Chapter Text
To be honest, Harry Bright wasn’t quite sure what he was doing back at Kalokairi, he never saw himself standing on Greek soil again for as long as he lived. More than a few years had passed since he traded the blue seas and the hot sand for gray asphalt and soulless skyscrapers, the warm meals on the beach for a tv tray accompanied with his dogs, and the cold drinks under moonlight for hours spent in front of his computer, pouring himself into his work.
He thought nothing could drag him back there, not after the heartbreak that he had experienced the last time. And yet, the moment he found Donna Sheridan’s letter in his mailbox, he booked the first flight to Greece, not hesitating for even a moment. He couldn’t even begin to imagine why Donna would want to see him again after they had spent over two decades apart, but he knew without a shadow of doubt that he’d forever come if she called, no matter how much time had passed.
And now here he was. Back again.
Through a cruel twist of fate, his day in Greece began with him standing in the port once more, just like it had all those years ago. He could do nothing but glare at the boat that left him stranded alone on the mainland again, so close and yet so far away from the island.
Or, at least, he thought he was alone.
As it turned out, a man by the name of Sam Carmichael found himself in the exact same situation, both of them despairing, both left behind without a way to reach Kalokairi. The next ferry would make them miss the wedding, and Harry was just beginning to think if he’d manage to swim that far, he couldn’t, when their remedy almost dropped from the sky above them, in the form of one Bill Anderson.
It seemed that life wasn’t quite done surprising Harry yet, because he not only managed to get a ride to the island, but also met the man who made his business meetings and endless flights around the globe a bit more bearable. The man who lived for the adventure, the thrill, never knowing what the next day would bring. Harry envied him that, knowing he’d never be able to cross his threshold for anything other than added office hours.
Well, ignoring the debacle that he managed to throw himself into at the present moment, that is.
Then again, working with Sam and Bill to get the little boat to the island together, tightening the ropes and releasing the sails, with the warm wind in his hair and the harsh sunlight in his eyes, it made Harry’s heart swell. Maybe one day, when all his business associates would be satisfied with the progress, when he’d last step out of his office, maybe he’d retire to someplace warmer.
Maybe then he’d get himself a small speedboat, nothing too flashy, just enough to enjoy the heat and humidity that only a real summer can bring. Although he doubted that reality would ever become one within his reach.
But instead of worrying about his future, he decided to enjoy the present, at least for a little bit.
He forgot how much he missed the warm Mediterranean. A part of him wanted to jump into the sea straight away, to feel the salt on his skin and the sand between his toes. But then again, he never was much of a spontaneous adventurer, so he stayed on the boat, his eyes on the horizon, letting the sun kiss the few bits of exposed skin. He had rolled his sleeves up and unbuttoned his shirt a bit, intent on fully giving himself over to the summer.
Because even though he still didn’t know what he was doing back in Greece, or why Donna had invited him; a question that neither Bill nor Sam had an answer to, he was determined to at least enjoy the vacation, if one could call it that.
Arriving on the island was both bittersweet and confusing at once.
The cliffs, the beach, the thriving trees with long stretching branches all looked the same as they did twenty years ago. But there was no Donna, no blonde haired girl with eyes full of life and laughter, with songs ready to spill from her lips. The place felt almost…bleak.
Nevertheless, they all had a wedding to get to, and Harry refused to wallow in the past for even a moment longer, so he followed Bill and Sam up the steep incline, making their way up the crumbling path. Soon, that dusty trail gave way to sturdy steps, and the familiar village spread ahead of them.
Once they finally put the climb behind them, the three men reached a terrace overlooking the sea, the port, and all of the island’s nature, the view straight out of a fantasy book, or maybe even a dream, one that Harry often woke up from, disappointed each and every time. He knew he could stand there the entire day, soaking up the sight, letting the scent of the Mediterranean, the salty sea air and the cicadas’s song swallow him whole, but he got interrupted before he could even commit it all to memory. As if though the scenery in front of him hadn’t been branded over his eyelids the first time he stepped foot on the island.
But he didn’t want to admit to that, not when there was suddenly a young girl standing in front of them, one with hair too light and eyes too bright to be anyone but the daughter of the woman that he had once loved. She was stacking boxes of bottles, her hair pinned back and her golden tan shining with a red flush, undoubtedly partly from the neverending sunshine, partly from the heavy crates that she was moving. She greeted them all with a smile, one that twisted into momentary shock as soon as they introduced themselves, and then back into that bright grin once more.
