Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘Very good,’ George nodded, laying a napkin over Abby’s lap.

  She smiled and waited for him to depart before looking at her mum and sister. ‘What’s the matter? You were both a bit rude to George. I thought tonight was a celebration.’

  ‘We wanted to go to Tavernaki,’ Melody reminded her.

  ‘I know, but—’

  ‘We haven’t been here since he re-opened,’ Melody interjected.

  ‘Melody!’ Jackie hissed.

  Abby didn’t understand. She looked at her mum who had picked the napkin from her lap and was toying with it in her hands.

  ‘Why don’t you come here?’ She swallowed. ‘Has the food gone downhill since George moved premises?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Melody said in reply. ‘Because we don’t come here.’

  ‘But why not?’ Abby asked, this time fixing her gaze on Jackie.

  ‘Mum doesn’t really get on with George,’ Melody informed.

  ‘Ssh! Melody! Keep your voice down!’

  Abby watched her mum react like a villain keeping a murderous secret from the police. Wide eyes, glancing over her shoulder, demeanour pitched at uncomfortable.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Abby asked tentatively. ‘You said he did some painting at the house for you.’

  ‘That was ages ago,’ Jackie stated. ‘When we first moved here.’

  ‘Then what’s happened since?’ What else had the two of them been keeping from her?

  ‘Nothing’s happened,’ Jackie said defensively. ‘We’ve just been busy with the business and focusing our attention in a different direction.’ She sighed, sounding a little frustrated. ‘We haven’t had the money to eat out all the time so he helped me and I couldn’t help him, and coming here just …’

  Abby swallowed. She knew exactly what her mum was about to say, and she felt it too, so keenly already, just by being back in the ambience of George’s Taverna. ‘It reminds you of Dad.’

  Jackie quickly nodded, then whipped the napkin off her lap and dabbed at her eyes.

  ‘Sorry, Mum,’ Abby said. ‘I didn’t think. I only thought about the good times and the great memories. I know things were hard for you when he was ill.’

  ‘I thought this was meant to be a celebration meal?’ Melody chipped in. ‘Where’s that prosecco?’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jackie said, sniffing hard. ‘Melody’s right. We need to celebrate. Your dad loved a celebration.’ She smiled. ‘It was any excuse if you remember.’

  Abby smiled. ‘He was Friyay-ing before it was even a thing.’

  Jackie laughed. ‘What about when he celebrated the car getting through the car wash without losing a wiper blade.’

  ‘We had Chinese that night,’ Abby stated.

  ‘And a box of Maltesers,’ Melody added. ‘Each.’

  Abby swallowed a knot that had arrived in her throat that felt about the size of one of Spyridoula’s cow-luring apples. It was so nice to reminisce. Perhaps they hadn’t done it enough.

  ‘Listen to us!’ Jackie said, her voice just a touch high-pitched, fingers still curled around the napkin. ‘Talking about celebrating and not actually doing it isn’t going to get us very far is it?’ She cleared her throat. ‘George, psomi ke taramasalata, parakalo.’

  In her head Abby translated, dredging up the Greek she had tried to learn. Her mum had ordered bread and taramasalata – that gorgeous, pink, creamy fish roe dip.

  Melody stuck her hand in the air like she was a schoolgirl trying to get the attention of a teacher. ‘Saganaki ke tzatziki, parakalo … Abs, what are you going to have for starters?’

  Saganaki was deep-fried Greek cheese and tzatziki the famous yoghurt, mint, cucumber and garlic dip they did fantastically well on a Lidl’s Greek Week, but it was nothing compared to the fresh Greek experience. Seeing her mum and sister getting happily animated over Greek food was giving her a warm feeling all over. Here, next to the gently swaying boats tied up in the harbour, the sunlight making the water glimmer, her own problems seemed a whole world away.

  The beginnings of ‘Summer of 69’ rang out and Jackie let out a squeal as if she had no idea what the noise represented.

  ‘It’s your phone, Mum,’ Melody said with an eye roll. ‘That’s your email sound. “Run to You” is a text. And Lionel’s “All Night Long” is your ring tone.’ She looked to Abby. ‘She never remembers.’

