Chapter Eighteen Greek Tragedy

Greek Tragedy

Fiddling with the pink rose in the single vase in the middle of the table, Demetrios’ heart pounded.

Uncomfortable and apprehensive, he loosened his collar. It was the shirt he’d paired with a tie for no other reason than it came with it. He’d never bought a shirt already folded in a plastic bag before. Never needed to. He lived in shorts and a tee most of the time. But the occasion warranted it, and he wanted to show he’d made an effort. He wasn’t used to wearing long trousers either and was unsure if he’d bought the right size chinos as they pinched around his midriff. He couldn’t do anything about it now. Nor that they didn’t go with the trainers he had on, not having the means to pay for a whole new outfit.

His table for two was at the back of the restaurant and Demetrios glanced out of the window. People meandered past. Couples holding hands. Families. Groups of young people on a night out. It was still light outside, with the sun shining down on the choppy waters to create silvery sparkles. It wasn’t quite the Aegean Sea. Nor was it blue, more murky brown. But Demetrios could see the appeal of having so much on your doorstep.

He shouldn’t get complacent, though.

A waitress came over, handing him the drinks menu. “Would you like a drink while you wait?”

“Uh…” He perused the menu. “Could I get water for now?”

“Of course.” Off she scurried and Demetrios stroked down his tie, clearing his throat, trying anything to rid the nerves.

This was just any other date.

With any other person.

Yeah, right.

The woman returned with a carafe of water, ice and lemon accompanying it, and she poured some into the tumbler already in front of him. She smiled, then meandered off. Demetrios watched at the other tables filling up. At the flowing wine. The laughter from groups sharing the platters. Couples holding hands across the table. He blew out a reticent breath, then picked up his glass of water and took a gulp. He then coughed and spluttered as two people approached his table. One was a waiter.

The other wasn’t.

“Your table, sir.” The waiter indicated to the vacant chair opposite Demetrios.

Demetrios grabbed a napkin to wipe his mouth, then peered up to Jesse.

Jesse cocked his head, lips parting, and his deep inhale had his chest expanding to fill his T-shirt. All Demetrios could do now was wait.

“Dem?” Jesse knitted his eyebrows, as if his new glasses were deceiving him.

“Hi.” Demetrios smiled and hoped it was the one that had Jesse surrendering.

Jesse dropped into the seat opposite him.

“We’ll give you a minute,” the waiter said, “then Tracey will be over to take your order.” And off he went, leaving Demetrios alone with Jesse.

Jesse stared at him as though he were a ghost.

Pulse racing, Demetrios waited for Jesse to connect the dots.

“So you’re…?” Jesse didn’t finish his question, almost as though he didn’t want to know the answer.

“Your online lover?” Demetrios’ soft chuckle masked his anxiety at the admission. “Yeah.”

Jesse fell back in his seat, eyes fixed on him, probably deciding whether to believe him. Ever again.

A waitress passed and Demetrios grabbed her arm. “Fere mas dyo ouza.”

She stared at him. Blankly.

“You don’t speak Greek?”

She shook her head. “No. Sorry.”

“Two ouzos?”

“Sure.” Off she trotted.

Demetrios turned back to Jesse. “So it’s not real Greek in here then?”

Jesse bowed his head, exhaling a laugh, then peered back up. Demetrios could see the hurt, the confusion, the doubt clouding him. As though he were seeing him for the first time. Dark, rough edges and all.

Demetrios stroked down his tie, shifted in his seat. “To be honest, I thought you guessed.”

“Really? Why?”

“You chose a Greek restaurant.”

Jesse inhaled. “It was all I could think of.”

Demetrios’ lips curved into a smile, which he dropped in the face of the glare Jesse gave him across the table. “The name, then?”

“Castor?”

“Yeah.”

Jesse furrowed his brow. “The friendly ghost?”

Demetrios laughed. “That’s Casper!”

Jesse rubbed his forehead. “Oh, yeah. Who’s Castor then?”

“A Greek god. He and Pollux were brothers. Twin sons of Zeus. They’re the Gemini?”

