by Mandy Baggot
‘A pair of teeth?’ Tristan said, looking completely outraged.
‘It’s a drink,’ Imogen stepped in, moving closer to them. ‘We’re giving out small measures of kumquat liqueur.’
‘Can I have some?’ Tristan asked.
‘No,’ Panos and Imogen said together. Now Tristan looked a little scared.
‘It has alcohol in it, Tristan. I’ll get you some orange juice.’
Socks started to wriggle in Tristan’s arms, kicking its legs for release.
‘Come,’ Panos said, leading the way to the front door. ‘Let us get you ready to be the best maitre d’ in Corfu.’
* * *
‘I said that cat was nothing but trouble. Didn’t I? Pfft!’
Imogen smiled as she bound together the ingredients for more baklava. The kitchen was almost at boiling point in all respects. The oven was on full bore, the stove was boiling up pans of water for reasons she didn’t dare question and the outside temperature was still over twenty-five. Elpida was readying the courses for that night’s menu while she and Janie were making another batch of baklava. Having done all the food preparation earlier, Harry was getting showered and changed ready to be the face of Halloumi when it opened its doors.
‘He’s outside now with Tristan and Olivia. Risto and Pano are giving lessons in welcoming our first diners.’
‘We have half an hour,’ Janie exclaimed, wiping the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her shirt. ‘Can I just say it now and then I won’t say it again for the rest of the night?’
‘Say what?’ Imogen asked.
‘What the fuck are we doing?’
The ferocious air seemed to still, the volume of the bubbling water decreasing as if it wanted to listen in to the conversation. Imogen wet her lips and looked at Janie. Her hair was pinned back from her face with one of Olivia’s elaborate hairclips – pink and glittery – in the shape of a swan.
‘Pfft!’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘We are fucking running a restaurant!’
Imogen put a hand to her chest, shocked and then Elpida let out a loud, rasping laugh. ‘You English! A little hard work and you are scared! In Greece we work this hard every day and… we would not have this any other way.’
‘I didn’t say it was too hard,’ Janie countered. ‘I was just pointing out…’
‘I think it’s a bit late for wondering what we’re doing here,’ Imogen admitted. ‘We’re in the middle of it. Hands in the halloumi… or the baklava,’ she said, holding up her sticky fingers.
‘Pass me that spoon,’ Janie said, gently easing the pastry she was taming off the board.
‘So, Imogen, tomorrow I will show you how to cook the perfect stifado,’ Elpida said, hands flying from one saucepan to the other, sprinkling in one, sifting into another. ‘It takes a long time but it is worth it for the most tender meat.’
Imogen focussed her eyes into the bowl. She hadn’t wanted to say anything to anybody until after they had delivered a successful opening night, when they were hopefully on a high, sharing a bottle of celebratory retsina and toasting Halloumi’s future. But now she was on the spot there was no avoiding it.
‘Actually, Elpida, you’ll have to show Janie or Harry.’ She swallowed. ‘I have to go home tomorrow.’
‘What?’ said Elpida and Janie together, both moving their eyes from their respective cooking and setting them on her.
Imogen set down her spoon and wiped her hands down the front of her apron. ‘I’ve got an interview,’ she admitted. ‘For an internship at a really big hotel group back in England.’
‘Oh, Imogen, that’s what you’ve always wanted,’ Janie said immediately.
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘It is.’
‘Hotels,’ Elpida said, her voice flat.
‘Yes… I mean it’s just a start and I might not even get on the programme yet… but they have so many applications and I’m down to the final five they’re interviewing.’
‘It’s great news,’ Janie said.
Imogen’s eyes went to Elpida, who had now turned back to stirring the largest pot on the hob. It was quite obvious the Greek woman didn’t think this was great news at all. And after all she had done for her and Harry, she suddenly felt riddled with guilt, like she was going to be deserting them at the first opportunity.
‘I probably won’t get it,’ Imogen said. ‘And, if I do, I’m sure I’ll get plenty of time off to visit.’
‘Pfft!’ Elpida snorted. ‘In the hotel industry there is never time off.’ She looked directly at Imogen. ‘I should know. One of my sons was killed by it.’
‘Elpida…’ Imogen started. ‘I was always going home.’
