by Mandy Baggot
‘I know,’ Melody said. ‘But we do need this party to be the best it can be and … let’s face it, she’s no Candice Brown.’
‘What do you want me to do?’ Abby asked.
‘Speak to George.’ Melody said it so quietly, Abby almost didn’t hear the words.
‘You want me to ask George to do the catering?’
‘Well, you can’t ask Maria from the World Café because, although her food is amazing, it’s also pricey. And I don’t remember you being an absolute whizz in the kitchen.’
‘And your idea of nutrition is a multipack of Walkers crisps.’
‘Lays,’ Melody retorted. ‘Here, their branding is “Lays”.’ She sniffed. ‘And the paprika ones are so good.’
‘What are you doing?! What is this?!’
It was Jackie’s voice but it was coming through the open bedroom window and both women moved towards it, squeezing themselves into the gap to get a view of the street below.
‘It’s George and Mum,’ Melody stated, as if she were providing commentary for someone who was partially sighted.
‘I can see that,’ Abby said. ‘And, is he … holding an orange poster?’
‘We should go down,’ Melody said, easing herself out of the window. ‘This could get ugly.’ She rushed to the door and Abby followed.
‘George, what is this?’ Jackie exclaimed angrily.
Abby surveyed the scene when she and Melody arrived street-side. It appeared George had been planning to pin a fluorescent poster to the telegraph pole.
‘It is a poster,’ he answered. ‘To advertise your party.’
‘I can see that!’ Jackie exclaimed. ‘But why would you do that?!’
‘To help you,’ George said. ‘Aleko, he is driving around a van right now, with a speaker system just like the one they use to call out the fruit and vegetables. I see your invitation and I know I have this very visible paper in my storeroom so I think I use this to help get more people to your office.’
‘But no one asked you to do that!’ Jackie continued to berate.
‘Jackie,’ George began. ‘This is Greece. We do things for other people without the need to be asked.’
‘Well, you shouldn’t make assumptions that all help is needed.’
‘Mum.’ Abby felt sorry for George. He had been doing a good deed. He must have seen an early draft of the invitation before creating his poster – perhaps she left a piece of notepad in the restaurant – and not the final version.
‘It’s not a disaster,’ Melody said quickly. ‘George can tell us where he stuck the posters up and we can go to the places and just Sharpie out the Tom Hanks bit.’
‘And just how professional is that going to look?’ Jackie said, ripping the poster out of George’s hands.
‘Or we leave them,’ Abby said, matter-of-factly.
‘We can’t leave them!’ Jackie snapped back. ‘It’s a breach of the Trade Descriptions Act or something like that.’
‘But nobody’s paying anything,’ Melody pointed out. ‘I’m sure you can get away with pretty much anything if it’s free.’
Abby reached out and touched her mum’s arm, as if trying to her steady her angry energy. ‘We are going to have Donald Trump and Tom in cardboard. That’s going to be enough.’
‘Is it?’ Jackie asked, voice slightly calmer, eyes holding tears that looked close to escaping. ‘Because I’ve dropped sugar in the entire mix I was making for the tortillas.’
‘You were cooking for the party?’ George inquired.
‘I think the word “cooking” is slightly over the top,’ Melody answered.
‘You cannot cook,’ George said.
‘George! That is an extremely rude thing to say!’
‘But true,’ Melody said, daring to laugh.
‘All the time you live here you only buy things in cans and packets that can be cooked in the microwave,’ George continued.
‘I was actually paid to cook for villas only a few months ago and … how do you know the contents of my kitchen cupboards?!’
‘I will make you food,’ George said in a matter-of-fact manner.
‘No!’ Jackie said. ‘We can’t aff—’ She stopped herself. ‘We haven’t budgeted for outside catering.’
George waved her protests away. ‘I will make food for a hundred people. I will bring it in good time for the party. You let me know if you need more.’ He bowed at Abby and Melody then began to make his way back down the street towards his restaurant.
‘Wait! George … stop!’ Jackie said, beginning to trot along the road after him.
Melody let out a contented sigh. ‘We didn’t even have to ask.’
