Greener is the Grass

GREENER

is the

GRASS

Colin Galbraith

COPYRIGHT STATEMENT

Greener is the Grass is Copyright © 2012 Colin Galbraith

Cover design by JT Lindroos

Cover photo by Jayhem

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means without permission of the author.

Colin Galbraith has asserted his right under the Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance

to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

A Smashing Press Production

Smashwords Edition

Distributed by Smashwords

ISBN: 978-1-4716-6017-7

First Edition - May 2012

www.colingalbraith.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Colin Galbraith was born in Paisley in 1973 and raised in Bridge of Weir. After attending the Open College of the Arts, he began writing seriously in 1999. He lives in South Queensferry.

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ALSO BY COLIN GALBRAITH

Novels

SLICK

GATECRASH

HUNTING JACK

Novellas

GREENER IS THE GRASS

Paranormal

STELLA

BACCARA BURNING

(Note: Both available as one-book format)

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I'd like to thank all the staff at the Atlantica Princess Hotel in Ixia, on the wonderful island of Rhodes in the Greek islands, for teaching me some of what it takes to be an entertainer in a holiday resort.

Huge thanks go out to Julie Crawford, Ena Galbraith, Lindsay Galbraith, Eva Schegulla and Stevie Ward for providing me with much appreciated criticism and copy writing talents.

And of course, JT Lindroos for another outstanding front cover design.

Finally, I'd like to thank the band Yello, for providing the soundtrack in the form of their album The Flag, while I was writing this book.

DEDICATION

For my dad, Dave – the salt of the earth.

GREENER

is the

GRASS

Chapter 1

The bed rocked back and forward, sliding Jamie Tosh up and down the mattress as though he was lying on a greased sheet. Trapped in the void between an alcoholic stupor and consciousness, he lay frozen in a hazy half-rubber state brought on by the numerous cocktails he had consumed the night before.

He thought he was dreaming.

He glanced at the bedside clock: it was 6:03am. He tried to hold onto something, anything, but everything was moving, shifting around like the building was swaying in time to an awful tune. The thin under-sheet gave him enough to grasp onto as the room rocked back and forth. Confused, he rubbed his face. It didn't help and he wondered if there was anything he should be doing, but the only thing he could be sure of was his racing heart and that whatever was doing it, wasn't going to stop.

Through the dull ache of his hangover, fear came thundering toward him. The built-in wardrobe squeaked rhythmically like a mouse being tortured. The picture frame opposite lifted off the wall with each forward movement then banged against it. The light hanging from the ceiling swung helplessly in time with the squeaking and the bed’s sickly motion. A carafe of wine fell from the fridge and smashed, sending red wine sprawling across the floor like easy blood from a warm body. An empty glass joined it that had been balanced on a low shelf, having worked its way clear from the edge.

The walls continued to ooze back and forward, the feeling of falling into some kind of twilight zone swarmed over him. There were no other sounds from anywhere else in the apartment and he wondered if he was the only one witnessing it. Could it be something outside – some industrial sized digger commencing the build of a whole new hotel next to the apartment? Or worse: demolishing this one? Too much motion, he concluded, because the whole building seemed to be rocking to its very foundation.

The movement stopped.

Jamie sat up and stared at the wall, his mouth gaping. Silence was everywhere. The realisation it hadn't been a dream began to materialise and he looked again at the alarm clock: it was 6:05am.

Jamie climbed out of bed and went over to the glass doors, opened them, and stepped out onto the balcony. The morning light from another fresh Mediterranean dawn flooded the room and the sound of car alarms filled his ears like a thousand screaming children. In front of the apartment block the road lay empty, and beyond that, the long beach and the rolling beauty of the Aegean Sea contrasted magnificently against the Turkish coastline, grey and misty in the distance. The sun was still low and a slight breeze met with his skin, the hint of another forty-plus Rhodes summer day already threatening. The birds that normally sung loud and crisp were noticeably quiet; everything was quiet, except for the car alarms.

In the distance, somewhere, people were shouting. Panic and unanswered questions echoed in their tone. A woman nearby yelled something in Greek and a dog responded by barking.

Was that what I thought it was? said Gerry Dawson, stepping out of the adjacent room onto the shared balcony.

Jamie looked at his flat mate. His hair was dark brown and disheveled, his face square with firm cheeks. A collection of pink spots dotted his chin, resting plushly among the soft unshaven hairs where a beard would one day sprout. He was wearing blue and white striped boxer shorts and had a hairless body with not an ounce of visible fat.

I think that might have been an earthquake, said Jamie, not quite believing the words as they left his mouth. Was that an earthquake?

Gerry rubbed his face and hair. I think so. Dunno, actually. Listen to those alarms.

What do we do?

Gerry shrugged his shoulders. Search me. Do they get a lot of earthquakes in Rhodes?

I’m not sure.

I think it’s finished, said Gerry. Might as well go back to bed.

Shouldn’t we be standing in a doorway or something?

I think you only do that while it’s happening, said Gerry. In case the building falls down or something. It sounds like everything’s fine to me though. We must have missed the best bit.

He was right as far as there were no crashing sounds, and the apartment block seemed to be standing with no imminent risk of collapse. Greek architecture and building methods had certainly improved since the days of Jason and the Argonauts.

Are the girls up? asked Jamie, thinking of Natasha and Leigh in the next apartment.

Who cares? said Gerry. I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you at the hotel later on.

Jamie looked out to sea and listened to the car alarms and dogs barking. An earthquake, he thought, it just didn’t seem real.

His thoughts turned to Angela, his fiancée back home in Scotland. She would be oblivious to what had just happened; oblivious as she always was to anything that happened out here. It would be just after 4 o’clock in the morning back in Falkirk and she’d be fast asleep, snoozing away with her hair caught in her face, the slight drone of a snore as she dreamed of weddings and brand new families.

I wish you were here, he whispered, and for a moment felt content with the knowledge that in a few days she would be.

Jamie knew he would never be able to get back to sleep, not after something like this. The excitement of his first earthquake experience had left him with adrenalin pumping through him, his hangover dissipating with all the drama. He went back inside, dressed quickly into his standard issue beach shorts and yellow company t-shirt, and left the apartment. He'd shower later on.

The street was oddly quiet. The car alarms had all but died away leaving an eerie calm. A few birds had started singing and in the distance a church bell rang out. It was warm, the heat from the rising sun already strong enough to promote a film of sweat on his forehead as he made his way along the dusty road towards the Aqua Bay Hotel.

Chapter 2

The Aqua Bay is Ilyassos's only luxury hotel. It runs on an all-inclusive basis, the guests having paid up front for the privilege of air-conditioned rooms, top notch service, all the food and drink they can consume, a large swimming pool, and free entertainment and games provided by Jamie and his three colleagues: Gerry, Natasha and Leigh.

Jamie arrived in the large, air-conditioned reception area. The desk staff appeared unfazed by the earthquake, still going about their business as though nothing much had happened. Some guests were milling around, some only half-dressed, all of them discussing the situation while watching the news on Greek television.

Jamie approached the desk. Is everyone okay?

The chief clerk, an Australian girl who had worked in the hotel for three years, greeted