  George arrived at the table with a bottle of champagne. Abby checked out the label. She had definitely asked for sparkling wine. Perhaps she should have made sure that had translated to Greek as ‘the cheap stuff not the expensive stuff’.

  Jackie pulled her mobile from her handbag and began tapping at the screen. ‘I know I shouldn’t be on my phone at dinner. I know there’s nothing worse … so Diana says if anyone dares pull one out at Pow Wow and Pikilia … but it might be business.’

  ‘It won’t be,’ Melody answered. ‘She says this a lot. It will be some Sparks card offer from M&S.’

  ‘Do they still have M&S in Corfu Town?’ Abby inquired, still half-observing George and the champagne.

  ‘Why?’ Melody asked. ‘Does Darrell need some more socks to wear with his sandals?’

  Abby shook her head. ‘I told you that was a dress-up day for his work.’

  Jackie let out a shriek at the same time George popped the cork from the bottle of whatever-it-was. There would be no stopping him from filling their glasses now.

  ‘What is it?’ Melody asked. ‘I’m guessing not bonus Sparks points … unless it’s an offer on essentials. They do do nice camis.’

  ‘We’ve got a request for a viewing!’ Jackie inhaled so hard, Abby wondered if she might actually suck in the condiments on the table. ‘On Villa Pappas!’

  ‘Wanging hell!’ Melody exclaimed. ‘Already! It only went on the website an hour ago!’

  ‘That’s good, right?’ Abby said. ‘Something else worth celebrating!’

  ‘It’s not just good,’ Jackie said. ‘It’s fantastic. And it’s nine o’clock tomorrow, which is fine – oh.’ The thrill went from the end of her sentence.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Melody asked. ‘I knew there would be a catch. Nothing ever goes perfectly for us, does it?’

  ‘What’s the issue?’ Abby wanted to know. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing we can’t work around.’

  ‘They need picking up from Peroulades. They don’t have a car.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Melody said. ‘I can pick them up in the morning.’

  ‘Not in that car,’ Abby said. ‘It’s unreliable. And Leon’s taxi – that’s seen better days too. We need something that looks classier. These are people looking to spend two point five million euro on a house.’

  ‘So why don’t they have a car?’ Melody offered with sarcasm.

  ‘They’re English,’ Jackie said, eyes still scanning her mobile phone. ‘Over here visiting relatives.’

  ‘You can take my car.’

  It was George who had spoken, in between filling their flutes.

  ‘Can we, George?’ Abby asked. ‘What sort is it?’ She didn’t want to appear materialistic, but she was hoping for five doors and no rust.

  ‘It is a Mercedes,’ he replied.

  ‘Benz,’ Jackie said wistfully. ‘W123 1978.’

  Abby looked at her mum, saw the sadness creeping over her features again. George was holding the bottle of champagne over Jackie’s glass but no pouring was taking place.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Melody loudly interrupted. ‘I’ll drive George’s Benz over to Peroulades and pick them up and you two will get up to the villa at eight-thirty to dress it before they arrive.’

  ‘Dress it?’ Abby queried.

  Melody laughed. ‘Abs, you have a lot to learn about selling houses.’

  Twenty-six

  The Blue Vine

  ‘Theo, come here!’

  Spyridoula had taken up residence at a table for six under the boughs of an olive tree in the seated section closest to the main building. She and her frie
nds had ordered a meze of dips and breads with anchovies and olives. Theo suspected that, at any moment, the playing cards would be brought out. Friends were his aunt’s entire life and she had many of them. After a long period living and working in Athens she had retired to Corfu. Theo remembered one holiday, when he was a very hormonal teen, Spyridoula had arrived at their villa, dressed in every piece of finery she owned and invited them all out to lunch. They had eaten at Eucalyptus Taverna, seven courses with wine, then brandy and ouzo and finally, long after the sun had set, they had washed it all down with strong Greek coffee. His aunt was as strong as she was stubborn – family traits – but she was also someone he had great affection for and she had been good to him. He needed to remember that before he continued labelling her the enemy.

