by Mandy Baggot
‘I told you I didn’t want to do this,’ Abby sobbed as Theo’s mouth caressed her cheeks. ‘I said I was going to be weepy and pathetic and not strong and determined like I want to be.’
‘I do not care,’ Theo answered. ‘I could not leave without seeing you one more time. Without holding you and telling you just how I feel.’
‘Don’t,’ Abby begged. ‘It’s making it harder.’
‘Abby,’ he said seriously. ‘I do not want to say sagapo without truly meaning it. But I feel it. I feel it, Abby.’ He sniffed back emotion. ‘No matter what I tell myself. I cannot change how I feel or what I feel … for you.’
‘You have to go,’ she said, swallowing hard as the tears just flowed faster.
‘Look at me,’ he ordered, raising her head with his finger. ‘Abby, please, look at me.’
Those beautiful, black pools like the deepest, darkest Lavazza coffee were gazing back at her and it made her realise exactly what she was losing.
‘I want to call you,’ Theo stated. ‘Every day.’ He smoothed her hair with his hand. ‘I want to tell you everything that is going on in my life. And I want to hear everything that is going on in your life. I do not know if this can work. I do not know if you even want the same but—’
‘I am going to miss you so much,’ she managed to get out.
‘I am going to miss you too, my opposite. But, please, do not make this the end.’ He held her face, looking at her as if she was his whole world. ‘Let us make this only the beginning.’
And all at once she knew what her heart had been daring her to believe. She did care about him and she wanted to discover what might be possible if they stayed in contact. Perhaps it would be nothing, but perhaps it might just be everything. Only time would tell.
‘You are so stupid,’ she cried through her tears. ‘You are the most stupid man I have ever met. I told you not to say goodbye and you …’
‘Come to say hello?’ Theo answered with a hopeful smile.
She kissed his lips then, delighting in the way they matched hers so perfectly. Then she broke away, touching her hand to his cheek. ‘Call me,’ she told him. ‘The second you land. Just to let me know you get there safely.’
‘And then?’ he queried, eyebrow raised in hope.
‘Then,’ she breathed. ‘Call me every day after that. Tell me about Halkidiki. Tell me you got on another boat when the weather was nice this time. And tell me about Limoni … and your brother and your sister and the house you grew up in …’
He pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her and shielding her with his body like he needed to protect her from this separation.
‘No goodbyes,’ Theo whispered to her.
‘Like yassas,’ Abby said. ‘You Greeks say that for “hello” and “goodbye”.’ She smiled, pulling away, taking his hands and just drinking him in.
‘Theo!’ Leon called from the taxi. ‘We have to go, my friend. Or you will miss that aeroplane.’
Theo looked to Leon then back to Abby with a sigh full of regret.
‘It’s OK,’ Abby said, voice still wavering a little. ‘You have to go.’
‘I will come back,’ he promised. ‘Back to you. Wherever you are.’
Abby cleared her throat, then stood tall with every ounce of strength she had left, ready for him to depart. Knowing that, despite what she had said earlier, she wasn’t going to run after the taxi or glue herself to him. ‘Yassas, Theo.’
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then grazed her cheek with his fingers. ‘Yassas, Abby.’
He moved forward, possessing her lips one last time, hard, firm and deeply loving, then broke away, turning and jogging to the waiting car.
‘Now don’t you dare fold,’ Melody ordered, appearing at Abby’s side, both of them watching Theo get in the back of Leon’s taxi. ‘You stand there, looking gorgeous and sun-kissed with your perfect straight hair and give him a memory to come running back to.’
Leon’s engine started up with a clunk and a splutter, the fumes again rising from the back pipe.
‘Oh, wanging forget that!’ Melody yelled. ‘Run! Let’s run! And wave! Wave!’
Laughing and crying, the two sisters set off at a sprint, stumbling over the potholes, slipping on stones and sand, waving their arms like they were desperate concert attendees. The air horn played its tune and the Pappases drove out of San Stefanos.