‘He’s such a lovely man,’ Abby said, watching Jackie continuing to chew his ear off as he strolled. ‘Do you think Mum likes him? I could see them getting along.’
‘I think they’ve probably both been single too long,’ Melody said, stretching her arms above her head in response to a shaft of light that lit up the street as the sun reappeared from behind a cloud. ‘Don’t let the grass settle under your gladiators, Abby, or you might end up in your fifties, chasing a Greek restauranteur down the street.’
‘How long?’ Abby asked, her thoughts suddenly filled with Theo.
‘How long what?’
‘How long should I leave it?’
‘Leave what?! Abs! Come on! Spit it out!’
She swallowed. She deserved a bit of fun. She liked Theo in so many ways. He had shown her that beautiful olive-wood workshop she would definitely be going back to as soon as they had enough money for the new sign. He had helped her with the car. Fed apples to cows. Made her the best Old Fashioned cocktail she had ever tasted. And given her a Full Monty experience she definitely hadn’t been prepared for. But there were other things about him that remained a mystery. His reaction to the boat incident. The fact he had trashed his employer’s villa the night before her important viewing …
‘I’ve been asked to dinner,’ Abby blurted out.
‘What?! When?!’ Melody exclaimed. ‘Wanging hell.’
‘Well, you just said there shouldn’t be any grass growing under my feet.’
‘Who by?! Leon again?’ Melody shook her head. ‘He’s nice enough but he’s never going to leave San Stef. I’m not sure he’s even been to Athens. And he has a huge family – like fifty-eight brothers and sisters and twice as many aunts and uncles – and most of them live in that apartment above the bike hire shop.’
Abby swallowed. ‘It isn’t Leon. It’s Theo.’
‘Theo,’ Melody stated.
Abby nodded, unable to stop those flashes of naked flesh pricking her recollection.
‘Fucking hell, Abs, I know he’s only a gardener and a barman and not a rich Russian, but he’s hot!’
Her cheeks immediately went nuclear. She knew he was hot. Hotter than Darrell. She shouldn’t think that. But what if he was out of her league in the hotness stakes? The balance wouldn’t be right. It could be a case of Katy Perry and Russell Brand all over again.
‘Too hot?’ she queried with her sister.
‘There’s no such thing!’ Melody insisted. ‘And you’re gorgeous, Abs, maybe a touch darker around the eyes than me, but totally smoking. Where’s he taking you?’
‘He invited me for dinner at Villa Pappas.’
‘My God! He’s going to cook!’
‘Or get George to bring him food if, like Mum, he can’t,’ Abby suggested with a smile.
‘Well, what are you wearing?’
‘I … don’t think I’m going to go,’ Abby answered, eyes moving to the water and trying to draw in some stabilising common sense from the gently rocking ocean.
‘What?! Why wouldn’t you go?! Are you mad?!’ Melody shrieked. ‘If you don’t go then I will!’
‘I need to help you and Mum with everything for the party.’
‘Abby! That’s an excuse! The party’s all organised apart from Trump and cardboard Tom. George is taking over the food. All I’ve got to
do is stop Mum putting that horror of a mixture into plastic boxes and making us have it on bread for the next week. I can manage that on my own.’
‘I don’t know,’ Abby said, taking a faltering breath.
‘Stop overthinking things. This isn’t some handwash salesman at the hotel. You don’t need to check budgets or have a meeting to find out the cost effectiveness of changing supplier versus possible superior quality and loyalty. This is dinner. With a hot guy. And you’re totally single.’
‘Ssh,’ Abby begged. She looked down the road, Jackie had finally left George alone and was walking back towards them.
‘Go out and have fun, I’ll pretend I’m not jealous.’ Melody smiled. ‘And let me spray your hair with this new stuff I had shipped in from China.’
‘What is it?’
‘No idea,’ Melody replied. ‘But it kicks Silvikrin’s arse.’
Jackie arrived back with them, a little out of breath. Melody and Abby looked at her, as if waiting for some sort of missive. Finally, it came.
‘George is doing the food.’
