Cynthia also declined, shaking their heads.

"Trying to cut out caffeine," Cynthia said. "Alcohol too. Aren't we Charles?"

Charles didn't need to reply, his face spoke for him.

Anne tried again.

"Come on you lot," she jollied, "You would never guess you were about to go on a free holiday." "We are so grateful to you and Richard," Cynthia said in a thin and reedy voice. "If we haven't said that enough then we do apologise."

"Oh I didn't mean that, I meant free for all of us," replied Anne.

"Not free for me. I've done thirty five bloody years for it," remarked Richard.

Anne looked around the table and decided that jollying along her companions was not worth the effort. Instead she got up and announced that she was going to look at the Duty-Free Shop.

"What do you need?" asked Richard.

"Maybe some whiskey," muttered Anne under her breath.

Sitting about 100 metres away, outside what the sign advertised as the traditional Queen Victoria Pub, was another party of four, bound for Preveza. Keith, Malcolm, Tony and Mike knew each other through their shared passion for early registration Morris cars. They had not paid for their holiday either. Keith had won the holiday in a charity raffle for the local hospice.

"I can't wait to have a bit of sun on my face," said Keith.

"Beats Doncaster, that's for sure," chipped in Malcolm. "Can you believe it, a whole week with only us boys and no women!."

"Malcolm, every week is a week without women for us," retorted Mike.

The party had left Doncaster in the early hours and travelled down to Gatwick squashed in Keith's mechanically suspect 1973 Morris 1300. They had though made good time rattling down the M1, cruising at a leisurely 55mph most of the way. The slow lane had been largely unoccupied, and Keith, fully expecting at least one breakdown en route, had allowed nine hours for the trip. The M25 and M23 had also been virtually free of traffic and Keith's state of the art satellite navigation system had effortlessly guided them to their destination without mishap.

The journey had only taken five hours and consequently even after taking the bus from the long stay car park, they had several hours to kill on arrival.

"Pint anyone?" Tony asked as they sat down. "I wonder if they do cornflakes in here, I'm famished," he added, watching the tired looking barman pull up the shutters at 6am as the Queen Victoria opened for business.

Keith, like his friends, was in his mid-30s and very single. He comforted himself that he had simply never met the right person. He had been out on dates but somehow they always fizzled out like a damp Sunday evening. He wondered if his house share with his mother had anything to do with it. He had stumbled into the arrangement after his father had left his wife of forty-eight years to "discover himself" in Goa. Perhaps it was a mistake.

"It doesn't make sense for me to keep this big house and you pay for that flat," his mother told him at the time. "Perhaps I could move in with you?"

Keith managed to deflect that suggestion, but at the cost of moving the other way. If he were honest, despite the negative impact on his love life, the set up suited him quite well.

"I don't pay rent, my washing, cooking and cleaning are all done for free, but I still have my freedom," he would tell anyone who queried the arrangement. "We don't live in each other's pockets you know. I can stay out all night if I want."

In truth, he rarely did. It was his mother who had taken to spending nights out with a mystery friend.

"Have you got something to tell me?" Keith eventually confronted her.

Eventually he wheedled out of her that she had met someone special on-line.

"I downloaded this App," she told him. "It's great. You put in your details and it tells you if there are likeminded people in the vicinity. You should try it."

"I do not approve of that kind of behaviour," he told her in reply. "I guess it explains the make-up and the inappropriate clothes though. I will not have you treating this house like a hotel, and don't think your fancy man is going to stay here while I'm in Greece," he added.

His admonishments had fallen on deaf ears though. His mother popped in her earphones and turned Spotify up on her Samsung Galaxy. It was clear to Keith that things were coming to a head. He was going to have to say something soon or this chap would be moving in, and that would never do. He hoped that this time apart would give his mother time to reflect on her behaviour. Anyway, he was going to forget his troubles for a week away with his friends. He was going to live a little.