Harry suspicions were confirmed by Sam’s question, he didn’t doubt it for even a second that Sophie wasn’t Donna’s child, they were simply too similar, in looks as well as in personality. The personality, which, if Harry remembered it right, and he knew he did, was often bubbly, mischievous, and full of secrets, untested plans that often got her into trouble. And truly, even if Harry had any second guesses about who Sophie's mother was, they all vanished the instant that she led them through cellars, dark corridors and secret passageways with herbs hanging above their heads and bottles leaned against the stone walls.
He couldn’t stop looking around himself, doubt creeping into him as he followed the other two men and Sophie down those hallways, Bill laughing at the front, clearly enjoying the scenic route that the girl was leading them on. Harry, on the other hand, began to question his decision to accept the wedding invitation. Even more so when he climbed up a ladder and found himself, along with Bill and Sam, in a cluttered attic, air mattresses spread on the floor and an excited Sophie pacing over the hardwood floor.
Harry could do nothing but bury his head in his hands when Sophie’s true plan was finally revealed, her devious, match-making, long-shot, impossible plan. How on Earth was he supposed to tell her that he didn’t love her mother anymore, or at least, not in the way he once did? How was he supposed to break her hopeful, lively, heart with a confession that even he hadn’t fully grasped after years of battling with himself?
He only sighed, while Bill laughed, yet again, and Sam sat down on one of the ratty beds, hopeful revelations of his children, home, and the island they all knew slipping past his lips. Sophie drank in every word with a soft smile, and Harry could almost see the plan that she had undoubtedly been plotting for years slowly improving in her mind. He was about to comment on it too, when singing from the outside drew them all to attention, both Bill and Sam immediately standing up, pushing towards the attic’s trapdoor. They all recognized that voice, would recognize it in their sleep, that much was obvious.
It was Donna.
Nervousness immediately filled Sophie’s eyes, and she pushed them all back with pleading words, not leaving until they all promised not to spill their secret. Harry watched her shut the window in his face before she scaled the side of the goat house to get to the ground, and he slowly began exploring the attic that they were…trapped in?
Not for the first time that day, Harry wondered what the hell he had gotten himself into.
Even more so when he was blowing up an inflatable bed one moment, and the next, Donna Sheridan came crashing down on it, sending the air back into Harry’s face. There was laughter, hurriedly fixed hair and nervousness as she took them all in, one by one, her laughter matching Bill’s as she scooted up on the air mattress, her disbelieving eyes then settling on Harry.
“You probably don’t recognise me, do you?”
“Harry! It is you!”
A soft smile, wistful voice and a welcoming gaze. He missed her so much, more than he could explain. He used to stay up countless nights, looking at the stars and wishing she was next to him again, even if not in the way she once was. He wished he could hold her hand, to feel her leaning against his shoulder as they talked for hours, to maybe dance around the room to an old Abba song, talking about everything and nothing at once.
He wished he could tell her the secret that he was still grappling with, the one that he still didn’t quite accept, or understand, for that matter. She’d help him with it, he was sure of that.
At the moment however, she didn’t seem all that happy to see them, especially Sam, and Harry was just itching to hear the story behind that, he knew a story when he saw one, and he was willing to bet it was interesting too, he always loved a good anecdote. But he doubted that either Donna or Harry would be open to telling him about it, especially with the way they looked at each other, and the fact that Donna definitely didn’t believe even a single excuse that each of them somehow came up with.
Spontaneous holiday, yeah right. Even Harry himself knew how made up that one sounded.
Thankfully, after a few more minutes of mindless back and forth, and a lot of pining on Sam and Donna’s side -seriously, what was going on with them- she left the attic, but not before essentially banning all three of them from her island.
Less than half an hour later, Harry found himself on the boat again, Sam and Bill right alongside him, Harry’s old guitar that he found in Donna’s goat house slung across his back. None of them noticed Sophie and her friends running down the pier, nor did they hear them, or even saw Sophie throwing herself into the water, swimming towards them. Only once she was almost at the boat’s portside did they spot her, all three of them pulling her aboard, the earlier nervousness returning to her voice when Bill questioned her on Donna’s behaviour.
Harry chose to ignore the lies that spewed forth, the excuses of her mother’s stress and how happy she would soon be, and judging by Bill’s and Sam’s expressions, they chose not to interrogate her further either. In the end though, Sophie was the first to change the topic, her surprised gaze stopping on Harry’s guitar that laid on the deck.
“You took mom’s guitar!”
“No, no. I borrowed it, look.”
