Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  She continued to look along the row of properties. There was the small supermarket, set a little way back, two trees part-covering the exterior, budding white blooms and a well-clipped hedge either side of a paved ramp leading up to the entrance. But it was the property a little further along that took her breath away. It was the ugliest thing she had ever seen. Two large neon pink parasols were shading rattan tables and chairs and, flashing above the bright fuchsia-painted doorway, was a sign that would have looked more at home in Las Vegas. Desperately Seeking … Since when had her mother’s estate agency been pinker than the pinkest flamingo?

  ‘You have sunglasses?’ the taxi driver asked as he put Abby’s case down next to her.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The colour of that shop! It is so bright, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ Abby answered. ‘Yes, it really is.’

  ‘I do not think it will stay this way for long,’ the driver continued.

  ‘No?’ Abby queried, looking at him.

  He made a sucking noise through his teeth and shook his head. ‘The elders in the village do not like it at all.’

  Great! Her mother was upsetting the locals. There had been a distinct lack of information about that in Melody’s texts.

  ‘Where do you stay?’ the driver asked her.

  ‘Oh,’ Abby began. ‘It’s not too far to walk from here, thank you.’ She was not about to divulge her location to the first man she had spoken to on the island. She was a no-go zone and ready to windpipe-chop anyone who meant her a disservice, thanks to a recap on self-defence at Romsey Sports Centre.

  The driver stuck out his hand. ‘My name is Leon. If you need a taxi or to hire a bicycle or a moped or a quad bike, my family run Revolution.’ He pointed. ‘It is just behind, around one hundred metres.’

  Abby took his hand and gave it a professional shake. ‘I’m Abby.’

  ‘It is nice to meet you.’

  ‘Well, thank you again,’ Abby said. ‘Efxharisto.’

  ‘Parakalo.’

  As she watched Leon get back into his rather seen-better-days SEAT Ibiza, Abby felt her phone rumble in her bag. She took a deep breath. She knew it could only be one of two people. She was hopefully just about to see one and the other she had no further interest in.

  Six

  Desperately Seeking, San Stefanos

  The pink only got more vibrant the closer Abby got to the building. Comparing the colour to that of a particularly garish flamingo had been spot on as there were two of the plastic birds stuck in blossoming pots of bougainvillea outside the entrance. The gorgeous buds didn’t need any synthetic enhancements. What was her mother thinking? And why wasn’t Melody being the voice of reason about the look of the business? If there was one thing Melody excelled at it was appearance.

  Abby stopped just outside, finally able to see past the salmon glow to the property listings in both the front windows. All those laminates were topped with a pink header too. It stood out, but not necessarily in a good way, and it was also distracting. Still, it must be working. She guessed that pink paraphernalia didn’t come cheap.

  As she stepped up to the windows and paid closer attention to a two-bedroomed townhouse in Corfu Town she heard her mother’s voice coming from inside.

  ‘Well, I would have to agree to disagree. It does have a sea view … no, Mrs Morris, I don’t believe you have to stand on one leg in the kitchen cranking your neck a hundred and eighty degrees to see it because I visited that property personally and … yes, it does have a garden, it has a lovely garden … well, I’m sorry if you personally consider it no bigger than an A4 envelope with inadequate provision for a donkey but the measurements are all accurate I can assure you … yes, believe me, Mrs Morris, there is no one more aware that you have been on our books for some considerable time … no, Mrs Morris, of course I wasn’t being rude, your custom is highly regarded of course … yes, I do realise Aleko at Ionian Dreams is offering a free spa day when you sign up with him, you’re only the third person to mention that to me today … no, of course you’re not boring me, Mrs Morris …’

  Abby couldn’t bear to hear any more. Pulling her wheelie case hard she stepped on to the thankfully cream tiles of Desperately Seeking and saw her mother for the first time in twelve months.

  Jackie let out a loud gasp somewhere in the middle between shocked and excited. ‘Oh! Oh, Mrs Morris, I am going to have to love you and leave you. I will email you later this afternoon with something else I am certain you are going to adore.’