The waitress returned with the ouzos, placing one in front of each of them, then pulled out a tablet. “If you haven’t been here before, we offer a meze only menu. A meze is—”

“We know what a meze is.” Demetrios tapped her arm. “Thanks. Give us a minute?”

She smiled. “Okay. Great. Olives for the table? Flatbread?”

Demetrios arched an eyebrow at Jesse. He waved his hand, nodding as if to say, ‘go ahead’. That had to be a good sign, right?

“Yeah. Both. Thanks.”

The waitress scurried off.

Jesse grabbed his drink and downed some. Dumping it back on the table, he sighed. “Okay, I missed the obvious clue. But why hide at all? Why pretend? Why not contact me as you?”

“I tried. Many times. You ignored every message and every call.”

Jesse bowed his head. “Okay.” He straightened out. “But that was back then. Years ago.”

“I don’t know, Jess. It was stupid. I know that. But a year ago, I broke up with Elias, with him telling me I had to get over you or do something about it.”

“So you made up a name you hoped I might decipher and slid into my DMs pretending to be someone else?”

“I realise it sounds insane. I know. But I feared you wouldn’t reply to me. Not after so long. I was afraid of the rejection. So I pretended to be someone else because at that point, I just needed to know if you could still make me…feel the way I felt.”

Jesse inhaled. “And?”

“And you did.” Demetrios smiled. “Then I was stuck. Pretending.”

Jesse swirled his drink, eyes firmly down. Then he winced. “Oh, God, you wrote that stuff?”

Demetrios blushed. “Yeah.”

“And I told you all about…you.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.” Jesse stared out of the window.

“I wanted to hear all of that. The good and the bad. I needed to hear how you felt. How you really felt. About me. I asked the questions, you replied.”

“A lot of what I said might not have been…completely honest.”

“Which parts?”

“The parts where I said I hated you.”

Demetrios nodded. “I never cheated on you.”

Jesse held his breath. Demetrios could tell.

“I’ve been with many people. I admit that. But it all happened after you. I waited as long as I could for you.”

Jesse blinked back welling tears and hung his head. Demetrios didn’t know if that was in shame or remorse. But he reached across the table to grab his hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was.” He stroked Jesse’s knuckles with his thumb. “I didn’t want to ruin it. You were talking to me. You…liked me.”

“More than liked.”

Demetrios’ heart pounded, but he was unsure what that meant. Did Jesse only like Castor because he wasn’t Demetrios?

“And now you know Castor is me?” He braced himself for the answer.

“Jury’s out.”

Demetrios nodded. What could he expect? He’d lied. Deceived him. All the things he’d promised he hadn’t done. How did he expect Jesse to believe his other truths now? He’d read his innermost thoughts, some of it about him, while pretending to be someone else.

“You know why I did it?” Demetrios peered over his lashes. “Same reason I’m here. Same reason I jumped on my bike and chased you to the ferry.”

Jesse widened his eyes, and Demetrios held onto his hand like he did his hope.

“Same reason I rode back to Aegleia, packed, rode back to the port, and jumped on the next ferry to Athens. Same reason I scraped up enough money to get a flight to London. Same reason I spent the little money I had left on clothes for a date.” He glanced down at himself, then back to Jesse and squeezed his hand. “Because I’m in love with you, Jesse. I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Time, space, it doesn’t heal it for me. It makes it harder. I can’t go through it all again. I want you. I want to be where you are. Want to love you. I don’t want the fairytale, Jess. I want the reality. I want you.”

Jesse sat frozen, the silence wreaking havoc on Demetrios’ nerves.

“This is love, Jesse.” Demetrios squeezed his hand. “Me and you. How I feel about you is love. It’s not easy. It’s not hearts and flowers and dancing on the beach. That’s romance. And I can dish out romance. But I give you love. It’s messy. Temperamental. Hard fucking work most of the time. But it’s about being brave. Sacrificing parts of yourself to give to the other. And God, Jesse, it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

Olives, flat bread and a feta dip landed on their table. “Are you ready to order?” the waitress asked, clearly not trained in the art of learning when to interrupt a couple during their romantic dinner date.

