Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  A knock at the door had Melody drawing the mascara wand away from her eye. ‘That will be Leon with the taxi.’

  ‘What?’ Abby asked, sitting forward.

  ‘To take us to Kassiopi,’ Melody stated with a shake of her head, wild hair unmoving thanks to being anchored down by a liberal spraying of something from a purple can.

  ‘But, we’re going to George’s Taverna.’ Abby got to her feet. ‘I told you that earlier. I booked a table for seven thirty.’

  ‘But Tavernaki is so much classier,’ Melody replied. ‘And the patitisio is so good and … Igor said he might be going there.’

  ‘Melody!’ Abby exclaimed. ‘We talked about this.’

  ‘No, you said you didn’t think I should be hanging out with them. I didn’t reply.’

  ‘But they’re so rude and loud and you said you were mainly doing it for the money and I’m trying to ease the money situation so—’

  ‘Well, Mum said she’d rather go to Tavernaki too,’ Melody interrupted as there was another knock on the door.

  ‘Mum,’ Abby said. ‘You don’t really want to chase after Valentin, do you?’

  ‘God, he is so rich,’ Melody put in. ‘Like richer than … who’s rich at the moment? Still Mr Ikea?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Jackie responded a little wistfully. ‘We can go to George’s if you’ve already booked.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t you want to go to George’s? You loved George’s when we came here with Dad.’

  It was one of Abby’s most vivid memories of that long-ago holiday. That beautiful night in the cosy, homely, authentic taverna, candles on the tables, the soft lilt of the mandolin and accordion-playing from a wizened Greek in the corner of the room, her parents both smiling for the first time since her father’s health scare, holding hands, drinking plum-coloured wine, Melody covering her eyes in an over-the-top fashion every time a fish dish was brought to the table.

  ‘It’s not the same place you know. He’s moved,’ Melody interrupted. ‘You saw that, right? Basically only ten tables. You can hear everyone’s conversation, if there’s anybody else actually there.’

  ‘Yassou!’ It was Leon, calling from outside. ‘The taxi is ready for you.’

  ‘And we’re going to be letting Leon down now,’ Melody continued.

  ‘Well, I booked for George’s and I don’t want to let him down,’ Abby said. She was also itching to be back in that quaint setting surrounded by feel-good memories, smaller or not. ‘I’ll go and speak to Leon.’

  ‘I may as well change my shoes,’ Melody sulked. ‘These heels will be wasted hidden under a rustic tablecloth.’

  Abby left her grumbling sister and now-turned-quiet mother to answer the door. Pushing down the handle she opened the door to the bright sunlight and a smiling, high-haired taxi driver whose eyes immediately appraised the whole of her knee-length peacock-coloured summer dress and beyond.

  ‘Abby,’ he greeted. ‘Mia xara fenese! Poli omorfi.’

  She blushed immediately. Very beautiful. What was it with Greek men? They all seemed to have that ability to make you feel special just with the tone of their voice. For some it was probably a practised technique, for others it seemed like it was written through their DNA. She shuddered, suddenly remembering the naked form of Theo. From. Every. Single. Angle …

  ‘I take you out,’ Leon continued, leaning a little closer to her. ‘To the best restaurant in Kassiopi with your family. And then, later, I will take you dancing.’

  ‘I … can’t,’ Abby began. ‘We can’t.’ She straightened up, coming back into the moment and not giving head space to the type of fantasy they used to sell Müller Whipped Greek-Style Corners. She swallowed. ‘I’m really sorry, Leon, but we’ve double-booked.’

  ‘You jest with me?’ Leon asked.

  ‘No,’ Abby said. ‘Sorry. There were crossed wires, I mean, I booked a table somewhere and Melody arranged something else and—’

  ‘You do not need me,’ he replied, sounding the epitome of disappointment.

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Abby said. ‘Shall I pay for your time?’ She didn’t want to be paying out anything she wasn’t getting the benefit from, but she was also very British and that meant she couldn’t let someone be put out because of her mistake.

  He shook his head. ‘No euro. Instead …’ He smiled, as if an idea was forming. ‘You will now be ready to come to the panegyri with me.’

  Why hadn’t she sent Melody to the door to deal with Leon? Why did she feel so beholden to George and that booking he had really made while he was taking the easel from her? Perhaps she should have just given in and agreed to go to Kassiopi.