  Abby smiled as her mum put down the phone and leapt to her feet, bustling around the desk in a frantic bid to get to her. She swallowed back emotion. Her mum’s usual dyed-black bob was speckled with grey at the roots and she had put on quite a bit of weight. She was wearing a shapeless ethnic-printed kaftan – pyramids and gazelle heads – and was without her trademark high-heels. She also had on large dark-rimmed glasses she hadn’t ever needed before. Worn bright green Havaianas hugged her feet, her toenails unpainted.

  ‘Don’t look at me!’ Jackie ordered straightaway as she hurried to the entrance. ‘But let me look at you! Look at you!’ She reached Abby and caught her up in a tight embrace. ‘You look lovely, Abby. So lovely.’

  Lovely had always been one of her mum’s favourite words. She would be very surprised if it wasn’t in all the descriptions of properties on Desperately Seeking’s books. It was a piece of welcome familiarity and Abby had to do her best not to let emotion flood all her senses. This was a break. A holiday. Nothing more. She was holding everything together and her mum didn’t need to know the ins and outs. But she knew she really didn’t look lovely. Because there was only so much magic the No. 7 counter could work when you were the owner of a broken heart.

  ‘What time did you get in? I thought you were going to phone me when you arrived?’ Jackie asked, stepping back but holding onto Abby’s arms like she might disappear. ‘How was the flight? Did they run out of focaccia? They always run out of focaccia … and chicken Caesar come to that. Or did you have a two-for-one wine? I do think—’

  ‘Mum, slow down.’ She shook her head but smiled at the same time. ‘I thought one of the attractions of Greece was the easy pace of life.’

  Jackie quietened down as if absorbing Abby’s comment. And then she nodded, uncertainly at first, but then with slightly more conviction. ‘Yes. Yes, it is. It’s all lovely here. You’ll see. Shall I put the kettle on? Or do you fancy an ouzo?’

  Abby instinctively checked her watch. What was she doing? She was on holiday. She could have ouzo no matter what the time. Although she hadn’t had a cup of tea since Gatwick …

  ‘Or frappé,’ Jackie continued, moving back towards her paper-littered desk. ‘Yes, we’ll have frappés at Damianos. It will be nice. They’ll give us crisps and you can feed the fish like you did when you were little.’

  Her mum’s enthusiasm was evident, and Abby didn’t have the heart to admit she had been up since the very early hours and was tired. She smiled. ‘Frappé sounds good.’

  Jackie let out a long, loaded sigh of deep contentment and Abby relaxed into the cream-cushioned chairs set around tables at the water’s edge. Her legs and half of her body were in sunlight that was warming her every inch, the rest was in cooling shade. Here, looking out over the floating speedboats to people splashing about in the water, then beyond to the open sea where larger vessels were anchored, Abby was getting all the feels of her last holiday in San Stefanos.

  ‘We had Bruce Willis here last week,’ Jackie announced, sucking at her frappé. ‘And Jude Law actually ate next door, in Galini. Melody got a photo. She’ll probably show you later.’

  Abby sat forward, reaching for her glass of mocha-coloured liquid frothing with cream. ‘She’s sent me three pictures of someone called Igor.’

  ‘Ah!’ Jackie said. ‘He’s lovely.’

  ‘Is he?’ Abby asked. ‘Because I’m sure you said that about Panos and Ricardo and … what was the other one called? The one with the beard
jewellery?’

  Jackie almost spat. ‘Oh, Zeke. He definitely wasn’t lovely. Although I do now know several different ways to cook mung beans. Not that we’re overrun with mung beans on Corfu, not that I’ve started cooking, but …’

  ‘Tell me about Igor,’ Abby urged. ‘I want to know that Melody isn’t going to fall hard for someone unsuitable and get hurt.’ There was no way she was going to let what had happened to her happen to her sister. Despite Melody’s happy-go-lucky-the-Kardashians-are-my-role-models exterior, Abby knew there was a fragile heart beneath. And, for the time she was in Greece, she was going to keep an eye on her younger sister. And her mum. And she was going to casually stalk The Travellers’ Rest Facebook page. It was a heartbreak to-do list to keep her mind off Darrell and Amber, who she was not going to stalk at all.

