by Sara Alexi
‘A way round it?’ he asks, not letting go of the straw with his lips.
‘Let’s put it this way. I have a proposition for you. If you decide to take the course, it will be my first, sort of a trial, so here’s the deal. We use your boat, you get the lessons free and maybe even get a little money for the use of the boat! There! What do you think of that?’ Lazarus offers him a serviette and Spiros dabs at his mouth. He has cream on his chin and a bit has dripped on his T-shirt. He tries to rub it off but just makes it worse.
‘But, as I said, the insides …’ He rubs his T-shirt some more and the serviette starts to disintegrate.
‘We don’t need the inside, just the boat, the ropes, the sails. If it goes well and I get more people signing up, then who knows, we could come to some arrangement long term. What do you say?’
Lazarus sits back. He looks like he should be relaxed, but Spiros notices he has interlocked his fingers on his stomach and his thumbs circle each other; round and round they nervously go.
‘So I wouldn’t need to pay?’ Spiros asks.
‘I might even be able to pay you a bit.’
‘And the exam?’
‘Well, that will be held somewhere, maybe in the local school. They rent the rooms if you ask, over the summer, for this sort of thing.’
‘Yes, but I would still have to take it?’
‘Er, yes, it’s the law, but like I said we’ll study for it. I’ll go through it with you many times, as many as you like, until you know it. Seriously, it’s not that hard.’
‘I don’t know …’
‘Listen.’ Lazarus unlocks his thumbs and leans closer. ‘When I took mine, there were fifteen of us, in a school hall. The tutor left us to it. No sooner had he gone than someone said, “What’s the answer to number five”, and he got the answer from the person next to him. Well, that started us off, and we were all calling out what we didn’t know. It became a joint effort in the end, and we all passed. And as far as I know, none of us are less well off for that. I mean, no one has died, no one has ended up in a dangerous situation. In fact, I learnt some things sitting that exam, so please, do not use that as a reason not to go ahead. George would be so proud of you – and thrilled.’
The idea of pleasing George is enough to tip the balance.
‘Okay, let’s do it!’ Spiros says, and the two of them sit watching the sea. The milkshake goes down until it makes a loud sucking noise and then he needs to use the straw to scoop the last bits from around the edges.
‘All done?’ Lazarus asks, looking at his empty glass. ‘You want another one, to celebrate our deal?’
Spiros looks at the tall, cone-shaped glass. It’s tempting but he knows it will make him feel sick. And it will slosh about in his stomach on the walk home.
‘Actually, I’d better get back,’ he says.
‘Okay, well, before you go let me tell you who the other two are. One is of no interest, a chap from Athens, but the other man you know. Ilias – you know, married to Florentia.’
Spiros is none the wiser.
‘He runs the woodwork shop in your village,’ Lazarus explains.
‘Oh yes, Ilias!’ Spiros has not had much to do with him, but he seems nice enough.
‘Well, you need the inside of the boat sorting out and a lot of that is wood, right?’
‘Oh yes!’ Spiros says, but there is still the question of money. There just isn’t enough to pay Ilias – or anyone – to fix the inside.
‘Well, he will need sailing hours, you know, some practice. You could come to an arrangement with him, perhaps?’
Lazarus puts his hand up to get the attention of the waiter, who ambles over.
‘How much do we owe you?’ Lazarus asks, and it is only after he has settled the bill that Spiros realises he has missed the opportunity to pay. Next time. He really wants to be the person who offers, but now it will have to wait till next time.
The sea seems bluer and more sparkly than usual on the walk back to the village. Could it be possible that he will become a skipper? That he can find a way to get the woodwork done without spending money that he doesn’t have? As Athena said, it is all coming together.
In the village, he takes the lane up to his house and finds Takis with a face like thunder, sitting on their adjoining wall, a piece of paper in his hands.
‘Seen this?’ he says.