  ‘I … still don’t know if I’m going to be staying until the end of the month,’ Abby reminded. It wasn’t a lie. She really wasn’t sure how long she intended this ‘holiday’ to be.

  ‘But if you are here,’ Leon said, ‘you will come with me?’

  What to say? He was nice, friendly and wasn’t about to charge her a taxi fare she could ill-afford. What harm would it do to agree? She probably wouldn’t even be here.

  ‘OK,’ she answered.

  ‘OK?’ he queried. ‘Endaksi?’

  ‘Ne,’ Abby said. ‘Endaksi.’

  He practically lit up like Blackpool Tower. Then he reached out, taking her hand in his, bringing it to his mouth and softly pressing his lips to her skin.

  ‘Don’t mind us!’ Melody said loudly, brushing past Abby and stepping out of the house and onto the street.

  ‘Sorry again,’ Abby said, releasing her hand.

  Leon waved her apology away. ‘It is nothing. I will look forward to a night of dancing very soon.’ He backed away towards his slightly beaten-up car.

  ‘Night of dancing?’ Jackie asked, making her appearance at the threshold.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Abby dismissed with a sigh. ‘I felt I had to make amends for not taking the taxi and he asked me to go to the panegyri with him.’

  Leon’s car started up, smoke billowing from the exhaust and the engine making sounds akin to a washing machine on full spin with a caught-up bra strap and a load full of loose change.

  ‘You know how Greek men dance, right?’ This came from Melody who then began coughing as the carbon monoxide mixed with the humid evening air and infiltrated her lungs.

  Abby didn’t really remember. The last time she’d been here was with Darrell and he hadn’t been into the folklore of the island.

  ‘It’s practically like having sex on a dance floor with everyone watching,’ Melody continued, waving her hand in front of her face to dissipate the fumes. ‘Don’t Facebook it if you want to keep Darrell.’

  Abby ignored her sister’s comment and turned to her mum who was still surprisingly quiet. This time though there was that hundred-watt smile, eyes shining.

  ‘You’re staying for the panegyri,’ Jackie stated, breathy and excited.

  ‘Well, I …’ What could she say now?

  ‘Oh, Abby, this is so lovely!’ Jackie exclaimed, grabbing her by the shoulders and enveloping her tight. And there was that true, pure affection Abby missed so much, the kind she thought she had had with Darrell. Her mum’s light, fruity, perfume swirled up her nose, reminding her of simpler times … She suddenly wanted to cry. And out came a squeak like a baby sloth waking from an intense nap.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jackie asked, holding her away from her body, a concerned look on her face.

  ‘Yes,’ Abby said quickly, urging her emotions to group-hug and get on with things. ‘It’s just … Leon’s car.’ She coughed.

  Jackie linked their arms together, smiling. ‘And you thought my car had problems.’

  ‘Are we going now?’ Melody called, pouting into the wing mirror of a parked car. ‘Because I’m wanging starving.’

  Twenty-four

  The Blue Vine

  He could call his siblings. As Theo mixed up a cocktail shaker’s worth of Singapore Sling his mind was still on overdrive, working out how best to tackle
this latest problem. Maybe his attitude had already been discussed over a family dinner. His brother would have sat there stuffing as many loukoumades into his mouth as he could while agreeing with Dinis. Meanwhile, his sister … she would be quiet, saying nothing, wanting peace, preferring to waive her opinion for the sake of harmony. Or maybe neither of them knew everything. Perhaps their father had painted a different picture for them. Just that their foolish, wayward brother would amount to nothing now he had decided to leave the family business.

  ‘Theo!’ Hera called. ‘Are the cocktails ready?’

  The bar was busy. Every table outside was full and inside there were a number of groups taking shelter from the intense heat, ordering cooling drinks and light bites of pitta and dips as chill-out vibes filtered from the speakers.

  He shook the metal container a little harder, taking his frustrations out on the mix of alcohol. Perhaps a little anger would create the perfect blend. ‘One minute,’ he replied to Hera.

  He popped the lid and expertly poured the mixture into six glasses. His bar-work experience was coming back to him the more time he spent here. He topped each high-ball glass with a cherry and added a straw. Then, in his peripheral vision he noticed Abby, with her family, making her way past.

