“Dry yous eyes, all yous did was write to some lonely men in prison. Yous intentions was goodly. Now put yous shoes back on an’ we’ll walk back and give yous pedicure tank a good scrubbing before the health inspector turns up.”
“I think Sofia was right and Mrs Kolokotronis spread her contagious warts in my salon.”
Rubbing her shoulder gently Mel didn’t have the heart to tell her she was also responsible for Blodwyn spreading her festering fungal foot infection.
Chapter 31
Great Bowls of Borscht
“Where am I? What ‘appened?” that old fool Vasilis demanded for the hundredth time since coming out of his coma.
“Yous is in the ‘ospital darling, try to remember. Yous was attacked by a madman,” mail order Masha repeated, attempting to jog his memory.
“Who are yous?” Vasilis asked his wife, attempting to sit up to have a better view down her cleavage.
“Ow many more times, I’m yous wife, yous old fool,” Masha shouted, rapidly losing patience.
“Saints alive, he’s much more irritating now than he was in ‘is coma,” Nitsa shouted.
“Who are yous?” Vasilis asked Nitsa.
“I’m yous wife,” Nitsa lied, thinking she may as well amuse herself by tormenting the old fool. It would at least distract her from the nasty itching inside her pop socks.
“No, I’m ‘is wife. Why is everyone trying to steal my ‘usband?” the petulant voice of the ancient Kyria Moustakos piped up from the next bed.
“You are just confused;” Deirdre assured her, “have a sip of water.”
Lifting her skull-like head from the pillow Kyria Moustakos knocked back a beaker of water, complaining it wasn’t ouzo, before fixing her beady eyes on Nitsa and saying, “I knew yous wasn’t likely to be faithful to my Fotis. There yous was carrying on with my son an’ all the while yous was married to this youngster.”
Quentin rolled his eyes, hissing to Deirdre, “Do we really need to stay in this parallel universe where octogenarians are considered to be polygamous youngsters? Nitsa has eaten all the grapes we brought for Vasilis and the stench of the donkey is becoming unbearable.”
Deirdre was too engrossed examining her warts to bother replying.
“My donkey,” Vasilis suddenly shouted, throwing his arms around Onos and showering her with sloppy kisses.
Ever since being licked out of his coma that old fool Vasilis had been unable to hold onto a coherent thought for more than two seconds. Beyond his recognition of his beloved donkey he was seemingly clueless to the identity of all the people crammed into the hospital room. The idea that the voluptuous vision of Russian loveliness was his wife excited him, but the idea he was married to the wrinkled old crone with the fake hair, or even worse the skull-like apparition with a plaster arm who was old enough to be his mother, horrified him.
The arrival of Slick Socrates made the available space in the room even tighter.
“I see the old fool is out of his coma,” Socrates acknowledged.
“Yes, but he can’t remember anything, the doctor says he ‘as amnesia,” Masha told him.
Wedging himself in between the donkey and his beloved Stavroula, who was sleeping fitfully between bouts of vomiting, Socrates announced “I hate to wake her but there’s trouble at her taverna she should know about.”
“At least the news her father is out of his coma should cheer her up,” Quentin piped up. Socrates shrugged, knowing full well Stavroula would be less than thrilled to discover a will signed by an amnesiac had no legal standing.
Shaken out of her sleep Stavroula slowly sat up, saying “Oh Socrate, I ‘ave never felt worse. I should have known hanging round at the hospital waiting for that old fool to come out of his coma would expose me to disgusting germs.”
“Well the good news is Vasilis is out of his coma,” Socrates told her. “But you didn’t pick up hospital germs, my love; it seems you’ve been sick with a very nasty strain of food poisoning. You aren’t alone in your suffering.”
Stavroula struggled to find the strength to turn her head to look at Vasilis. “Father,” she cried in relief, genuinely pleased he was no longer comatose.
“Who are yous?” Vasilis replied.
“Father, it is I, Stavroula, yous long lost love child.”
“So I did sleep with one of these old hags? Vasilis screeched, looking in horror at Nitsa and Kyria Moustakos.
“Socrates forgot to mention your father has amnesia,” Quentin said. Stavroula felt far too sickly to make any sense of it all.