Spiros looks at the sheet Takis is holding out but makes no attempt to take it.
‘What is it?’ So far it has been a lovely day. He would rather go and sit with his mama for a bit in the cool of her air conditioning.
‘I imagine you will have a copy too. Cosmo posted mine under my door.’
They both look at Spiros’s door, and sure enough a tell-tale corner of white sticks out from under the painted wood. Spiros would rather leave it there, based on Takis’s response to it, but he so seldom gets letters that it also generates a certain thrill. With a few steps he reaches the door and pulls out the crisp white envelope. It has official stamps on it and it looks rather intimidating. He tears it open and manages to tear the enclosed letter too. Holding the pieces together, he reads. It is about George’s boat and taxes. He doesn’t understand.
‘Inheritance tax,’ Takis clarifies, still scowling.
‘What’s that?’
‘Tax for what we have inherited. One thousand five hundred each.’
Spiros cannot remember how much he has left, exactly, but he has the feeling it was round about that. It won’t leave him with much of anything and he can say goodbye to doing up the boat. His eyes start to water all by themselves but he sucks in some air. He will not let Takis see how he feels.
‘That leaves us with almost nothing. This whole thing has been for nothing.’
‘Nothing for nothing,’ Spiros muses.
‘What?’ Takis barks, but Spiros gets the feeling it would be better not to repeat himself.
‘That bloody George gave us nothing but work,’ Takis grumps. ‘Wasted our time with his stupid boat.’
Spiros looks again at his torn letter. George was not stupid.
‘And this is before we get a bill from Babis, who has dealt with the whole affair. That damn boat is worthless, it will never sell and at the end of the day I reckon we are going to be out of pocket!’
He takes a breath before he starts again, but this time his voice is lower, with more growl to it.
‘And as for handing me over your half of that money drainer when probate is finished, you can forget that.’ He stands and points a finger at Spiros’s face. ‘You were too damn slow.’
He steps closer, still pointing his finger at Spiros’s nose. Then he turns and goes into his house.
‘What do you mean, I was too slow?’ Spiros asks but Takis’s reply is drowned out by the slamming of his door.
Spiros tries to understand what Takis meant but he cannot imagine. Then his thoughts turn to the work the boat needs. The woodwork might be done by Ilias, but what of the headlining, the cushions, a new stove, the toilet pumps, and all the other bits and pieces? But Takis is wrong – the boat must have some value now the engine is in and the electrics are done. Someone will buy it, even if that is the last thing he wants … No, he might as well admit it – the boat would be better off in someone else’s hands, someone who has money.
He doesn’t want to be at home now, after all. He turns and heads back down towards the village. Maybe he will never be in a position to offer to buy coffees, and that’s his lot in life. A worthless buffoon of a man with silly sticky-up hair. He puts his hand up to smooth down his crop, but he feels the short bristles and remembers Athena’s kindness earlier.
‘If only you were right, Athena, and things did have a way of coming together.’
‘Are you talking to me?’ It’s Babis, who is coming out of his door.
‘No I was–’
‘Congratulations, by the way.’ He sounds very jolly.
‘For what?’ They fall into step towards the village squar
e.
‘The boat being yours.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Did Takis not tell you? He came to me today asking if you had signed it over to him, and of course I had no idea what he was talking about. I mean, you never said anything to me about that.’
Spiros stays silent.
‘And so as soon as I told him that you hadn’t, he got all excited and begged me, I mean literally begged me, to sign it over to you, as soon as the paperwork was straight. So, congratulations! She is all yours now!’
He stops walking and produces a set of keys. ‘My car’s here.’
‘What? Really? Can he do that? I mean …’ Spiros is at a loss, cannot fully comprehend what Babis is saying.
‘Yes, really. Yes, he can, and yes, he has.’ Babis grins, and for the first time Spiros can imagine that he could actually like Babis, just a bit anyway.
‘So the boat’s mine?’