  ‘He’s Russian. The son of a property developer. And the gold bracelet he wears on his arm is heavier than any of my handbags. You can remember how heavy my handbags can be, can’t you?’

  Abby shivered. She had wanted to know a little of his personality not whether he could rival Bill Gates in wealth. ‘Mum …’

  ‘His father, Valentin, is dripping with it … gold, that is, not handbags. Melody’s been trying to get me a date so I can get him interested in my high-end places but …’ Jackie sniffed. ‘He seems more interested in Diana.’

  The name Diana had been uttered like a jalapeño had just burnt her mum’s tongue. It wasn’t a name that was familiar from their phone conversations.

  ‘You’re looking to date?’ Abby inquired.

  ‘Well, I … maybe … I mean, I have been … a little bit, I suppose.’ Jackie sucked at her frappé.

  ‘Oh,’ Abby replied. Her mum hadn’t said she’d started dating. Not that she shouldn’t. It was just, after so many years of being widowed, Abby had drawn the conclusion that Jackie was happy being single. ‘You didn’t say anything.’

  ‘I told you I went to the sardine festival in Benitses last year,’ Jackie answered. ‘Well, I went there with Derek.’

  Last year! She had kept this dating lark quiet for almost a year! ‘Who’s Derek?’

  ‘He was quite lovely but he had a bunion. Meant he couldn’t walk too far and you’ve seen the hills around here, even I struggle.’

  ‘I’m guessing he wasn’t Russian,’ Abby commented.

  ‘No, he was from Grimsby. Like that Kevin from Strictly. Couldn’t dance, though, not even a very tame sirtaki with one of the dancers calling out the moves.’ She pulled in a breath, gaze going out to the ocean. ‘That was probably down to the bunion too, or the gout … he did like a brandy.’

  Abby swallowed. There hadn’t been any of her brandy left when she’d departed the flat. Despite being on holiday, she didn’t want to start falling into a I’ve-been-dumped-I’m-going-to-drink-myself-into-a-tearful-coma-every-night position. She was strong, and her new mindfulness app was keeping her on an even keel.

  ‘Then there was Robert,’ Jackie continued her. ‘He was fun while he was here and we keep in touch on email.’ She sighed. ‘But he had a lot of hats.’

  ‘You have a lot of shoes,’ Abby reminded her. She couldn’t see how having a hat collection was a heinous crime. It wasn’t exactly up there with a collection of severed heads … although if you had that many hats … Abby shook her head. ‘But, if this … Igor’s dad … if he isn’t that interested then—’

  ‘He might be,’ Jackie said. ‘If Diana wasn’t sticking her collagen in the way every five minutes.’

  ‘Who is this Diana?’ Abby inquired.

  Jackie gasped. ‘Don’t let her hear you say that!’

  ‘What? Is she famous or something?’ She was now racking her brain to think of every celebrity Diana she knew that wasn’t sadly deceased. She was struggling.

  ‘She’s a novelist,’ Jackie whispered. ‘Writes sweeping romances about billionaires.’ She sniffed. ‘Valentin is just research to her.’

  ‘And why is it you don’t like her?’ Abby inquired. Her mum did have a habit of being a little judgemental. ‘Because she’s had enhancements?’

  ‘Ssh!’ Jackie hissed, looking over both her shoulders in turn like she was a turncoat on the run from the Mob. ‘I don’t know she’s had enhancements, but Melody said if it wasn’t Botox keeping her worry lines non-existent she’d eat an octopus.’

  Octopus. The memory of that delicious texture embellished with just a little salt, pepper and a squeeze of fresh lemon licked across Abby’s mind. Her sister, on the other hand, wasn’t a lover of seafood. All this Greek fresh-off-the-boat sea fare was definitely wasted on Melody.

  Jackie continued. ‘She runs the English part of the village.’

  ‘What?’ Abby exclaimed. ‘The English part? Since when has there been an English part?’

  ‘They like their home comforts – English tea bags and sausages. And the latest thing is Avon products. Diana found a girl from Sidari who does it.’

  Abby’s brain was officially hurting now, and as she sucked at her frappé she really wished it was a cocktail. It seemed a lot had happened on Corfu in the past year.