Seventy-two
San Stefanos Harbour
Two weeks later
The village had been buzzing with activity all day in preparation for the annual village festival. Abby, Melody and Jackie had helped turn the beachfront into a carnival as the road was closed to traffic, chairs and tables were set up in every available space and stalls were made ready for the many food sellers who were right now beginning to provide the visitors with all manner of Greek delicacies. Whole lambs turned on mobile spits, stacks of warm pitta bread were being filled with sticks of succulent chicken souvlaki and every honey-coated pastry item was here for the taking. The air smelt of meat, pepper and spice with a soupçon of citrus and candy and a sliver of sun, sea and George’s home-made fig wine they had all been first introduced to at a new family dinner last Sunday.
‘Wanging love panegyri night,’ Melody nudged Abby, her mouth full of lamb. ‘Apart from the dodgy singing.’ They were sitting on plastic chairs at a plastic table on the beach, just in front of the large dancing square that had been placed on the sand and shingle.
‘There’s not karaoke?’ Abby asked.
‘Almost,’ Melody answered. ‘This bloke called Adonis – and believe me, he is not one – gets up and does a kind of Greek Pavarotti-style thing. It’s pretty terrible.’ Melody laughed. ‘Last year was the best. He sang one song and said he was only going to do one more because a storm was forecast and before he could launch into it, the sky fell in and everyone had to evacuate for The Blue Vine. We were all getting soaked, the inside was packed and there were hundreds of us sheltering under their flimsy, non-waterproof canopy. And that was the end of Adonis’s set.’
‘I like the sound of Adonis,’ Abby said with a smile. ‘I think I’m going to enjoy him.’
‘Here,’ Melody said. ‘Have my greasy napkin. You might want to stick it in your ears once he starts.’ She stood up. ‘Going to get another drink.’
Abby smiled, sitting back in her seat and soaking up the warmth of the end-of-July sun and the start of her new life in Corfu. She was staying. So much had happened in the last two weeks it was almost like Fate had been her guide. Desperately Seeking’s sales were going well and while donning rubber gloves to help Melody clear out the hoarder’s apartment in Acharavi, Abby had had an idea. Rentals. It wasn’t a part of the market that Desperately Seeking or Ionian Dreams was covering and Abby thought it was something that should be exploited. And while she researched and planned and made lists she realised that Corfu was feeling suddenly normal, almost like home. So, she was staying, for the moment still living with her mum and Melody, but thinking of maybe renting somewhere herself as soon as she found the right place. Having her own arm of the business made it feel less like walking into someone else’s dream and more like finding her own feet while still maintaining close contact to her mum and sister.
Suddenly the buzzy vibe seemed to fade and Abby looked to the village rather than the sea. Like a biblical parting of the waves, throngs of people seemed to stand to one side and, almost marching through the centre of them, was Spyridoula, dressed in a bright turquoise-green shift dress, matching bracelets hanging from both wrists. Her mouth was set in a close-to euphoric beam, arm in arm with a non-aproned Stamatis. Around them there were whispers and sideways glances. Abby got to her feet, waving her hand. ‘Spyridoula! Stamatis! Come and sit with us!’
The couple arrived at the table and Stamatis put a picnic basket in its centre before pulling out a chair for his lady.
‘Take the basket off the table, Stamatis,’ Spyridoula ordered. ‘I know it ha
s had contact with that thick with dust workbench of yours.’
‘My workbench is no less thick with dust than your recipe books.’
‘Humph! And only today I make you dolmades!’
‘You did not make dolmades,’ Stamatis answered. ‘I know you bought them from the supermarket.’
Spyridoula sniffed as if annoyed. ‘I tried to make them. The grape leaves would not stick together. It is not my fault. The fruit is to blame.’
‘Would you like some wine?’ Abby asked, pushing the large flagon towards them both. ‘It’s George’s home-made fig wine. There’s some plastic cups in the bag there.’
‘No wine for me until later,’ Spyridoula answered, dropping down into the seat next to Abby. ‘I am going to get at least one dance with Stamatis while I am not under alcohol.’
‘It will be a long, long drought,’ the woodman answered, opening a can of Alfa beer.
Lines of coloured lights illuminated the street once the sun had gone down and the singing and dancing began. Balloon sellers found eager children, gypsies tried to sell roses to happy couples and dumplings smothered in chocolate were the most popular treat.
