Stifado For Two

Stifado

For

Two

Clair Gibson

This is a work of fiction.

The characters of this book are the products of the author imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead is coincidental.

Book cover by Clair Gibson.

Copyright 2017 by Clair Gibson.

All rights reserved.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter List

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

More from the Author

1.

Heaven was a lounger on the edge of a golden sandy beach with the gentle lull of waves lapping under my feet. Tired eyes hid behind oversized sunglasses while my body soaked the warm sun into every pore. My hand slithered across the sand searching for the cocktail glass nestled by the head of the lounger, filled with a deep red liquid and a cherry. However, it wasn't a cocktail. It was the loud beep of my alarm clock. Such a shame to wake. I rolled over snuggling under the quilt. The dream seemed real with the heat of the sun on my face.

Ten minutes later the alarm blared again. A moan escaped my lips as my hand slapped the alarm clock, hard. Covers discarded I swung my feet to the floor and stretched before rubbing the skin around my eyes.

The darkness of early morning seeped through the curtains on my way to the bathroom, both hands outstretched to avoid the furniture. Jack our beloved family Labrador lay on the bottom of the bed still snoring. He would drag himself onto my pillow over the next few minutes. It was all I could do not to curl next to him. Instead, the kitchen and my coffee called.

Not having my morning cup was the hardest thing and nothing functioned without the steaming brown elixir. Once finished, the daily battle with my hair and its resistance to style started. You've got to lower the mirror. This is stupid. Months ago, my son Tom, mounted it on the wall but to suit him. Only the top of my head showed, even on my tiptoes.

After walking Jack and enjoyed the peaceful early morning, I sat on the bus squashed against the same person who'd sat next to me for the last few days. He invaded my space and taking more than his fair share of the small uncomfortable seat. He glared, menace in those cold eyes. Confrontation wasn't part of my DNA. Volume turned to ten on the iPod playing my favourite tunes my gaze turned to the passing countryside. Bored travelling on the cattle market express five days a week it served a desolate purpose. A good job was vital as a single woman therefore it was better to get there as fast as possible.

At the first drop off point, the obnoxious guy rose and pushed his way along the aisle. It was the same every morning. Was this his natural way or did the bus bring out the worst in him? I often wondered about the regulars, their jobs and lives. Often, I'd try to guess what they did for a living. It started as something to amuse myself in a morning. The woman sitting opposite raised her eyebrows and gave me half a smile as I watched. I didn't return the sentiment.

As we pulled into the station, I stood but didn't bother pushing into the queue to disembark. Rushing to work was something other people did. This continued as I sauntered along the concourse avoiding suitcases and people trying to smoke on the edge of the station. Oblivious to those around me, keeping my gaze low, not looking at anyone. Even a little after seven o'clock the station was already full of travellers hunched forward on uncomfortable backless aluminium seats. Big issue sellers sat on the ground across from the sliding glass doors at the front of the station, half hiding in the doorway of the parking garage. This morning the god squad were out in force, blocking the path for both travellers and commuters. It had rained again, and they lectured the storms of late were Gods work. I pulled my hood close around my face trying to shield myself and mumbled, How the hell is a week of fierce winds and torrential rain Gods work.

A woman preacher stepped in front of me and shook a pamphlet into my eye line. You are his child, read his word.

You're making his child late for work. I sidestepped her and continued across the pedestrian area heading for the coffee shop.

Luxury in a morning was a venti skinny Ethiopian latte from my favourite Starbucks shop. A three-pound coffee, five days a week soon mounted, but I wasn't a big alcohol drinker, didn't smoke and lived a conservative life. My app, updated from a plastic card, allowed collection of loyalty stars to get free shots and drinks. All helped lower the monthly bill. It made the twenty-five-minute walk to work bearable each morning.

The only way to get through the day was by staying invisible, not joining in the gossiping and concentrating on the jobs at hand. The days flew by, but in return, I made myself an enemy of my teammates. Not willing to conform and be part of the clique. They remarked on a lot of things behind my back. At a recent team lunch, I heard two of them talking in the ladies toilets.

She's got a need to talk. She should shut the hell up and crawl back in her box. I recognised the voice as Sarah, one of the thin, Barbie wannabe clique. You know she's all mouth! And what is she wearing? Talk about mutton dressed as lamb. She's not got the figure for flashing her boobs at her age.

My eyes flashed with rage. They were discussing the only other half decent human being in the team who took no stick off these people, Debbie.

Then there's Avril or as she's dressed today, the cowgirl. As they mentioned my name, I braced myself and they didn't disappoint. Jeans, boots and that top make her ugly and fat.

I was neither. Not fat, super slim or a stunning beauty. Mine was inside. Looks had never been important, but their words left a lasting impression.

Whiffs of exotic dragon fruit mixed with berries infused my tired mind as my body soaked in the tub before dinner and relaxing on the couch. The same routine, every weekday. Weekends were worse. I seldom treated myself to trips or shopping excursions. Life, a solitary existence with no husband or boyfriend. Simple but boring.

