They Thought I Was Dead: Sandy’s Story

29 22 July 2007 — Looking back

Nicos did explain. If someone wanted to follow you or just find you, there were several ways they could download tracking software onto your phone. The most sophisticated ones would send back to your stalker your exact location to within a few feet.

As I wondered whether Albazi had downloaded something like this onto my personal phone, Nicos told me the Greek police, in their endless war on drug traffickers, had developed some effective blocking software, and that’s what he had installed on my phone. He couldn’t guarantee it would be one hundred per cent effective, but he did think it would at least make me harder to find.

I told him I had a bit of a problem with that, in case it made it harder for him to find me. I instantly regretted it, because it came out all wrong. But he seemed fine with it. He just grinned and said, ‘The day I cannot find you, Sandy, is the day you’ll know you are truly safe.’

That was the first time I kissed him. It wasn’t exactly the most romantic kiss of all time. I just leaned across — almost falling off the stool in the process — and gave him a quick peck of gratitude on the cheek. ‘Thank you,’ I said.

He barely reacted. After I’d sat back down he fixed a stare on me. ‘So let’s talk about this Albazi. When most people want to be hard to find, it is because they are having an affair, but this is not your reason.’

‘You really are — were — a detective, weren’t you? Just like my husband,’ I said.

His face unreadable, his eyes still fixed on mine, he retorted, ‘I hope not. If I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to ever let you out of my sight. There isn’t anything I would want to look at more than you.’

It was about the cheesiest chat-up line I’d ever heard. But he said it with such charm it felt like a warm tornado was swirling through my insides. This was getting dangerous. I desperately tried to think of something clever to say in reply, something meaningful, something polite but distancing, but my brain didn’t want to deliver. Instead I said a rather vacuous, ‘Thank you, that’s nice.’

‘Nice,’ he said, in blank echo. The way he said it was like he had tossed a coin into the air and would only decide after it had landed whether it was heads or tails — and what either would mean.

‘And you?’ I asked. ‘Are you married?’ And I found myself nervous as I awaited the answer.

‘I was.’

‘You’re divorced?’ I tried not to let the relief show in my voice.

‘Eleni died,’ he said flatly.

It was strange but something bothered me that he’d used her name. It implied the wounds were still raw, that he was still hurting. But it did make me realize, for the first time, that he was vulnerable. He took another sip of his drink then stared down at his glass.

I sat in silence for a brief while, thinking how to respond. Finally I ventured, ‘I’m sorry. Was it recent?’

‘Eight years ago.’

‘Do you have kids?’

‘I did,’ he said and stared back into his wide-rimmed glass. He looked mournful now.

‘You did? What happened to them?’

‘Twin boys. They were two years old. They died with their mother in a car crash.’

‘God, I’m sorry — I didn’t... didn’t mean — to—’

He waved a dismissive hand. ‘It was a long time ago, life moves on, because it has to. I erased it. I swept it away, into a compartment of my mind, locked it and threw away the key.’ He shrugged.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again, aware it sounded lame. ‘What happened — the crash — how did that happen?’

‘I’ll tell you some day, maybe, but not now. I want you to tell me more about you. And I will of course know if you are telling the truth or not.’ He smiled but it suddenly had more the coldness of a professional rather than the warmth of a friend.

‘Of course you will, you’re an interrogator.’

‘You know the reason people lie? It’s when they are afraid. Did your husband tell you that?’ He smiled again. This time there was a tad more warmth.

‘No, but it makes sense.’

‘Sure it does. We are programmed by our genes to do whatever it takes to survive. That’s why truth is the first casualty of every war. And we are all guilty of something.’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘So we are all liars?’ I replied.

‘That would depend how you define truth.’

‘Answering a question with a question again,’ I chided.

‘If that’s your only problem with me, I’ll take it,’ he said and then grinned.

I suddenly looked at my watch and it was almost 5 p.m. But I didn’t want to get off that bar stool. I didn’t want the afternoon to end. I had been steadily munching on the endless bowls of nuts, olives and spicy crackers the barman put down, trying to curb my hunger, and now I was trying to figure out how three totally amazing hours had passed.

Safe. He made me feel safe, the way that Roy had made me feel safe, too. At this moment Nicos made me feel more wanted and more alive than I could ever remember. Had it been like that in the early days with Roy? Maybe a little, but we had both been so young then. Barely more than kids. Nicos was a man who seemed both physically and mentally strong. He was so not my type, yet the moment I stepped out of the casino, and into the heat of the late afternoon sunshine, all I could think was that I wanted to see him again soon. Desperately soon.

We’d arranged to meet here tomorrow at the same time. But it was not soon enough.

As I walked towards home, my phone pinged with an incoming message. I pulled it out of my handbag with a smile, expecting it to be from Nicos. But my smile evaporated. It was from Roel Albazi.