My Greek Island Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘I do not throw him out. He walked. Badly. Like a man twice his age with no springs in his step.’

  ‘Ah,’ Elias stated. ‘Now we are getting somewhere closer to the truth.’

  ‘Like you hiding the truth from me that you are a man in charge of divorces, determined to make women pay for their mistakes of believing everything a husband tells them?’

  Elias shook his head, but the fried bread he had just attempted to swallow was catching in his throat. He focused on the fluffy stray dog that had just poked its head onto the stone of Panos’s terrace. It might be hard being a stray, but it was infinitely simpler than his position right now. ‘It isn’t quite like that.’

  ‘Your job?’ Eleni asked. ‘Or the lying to me about it?’

  ‘Mama…’ He stopped eating now, longing to down the deep, dark coffee and order another.

  ‘No,’ Eleni said. ‘You might be clever with your words of divorce, but you do not know about things with me and your father.’

  ‘I disagree,’ Elias dared to say. ‘I think I know exactly what is happening with you and my father.’

  ‘I do not have to listen to this,’ Eleni began, and she turned as if she was going to walk away.

  ‘No, you do not,’ Elias interrupted. ‘But you should.’

  Eleni stopped walking then and turned back to face him. The stray dog let out a whine as if sensing the unrest.

  ‘Mama, I know you have dreams. I know you want to travel. And I think you should. I think you should take some time away from the village and the cafeneon and you should go wherever you want to and see whatever you want to see. Italy, perhaps? You and Papa in a gondola sailing along the canals of Venice.’

  He saw his mother’s expression change. Her eyes lighten, a glow to her cheeks, her appearance uplifting, all framed by the trailing grapevines hanging from the beams of the taverna’s terrace roof. His mother suddenly looked ten years younger. It was a snapshot of a youthful Eleni who perhaps had not seen her whole life being played out on the island of Corfu.

  ‘One thing I have learned from my business is… men and women, they are definitely not the same.’ Elias took a breath. ‘They have different ways of looking at things and one way is not the only way. But you do have to accept that there are vast differences to the thinking. And embrace those differences. Because if we were all the same, it would make for a very boring existence.’

  Eleni shook her head as if to dismiss him, but there were tears in her eyes and Elias could tell that she was taking on board what he was telling her.

  ‘There is nothing wrong with you wanting something else, Mama. But you need to talk to Papa. You need to tell him what it is you long for.’ Elias paused before continuing. ‘Because I do not think you want Constantine or any of the other men from the village. I think you still want Papa, but you want Papa to understand that Corfu is not enough for you. You need a break from the cafeneon. You need a holiday.’

  ‘He doesn’t want anything else,’ Eleni stated firmly. ‘He wants only to drink ouzo and smoke cigarettes and play backgammon with his friends.’

  ‘I don’t really believe that,’ Elias replied. ‘I believe he wants to make you happy too. You just need to explain to him what is wrong and be open to letting him try.’

  Eleni shook her head. ‘And if he does not listen?’

  ‘Mama, you are scared of exposing yourself,’ Elias stated. ‘But if you do not expose who you are, completely, you can never live your fullest life.’ The content of this conversation was sailing very close to being about him. Or, rather, about Hestia. Perhaps it was about them both now. Hestia must have held her true self in for so long before she came clean about her love for Thalia. And now Elias was hiding behind the past and using it to govern his future. ‘And then, nothing will change.’

  ‘This place!’ Eleni exclaimed, arms in the air like she was calling things down from the heavens. ‘I love this place. But sometimes I also hate it.’

  ‘I know,’ Elias replied, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip.

  ‘I do not want to live anywhere else. I would not know what to do living anywhere else. But…’ Eleni began.

  ‘Italy,’ Elias whispered to her. ‘Eating delicious pasta by a fountain, gazing out over the Amalfi coast, seeing the famous coliseum.’ He smiled at his mother. ‘Dancing with my father across a piazza.’

  Eleni made a noise and flapped a hand in the air. ‘Your father dancing? I tell you already, he can barely walk in a straight line these days and if you add in the ouzo drinking then…’ She sniffed. ‘You have now broken the fantasy.’