Since childhood, I lacked confidence and self-esteem. Tall for my age and heavier than most made me stick out amongst my year group. A happy child with lots of school friends, but few close ones. A member of the schools most successful netball team, enjoying the camaraderie it brought, but preferring to swim relying on myself.

Marriage followed at a young age. He was nice enough when we wed but an all-consuming control freak within a few years. A traffic accident claimed his life and now fifteen years after his death I knew myself again. At the time the kids came first, and I threw myself into their lives, determined they wouldn't suffer from his loss. Everything else would wait.

Life passed by without notice. As the boys flew the nest, first to university then pastures new, they left me behind. Now the highlight of my week was a catch up with my strongest ally in life, my sister-in-law Jenny. She was chalk and cheese compared to her brother. Soft, kind but with a rod of unwavering iron through her core. She didn't suffer fools or waste time on platitudes. Jenny stayed in my life and we became firm friends.

Assumed I'd all the time in the world. My moan continuing the theme of our recent chats. But everything's changed. Dunno where to start.

Have you given any consideration to the question of what do you want? Jenny had a knack of getting right to the point. Is it a new husband?

Mmm, no. Too used to my company and own space. I lifted my mug and took a mouthful of hot coffee. Perhaps an occasional companion. Someone to enjoy a few meals, trips to the cinema and day trips.

Don't take this the wrong way but if you're not happy in yourself, what's the point? Because you won't find happiness with anyone.

Yeah, you're right. Need to work on me first although my mate Susan reckons looking back and trying to figure out where things changed is a waste of time!

Ppft, Jenny scoffed. Her annoyance evident. If you don't know what or where, how can you move forward?

I said the same thing. I've no identity anymore. Don't know who I am. The boys left home and created their own lives. Now it's my turn.

Is she not the one with the happy home, a new relationship and the rest? Silence between us followed for a few seconds as each considered what to say. I didn't like bitching about other friends. That wasn't me at all. How often has she moaned to you her life sucks but now she has a new man, it's all good again?

A lot!

So, her life's okay when she has a guy in it. We've had this discussion before.

Too many times but you're right and for me to figure out my next steps confronting the past will show me the road forward.

Give it time but go easy on yourself and do your thing. Make a list.

Jenny had a point. As usual she had seen the truth between the mixed worlds of words and actions.

Dream a little, you deserve happiness.

The next morning with the TV on for noise in the house my thoughts lingered on an action plan, a starting point or a challenge. I grabbed a pen and notebook and made a list of the dreams I'd always wanted to accomplish separated into two categories. Achievable in twelve months and long-term goals. In the first column, improve my life, find my direction, passion and company. When I looked over the long-term list, there were three entries. Happiness, love and have fun.

They were modest goals by other people's standards but how to put them into practice? Join a club? Hang out with my friends more, or both? Most had married or lived with someone and didn't have time to hang out with me. Their kids were young. Our lives out of sync.

Oh, stress about it later. Time to get on with the chores! Shaken from my lethargy I set about my normal weekend tasks in a methodical manner to put everything back in its place.

A few hours later while lifting boxes, from a neat pile against the wall, to place them on top of the wardrobe I dislodged one at the back. It fell to the floor scattering photographs everywhere. Forgot that was there.

The box, broken at one, side was easy to repair with Sellotape but the photos on top caught my attention. My parents immortalised forever. The tip of my finger ran over their faces. Miss you, A tear caught in my throat. The pictures reminded me of a far happier time of teenage adventures. Taken a few weeks before their untimely deaths my life changed forever because of a drunk driver. I packed them away and returned to my cleaning.

That night sat in front of my laptop with the TV on in the background, the emotion of seeing the photos still swirling around my mind. Killed a few months before my sixteenth birthday, driven off the mountainous road we travelled several times a day, at an accident black spot, but not of their doing.

The list lying by my laptop grabbed my attention. Find my direction. Oh, a hard one. Life's been about other people for so long. I sipped from the frothy coffee in my favourite mug. Have you? Since you were a teenager? Be honest. The question hung in the silence. You haven't which is why you are struggling to find your way.

With a sigh I logged into my email as the feelings of uselessness plaguing my mind, since my first chat with Jenny a few weeks ago, grew. Most of them, junk, but one caught my interest. It was from a travel agency detailing cheap deals to Greece, Turkey and the surrounding islands. Had this been a normal day I'd have ignored it, but with thoughts of my dreams still rattling around, I clicked on the link. Amazed at how cheap the deals were and having not had a holiday in ages, due to the lack of companions to go with, I considered the discovery. Could this be the answer? A break. A quick scan through the various options showed a two-week holiday to Cyprus, which interested me.

What do you think old girl? Fancy a trip along memory lane? Could it'll help? We lived there for a few years due to my father's posting until their accident. Spurred on by reminiscent happy thoughts and the promise of early spring sun. Decision made, time to go back to where you were last like yourself and damn work if they say no!

2.