Maybe they didn’t care about that in London? Maybe it was because where Demetrios served his guests, surrounded by romancing holiday couples, he’d learned the intricacies of serving around them. London was a get in, get out sort of place, rather than his taverna on the seafront where people wiled away the nights gazing into each other’s eyes beside the beauty of the Aegean Sea.

Demetrios slipped his hand from Jesse’s. She glanced from one to the other. Demetrios shut his mouth. He left it for Jesse to decide. If he wanted to leave, he had the chance now before ordering anything that might prolong their time here.

“Can we get the hot meze sharing platter?” Jesse asked.

“Absolutely.” She smiled with a job well done and off she went, oblivious to what she’d interrupted.

Once, Demetrios had held a sizzling hot plate, ready to hand it down to one of his guests, but the Brit had been in the middle of proposing, so Demetrios clutched that meal, the ceramic plate searing into his skin to allow for the moment. He had the scars to prove it. It was an art knowing when to interrupt a couple at dinner. And when to leave them be. What to sacrifice and when to be brave enough to hold on.

Bit like love.

Jesse raised his glass. “Okay, tell me again how much you love me.” He smirked, then drank, and Demetrios smiled, stomach butterflies fluttering wildly.

For Jesse.

“I love you,” he said, then, eyes focused only on Jesse, he said it again in his mother tongue. “S’agapó”

Jesse smiled, then grabbed a cocktail stick, poked it into a green olive, and lifted it to his lips. “Jury’s contemplating the late submitted evidence.” He swiped the olive off the stick and crunched through the fruit.

Demetrios leaned back, folded his arms and cocked his head. “Be sure to let us know the verdict.”

“I will.” Jesse prodded another olive, twisting the stick between his thumb and finger. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, he offered the olive to Demetrios.

Demetrios tilted across the table for Jesse to feed him. He crunched through the olive, mild, salty and slightly bitter, nothing particularly special, but it filled his heart with sweetness at having plucked it from Jesse’s hand.

Jesse fell back in his chair. “How did Yiannis take your leave of absence?”

“He…understands.” Demetrios swiped a piece of warm bread, dowsed it in the feta dip and threw it in his mouth. He wrinkled his nose in disappointment.

“Not as good as yours?”

Demetrios shook his head. “I’ll get used to it.”

“Will you?”

Demetrios shrugged. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether I have to.”

Jesse bowed his head, then changed the subject back. “Yiannis was screaming at you the other morning. It didn’t come across like he’d be up for you leaving.”

“He yelled at me because he thought I’d taken advantage of you.”

Jesse arched an eyebrow, helping himself to the bread and dip.

“He thought I just wanted to fuck you. That I used your sorrow over your mum to get you into my bed. He said how disappointed and upset Freya would have been.” Demetrios picked up a cocktail stick and stabbed an olive. “He didn’t know about us. What we’d been through. That I’d fallen in love with you that day on the beach.”

Jesse furrowed his brow. “Our beach?”

Demetrios popped the olive into his mouth, chewed. “No, Jesse. Aegleia Beach. When you were under that umbrella.”

“Deme, you were eleven.”

“And you were the cutest thing I’d ever seen.” He shrugged. So blasé, so carefree, so sincere. “I told Babá everything. About us. He now understands me. Why I’ve always had one foot out of the bed. Out of the taverna. Out of Greece. Why I’ve never held down a relationship. He told me that when he saw your mum, he knew it was love at first sight, too. They’d both tried to deny it. Tried to stop it. They’d known it was wrong, but there was something pulling them together and after years of trying to be friends, they couldn’t fight what was inside them.”

Jesse’s eyes glistened behind his glasses.

“They didn’t mean to hurt us. Or your dad. They were powerless. That’s how I feel. Totally, utterly, powerless. I can’t not be in love with you.”

Jesse lifted his gaze, one tear rolling down his cheek, but he wiped it away with a finger before Demetrios could leap to his aid.

“An ancient Greek philosopher once said, ‘love is a beautiful flower that springs from the root of friendship’.” He dipped forward. “That’s me and you, Jess. We started as little seedlings, and even though we might have grown up apart, our roots have entwined. Babá told me to find out if you felt the same way. He said it’s about sacrifice. Freya sacrificed you to be with him, so it’s only fair I sacrifice him to be with you.” He stabbed another olive. “So, I’m here. I took a chance. To see if you want me.”