  She was wearing a simple yet striking dress that made the most of her hourglass figure, hair gently lifting with the slight sea breeze as she walked, completely unaware of her own attractiveness. He couldn’t help but think back to earlier, him naked at the villa … then later, her reaction, not to his body, but to one of the places he loved so much – Stamatis’s studio. Swallowing, he wet his lips, the other, slightly bitter feelings overriding attraction. Their estate agency was going to sell his family’s Corfu home and he absolutely loathed that.

  ‘Hey! Wake up!’

  It was Leon, leaping up onto a bar stool and clicking thumb and forefinger in front of Theo’s face.

  He came back into the moment, beginning to carefully pick up the glasses and position them on a tray. ‘You would like a drink?’ he asked his friend. ‘Singapore Sling?’

  Leon went to take one of the high-balls and Theo speedily shifted them out of the way. ‘Not these.’

  Leon laughed. ‘Look at you! Such a professional barman now!’

  ‘You are having a drink?’ Theo asked again.

  ‘I will have a beer,’ Leon replied. ‘I am celebrating.’

  ‘You finally have told your yiayia that you do not like her galaktoboureko?’

  ‘Are you out of your mind? I can never tell her that!’ Leon exclaimed. ‘And neither can you! You promised, Theo!’

  He smiled. ‘Calm down. Your secret is safe with me.’ He pulled the top off a bottle of Mythos and handed it to Leon.

  ‘Ask me then!’ Leon said, still animated. ‘Ask me what I am celebrating.’

  Theo gave a good-natured sigh. ‘What are you celebrating?’

  ‘I have a date,’ Leon said, grin wide, eyes alive.

  ‘Really!’ Theo exclaimed. ‘You have finally given in to the charms of Maris from the supermarket?’

  ‘No!’ Leon exclaimed. He leaned across the bar a little, lowering his voice. ‘No, this is a real date.’

  ‘I’m intrigued.’

  ‘I asked Abby to be my partner for the panegyri,’ Leon informed. ‘And she said yes.’

  His gut straightaway reacted to this news and he found he had to steady his hand a little on the glasses. Why did he care about this? It was just a village party, hardly high stakes in the scheme of things. And by the time panegyri day arrived he could be … anywhere he wanted. The world was literally his for the taking, he just needed to find his direction, make it more about moving on than running away.

  ‘That sounds good,’ Theo replied, coming out from behind the bar and picking up the tray of drinks.

  ‘That is all you have to say?’ Leon asked, cradling his beer bottle.

  ‘Congratulations,’ Theo added. ‘We should have a panegyri before the panegyri in honour of this occasion.’ He hadn’t meant to sound quite so cutting. He didn’t mean it, not really. He took a breath. ‘Sorry, Leon. I’m just busy here. Hera will fire me if I do not get these cocktails to the customers.’

  Leon laughed then. ‘Who would have thought it? You concerned about a job.’

  He smiled at his friend, but the comment made his skin bristle. He never used to be flippant and unprofessional, concerned only for himself. The self-enforced break from employment had altered only his current outlook, not his whole person. He wasn’t unreliable or untrustworthy.

  He took a breath, stepping out of the door, checking for traffic, then made his way to the table of customers by the water waiting for Singapore Slings.

  ‘Your cocktails,’ he said, smiling as he began to put the glasses down in front of the customers.

  ‘Hey! Bring us drinks!’

  The loud Russian voices were unmistakable. Theo continued to deposit the cocktail glasses down, concentrating on not disturbing the liquid which would ruin the cherry display on top.

  ‘Hey! You cannot hear?’ the voice called again. ‘We want drinks!’

  Finishing with the cocktail glasses, Theo shoved the tray under his arm and turned, noticing the group of men now occupying a table at the back of The Blue Vine’s outside seating nearest the sea. His first thought, as he moved towards them, was at least they seemed keen to actually make a purchase. His second thought was they really did need to learn some manners …

  ‘Please.’ It was Hera, stepping in front of him before he could reach the Russians. ‘Theo, I need your experience with cocktails behind the bar. They are my most expensive drink on the menu apart from champagne.’ She smiled. ‘There is the table of ten and three other tables drinking them tonight.’