‘Janie… keep your eyes on the pots. Do not let them boil dry,’ Elpida said. ‘I am going to smoke.’
‘Elpida,’ Imogen said as the woman disappeared out of the kitchen and headed towards the back door.
‘Leave her,’ Janie said. ‘She’ll calm down. It’s that Greek temperament, isn’t it? All fiery and hot-blooded… You should know all about that now you’re sleeping with one of them.’
Imogen shook her head. She didn’t want to fall out with Elpida. She adored her. She had become like a second mother.
‘Does Adonis know you’re going?’ Janie asked.
‘His name’s Panos,’ Imogen said. ‘And yes, he does.’
‘And what did he say?’
Imogen sighed, the memory of him holding her, dancing with her on the patch of land he’d bought for her play area. ‘He told me to follow my dreams.’
‘Wow,’ Janie said. ‘That’s a keeper right there.’
She swallowed. Yes, Panos was one of a kind. Complex and complicated but with a deep, true heart she wanted to get to know even more.
‘I’m taking it Harry doesn’t know you’re going tomorrow.’
Imogen shook her head. ‘This is his big night, Janie. I know he’ll panic and I don’t want him to panic. Not now he’s done all this and he’s about to open it up to everyone, showing it off for the first time. It’s a special night. Please, Janie, don’t tell Harry yet.’
Imogen didn’t hear the creak of the door until it was too late. ‘What’s going on here then? Keeping girlie secrets are we?’ Harry asked, standing tall in his tuxedo. ‘What can’t Janie tell me?’
65
‘Welcome to Halloumi,’ Olivia greeted, dropping a curtsey at the arriving group of diners. ‘This is the best restaurant on the beach and I recommend everything.’
Imogen smiled at her niece and nephew as they performed under Risto’s watchful eye at the entrance to the terrace. The sun was spreading tendrils of light across the pebbled paving stones and the furniture on the patio area had been arranged so that each seat had a view of the sea and what a view it was this evening. Not a cloud in the cornflower-blue sky, Albania clear across the millpond of an ocean, palms and the revived and new Halloumi potted plants fluttering their pinks, purples and reds.
‘Cheer up,’ Harry said, nudging her elbow with his. ‘It could be worse. Your brother could have just told you he’d bought a restaurant in Corfu.’
Imogen smiled, turning her attention to him. ‘Are you angry with me for not telling you about the interview?’
‘Angry with you?’ Harry said. ‘How could I be angry with you?’ He grinned. ‘You travelled a thousand miles with me and drove us down a mountain to get here. Then you went up against a fearsome property developer… someone I think you’re still up against now but in a very different way… you scrubbed and you cleaned and you supported me even when you thought I was mad as a goat.’
She smiled. ‘You’ve been listening to too many of Elpida’s Greek analogies.’
‘I’m over the moon you’ve got that interview, Immy. They’d be crackers to turn you down.’
‘Thanks, Harry.’ She straightened up as the first guests made their way towards them. ‘I feel terribly guilty about leaving you in the lurch though. Will you be able to manage?’
Harry waved a hand at the entering cu
stomers. ‘I’m hoping to get a more permanent member of the kitchen staff a little later.’ He winked before stepping forward, hand outstretched. ‘Roger… Ann… lovely to see you. Welcome to Halloumi!’
* * *
Panos placed two bottles of Mythos on the bar and accepted the money from the walk-in customer. The night was going so well. All the tables were full, customers were happy, plates were empty and the skeleton staff were working like Trojans. The best bouzouki player in Corfu, Vangelis, was just beginning his second set of the evening and he knew, within a couple of songs, there would be dancing.
Risto approached the bar, curls a little slick with perspiration. ‘Another bottle of Merlot for table nine.’
‘No problem,’ Panos said, taking a bottle from the shelf and reaching for the corkscrew. ‘So, how is tonight going for you?’
‘Good,’ Risto said, observing the restaurant scene in front of him, taking a little time and resting his arm on the bar.
‘You like working here?’ Panos inquired.
‘Oh yes,’ Risto said. ‘For so long I do not have any job. Here, Halloumi, it is the best thing that has happened.’