  ‘Talk to him, Mama. Tell him,’ Elias said softly.

  ‘Before I talk to him, I need to talk with you.’ Eleni pulled an orange piece of paper from her apron pocket and slapped it down onto the table next to Elias’s plate of breakfast.

  ‘What is this?’ Elias asked, picking up the flyer and starting to read.

  ‘Dark Dating. At the cafeneon. You will come. It is tonight. I will find you someone who is not like Hestia. Someone who likes men would be a good start.’

  ‘Mama,’ Elias began to protest. He now wanted to only immerse himself in the fried breakfast. Except, he had heard about this ‘Dark Dating’ before. But what he hadn’t realised was his mother was the host.

  ‘You will see,’ Eleni continued. ‘There are some good women in Liakada. And this way… it is fun!’

  It appeared there was nothing more to be said. Elias speared a sausage with his fork and bit off its end.

  Forty-Four

  Liakada Village

  ‘I had no idea what to wear to Dark Dating, did you?’

  Becky looked up from her phone as she and Petra ambled along the road towards the village of Liakada. She was worried. She had texted Shelley and Hazel earlier and they had both responded with a very short message and no real reply to any of her questions. Hazel’s text had said ‘Nothing to worry about here, dear’ and Shelley’s had said ‘All good. Enjoy’ with emojis of wineglasses. It was unusual. For two people so animated about her trip it seemed odd they weren’t more forthcoming. Becky really hoped nothing was wrong.

  ‘I mean,’ Petra continued, ‘if no one can see you it shouldn’t matter what you’re wearing. Ah! I’ve just realised. This is like The Masked Singer. It isn’t just that you can’t see anything and it’s kind of creepy and kind of funny, it’s so you don’t judge people on how they look or who they are. Maybe that Greek mama isn’t quite as simple as she appears.’

  ‘Petra! That isn’t judgemental at all, is it?’

  And it wasn’t really like The Masked Singer. Because you apparently weren’t allowed to use your vocal cords either and no one had been told to dress up like a unicorn or a queen bee. Becky wondered just how much information you were supposed to get from potential dates if there was zero interaction. Sense of smell? Touch? Taste? Bleurgh!

  ‘I see you went for something a little brighter than usual,’ Petra remarked, pulling lightly at Becky’s pink sundress with a tiny little forget-me-not flower-print all across it.

  ‘Well,’ Becky said. ‘If it’s dark, there may be a chance I won’t get walked into with this outfit on.’

  ‘I wonder if Atlantis and Troy will be there.’

  Becky really hoped not. Atlantis had spent the whole time glaring at Elias when they had had coffee together after the boating at Avlaki. Becky hadn’t been able to help herself, getting the word ‘white’ into as many conversations as she could. White coffee for me, please. The white caps on the waves were so extreme, weren’t they?

  ‘You didn’t really like Troy, did you?’ Becky asked her.

  Petra shrugged. ‘He was less than fifty and not quite as old as Elias.’

  ‘Petra, don’t you want to meet someone that means something to you?’

  Becky slipped her phone back into her handbag and focused on the beauty of the walk. Gardens with allotments, giant squashes poking out from underneath fat green leaves, orange lilies, their trumpets
trailing down over fences, cats licking themselves clean at the side of the road… What did she know about people meaning something? She thought she had meant something to Dean.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Petra replied brusquely. ‘Well, that’s a little white lie. They need to be compelling. Just for one night… or maybe two at a push.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘There are a lot of people to get to know in the world,’ Petra remarked, kicking a stray olive, still green and unripe, fallen too early from the tree. ‘If you spend too long with some of them then you’ll never get time to meet the rest.’

  Becky looked at her friend, brushing the soles of her high shoes against the rough road. Looking younger and more vulnerable than ever.

  ‘Besides,’ Petra continued. ‘The deeper you care about people, the worse the hurt is when they leave you.’