Now Abby was watching George and her mum. They were the very essence of a couple in love. Moving together on the dancing square they performed a very good rendition of one of the island’s popular traditional dances, almost step for step. Their relationship was blossoming and so too was Jackie. Abby had witnessed an almost rebirth of her mum over the past fortnight. Gone were the drab, shapeless kaftans and worn-out Havaianas that she had been wearing when Abby first arrived. It was now closet-to-closet middle-market chic. Body-skimming work dresses and tailored trousers and smart tops, all accented with new high shoes. Finally, Jackie was back to being comfortable and confident and Abby couldn’t be prouder.
Above the playing of the bouzouki and the hand-clapping, Abby’s phone rang and she eagerly plucked it from the table, Theo’s face filling the screen. She set it to speaker and answered.
‘Yassou,’ she greeted. ‘Theo! I’m at the panegyri. Look! I’ll let you see it!’ She pressed to flip the screen around, determined to give him a view of everything that was going on in the village from the children playing in the sand, to the packed-to-the-brim tavernas and the villagers getting on boats to dance on board.
‘Abby,’ he called. ‘Don’t! Turn the screen back around. Let me see you.’
‘Hang on,’ she laughed. ‘Just let me show you my mum and George.’ She aimed the camera at the square of dance floor and then her heart stopped beating altogether. The screen hadn’t just picked up her mum and George’s side-stepping in time together, it had picked up someone else. She couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. And why was she still looking at the screen? She dropped her phone to the table and looked at the scene in front of her. It mirrored what was on her phone. Theo.
‘Oh my God!’ She got to her feet. ‘Oh my God!’ She hurried then, squeezing past her neighbours, two people in a cow costume and Stathis, sitting on his bicycle, desperate to get to the square.
Theo smiled, watching her awkward run, bowling into plastic chairs, kicking up dust and sand. He had wanted to surprise her but, Abby being Abby, she had wanted him not to miss out on anything that was happening here in the village, just like with their daily phone calls. His heart surged as she rushed towards him and he was ready, as she didn’t slow for a second, to catch her in his arms, swinging her around as she gripped hold of him, body sinking into his so solidly. She let go, for a second, to kiss him, over and over, seemingly uncaring for being in the middle of the dance arena, uncaring who was watching, just determined to reunite them completely.
‘Oh my God!’ she said, tears falling from her eyes. ‘You’re here! You’re actually here! I can’t believe it!’ She hit him hard on the arm. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’ Then she gasped again. ‘Theo! You’ve cut your hair!’
‘Ow!’ he moaned, rubbing where she had thumped him. ‘You have been spending too much time with my aunt!’ He put his fingers to his new short crop. ‘Do you like it?’ he asked. ‘When I grew it, I was unhappy. And … I am not unhappy any more.’
‘I love it,’ she told him, then swallowed. ‘But, Theo, you’re here. How? Why?’
‘How?’ he asked, holding her hands in his. ‘By aeroplane. You can get here by boat but it takes a very long time.’
‘Ilithios!’ She thumped him again.
‘Why?’ he sucked in a breath. ‘Because I don’t want to live my life without you. I could. But I don’t want to.’
‘Theo …’
‘I’ve got a job,’ he stated. ‘Two, if I need them.’
‘What?’
‘I have a job taking people out on boats. Tourists who want a guide for the day. And, Hera says I can have my job back at The Blue Vine. She says she has a new Italian but the only cocktail he can make is a Bloody Mary.’
‘He is truly terrible,’ Abby replied. ‘But what about your dad’s business, Theo? Here it’s a simple life, it doesn’t pay so much and—’
‘Abby,’ he whispered, squeezing her hands. ‘I have never been about money. But, I do have a plan.’
‘You do?’
‘I want my own business one day. When I have enough money, my money, not my father’s. I thought maybe, adventures … hiking, quad-biking, abseiling, things my mother would approve of.’
‘Oh, Theo! That sounds just perfect.’ She went to hug him again, but he stopped her.