The hot meze turned up and Demetrios leaned back to allow for the tower of shared food to be placed between them, fighting the urge to scream at the waitress for her untimely intrusion. But the Greek meatballs, dolmades, pork souvlaki skewers, calamari, falafel, and halloumi along with the accompanying dips of hummus, taramasalata and tzatziki took precedence. It was a feast. Like home. He peeked through the mound of food at Jesse. He stared back.

The waitress left them to it and Demetrios waited a beat, wondering if Jesse was going to respond. When he didn’t, Demetrios pulled out a skewer from the platter.

“You’re going to hate it,” Jesse said.

Demetrios plucked the meat and peppers onto his plate, then added a dollop of tzatziki. He scooped some up, took a bite. “Couldn’t if I tried.”

Jesse went in for the second skewer.

They ate, not in silence, but between idle conversation. Nothing too serious. Nothing to ruin the time. When they’d finished, Jesse declined the offer of more drinks and dessert and asked for the bill. Demetrios fished out his phone, ready to pay.

“We’re splitting this,” Jesse said.

“No, we’re not. I asked you out. I pay.”

“You also bought a flight out here and, hang on, where the fuck are you staying?”

Demetrios blushed beneath his stubble. “Nowhere.”

“Nowhere?”

“I landed this morning. Took in the sights before buying these clothes, then used the showers in a train station.” He kicked the bag by his feet. “One bag.”

“And what were you hoping to do tonight?”

The waitress came over with the card reader and Demetrios applauded her for that interruption.

“How are we paying today?”

Demetrios hovered his phone over the reader and paid for the lot before Jesse could protest. She ripped off the receipt and handed it to him. “Have a good evening.”

As she sauntered off, Jesse glared at him.

Demetrios bit his lip through a smile. “I might have just used up my hotel money.”

Jesse rolled his eyes, stood, then angled his head. Demetrios rummaged in his pockets, found some loose change, and chucked it onto the table before clambering out. Jesse scooped the money back up and replaced it with English pounds.

“We don’t accept euros here.”

Demetrios shrugged. “She could have exchanged it. I’ve had to.”

Jesse snaked through the tables to the exit, and they bundled out on the Southbank, sun gone, artificial lights from the bars, restaurants, and the London Eye in the distance, the only thing illuminating them.

Demetrios clutched his bag over his shoulder, watching Jesse stare out at the river. “Now what?” he asked.

“We walk.” He took Demetrios’ hand in his and pulled him along.

Demetrios entwined his fingers with Jesse’s, and they meandered along the river, passing through the crowds, heading toward the London Eye. Demetrios hadn’t expected it to be so big, having only seen it in pictures and was about to say they should go on it when a man playing an acoustic guitar caught his attention. A gathering formed around the player stood on a small wall beside a green area, microphone strapped to his lips, case open by his feet.

Demetrios hovered closer, taking Jesse with him, and when the man sang, acoustic tones and delightful notes of a love song vibrated Demetrios’ feet. He dumped his bag on the ground, then faced Jesse, snaking an arm around his waist, outstretching their clasped hands.

“Wanna dance with somebody?”

Jesse smiled and Demetrios serenaded him along the pavement of the Southbank to the backdrop of the Thames, Westminster and Big Ben. Jesse kept his eyes on him and Demetrios felt seen. Alive! As if he had conquered the world and rescued his prince. As the song ended, Demetrios dipped Jesse back and kissed him. The crowd applauded. Whether for the busker or for them, it was debatable.

“Just so you know,” Demetrios said against Jesse’s lips. “That’s romance.” He then dragged Jesse up and stood, kissing him, long and lingering. “And me being here at all is love.”

Jesse inhaled, eyes welling beneath his glasses. The crowd dispersed, not before throwing cash into the open guitar case at the busker’s feet.

“Cheers, lads!” the busker called to them through his microphone. “You sticking around for my next set?”

No.” Jesse said, adjusting his glasses. “We’re heading home.” He then took Demetrios’ hand and dragged him away.

Demetrios grabbed his bag and followed, heart racing.

Home.

Jesse was taking him home.