  That comment dug crampons into Becky’s heart and she thought not of Dean, but of her dad. Even after the stroke, when he was so completely changed, she still had him with her. It had simply been a case of getting as comfortable as they both could be with the practicalities of how life was now. She had to be the one in charge, guiding, supporting, like he had her whole life until that fateful day. Had she taken over? Had she shut Megan out at that time? She hadn’t meant to. She’d only thought she was better placed to navigate everything with her organisational skills that was all. Maybe this argument they had had over Becky leaving to come to Greece had been about so much more. But neither of them had yet admitted to that…

  ‘It doesn’t mention anything like that in that shitty book of yours, does it?’ Petra said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How to Find the Love of Your Life or Die Trying. If that’s not a crappy title then I don’t know what is!’

  ‘Petra, have you been in my bedroom?’

  ‘Keep your tits on. It isn’t your bedroom. It’s the master suite for the Great Pandora Bracelet Thief or whatever she’s got in those cupboards we can’t get into.’

  Becky could already feel her cheeks blushing and it wasn’t because of the humidity or the insect repellent. She hated Petra knowing she was reading a self-help book for relationships.

  ‘Anyway, I’m surprised you have time to read. Shouldn’t you be finishing writing “roll out the barrel” and “spam” a hundred times on that quote for the old people’s party.’

  ‘The quote is done,’ Becky answered, flapping a rather large and noisy hornet away from her face.

  ‘How much is it for a load of sandwiches and ration cake then?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But isn’t that what a quote is?’ Petra wanted to know. ‘Telling people what you’re going to do for them and how much it’s all going to cost?’

  Yes, it was. That’s exactly what it was. And Becky had the costings all worked out and totted up and the whole afternoon planned. Individual Lord Woolton pies – a recipe of swede, potatoes, turnips and carrots, with rolled oats to thicken the filling and hide the absence of meat (to remind them of rationing days) – served with a dripping coulis and mash. Corned beef hash inside Winston-Churchill-style pastry hats with Spam and onion fries. Next, the delicacies brought over by the Americans – including those tinned peaches everyone raved about – and ending in eggless ration mini-fruitcakes with Union Jacks iced on top. She had decided to go for comfort food most of the residents would be familiar with, but served in what she hoped would be a stand-out way. A way that would do It’s A Wrap proud. Except she was too scared to email the proposed menu and price. Had she missed something vital? Would she end up costing the company money if she had? Should she add it all up for the millionth time? Or just bin the entire idea altogether?

  ‘Once upon a time in Qatar, me and this guy I met crashed this wedding reception and the food…’

  ‘Was it good?’ Becky asked with a sigh as they came in sight of Liakada’s square. Here was where Petra regaled her with a story about fantastic Persian cuisine and all Becky’s flags on the tinned peach tarts dropped to half-mast.

  ‘Oh God no. It was awful. Walnut stew! Shouldn’t be allowed. And the falafel was so dry I think they rolled it in the desert. And everything that wasn’t the stew had yoghurt with it, or on it, or in it.’

  Becky smiled. That was a good story. She felt slightly encouraged now.

  ‘Speaking of food. What was included in our ten-euro entrance fee? You did say food, so what food? A proper meal or bread and dips or some of that deep-fried feta with honey and sesame?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Becky admitted.

  ‘Oh, there she is,’ Petra remarked, stepping closer to Becky and whispering in her ear as they neared the cafeneon. ‘What has she got in her hair?’

  Becky focused her vision on Eleni. She was standing outside her establishment with a clipboard in her hands, dressed in a long yellow patterned dress that skirted the floor. Her hair had been made into a beehive style and it looked like it was currently housing two birds.

  ‘Are they birds?’ Petra questioned. ‘Real birds? Nesting in her hair?’

  ‘No, they can’t be,’ Becky replied, trying to look closer but still be inconspicuous. ‘No, they’re hair clips. I think.’

  ‘Who buys hair clips with giant birds on the end of them?’ Petra wanted to know. ‘I know those bands with flowers on were popular in Claire’s Accessories for a while but… birds?’

  ‘Kalosirthate! Welcome! This way!’ Eleni called, beckoning them towards her.