“For goodness sake Nitsa, put that away, this is a hospital and that festering mess on your foot could be highly contagious,” Quentin yelled at the sight of Nitsa stripping off her pop socks and settling in for a good scratch.
“I thought I’d ask the doctor to ‘ave a look. It ain’t ‘alf givin’ me some gyp,” Nitsa shouted. “’Ang on yous said ‘contagious’ K-Went-In, ‘appen I picked it up from that Welsh woman in Evangelia’s fish pedicure tank.”
“Oh my, that could be where I picked up this plague of warts from,” Deirdre shuddered. “I wonder if the other ladies are suffering a similar affliction.”
“Who else had their feet in the tank with you,” Quentin asked.
“Let me see, there was Thea, Soula and Mrs Kolokotronis,” Deirdre recalled.
“You should ask them if they have caught warts too and then make your revolting condition known to the public health inspector who is prowling around the village,” Socrates advised, calculating a complaint about the beauty parlour may deflect the health inspector’s attention away from Stavroula’s taverna.
Before he could continue he was interrupted by the donkey braying at full volume, desperately attempting to spit something foul out of its mouth.
“Onos is choking, help her,” Vasilis cried. Quentin rushed to the rescue, prising the donkey’s jaws open and extracting Nitsa’s chewed up pop socks.
The loud braying attracted the attention of other hospital goers who barged into the room demanding to know what a donkey was doing on the premises.”
“It’s not right, it’s not proper, it’s not hygienic,” an old man holding onto a cane spluttered.
He was interrupted by another man shouting “I begged the doctor to let me bring my mother’s pet goat to visit; she’s so attached to it. I got ‘er one of them novelty ones from that bald chap in Astakos who dresses ‘em up in clothes, but he flatly refused. No exceptions he said, no pets allowed.”
“Same ‘ere, my husband Harris is really missing is pussy but the doctor was adamant, no cats,” a middle-aged woman affirmed angrily.
The smitten old doctor rushed in attempting to quell the disturbance.
“Now, now, the donkey isn’t a pet, it is here in a medical experimental capacity,” the smitten old doctor began to protest.
“Yous cant’s go experimenting on donkeys, there’s laws against that,” a woman in a wheelchair objected, deliberately running over the doctor’s foot.
Hopping up and down in pain the doctor tried to restore calm, explaining “the donkey isn’t being experimented on. It was brought in to help this poor old fool who was languishing in a coma. He wasn’t responding to anything until the donkey, that he has an overt fondness for, was brought to his bedside. Now, as you can see he is sitting up, awake and dribbling.”
The presence of so many people upset Onos, still suffering from the noxious taste of Nitsa’s pop socks. Braying wildly the donkey gave Vasilis a quick lick then deposited a steaming pile of manure on Quentin’s feet. The bunch of pet lover complainers fled in disgust as the doctor shouted, “The donkey has done its duty in nudging Vasilis out of his coma. Can someone please take it outside now; it is causing far too much disruption?”
The doctor’s request was met with blank stares until Kyria Moustakos suddenly sprang out of bed with remarkable agility, saying “I’ll take it outside, the putrid smell in ‘ere is too much for me.”
“I’ll thank yous not to in
sult my feet,” Nitsa called after her.
Kyria Moustakos attracted some strange looks as she slowly shuffled along hospital corridors in her nylon nightgown and fluffy slippers, clutching tightly to the donkey’s mane. Finally reaching fresh air she abandoned the donkey, leaving it to munch its way through the hospital garden flowerbeds whilst she doddered across to the nearest coffee shop and ordered a large ouzo, immediately forgetting all about the animal.
Quentin and Deirdre had taken over the hospital room bathroom where Deirdre was showering the donkey deposit from Quentin’s shoes. Stavroula was hectoring Vasilis for not recognising her and Nitsa was attempting to fashion a new pair of pop socks out of a hospital pillowcase.
“Stavroula, never mind about your father now, there is a taverna emergency you need to know about,” Slick Socrates said.
“Well I know my customers will be missin’ my cookin’ but I can’t do anything about it until I have the all clear,” Stavroula groaned.
