Some Like It Greek - Sue Roberts Page 0,32
travelling. And I’ve managed it two years early,’ he says, matter-of-factly.
‘You retired at thirty-eight?’ I ask in astonishment.
‘Well, maybe not retired altogether, but from that kind of lifestyle, yes. I wanted to make a million and then be out of it.’
He sips his beer and I am almost rendered speechless by what I have just heard. He’s a millionaire.
‘Did you enjoy being a broker? It seems like such a stressful job. Well, from what I’ve seen in the movies anyway. Was it like in The Wolf of Wall Street?’ I ask, my interest piqued.
‘Not quite, although I suppose some of the guys lived life in the fast lane. You can’t stay in that environment forever,’ he tells me as he reflects on his time in the city. ‘I survived on black coffee, fast food and Mars bars. I never slept. I saw some of my colleagues’ marriages crumble, since they were never home. I could take the stress when I was a young man but I’m pushing forty now. I needed to get out and see the world. And start looking after myself.’ He pats his stomach – which looks flat and toned to me, so he certainly seems to be succeeding.
It seems hard to reconcile this laid-back guy with someone in the busy stock market, watching the fluctuating trends and buying and selling shares.
‘Wow, that’s some achievement. So there was no wife or girlfriend to take with you on your travels?’ I find myself asking.
Dara is quiet for a minute and I’m worried I may have pried a little too much.
‘There was a wife,’ he says at last, and I wonder if his marriage was a casualty of the long hours in the job. ‘She died. Four years ago now,’ he tells me.
‘Dara, I’m so sorry.’
I could kick myself for asking so many questions and I sit silently for a moment, not knowing what to say. Dara notices my unease.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He reaches over and touches my knee. ‘How were you to know?’
His warmth dispels any awkwardness and he goes on to tell me about his wife, Tess, who I learn was killed in a skiing accident when they were holidaying in Austria with a group of friends.
‘It was the darkest time of my life,’ he tells me. ‘And without the support of my friends I honestly don’t know what I would have done. They showered me with kindness, constantly checking up on me – which of course I was truly grateful for at the time, but after a while I just wanted to get away from everything and everyone. I needed to be alone. But it’s true that it gets easier, you know? You never forget, but you kind of learn to live life again without them.’
‘I know what you mean. Mum’s death hit me hard, then losing my father recently brought it all back. But life has to go on, however you feel.’
‘The alternative is unthinkable.’ Dara locks eyes with me. ‘And if you’re lucky, there’s usually someone in your life to remind you that it’s worth living.’
We sit in quiet reflection for a few moments before resuming our conversation. I feel our talk of loss is bonding us a little and feel grateful for the opportunity to discuss our loved ones. We chat about my life, my job (or lack of) and the places I’d like to visit in the future, which include the Americas. The time seems to fly by and I tell him about my creativity when it comes to hairstyling and how I’m considering it as an option for a future career. He finds this surprising, and he asks me why I stayed in sales for so long if it wasn’t where my heart was.
‘Steady money I suppose,’ I tell him. ‘It’s always a risk switching careers, although now seems the perfect time to try something new since I’ve accepted my redundancy package.’
Before we know it, the evening is drawing in. I glance at my watch and I’m shocked to see that it’s almost seven o’clock. I realise I’m still wearing the clothes I’ve been in all day and haven’t even had a shower.
I tell Dara I need to head back and freshen up and he asks me if I’d like to have something to eat later.
‘Not in here,’ he says, indicating the campsite restaurant, which serves a hot buffet. ‘I’ve bought a few things from the shop: breads, cheeses and pâtés. We could eat outside as it’s such a lovely