The Ex 5: In Which She Is An Outkast (Hey Yaya)

5: In Which She is an Outkast (Hey, Yaya)
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"Have you come to have a go at me, too?" I muttered miserably, sick and tired of defending myself. I braced myself, waiting for my friend's explosion.

But Alain's face was cheerful as he glanced around my empty bookstore. "Actually, I've come to ask you out for coffee."

Coffee. I'd been chugging a lot of that lately. It gave me energy, kept me from wallowing.

"What'll Magda say?" The thought of possibly being attacked and labelled a man-eating, husband-stealing b.i.t.c.h by a former rugby player nicknamed Mad Magda wasn't exactly appealing.

"If you weren't so busy being a hermit, chérie, you'd know that Mags and I split up." Alain shrugged. "So... how about it, Francesca?"

What else could I possibly have to lose?

"Sure, Al. Coffee sounds lovely."

*~*

"I think you're exaggerating," said Alain, taking a huge bite out of his fourth cappuccino m.u.f.fin. The bistro he'd taken me to was secluded and filled with the sweet aroma of various coffees and warm pastries. It was also very French, very pleasant. Perfect.

Inside, I was just glad for the first proper human contact I'd had in a long time – two weeks, to be exact. Alain and I might not have known each other that well but at least he was smiling at me.

"Old Mrs. Brown came in the other day specifically to give me a piece of her mind." I stirred my black coffee and grimaced at the memory. "She called me a player. Can you imagine?"

Alain gazed at me thoughtfully. "Well, I think you can understand everyone's, er, confusion. You've only just met Kouriakis and you betrayed Colin with him. Not that it's any of our business," he added hastily, gauging my cold expression.

"See, that's where everyone's wrong," I said softly, letting out a bitter laugh. "I haven't just met him, not that it's anyone's business."

"What do you mean?" Alain was puzzled.

My eyes travelled to my bare ring finger. There was no point in hiding anymore when everyone already thought I was a hateful wh0re. "We were married once upon a time, Kon and I."

"Maintenant elle me le dit," he muttered, looking skyward.

"Now I tell you?" I repeated in English, emphasising the first word to convey my disbelief at how ridiculous he was being. "And when was the right time to tell you? To tell anyone? You don't know anything about my marriage to Konstantin and why I was so intent on keeping it secret. It's absolutely no one's f.u.c.king business."

"You're right." He nodded slowly. "I have no right to pry but...I suppose that does explain your vehement stance about not tying the knot. Did he hit you?"

"That would be prying, Alain, wouldn't it?" I looked away from him, choosing to stare out the big gla.s.s window on my right. There was no risk of spotting Konstantin casually walking by. From what little gossip I'd managed to overhear, he'd left Parishville. Someone had mentioned New York.

"Francesca?"

My attention returned to Alain, who was patiently waiting for me to come back to the land of the living. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry for being so nosey. Break-ups happen sometimes. You mustn't let that get you down," he said, smiling. "Take Magda and me for example. We loved each other. We probably still do. But she and I want different things."

"Like what?" I propped my chin up on a hand, looking at him expectantly.
Alain's baby blues sparkled. "Well, Magda loves England. She'll never leave it. I, on the other hand, enjoy travelling." He paused, chuckling. "It sounds so petty when I say it aloud."

I shook my head. "Not at all. Is that why you divorced? Because you want to see the world and she doesn't?"

He quirked a brow. "I thought we weren't prying."

I reddened. "Of course. You shouldn't feel like you have to tell me."

Alain let out yet another laugh. "No, I want to tell you. It's so easy to talk to you, Francesca." Taking a deep breath, he said, "The real reason is that we loved each other but we weren't in love. Does that sound stupid to you, like something out of a movie or a storybook?"

I took my final sip of coffee. "No."

"Were you in love with your husband?"

The gun of truth was now pointing at me.

"I was," I replied, my voice going all soft and listless like a lovesick puppy. I cleared my throat, snapping myself out of the time and place when I thought the sun rose and set on my ex-husband's head. "I was fairly young and he was my first real love. You know how it is. I was probably delusional."

"So...what happened?"

"Do we have to do this?" I asked, suddenly irritated.

"Everyone's siding with Colin because they think you fell for that Greek's charm and money," Alain said offhandedly. "They're making all kinds of a.s.sumptions and if there's one thing I know about these townspeople, it's that they stick with their own. I'm sorry to say this but after what happened, you're a pariah, Francesca."

Despite how it disturbingly sounded like a terrible soap opera, this was probably true. Since the evening Colin had publically attempted to ask for my hand in marriage, only a handful of people had ventured into my store. Out on the streets, other women gave me pointed accusing looks, or ignored me altogether. Since Nancy was still honeymooning in Hawaii with Harvey, I had no one to turn to for a shoulder to cry on, not that I deserved one. Vicky, who was a P.E. teacher at Colin's high school, barely acknowledged me – save for awkward, monosyllabic greetings in Starbucks.

"And what if I don't care?" I mumbled childishly, tapping my fingertips on the wooden table.

Alain grabbed my hands and held them. "But I know you do." His eyes sought mine. "Kouriakis blows into town and destroys your reputation in one evening without a backward glance. He hasn't suffered, has he? But you have."

