Some Like It Greek - Sue Roberts Page 0,11

still take someone down, if I had to, I suppose.’ She lunges forward and thrusts her arm out.

‘Exactly,’ I say and then burst out laughing as she spins around and kicks her leg out.

I’m pretty certain I couldn’t do that myself. Not without pulling something.

Demi took up the martial art in the mid-nineties at the local community centre and reached brown belt level before she grew bored and gave it up, turning her attention to Pilates.

We chat for a while longer, her telling me the road trip is a ridiculous idea but with a smile on her face all the same. I cross my fingers in the hope that I’ve succeeded in painting an enticing picture for her.

‘Well, it would be a wonderful adventure for a young woman like you, but me? I’m not so sure. Maybe I would drive you crazy.’ She lets out a laugh.

‘I like crazy,’ I tell her. ‘Although it would probably be the other way round.’

Later, she shoos me out, telling me she wants to take a bath before her favourite Sunday night drama starts. ‘If I miss the beginning there is no point in watching it,’ she explains.

‘Well, will you at least think about it?’ I ask on the doorstep. I wrap my cardigan tightly around me as the cool evening draws in.

‘You are really serious?’ She cocks her head to one side and eyes me with a slight frown on her face.

‘Never more so,’ I reply, realising that it’s true. I have never been more serious or excited about something.

‘Then in that case,’ she says, already beginning to close the door, ‘I will sleep on it.’

Four

I’ve decided to stay over at Dad’s as I have some spare clothes here from the last time I stayed, and can easily get to work from here tomorrow morning. I spend another hour sorting through some ornaments and placing them in boxes. I find a shell jewellery box on a wall unit that I brought Mum back from a school trip to Llandudno, which fills me with nostalgia. I probably could have done a lot more had I not sloped off to Demi’s house, seduced by her fabulous cooking.

Shifting through the box, I come across another postcard from somewhere in Italy called Brindisi, which I can see from the map is the port where the ferry leaves for Sami in Kefalonia.

Hi folks,

At the port of Brindisi in Italy now, taking the ferry to Sami later today.

Travelled all this way and we’re all still speaking.

Michael

X

My dad clearly wasn’t an elaborate writer. I try to imagine what it must have been like for my grandparents back then having to wait for postcards to arrive and wondering if everything was alright when a loved one went away, in contrast to the instant messaging that must reassure loved ones back home constantly these days. I imagine Dad must have only made the occasional call home, overjoyed if he managed to find a phone booth to make a long-distance call.

It’s a little after nine o’clock and I’m just about to pour a glass of wine when there’s a knock on the door. To my surprise, Liz is standing on the doorstep, brandishing a white plastic bag.

‘Liz. How did you know I’d still be here?’

‘I took a chance.’ She shrugs. ‘Thought I’d drive around and I saw your car.’

To my delight, the bag contains an Indian takeaway, and once inside she plates the food up. I retrieve two glasses and pour us each a glass of white wine. Then she looks at me searchingly, and opens her arms, which I fall immediately into. It feels so wonderful to be hugging my sister after our recent strained relations.

We settle down in the lounge with the delicious food, a tandoori chicken dish for me which Liz knows is my favourite, and a tasty creamy korma for herself.

‘I called around at your house once or twice when you weren’t at home, you know,’ I tell Liz, feeling a little hard done by.

‘Did you? You never said,’ she sighs.

I can’t remember why I didn’t push a note through her door at the time, or text her. I try to keep my tone light as I tell her about the times I’d called on Dad, (more calmly this time) or taken him to lunch and she listens quietly.

‘I just didn’t feel the need to tell you every time I saw Dad. I’m sorry that you felt I left you alone with the responsibility of caring for him, though,’