He hurried to snatch it up again, sitting on the deck with the guitar angled in his lap, searching for the engravings that he had scratched on there ages ago. He muttered to himself as he turned it over, until he finally found it, their names, etched on the colored wood, not fading in the slightest. D.S. and H.B.
“Donna Sheridan…and Head Banger.”
Harry could hear, and see, Bill’s and Sam’s confusion at his nickname, but he didn’t care, instead slinging the guitar around his neck, letting his fingers fiddle with the strings once more, the old instrument welcoming him back, bringing along memories of a simpler time. Of the time he spent studying in Paris, meeting the woman of his dreams, of long train rides, missed ferries and unexpected heartbreaks. He felt Sophie’s eyes on him as he sang, inquisitive, wondering, and so full of hope, full of ambitions for the life that lay ahead.
She asked him about it all, as they sailed around Kalokairi, and he didn’t hold back, he told her everything. About the busy french restaurants, the bustling gardens, the rooftop hotels and the summer when everything felt possible and within reach. Sophie drank it all in, with her bright smile and eyes as blue as the sky.
Of course, he wasn’t the only one that she had questioned, she turned to Sam as well, and spent about half an hour sitting across from him on the deck, each with a sketchbook in hand, only glancing up to see each other, to note down the finer details. He heard her questions too, almost identical to the ones she asked him, about where and when he had met her mother, how much time they spent together and why it all fell apart in the end.
After Sam, she went to Bill, it was clear she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d have all the information. He showed her photographs, old faded pieces of paper, just like Harry and Sam had done, no doubt of himself with Donna. He showed her how to steer the boat, how to unfurl the sails, answering her neverending questions the entire time, not stopping her even once.
They had anchored the boat at one of the cliffs around four o’clock, found a spot on the very top where both Bill and Sophie insisted they dive off, and they jumped into the crystal clear sea together, Sophie’s small hand clutched in his. He held on until the fresh waves enveloped them, and came out laughing, and he found matching grins on Bill’s, Sam’s, and Sophie’s faces as well.
Harry looked at her and couldn’t help but wonder what his life would’ve been like if he had stayed in Greece, if he tried to talk to Donna without running away immediately, if he had given them another chance. He always wanted children, a daughter even more so, and although he didn’t want to even consider the possibility that Sophie could be his, he knew that if she were, he’d spoil her rotten. He’d take her on all the trips, on all the adventures, he’d buy her a guitar just like his, hell, he’d spend endless days baking in the sun, with his skin red and peeling if it would get her to smile like that again.
He thought about it as they made their way up a hill, deciding on a picnic under the pine trees, each of them carrying a bag with food and drinks, while Sophie tagged along with blankets piled high in her arms. Once they secured the perfect place, Bill began building a small campfire, Harry cut the bread, fruit, and vegetables, and Sam continued his earlier conversation with Sophie.
None of them knew or cared how much time had passed, simply enjoying the company, drinking and eating, the slowly setting sun warming their skin as they retold stories that they barely even remembered. Harry kept their spirits high by strumming on his guitar, Sophie joining him every now and then, and he couldn’t help but smile at her soft voice.
Once they got back to the boat, Harry kept Bill company while the other steered the ship, laughing at Sophie and Sam, who were lost in friendly banter over their sketches. He even managed to sneak in a short nap, relaxing under the billowing sails, letting the soft wind brush over his skin, enjoying the few moments of peace. Afterwards, he had just given Sophie the old photo he had kept of himself and Donna, her expression one of both shock and delight, when a loud voice suddenly sounded from the beach.
Sophie had jumped to her feet so quickly that Harry barely had enough time to lean back and avoid getting hit in the face with his guitar. He watched as she stripped off the borrowed shirt and returned it to Sam, before she jumped off the boat, swimming back to the shore with broad strokes.
He kept his gaze on her until she ran into the arms of a guy on the shore, a man named Sky, if he heard it correctly, and although they were still sailing quite far away from the beach, Harry didn’t need more than a glance to see that the man Sophie was talking to was absolutely gorgeous.
Harry watched him speaking with Sophie, watched them dancing and twirling around on the sand, saw Sophie pulling him into a kiss and then laughing as Sky got lifted and tugged away by his friends. He knew he should look away, but he simply couldn’t, not when the golden sun reflected so beautifully off Sky’s tan skin, his muscles rippling as he sped around on the jetski, and Harry felt a yearning that he had long since buried resurface again, all at the sight of a man in the distance.
The man Sophie was going to marry, no doubt.
Oh.
Oh no.