“It’s not that, the taverna has been closed down by the public health inspector as the possible source of this nasty bout of food poisoning that’s going round. People who ate there are dropping like flies. On top of that Mel let Fotini loose in the kitchen and rumour has it she’s been spitting in the food. Of course neither she nor Mel had the necessary paperwork to be handling food.”
“But people could have got food poisoning anywhere, I always suspected Yiota doesn’t keep a hygienic kitchen,” Stavroula spat, maliciously maligning her rival’s reputation. “And I have food poisoning and couldn’t have picked it up in my taverna as I’ve been at father’s bedside for days.”
“Where do you think I got that fish meze from?” Socrates hissed.
Stavroula’s eyes narrowed as the realisation hit her she had contracted food poisoning from the fish meze delivered to her by her lover from her own taverna kitchen.
“But it was so tasty. Tell me Nitsa didn’t spit it in,” Stavroula implored.
“The dastardly Dastan ate fish meze in your taverna the other evening and he’s been violently ill ever since,” mail order Masha volunteered.
“And that Scottish couple who threw up in my old banger ate fish meze there too,” Quentin said, emerging from the bathroom.
“I ‘ave to get ‘ome an’ sort this out, I cant’s ‘ave my taverna’s reputation ruined,” Stavroula cried, attempting to get out of bed.
“You are still far too weak, my love. You must stay in bed, but at least you are forewarned if the public health inspector pays you a visit,” Socrates advised.
“I will tell ‘im nothing passed my lips except hospital food,” she decided.
“I knew you were a trouble maker,” the doctor sneered. “Happily you signed a disclaimer saying you didn’t touch any hospital food.”
“Where am I? What appened?” Vasilis suddenly shouted.
“Great bowls of borscht, ‘ow many more times?” Masha screamed. Grabbing Nitsa by her hair extensions Masha demanded “get me ‘ome in yous taxi, I can’t take anymore of this madness.”
Squashed into the taxi with Quentin and Deirdre, Masha was almost back in Astakos when she realised she’d left something behind at the hospital.
“Malaka.” she screeched. “We forgot all about the donkey.”
Chapter 32
A Long Way from Athens
“Sofia, that was Evangelia on the phone, she isn’t opening this evening, so you can have the night off,” Thea called.
“Thank goodness for that, I’ve never stopped working since I got here,” Sofia complained, emerging from the bathroom with her hair wrapped in a towel. “Nona, could you just run to the supermarket and stock up on junk snacks for me. I can’t go out with wet hair.”
“Well I’m busy trying to get ready to go out for dinner with Tasos. He doesn’t often take me out, being a bit of a tight-wad, so I want to look nice,” Thea replied.
“It’s all about you, isn’t it? Is it really too much to expect a few snacks?” Sofia shouted, slamming her bedroom door and turning the heavy metal music up to a deafening level.
“Po po, I cant’s think what’s got into that girl,” Thea muttered, rushing over to the supermarket to stock up on junk snacks.
Returning home she was disgruntled to discover the cat had turned neon pink, muttering under her breath, “I thought Tasos was comin’ round to the cat. He’s got some explain’ to do when I get my ‘ands on ‘im.”
Thea knocked cautiously on Sofia’s bedroom door, afraid the teen might snap at her again without good reason. Instead Sofia greeted her with exclamations of delight, saying “Nona, you’re the best, these are all my favourite snacks.”
“Well you cant’s just live on junk, yous need to eat healthy food too,” Thea advised.
“Oh well, if you insist I’ll come out to dinner with you and old Toothless,” Sofia said.
“Well it’s really meant to be a romantic evening for just the two of us,” Thea objected. With the news Toothless Tasos could be sent to prison at any moment by the vindictive prosecutor they had vowed to make the most of any precious time left together.
“And what am I meant to do while you go swanning off with him? Starve? I suppose it’s too much trouble for you to cook me a decent meal before you go out, Nona?”
“There’s some briam in the kitchen, you only need to warm it up,” Thea clarified.
“Forget it, if you can’t be bothered. You know I hate briam. I’ll just go hungry,” Sofia screamed, oblivious to the irony of claiming to starve while surrounded by a mountain of junk snacks.