  ‘Anyway, we’re letting Diana dominate our catch-up like she dominates everything else,’ Jackie stated, sitting forward in her chair and adjusting her glasses. They’d turned dark in the sunshine. ‘I want to hear all about what’s been going on with you.’ Jackie smiled. ‘And how’s that gorgeous Darrell?’

  Abby’s heart sunk and right then she wished a giant squid would land itself on the nearest pontoon, so she could stuff it into her mouth.

  Seven

  The Dolan House, San Stefanos

  Her mother’s house hadn’t changed at all. Abby remembered, when she had first visited, being underwhelmed by this supposed dream home in the sun her mum had purchased with almost everything she had.

  It was old. No one seemed to know just how old, although there was an archway that led to the small patio of garden with 1829 written into the plaster. Apparently that couldn’t be relied upon, and Abby had always wondered if ancient builders used to finger-draw made up dates just for fun while chuckling into their tsipouro.

  The shutters that were, at one time, originally dark green, were still very much in the half-faded green olive and bare wood state they had been when Jackie took ownership and, as her mum struggled with the key in the door lock, Abby realised that the very first item on the renovation agenda – security – hadn’t been addressed either.

  Abby turned away from Jackie’s sighing and twisting at the door handle and took in the view. It wasn’t a frontline property but, over the shelving tiled roofs of the one-level houses across the small road, you could see the lush headland on one side and a glimpse of that aquamarine sea. It was tranquil and beautiful here.

  Suddenly the door was yanked open and a scream had Abby snapping her head back to the house.

  ‘Wanging hell! You’re here! You’re here!’

  Before Abby could even take in anything about her sister’s appearance – except the hair straighteners in one of her hands – she was grabbed and woman-handled into a vice-like hold she was sure she’d seen in an Olympic taekwondo bout.

  ‘Can’t breathe,’ Abby rasped, then ‘Ow!’ She recoiled, escaping Melody’s hug and putting a hand to the back of her neck.

  ‘Shite! Soz! The straighteners are still on,’ Melody said as if suddenly realising she was holding them. ‘Don’t know why I’m bothering really. They don’t work so well when you’ve got hair as frizzy as Sarah Jessica Parker’s.’

  ‘Are you all right, Abby?’ Jackie asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Abby answered, squinting away tears.

  ‘I’ll get some ice,’ Melody said, grinning. ‘And then I’ll get out the vodka.’ The grin widened. ‘Proper Russian stuff. One bottle costs more than the iPhone X apparently.’

  Abby smiled. Just like the ramshackle house, her sister hadn’t changed either. As effervescent as Lambrini, half of her blonde hair trying to pass for straight, the other half buffe
d out like corn-coloured candyfloss. She was beautiful, would be completely enviable, if she wasn’t just as beautiful on the inside. Abby felt a warmness grow as she realised, for the first time in a long time, just how much she loved and missed her sister.

  ‘Come on in.’ Jackie grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her into the house. ‘We’ll have a drink and then I’ll get your room finished.’

  Melody nudged Abby. ‘She’s been poking about in it all week. You’ve even got cushions.’

  ‘Oh, well, you didn’t need to go to any trouble,’ Abby said.

  ‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ Melody stated. ‘It’s you, Abs, here in Corfu again! Not even Bryan Adams would get this treatment and you know how much Mum loves a bit of Bryan Adams … shite, did she tell you about Jude Law?!’

  ‘Melody, will you let your sister relax?’ Jackie called.

  Melody grinned. ‘It’s wanging ace that you’re here!’

  Abby smiled at her sister. ‘Well, in your last text you told me Igor’s brother would die if he didn’t meet me.’

  ‘He’ll be all over you when you tell him you’ve got a boyfriend at home. He’s a bastard for a challenge.’

  Abby swallowed. She knew the first stage of recovery was acceptance, but she just wasn’t ready to accept in the public arena yet, not even a family arena. And that meant a few white lies that had started with telling her mum that Darrell was ‘fine, just very busy at work’. The second the words were out, the memory of him suckering up to no-wider-than-a-strip-of-wheatgrass Amber had hit her right in the feels. But each day it was just slightly easier to hold in the tears. As long as she kept busy.