Panos nodded. ‘So, if I were to offer you a job working for me…’
Risto’s eyes lit up. ‘Really?’
‘Do not get the wrong idea, Risto. I do not want to take you away from here.’ He popped the cork on the bottle of wine. ‘But I am going to be involved with business in Acharavi and I will need some help. I would like to keep this in the family.’
Risto nodded. ‘I would like that.’
‘Good,’ Panos said. He put the wine onto a tray and passed it to Risto. ‘Here… And when you come back I will have the two Metaxas for table seven.’
He looked to his next customer, an older lady who had just entered the restaurant, a heavy-looking holdall on her arm. ‘Kalispera, I am afraid we are fully booked for tables tonight but would you like a drink for the terrace or the chill-out area?’
The woman let out a gasp, settling herself on one of the stools in front of the bar. ‘Water… not from the tap, and then a large whisky, no ice.’
‘Very good, madam,’ Panos said. ‘You are from England, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘On holiday?’
‘Yes,’ she said, taking a grip of the water bottle Panos had just placed on the bar and unscrewing the cap from it. ‘I’m here to visit my children.’ She guzzled the water greedily, droplets speckling her lips.
‘They live here?’ Panos asked. ‘In Acharavi?’
‘One of them plans to, I know that much,’ she answered, taking a revived breath.
‘Granny?’ Olivia queried, stopping in front of the bar and staring at the woman on the stool.
Panos balked. What had Olivia said?
‘Livvy, dear, look at you!’
‘Granny, what are you doing here?’ Olivia asked.
‘I’ve come to visit you, of course, and your brother and your mum and dad and Imogen. Where are they?’
‘Excuse me, madam,’ Panos said. ‘You are Imogen and Harry’s mother?’
‘Yes, dear,’ she extended her hand. ‘I’m Grace.’ She smiled. ‘Calamari.’
* * *
Imogen had to be seeing things. Bursting out of the kitchen, her hands full of meze, and there was her mum sitting at the bar, talking to Panos. She felt the porcelain slipping through her fingers.
‘Auntie Imogen! Granny’s here!’ Olivia announced, jumping up and down just in front of her.
Her mother was in Greece. Her mother, who was supposed to be measuring up curtains and cushion covers back in Hampshire, England, was sitting only a few metres away clutching a whisky glass. It didn’t seem possible.
‘Yes,’ was all she could manage to say.
‘Auntie Imogen, your meatballs are going to fall on the floor,’ Olivia said.
Startled, Imogen quickly tipped the plates level and shifted back into action, navigating her way to the table in the corner to deliver the starters. Wiping her hands on her apron, she made her way over to the bar, still completely taken aback.
‘Mum, what are you doing here?’ she asked, her fingers pushing back stray wisps of hair from her face.
‘Recovering,’ Grace answered. ‘From an awful taxi ride from the airport.’ She took a sip of her whisky. ‘No one said anything on the phone about Corfu being so mountainous.’
‘Granny, I had an octopus sandwich earlier,’ Olivia stated, grinning.
‘Don’t be silly, dear, you don’t have octopus sandwiches. It was probably prawn,’ Grace said.
‘No,’ Olivia said. ‘It was octopus. Elpida gave it to me.’
‘We have octopus on special,’ Imogen said, her eyes going to Panos.
‘Listen to you,’ Grace said, a smile on her lips. ‘You sound like you’re running a restaurant.’
Imogen didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Her mum was here. She had travelled on her own, all this way, when she hadn’t left the house in weeks.
‘You have come a long way,’ Panos said. ‘Would you like me to get you something to eat?’
Grace shook her head. ‘Not if it’s octopus.’
‘We have lots of other things, Mum,’ Imogen said. ‘How about some baklava? Janie and I made it.’
‘Socks knocked the other trays on the floor,’ Olivia stated with a giggle. ‘He’s naughty.’
‘Come, Olivia,’ Panos encouraged. ‘Let us find something for your grandmother to eat.’
Olivia looked to Panos as he took hold of her hand. ‘She mainly likes things from Slimming World.’
Imogen stood still, watching her mum look around the restaurant, taking it all in. The chatter was competing with Vangelis’ bouzouki music and on the patrons’ faces were contented expressions. The whole fusion was one of joy, laughter and lots of half-full wine glasses.