‘Yup, just as soon as the paperwork comes back from Athens.’
‘Can he change that? Takis, I mean.’
‘Too late. Sent the papers off half an hour after he left my office. Are you pleased? I thought you would be pleased.’ He puts his keys in the lock and opens the car door.
‘Er, yes, I’m pleased … I think …’
He cannot take it in; it all feels too much. He is pleased, but then what about the headlining, the cushions, the stove, the harbour fees? He is not a businessman; how will he manage? He cannot manage – he has no money left with which to manage.
‘Anyway, that’s how it is, see you.’ Babis closes his car door and with a roar of the engine he is away in a cloud of dust.
‘Mine,’ Spiros tells himself. But the concept is too big; he cannot get his head around it.
Chapter 8
Spiros is in the square now and has no idea which way to turn or what to do. He would have expected to feel delighted that the boat is his, but even when he imagines the inside all fixed up and new, all he feels is the weight of responsibility, and he is terrified that Lazarus’s plan will not work out. Sure, Lazarus might use it now and again for his lessons, but how much money will that bring in? Enough to pay the harbour fees? That would be nice. He’ll be responsible for those now, and all the other expenses. Could he really manage to attract paying guests? That would be what George wanted, wouldn’t it? But if not, perhaps he could live on board! That would be wonderful … But impractical, since his mama needs him next door. No, that would not do.
What would he really like? If he could have his wish granted, what would it be?
‘Easy – I would be George.’ This makes him laugh, despite his concerns.
‘Who would be George?’ Spiros’s feet have brought him towards Stella’s eatery, and the smell of chicken and chips greets him along with Stella’s words.
‘I was talking to myself.’
‘I find talking to myself is the only way to have a sensible conversation most of the time.’
Stella smiles and sits down at one of her tables out on the pavement. The eatery seems empty. She has on her yellow floral sleeveless dress; it is his favourite. He likes her blue one, too, but the yellow is the best. She looks down at herself as if she is expecting to see she has spilt something on herself and he realises he must have been staring.
‘Where’s Takis?’ she asks.
He doesn’t say anything.
‘Problems?’ She pulls a chair out for him to sit, and he does so, mostly because the gesture is kind. ‘Tell me,’ she says.
‘It’s George’s boat.’
‘Is it the boat that is the problem, or Takis?’
‘Takis sees the boat only as a problem and so he has signed it over to me.’
Stella looks at him but stays silent so he continues.
‘Which is great, but not. The inside is a mess, and even if I had the money to do up the inside what would I do with her? I mean, I’m not George, am I?’
It feels a bit odd, talking like this to Stella. He finds he is picking at the paper tablecloth and has put a hole in it, so he puts his hands in his pocket and his fingers curl around the packet of mints George left him.
‘Do you want to be George?’ She sits as if she has never known stress, so relaxed.
‘George wouldn’t want his boat to just sit, would he? But even if I get a skipper’s licence, the inside, well, it will take thousands of euros to repair.’
‘Ah, you’re getting your skipper’s licence, that’s wonderful!’ Stella says.
‘Yes, but even if I do, then what?’
‘Would you like to work the boat as George did?’
‘I would love it.’
In the back of his mind is the memory of reading George’s diary. He had an agreement with Stella, he said. He offered trip to the guests at her hotel. Spiros looks at her, trying to judge how she would react if he brought this up. Would she be mad that he had been reading George’s diary?
‘You know I had a deal with George?’ Stella says quietly, and he is immediately relieved.
‘I know.’ He cannot lie.
‘Oh! Well then, you know it worked very well.’
‘Yes, but …’
He wants to say it was illegal the way George was doing it but then suddenly wonders if Stella knew George was not doing it properly. But if she did, does that mean she was working illegally too? He stops talking and fiddles with George’s packet of mints. Just having them in his pocket makes him feel safe. And then it occurs to him that perhaps he is doing the same with the mints as he is worried he will do with the boat? Holding on too tight, not really enjoying them? He takes them out and looks at them.