  *

  It was pitch black. It was darker than parts of the cave had been in Kefalonia. Elias was sitting in a part of his parent’s cafeneon he had never known existed. He had been led – by his mother – into this dark tent structure that smelled of humidity, ouzo and other people. He was sitting at a table – he knew that much – and he had drunk a shot of tsipouro that had been handed to him. He wanted to speak, find out who else was in the room with him, but he had been warned – very forcefully – that if he did speak he would be in the deepest kind of trouble with his mother. And that was never a good place to be.

  ‘Welcome everybody to… Dark Dating, the only place on Corfu where the views are not the main attraction.’ It was his mother’s voice. It was echoey like this room was a lot larger than he had imagined.

  There was a ripple of laughter, but it didn’t last long…

  ‘Silence!’ Eleni boomed. ‘From this moment you will only respond to the questions that I will ask you to answer.’

  Elias felt the urge to laugh. This was, without a doubt, the craziest thing his mother had done. How many people were actually here? He admired his mother’s ingenuity though. Ten euros per person, and if the laughter was his only way to estimate there could be what? Thirty perhaps?

  ‘In just one moment you will be joined at your table by your guest. They cannot see you. They will not speak to you. And you will not speak to them. This event is all about listening. And I mean listening not hearing. Listening is very important in a relationship. If you do not listen to your partner the end will be very quick and sharp… like a knife stabbing into an apple!’

  Something made the noise of a guillotine. Perhaps an actual guillotine and there were gasps from the room. My God, his mother and father really did need to talk to one another.

  ‘Silence!’ Eleni called again. ‘Your first dates are coming.’

  *

  ‘I can’t see a fucking thing!’ Petra hissed, bumping into Becky.

  ‘Sshh!’

  ‘Was that you saying “sshh”, Becky?’ Petra asked. ‘Or was that the person who has hold of my arm? Is this our first date? A guy leading us into the dark… that doesn’t sound dodgy or anything.’

  ‘No talking,’ a voice ordered.

  ‘Mmm, so you are a man,’ Petra continued. ‘Are you under thirty?’

  Becky was trying to tune in to her other senses. The floor underneath her feet was changing from a hard concrete tile to something softer. Grass maybe? Were they outside? She sniffed, but all she
got was heat that almost took the nose hairs off the lining.

  ‘You sit here,’ a man’s voice told Becky. She put her hands out, felt the back of a chair and her guide helped her down into it. How could he see? She couldn’t see even a flicker of light. It was like someone had wrapped the room in those wartime blackout curtains!

  ‘Where do I sit?’ Becky heard Petra ask. ‘Don’t take me far away from my friend. I’ve seen all the bad films where they separate people!’

  ‘Silence!’ Eleni ordered. ‘When everyone is seated, we will begin.’

  *

  Petra was nearby. Elias couldn’t help hearing her voice, such as it was. Was Becky close too? His stomach was currently tying itself into all the types of knots you could use to secure a boat to a mooring. He had thought about her a lot over the past four days. She had opened up to him on the water in Avlaki and he knew that hadn’t been easy for her. It had led to him thinking that perhaps he should… ask her on a date. Tiptoe back in to being open about the future. Her being here at this mad dating night of his mother’s had to mean she was open to the possibility. Maybe. Or perhaps it was already too late. Could she already be considering something with someone called Atlantis?

  ‘Endaksi, your first partner is now opposite you,’ Eleni informed. ‘Take a long, slow deep breath and let their aura soak into you.’

  What? Breathe in someone’s smell? This was unorthodox but, Elias supposed, it would be an aroma you could be getting used to if you began dating… He closed his eyes, even though he could see nothing, and inhaled long and slow. Flowers. Definitely flowers. One thing he did know was he wasn’t sat opposite Becky…

  ‘Next, I will ask you a question and you must respond so your date can hear the answer. But you will not answer with words. You will answer with… a sound.’

  Elias shook his head. Where was his mother getting this all from?

  ‘So, let your date know your favourite animal. Go!’

  Elias was momentarily dumbfounded. Favourite animal? Suddenly the room was filled with a cacophony of different noises and it was hard to differentiate one from the other. Until…