‘That’s a great decision, Mum,’ Melody put an arm around her and led her back towards the house. ‘I know I was a little down on George’s food the other night but that was because it was so long since we’d been there. It’s a little rustic …’
‘Traditional,’ Abby chipped in.
‘Traditional,’ Melody repeated. ‘But comforting. One slice of his home-made sweet bread and most of the customers aren’t going to be able to eat anything else. And they’re going to feel full and content and ready to sign up to our newsletter at the very least.’
‘I hope so,’ Jackie said with a sigh. ‘Unless Aleko has The World Café catering for him.’
‘Well …’ Melody began.
‘He doesn’t, does he?!’
‘No, Mum,’ Melody said. ‘Not that I know of.’ She pushed open the door.
‘Perhaps I need to speak to Aleko, business owner to business owner, make sure the parties clashing a little isn’t going to turn into some sort of turf war, that we’re both on the same page in taking the view that more people looking for properties in the village is a good thing for us both.’
‘Perhaps you should have a nice, cooling shower,’ Melody shepherded her mum towards the stairs, bypassing the chaotic kitchen.
Abby smiled and picked her phone up from the worktop. On its screen was another message from Darrell. Was this because she hadn’t acknowledged his one earlier. Did she want to read it? Now she had decided to go to dinner with Theo. But putting off looking at it wasn’t going to change its content. She unlocked the phone and tapped.
Bit embarrassing. Ignore the message I sent earlier. Meant to send it to Amber. D
Abby shook her head, biting her lip as her eyes welled up with angry tears. He hadn’t wanted her back at all. Instead, it seemed Amber had had enough of him too. Well, there was only one thing to do. Get ready for a night with someone who made her insides sizzle.
Thirty-seven
Villa Pappas
Theo’s hair kept falling out of its tie and over his eyes as he rolled the pieces of chicken in a dry mixture Stamatis had suggested. Despite the woodworker saying he knew nothing of cuisine, the dusty shelves of his workshop contained vast numbers of his mother’s leather-bound tomes, some of which held long-forgotten recipes from Greek families of yore. Stamatis had seemed to enjoy thumbing the crumbling pages, picking out complex dishes Theo wasn’t sure even the best chef would be capable of creating. Finally, he had opted for one with a mere twenty steps rather than fifty, although he had altered ‘stoke up the fire’ to ‘pre-heat the oven’. He hadn’t dared mention anything about cooking to Spyridoula.
‘Hello! Is it safe to come in? Or are there people still looking around the house.’
It was Leon. Suddenly Theo felt guilty. Here he was, preparing dinner for someone he knew Leon liked. She was even Leon’s date for the panegyri. He should tell him. He should be open and honest and say he had spent a few, chance hours with Abby and he wanted to get to know her better. That she had accepted. Except she hadn’t. He was making all this effort in the kitchen and he didn’t really know if Abby was going to turn up.
‘What is that smell?!’ Leon exclaimed, entering the kitchen, a pack of Fix beers under his arm. ‘Is that dinner?’
‘No … yes … but it is for later.’
‘You are cooking for someone?’ Leon asked.
Here was his opportunity to be completely direct and he was going to take it. ‘Yes. Leon …’
‘Spyridoula is coming over with more people looking? She wants to create a yiayia’s kitchen and you are doing this?’ Leon had a confused look on his face.
‘She has some people coming for dinner here,’ Theo blurted out. ‘She asked me to do this.’ He swallowed. ‘She is paying me.’
‘Well,’ Leon began. ‘I was hoping to watch Olympiacos but I can do that at home, my other home, the one with the screaming brothers and sisters who want to test their make-up on me.’
‘I’m sorry, Leon,’ Theo said, genuinely meaning it for so many reasons.
‘No, it is OK. This place is not for ever, is it? Soon you will move on, or the villa will be sold, and I will have to move back or, maybe, find somewhere of my own.’ Leon seemed to muse on that idea for a moment. ‘Perhaps I will leave the island.’
‘What?’ Theo exclaimed. ‘Leave Corfu?’ He put the chicken he was rubbing back into the bowl and wiped his fingers on the apron he was wearing over his jeans and T-shirt.