‘I can’t really believe it,’ Grace said, her words wrapped up with so much emotion. ‘This is Harry’s restaurant.’ She had said it like it was her first proper realisation of the project.
‘Yes, Mum,’ Imogen replied. ‘It is.’
Grace shook her head. ‘It isn’t anything like you said.’ She took another sip from the whisky glass. ‘You said it was run-down, fit for nothing but demolition by dynamite.’
‘I don’t think I was that harsh.’ Had she been? It all seemed so much more than just over a week ago. ‘But it wasn’t in a good state when we got here. We did this,’ Imogen said proudly. ‘Harry mostly. He had the vision of what it could be and it’s…’
‘Gorgeous,’ Grace answered.
‘Yes,’ Imogen agreed. ‘It is.’ And she really felt that. It was like those little tavernas by the sea you saw on dream destination programmes, but somehow so much better. Tonight’s ambience, the Greek music and that stunning sea view from each and every front window was a perfect mix.
Imogen refocussed on her mum. ‘But, Mum, I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us you were coming? I thought you were busy with April’s house.’
Grace managed a nod, but behind that subtle movement Imogen saw so much uncertainty. She watched her mum pick up a serviette from the bar and dab the beads of sweat on her head. A heavy and resigned sigh left her body. ‘It wasn’t for me,’ she sighed.
‘What d’you mean, Mum?’
‘The house. April’s house.’ She sighed again. ‘It wasn’t for me.’
‘But you were excited,’ Imogen said. ‘About the conservatory and the view of the river and… the free weights.’
‘Things,’ Grace said. ‘Those are just things.’
‘I know, but it did have an extra bedroom too.’
‘And what would I need an extra bedroom for when Harry’s here and Janie and the children are here and you’re here.’ She shook her head. ‘Things aren’t what make people happy, Imogen. People… family… loved ones, that’s what makes a life.’
Imogen swallowed. Her mother was having some sort of reckoning. She slipped her hand into the pocket
of her apron and toyed with the pen she had been taking orders with. Gibraltar.
‘So, I decided,’ Grace said with a sniff. ‘I’m going to sell April’s house.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes, and I’m going to take a holiday. Starting with here, in Corfu, at my son’s restaurant and then… who knows? I might start visiting all those hotels I never got to go to with your father. Or I might invest.’
‘Invest?’ Imogen queried.
‘I’ve been watching a bit of Jonnie Irwin of an evening. He finds bargain properties for people like me all over the world. I might even find something in Corfu.’
‘Mum…’
‘As long as you promise me there are no Asian hornets here.’
Imogen smiled. ‘I promise.’
‘Good,’ Grace answered. ‘Now, how about a hug for your new adventure-seeking mother before you go and find that brother of yours?’ Grace opened her arms and Imogen stepped into the embrace, closing her eyes and relishing the comforting reassurance only a parent’s love could embody.
‘Mrs Charlton?’
Imogen broke the connection, looking up to see Panos and a platter of mixed meze. She smiled, then, taking her mother’s hand, she directed Grace to look to him. ‘Mum, I want you to meet someone,’ she said. ‘This is Panos Dimitriou.’
‘It is a pleasure to meet you,’ Panos said.
‘And you,’ Grace replied, shaking his hand. ‘May I say that you are an excellent barman, knowing just what a weary traveller needs, and the whisky is exquisite.’
Imogen opened her mouth to correct her mother, but Panos beat her to it.
‘Thank you, Mrs Charlton.’
‘Oh please, do call me Grace.’
‘Grace,’ he repeated.
‘Now, what have we got here?’ Grace asked, hungry eyes moving to the meze.
66
Imogen had never felt so completely exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time. She had cooked, served and danced with customers and she was perspiring in places she didn’t even know existed, watching the diners of Halloumi perform a group sirtaki dance around the restaurant. And her mum was at the centre of it. Arm entwined with Harry’s on one side and Elpida’s on the other, her mother was almost unrecognisable from the grief-ridden shell of a person back in England. Whether it was the enormity of April’s house or just the realisation that life was short, Imogen wasn’t complaining. She had her whole family here for this night, celebrating Harry’s success.