  He looked over at the men, one of them now trying to stick peanuts to his forehead, then reverted back to Hera. ‘They give you any trouble and—’

  She placed a hand on his arm, smiling. ‘I know,’ she answered. ‘I will call Spyridoula.’

  Her humour made him return the smile. ‘I am not sure a bucket of apples will help in this situation.’

  ‘No,’ Hera agreed. ‘But I have seen her deal with bigger bullies than these ones.’

  Theo nodded, taking a step back. Yes, it was true, his aunt was a force of nature. Except now that force was empathising with her brother and it felt like the tornado was heading permanently in his direction.

  Twenty-five

  George’s Taverna

  The scent of roasting garlic, simmering tomatoes and a pinch of oregano invaded Abby’s nose the second they arrived outside the cute little taverna at the end of the road. It was a scent that immediately made her realise how hungry she was and brought back all those long-ago feelings of joy, relaxation and total youthful contentment. It was almost as if Greece had been running through her veins in the background, just waiting for this moment of reignition. Why had she waited a whole year to come back?

  ‘Oh, Melody, look!’ Abby exclaimed, stopping before the step up into the restaurant and pointing into the room. ‘It may be tinier, but he still has the dancing lady on a shelf.’ There were rustic wooden shelves covering the wall behind the bar area, filled with an eclectic mix of items.

  ‘An ugly thing covered in dust and spiders,’ Melody remarked. ‘New place but with all the same décor that’s older than Lionel Richie.’

  ‘Lionel Richie’s still my favourite,’ Jackie sighed. ‘Next to Bryan Adams.’

  ‘Don’t you remember the doll?’ Abby asked, disgruntled by her sister’s dismissal.

  ‘I remember why I wanted to go to Tavernaki tonight instead.’

  ‘But you asked for her,’ Abby said. ‘You kept screwing your face up at the fish we were all eating and said you wanted to play with the “pretty dancing lady”.’

  ‘Was I drunk?’

  ‘I remember it,’ Jackie answered. ‘And no, you weren’t. You were only ten.’

  ‘George got her down for you and y
ou made her do Greek dancing around the salt and pepper pots …’

  A male voice interrupted. ‘Then we try to put a small flower in her hair.’

  It was the taverna owner they were talking about, dressed immaculately in black trousers, a pristine white shirt, tucked in, with a red cummerbund around his middle.

  ‘Good evening, Family Dolan,’ he said with a bow.

  ‘Hello, George,’ Abby greeted enthusiastically.

  ‘Hi, George,’ Melody said, sighing.

  ‘Hello,’ Jackie said, barely louder than a mouse squeak.

  Abby looked to her mum. She had dropped her head slightly, and seemed to be looking at her rather sensible strapped sandals.

  ‘Welcome,’ George continued. ‘For you, my best table.’

  He held out his hand, directing them to a lovely round table in the corner, at the very edge of the taverna, each of its three chairs facing the sea view and the orange-turning-pink sun. It was covered with the blue-and-white checked tablecloth of Abby’s memories.

  The owner hurried to pull out a chair for Jackie, waiting for her to drop down into it before plucking up the white linen napkin and gently laying it across her lap.

  ‘There’s no need to fuss, George,’ Jackie said brusquely. ‘Not for us.’

  ‘Have you got any watermelon gin?’ Melody asked.

  ‘What is this?’ George inquired.

  ‘Since when have you drunk gin?’ Abby queried. ‘Can we have a carafe of white wine please?’

  ‘I don’t want wine,’ Melody stated. ‘I want watermelon gin.’

  ‘Mum,’ Abby said. ‘What would you like to drink?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t really mind.’

  She had no idea what was wrong with either of them, but they were supposed to be celebrating the fantastic new property they had on her books and nothing was going to spoil that tonight, not if Abby had her way.

  ‘George,’ Abby said, sitting upright in her chair. ‘Could we have a bottle of … sparkling wine.’ She had so wanted to say champagne, but she wasn’t exactly flush and with the whole ‘no-job-no-Darrell’ situation she did need to be a little bit careful. But this moment needed recognition. This was her, helping her family get back on their feet, and with the plans they were putting in place, hopefully it wouldn’t be too long. She caught Melody’s expression, saw an immediate uplift at the words ‘sparkling wine’.