"I think you're exaggerating, Al." Slowly, I retracted my hands. "I don't give a d.a.m.n about what everyone thinks about me," I lied. "I'm just sorry that I hurt Colin like that. I might not have loved him but he certainly didn't deserve to be treated like that." At that, I felt my mobile vibrating in my jeans pocket. Alain patiently waited for me to answer it.

The Caller ID was blocked. Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I answered guardedly: "h.e.l.lo?"

"Francesca?" It was a woman. Her voice was low and husky.

"Speaking."

"It's Yaya."

The world stopped turning on its axis. Konstantin's grandmother was calling me... Konstantin's grandmother had gotten her hands on my b.l.o.o.d.y mobile number... Konstantin's grandmother wanted something...

I sucked in a deep breath. "Hi, Yaya. It's been a...a long time."

"Long time? Hazo koritsaki, have you forgotten all about your yiayia?"

"No," I said, mouthing an apology to Alain, who was watching me in puzzled silence. "I...I just...well, you know about what happened with Konstantin and me..."
"Are you busy? I'd like you to come to Kástro for a weekend. Or perhaps a little holiday, if you're overdue for one," Yaya went on.

My mouth went dry. "You want me to...to come to the island?"

"Do you know what I had to do to get my hands on your number? I'm an old woman and manipulation is becoming harder as I age."

I tried to swallow. "What does your grandson have to say about this?"

"Christos rarely visits," she grumbled, using Konstantin's middle name. "Besides, I'm a grown woman, Francesca. I can do whatever I please, even if it means inviting his ex-wife over for a visit."

"Yaya –" I began.

"Petro – you remember him? – will be in London on Friday. It would be lovely if you could return with him."

I let out an audible sigh. Yaya could be very convincing for a seventy-something-year-old.

"Fine. I do miss you, too. But it's only for a weekend, right?"

"Of course. I would never kidnap you. I might be slightly mad but prison is no option for someone as old as me. You do know what a shank is, right?"

***

Kástro, named for the Greek word for castle, had been in the Kouriakis family for years. As the sole heir to his father's legacy, Konstantin had inherited the sprawling island, which was just off the coast of Crete. Yaya, Kon's father's mother, had made the fortress and entire island her home in her old age and, since Kon was rarely there, she hadn't had any objections.

I was thankful for this little fact as the jet glided to a stop on the small tar landing strip. Petro gave me an apologetic look. Most people got sick when the plane was taking off – I got sick when it was landing. Now, hyperventilating into a paper bag, I was beginning to wonder if I'd made the right decision to make contact with the only other member of the Kouriakis family. Granted, she was the one who'd sought me out, but still – there was the niggling doubt at the back of my mind that I'd committed a divorcée faux pas.

Get a grip, Frankie, I chided myself, sighing with relief when the plane finally skidded to a halt.

"Sorry about that," said Petro, helping me to my feet. He hadn't changed in two years. Bald-headed and extremely tanned, clad in a white silk s.h.i.+rt and tan slacks, he was still the same man who'd stood at Konstantin's side at our wedding, his right-hand man.

"I'm fine, thanks. It isn't your fault," I said softly, glancing out the window. The sun was welcoming. Surely that was a sign that I was going to get through this?

Once outside, I realised that I'd made the perfect decision to wear a dress. If I'd worn pants, my legs would've melted in their oven-like confines. As it was, my sunscreen's SPF was probably a little low. I was in the middle of putting on my sungla.s.ses when a black SUV rolled up before us. Petro pulled open the pa.s.senger door and I saw Yaya, hands daintily folded on her lap, familiar granite-grey eyes dancing with excitement.

"Hi," I breathed, sliding in beside the small woman.

The scent of her perfume filled my nostrils as she turned and wordlessly pulled me into a tight hug.

"Hi?" she repeated, sniffing as she released me. "Is that it? We haven't seen each other in two years and all you can say to me is hi?"

I smiled weakly as the car swayed to a start. "Forgive me, Yaya. It's just that this is so out of the blue."

She c.o.c.ked her head to one side, a few strands of silver hair flying across her lined forehead in the breeze. "It's not entirely out of the blue," she said laughingly. "At least, for me. Christos mentioned b.u.mping into you in – is it Parishville? The name always escapes me. Why can't you just live in London? Now that rolls off the tongue."

I nodded, smiling at her honesty. "Yes. Parishville. Although I wouldn't call it b.u.mping into me." More like stalking.

Yaya smiled, her teeth so white they almost twinkled. "In any event, I decided that a reunion between the two of us was long overdue, my dear."

I bit my bottom lip. "Yaya, I'm not sure Konstantin would –"

"Does your separation with my grandson mean that we cannot be friends?" Yaya interjected loudly.

I shook my head. It did sound stupid when she said it aloud. "I did miss you."

"Good." She took my hand. "Then you can tell me all about what you've been doing with your life since I saw you last."

Hmm... your grandson? I felt a blush stain my cheeks. The image of being post-coital with Konstantin was indelible on my brain, even now.

As we rolled up the hill to the castle, I glanced out the window and gazed out at the Aegean. It s.h.i.+mmered in the scorching sun, a moving blanket of azure-blue water. I remembered the story I'd read in high school about Aegeus throwing himself into the sea when he thought his son, Theseus, was dead.

With the notion of spending a weekend in a place I'd thought I'd never see again, surrendering myself to the sea didn't seem like such a bad idea.