Leon laughed. ‘You just said that like this island is the centre of the universe. You left.’
‘It was never really my home,’ Theo reminded his friend. ‘It was my father’s home until he was eighteen and he left. To me it has always just been the place for holidays, but for you – your whole family is here.’
‘And I will visit.’ Leon sniffed. ‘Perhaps I need to look outside of Corfu, for my own family.’ He smiled. ‘Maybe I will go to England.’
‘England.’ The word felt ugly on his lips as he repeated it. He was instantly tense about whatever Leon was going to say next.
‘I have never been and everyone says it is a great place with history like we have in Greece, only a little greyer perhaps. And …’ Leon smiled. ‘I will have a friend there. Abby.’
Theo needed to say something. Leon was his best friend. Even though they lived so many miles apart, when they got back together it was like no time had passed at all. Leon was telling him he might move to the UK, visit Abby, and here he was making a meal for her. Something he had never done for any woman before …
Leon laughed out loud and slapped Theo on the back. ‘Your face! What is wrong? You are worried you are going to be left behind with only Spinster Madalena for company?’
He shook his head. ‘No, I just … England.’ He took a breath. ‘It should be a choice you make for you, for the best reasons, not for … a girl.’
Leon laughed again. ‘You think I am blind, Theo?’
‘Blind?’ he queried.
‘Abby,’ Leon carried on.
‘What?’ Theo hardly dared to breathe.
‘She is not interested in me.’
‘She is not?’
Leon shook his head. ‘It is not usual for me to have to work so hard.’
‘But the panegyri?’ Theo questioned.
‘Is a nice idea. It will mean I will not be lacking a dance partner but … I feel we will just be friends.’
‘OK.’ Theo exhaled hard without even realising it.
‘And,’ Leon continued. ‘As this is the truth … if you felt you might like to …’
‘Like to?’
‘With Abby.’ Leon laughed. ‘Come on, Theo, I know that you like her.’
‘I …’ He did like her, but it was so alien to him. To want to get to know someone better. To want to spend time just being with someone. He had never had a relationship like that. The longest time he had shared with someone was weeks, not
months or years. The whole concept of the idea of it had always felt ridiculous until now …
‘What is holding you back?’ Leon queried, punching his arm good-naturedly. ‘The way is clear, my friend.’
‘I … do not know how to do it,’ Theo admitted.
‘Do what?’ Leon asked.
‘To … be with someone for more than a night. To do more than take somebody’s clothes off. To talk.’
‘Oh, Theo,’ Leon said with sympathy in his tone. ‘But you do this so easily when we go out.’
‘After six or seven beers,’ he said, ‘when what I say is just a script. Lines I know the woman will appreciate.’ He wet his lips. ‘None of it comes from a very deep place.’
‘And these deep words … they are what you want to say to Abby?’ Leon put the beers down, paying Theo all his attention.
Theo shook his head. ‘I do not know. Maybe.’
‘You want my advice?’ Leon asked him.
‘I do not know that either,’ he admitted with a smile.
‘You need to open up to someone,’ Leon said bluntly. ‘You need to talk to someone. You need to just get out how you feel. About the accident, Theo. You have to talk about that.’
This was not news to him. He knew it. He didn’t like it, but he knew it all the same. Yet, immediately his body and mind went into some sort of lockdown. He looked away from his friend, his hands finding their way back into the bowl of chicken pieces. He knew Leon knew about what had happened, but even his very good friend had not heard it from him.
‘I think, until you can do that,’ Leon continued. ‘Everything else will always seem too hard.’
‘Leon the Philosopher,’ Theo said, his voice more jovial than he felt. Leon didn’t even know that Abby thought he was nothing more than the gardener.
‘Taxi drivers hear a lot of things. It means they learn a lot of things also,’ Leon stated. He put a hand on Theo’s shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should take Abby to the 7th Heaven bar. That view always makes everything else seem so much smaller.’
As his emotions gained momentum like a Red Bull soapbox cart, all Theo could manage was a nod.
Thirty-eight