The following four days, found me organised, packed and on my way to the airport with three weeks off instead of two. The bonus of time at home after the holiday would give me an opportunity to do things I'd been putting off. My trip came together fast, soon I'd be at thirty thousand feet winging my way to sunnier climes. The original idea was to drive around and stay in additional sites, concerned boredom would strike without a companion. With the company's reminder you could drive from one end of the island to the other in a few hours, I agreed with their suggestion. Spend the first seven nights in the Troodos mountains and surrounding areas, and the next eight days in Limassol. We lived halfway up the mountains but socialised in both these places. They'd have changed in the last twenty-four years but not too much, not a lot had in the three years we lived there.

An ever-efficient person, I arrived at the airport early, cleared security and sat in the international departures lounge, surrounded by other travellers and young families. They all had one thing in common. A frazzled look. With my head stuck in what was the first of three books bought along to pass the travelling time, I tried to blend into the background. After an hour's delay, the automated check in system called my flight and the adventure beckoned.

To book a seat was a foreign concept, but a seat at the front of the aircraft and away from the young families was a bonus. Everyone wanted to enjoy their flight, after all it was the launch of any holiday but screaming kids in a metal tube no one can escape from, was torture. I needn't have worried, after a glass of wine with lunch, I fell asleep. Two hours later, the captain's announcement woke me to the sight of land as the plane descended.

Paphos airport was a new experience for me. On previous trips, my arrival was courtesy of the RAF and we flew into Akrotiri, where my parents met me. Their posting happened when I turned twelve. Two years was the original plan but Dad's bosses offered him an extension. They were nearing four years on the island at the end. The first year spent in boarding school. My parents choosing it was the best for me, but with no siblings or many friends I hated it. After a horrendous year, we lived together.

This time, alone, I negotiated my way through the stark baggage claim area and headed to the customs desks. Since it had a clear design like every other international airport, it was easy enough. My sharp eyes located the car hire desk, tucked away in a corner, a recent addition to the arrival's hall.

After much confusing paperwork I sat in the back of a tiny minivan with three couples driving out towards the car park. The van stopped and without ceremony the driver spouted a mess of Greek symbols and pointed to a car. I burst into laughter. Cyprus had taken giant steps towards a modern, European county but, the cars they drove were still Mazda's with an honourable tourist red number plate on the front. Some things never change! A chuckle accompanied the ceremonial throwing of luggage into the hire cars boot.

It was easy to drive in Cyprus. They still drove on the left as in the United Kingdom, with no nasty wrong way round roundabouts to negotiate. Outside the car park, I pulled into a lay by and opened the map the hire girl gave me. With a similar system to home, light blue signs meant motorway, but these hadn't existed twenty-four years ago. Fingertips tracing across the map, I found the Paphos to Limassol motorway, and I headed off. Within minutes, finding the entry road. This is easy. I pulled the car onto the two-lane motorway.

A few miles trundled by when a large built area appeared on the horizon. From memory the road passed by Aphrodite's rock on the way between Paphos and Pissouri but the last time we saw it, the area was barren. A sign flew by distracting me but clearing the mystery. Aphrodite Hills, one kilometre. My mind retreated to the night in front of the computer. When researching Cyprus hotels, the hills resort kept appearing on every search engine I used. Villas for rent, spa facilities and it was intriguing until the price appeared.

Around the carved hills, the ocean appeared followed by Aphrodite's rock. The beige limestone rock, known as a sea stack rose off the edge of a stony beach. Rough seas surrounded the rocks so no one ever swam near them and when the wind picked up and crashed against them, thick white foam rose several metres. The old road passed by the edge, with a tourist shop ready to milk the weary traveller into buying more memorabilia. For me, it was half an hour away from Limassol having timed the distance many a time on trips back from Paphos with my parents.

On the left, villas dotted the landscape as far as possible to see. It had the look of a grand town, built in classic Greek and Mediterranean styles. White columned identical facades in an organised fashion with spacious, over designed landscaping. Typical Cypriot villages were haphazard, spread over a wide area. Houses had unfinished roofs with rebar poking out of the top corner to avoid paying taxes. It was natural. The resort passed by and I paid it no more attention, wanting the original Cyprus.

As the motorway cut through limestone hills and headed away from the coast, my grip on the steering wheel relaxed. This section of the road was almost empty. Where are they all? It's not a toll motorway.

The road stretched out in front of me into rich vineyard covered countryside. Pissouri village was next on the horizon. Have to see if that little fish restaurant is still there on the beach next week. I glanced in the rear-view mirror and back to the road. Their swordfish steaks were amazing.

Pissouri town, as it was these days, passed by on the right and again there were few vehicles around. Neck straining to see a little better, the streets appeared empty. The dashboard clock flicked over to two o'clock. Afternoon siesta. It must be, but... A grin crept across my lips. Traditions don't change.

The miles flew by but the scenery stayed the same. Limestone hills with vineyards sliced into them every few feet and the sea on the other side. The motorway continued to stay further inland. How did they get around Epi? They can't go through it! Thinking back to my days wandering through the army's western base.

Episkopi garrison, known to the locals as Epi, was a little slice of home for the forces stationed on the west side of Cyprus. Used as a joint base by the resident army regiment