“I suppose I should cook the girl something, she is very skinny and needs feedin’ up,” Thea muttered, dashing into the kitchen to prepare a pork chop with lemon potatoes and green beans.
“Why are yous cookin’ when I promised to take yous out?” Tasos asked in surprise.
“We can still go out Taso, but I can’t let Sofia starve.”
“Leave that, it’s just more work for yous. Go and tell the girl she can come with us, she’ll probably spend all evening ignoring us anyway with her head in her phone,” Tasos said.
“Sofia,” Thea called, once again knocking on Sofia’s door. “Tasos says yous must come out with us for dinner.”
“Forget it Nona, I know when I’m not wanted,” Sofia screeched through the door.
“Now dont’s be silly Sofia,” Thea said barging into the teenager’s bedroom. “Oh my. Sofia what on earth have yous done to yous face?”
Sofia’s face, from her hairline to her eyebrows, had turned bright pink, matching her now neon pink hair.
“Oh Nona, I don’t know what happened. I decided to go pink instead of purple, but the dye has seeped into my forehead and won’t come off,” Sofia cried.
“There, there, dont’s cry,” Thea comforted her, shouting down to Tasos to run over to the hardware shop for a bottle of turps. As Thea stared at her best white towel, a luxuriant purchase from the home shopping channel now ruined with neon pink hair dye, realisation dawned.
“Sofia, did yous practice on the cat before yous did yous ‘air?”
“The packet said to test it first in case of allergic reactions.”
“Not on the cat Sofia, ‘ave yous no sense? If it goes round licking itself it will need its stomach pumped.”
“Typical! You think more of the cat than me,” Sofia sulked.
“I cant’s do right for doin’ wrong as far as that girl’s concerned,” Thea lamented when Tasos returned with the turps. “I just dont’s understand it, Mrs Kolokotronis reported Sofia was all sweetness and light when she was out with young Iraklis. Evangelia reports she’s pleasant enough at the salon, but the moment she comes ‘ome she turns into a monster.”
“’Appen she’s just ‘omesick,” Tasos consoled her. “She’s a long way from Athens.”
“I’ll just give ‘er mother a quick call to see if this erratic behaviour is normal,” Thea decided.
As Tasos hovered nearby, manically scrubbing the cat with a brillo
pad and turps, all he could hear was “Po po, I know, I know,” as Sofia’s mother sympathised with Thea for landing her with a hormonal teenager.
Chapter 33
The Pappas’ Pleasant Personality Persists
Evangelia and Melecretes had been scrubbing and scouring the beauty parlour for hours, pointedly ignoring the persistent knocking of the public health inspector.
“Let ‘im catch up with yous tomorrow, yous ‘ave ‘ad a stressful day,” Mel advised. “We’ll finish up ‘ere then I’ll take you out for a bite to eat.”
Their scrubbing was interrupted by yet more insistent knocking, accompanied by a guttural foreign accent.
“It’s that Kazakh’s bodyguard, I wonder what he can want,” Mel queried, grabbing a long toothed styling comb as protection and tentatively opening the door. The bodyguard, unable to communicate except in his native tongue, had painstakingly penned a note in English, using his Kazakh-English dictionary. Mel accepted the note and read it aloud.
“I not body hard. I hair dress. I want defect.”
“So you’re not a bodyguard?” Evangelia asked
The Kazahk looked blank, understanding nothing.
“Mafia,” Mel asked, using a universally understood word and pointing at the Kazahk. “You Mafia?”
Shaking his head the Kazakh grabbed a pair of salon scissors and mincingly mimicked a cutting motion.
“I think he’s trying to tell us he’s a hairdresser. He has a very nifty way with the styling scissors,” Evangelia observed. “That would explain why he came to the salon.”
“Dastan?” Mel queried.
Leafing through his dictionary the Kazakh slowly spelled out ‘bad man wife,’ then grabbing the nearest fly swatter made violent swatting motions. His attempt to convey that Dastan was dangerous and intended to kidnap a wife was woefully inadequate, and Mel, understandably, misinterpreted his meaning as Dastan was a wife beater.
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