‘Wait, just for a moment.’ He reached to the nearby table for the package he had parcelled up only a half hour ago. He handed it to her. ‘I didn’t arrive a few moments ago,’ he admitted. ‘I arrived this morning, early, to finish something I started before I left Corfu.’
Abby looked at the parcel then back to him. ‘What is it?’
‘Open it,’ he urged, a smile on his face.
With the Greek music continuing, revellers moving back and forth next to them, the beachside lit with hundreds of tiny lights, Abby unfastened the tape on the plain brown paper parcel.
‘Are you like this at Christmas?’ Theo said with a grin.
‘Like what?’ Abby asked, looking to him.
‘Ela!’ he begged. ‘Come on!’
She slipped her fingers underneath the paper and gasped as the gift was revealed. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. In her hands was an olive-wood sign, oblong-shaped and sanded with small carvings etched into it – a fish, a boat, olives, the sun, waves – everything that summed up Corfu and the sunshine dream. And in its centre, in a hand-carved yet contemporary font, were the words … Desperately Seeking.
‘Oh, Theo, it’s … I don’t know what to say.’
‘I paid for the wood with the tips I made at your party then I started it when I think I knew how I was starting to feel about you, and I did a little bit each day before I left. But I did not have time to finish it until now.’ He took a breath. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Oh, Theo, I love it.’ She swallowed, her body swimming with warmth and excitement and … love. ‘And … I love you,’ she whispered. ‘I love you, Theo.’
She watched his reaction to her words, his whole body seeming to release, like it was completely unexpected, but so welcome.
‘And I love you, Abby,’ he said softly. ‘Sagapo.’
Greek Glossary
anglika (an-glee-ka) – English
apotheke (apo-theek-ee) – shed or outhouse
avgolemono (avgo-lem-ono) – lemon chicken soup
baklava (back-lava) – sweet pastry dessert with layers of filo, chopped nuts and honey
bira (beer-a) – beer
bougatsa (boo-gat-sa) – custard pie
bouzouki (b-zoo-ki) – Greek stringed instrument
dhio kafedes (thee-o kath-aid-es) two coffees
dolmades (doll-mar-des) stuffed vine leaves
efxharisto (ef-ha-risto) – thank you
ela! (ell-a) – come! hey!
endaks
i (en-dak-see) – OK
exo (air-ho) – out
fandastika (fan-das-ti-ka) – fantastic
Fix (Fix) – brand of Greek beer
froutalia (fru-ta-lee-a) – omelette with sausages and potatoes
galaktoboureko (gal-lak-toh-boar-reko) – custard pie with syrup
gigantes plaki (gee-gant-es plaki) – baked giant beans
ilithios (ee-leef-ee-os) – stupid
ime kala (e-meh ka-la) – I’m fine
kalimera (kali-mare-a) – good morning
kalispera (kalis-pair-a) – good evening/afternoon
kanena provlima (ka-nay-na prov-lim-a) – no problem
ke (keh) – and
ki ego (key e-though) – reply to nice to meet you
kokkinisto (cock-ee-nis-to) – reddened beef stew
kolokithopita (ko-lo-kith-o-pita) – courgette/pumpkin/squash and cheese pie
koritsi (kor-rit-see) – girl
laiko (lay-ko) – type of Greek music
loukanika (loo-ka-nee-ka) – Greek sausage
loukoumades (loo-ko-mar-des) – honey-soaked doughnuts
malaka (ma-laka) – wanker
megalos (me-galos) – big
Metaxa (meh-taxa) – Greek brand of brandy
mia xara fenese (mee-a hara fin-essay) – you look great
milo (mill-o) – apple
mu (moo) – my
Mythos (Mith-os) – brand of Greek beer
ne (neh) – yes
ochi (Och-kee) – no
Olympiacos (olympi-arcos) – Greek football team
omorfi (o-morph-ee) – beautiful
ouzo (oo-zo) – Greek alcoholic drink, tastes of aniseed
panegyri (pane-yri) – gathering or festival
parakalo (pa-ra-kar-lo) – please/you’re welcome
pikilia (pee-kee-lee-ah) – a variety of appetizers
pinas? (pee-nas) – are you hungry?