‘What have you got there?’
‘Mints George left for me. Look, he even wrote my name on them.’ Spiros shows her the scrawled writing.
‘You know, if you got your skipper’s licence I would be very happy for you to take the clients from my hotel.’
The words feel like a bolt of lightning through him. Him taking out clients on the boat! That would be just like being George. He would get to steer the boat all day – no more digging roads for the dimos, or picking olives in the autumn, unless he wanted to. He would be a proper captain of a proper yacht!
He looks at her, trying to weigh up whether she knew that the trips that George ran were illegal. He would not like to do it like that – it would make him sick with nerves. And then the inside of the boat comes back to his thoughts: the swollen wood, the soggy old cushions. The whole idea is a dream. A nice dream, but completely impractical.
‘What are you thinking? Tell me?’ Her voice is so soft it is hard to resist.
‘The inside is a mess and I would have to do it legally but I don’t know how to run a business. I would be too nervous to run a business, I would do it wrong.’
The worst is blurted out, and his eye starts to twitch, for the first time in ages.
‘Hey, it’s fine. Slow down. We are just talking. Take a breath.’ She waits for his breathing to grow steady. ‘The idea might be too much for you, but if you were interested I would trust you completely. You are too conscientious to get things wrong, and of course we would do it legally. Also, if you are worried about the business side – well, perhaps I can help? I mean, after all, you have the boat and I have the clients – we could do the business side together?’
She pats his hand and his eye twitches a bit less.
‘In fact, here’s an even better idea, how about I come in with you on the boat?’
‘How do you mean?’ Spiros says.
‘Well, as I say, you have the boat, but then inside needs refitting, and as you say that will take money. So how about I put up the money to do whatever needs doing and we become partners in the boat? We can do it all correctly, work out who owns what percentage.’
She smiles, but the word ‘percentage’ sticks with him. He never understood percentages when he was taught them at school.
‘Like half and half?’ He tries to sound as if he understands.
‘Well, perha
ps not half and half, I mean the boat will be worth lots more than the refurbishment, so you would own more of her then me.’
His eye is not twitching at all now. In fact, he is feeling a little excited, and he picks at the hole in the paper tablecloth again but it doesn’t seem to matter.
‘You wouldn’t mind helping me with the paperwork?’
‘I can either help you or do it for you, whichever suits. I think a crew list has to go to the port police office for each charter, that’s the list of people on board, but I could fax that though to them.’
He decides not to mention that George did not do this. He is getting the impression that Stella never knew.
‘The kitchens at the hotel could provide lunches to take with you. It could all work out very well.’ Stella sounds a little excited too. ‘What do you say? Just tell me if you even like the idea and we can take it very slowly from there.’
‘I love the idea.’ He cannot contain his own joy now and, spotting the tube of mints on the table, he picks them up.
‘Have a mint!’ he says.
‘To seal the deal,’ Stella replies, and she puts her hand out.
But what falls from the torn packet is not a mint – it is a gold sovereign!
‘Oh!’ they say in unison, and then Spiros tears more of the paper back, watching open-mouthed as sovereign after sovereign falls out.
‘Well, bless George’s heart!’ Stella exclaims.
‘So I don’t need your money now,’ Spiros says, but the thought makes him feel sad and a little alone again. The idea of doing it with Stella had felt … He searches for the right word, and decides ‘warm’ is the nearest he can get: warm and no longer on the outside of things.
‘Well, you could do it on your own now if you wanted.’ Stella’s voice has lost its excitement too.
‘Yes, I could.’ He cannot hide his disappointment.
‘Yes, you could,’ Stella agrees. ‘Or’ – she puts the tube of sovereigns in his hand, along with those that have fallen onto the table, and then she closes his fingers over the top – ‘you could keep these for a rainy day …’
‘And do it together?’