  ‘You would like more drinks?’ Theo inquired, all his aunt’s friends looking him up and down appreciatively.

  ‘You have grown so much, Theo.’ He shirked a little under the intense scrutiny of Mrs Karakis. ‘Such a strong boy now.’

  There was general concurrence and lip-smacking broken up only by Spyridoula’s laugh.

  ‘Ladies, please, I know you are missing Roberto but remember this is my nephew.’

  ‘Roberto was special,’ Mrs Dimitria said, sighing deeply.

  ‘Who was Roberto?’ Theo inquired.

  There was a collective, audible out-breath that almost told a thousand stories.

  ‘He worked here last summer,’ Spyridoula filled in. ‘He was Italian.’

  ‘He had amazing eyes,’ Mrs Karakis continued, putting two fingers to each of her eyes and widening them.

  ‘He looked like a ghoul?’ Theo teased.

  ‘He looked like a god,’ Mrs Dimitria answered.

  Theo laughed, shaking his head. ‘Well, I may not be Roberto, but I can make good cocktails. What can I get for you?’

  ‘We do not need anything more yet,’ Spyridoula stated.

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Mrs Dimitria said, sucking on her straw and draining her glass.

  ‘Someone is coming to the villa,’ Spyridoula stated. ‘Tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Coming?’ Theo asked. ‘With a delivery?’

  ‘No,’ Spyridoula said. ‘With Jackie and the daughters-of-Jackie, to view for buying.’

  It was quick. Too quick. He wanted to say that. But he needed to not make this about Spyridoula. She was just doing what his father was telling her to. A situation he knew everything about.

  ‘What time?’ he asked somewhat stiffly.

  ‘Nine o’ clock,’ his aunt replied. ‘They are picking the English people up from Peroulades.’

  ‘I wish I had the money to buy Villa Pappas,’ Mrs Karakis commented.

  ‘I wish I had Roberto,’ Mrs Dimitria responded.

  Theo was about to retreat from the table when a familiar sound, growing in volume and coming from the harbour side, distracted his attention. He looked across to the water and immediately saw the group of Russians boarding a San Stefanos hire boat, engine kicking into life. His heart stepped up a notch while his brain seemed to be stalling on processing the scene.

  ‘What are they doing?’ Spyridoula questioned aloud, rising to her feet. ‘They are drunk. They cannot drive a boat.’ She clapped her hands to the side of her face. ‘There are children swimming near the shore!’

  Now Theo’s brain engaged, and pure fear began to flow through every inch of him. He dropped his order book to the floor and took off, sprinting for the pontoon.

  He felt sick and super-charged all at once, somewhere between terrified and determined, desperate to not let this disaster-in-the-making happen.

  ‘Hey!’ he called. ‘Stop!’

  They were all aboard now, jumping up and down as the engine was revved to maximum, smoke billowing into the humid air. One of the party was on the pontoon, unhitching the rope. Theo dug hard for more speed to his sprint, thighs tight, but no matter what he did, he was never going to reach them in time. He had to instead head to the swimmers. Give them a warning.

  Bypassing the pontoon, he tracked to the beach, shouting and waving at the group innocently splashing around.

  ‘Come out of the water! Ela! Out! Out!’

  The children were looking at him like he was crazy, responding with shrieks of carefree abandon, staying in the sea, and looking unworried at the boat setting off from the wooden dock.

  ‘Get out of the water!’ Theo screamed. ‘Out!’

  The children were waving now and making faces at him. It was useless and that same sickening feeling he’d had seconds before the accident reared up just like the awful, unexpected wake had that day. There was only one thing he could do. He eyed the family boat, swaying gently in the water.

  Twenty-seven

  San Stefanos Harbour

  ‘What’s going on out there?’ Jackie asked, eyes on the waterfront, sipping her second glass of champagne.

  ‘It’s Igor,’ Melody remarked, leaning forward to get a better look. ‘In one of the hire boats! What’s he thinking? Those plastic padded cushions have been sat on by allsorts.’

  Abby was holding her breath. She had seen Theo sprinting down from The Blue Vine like the place was on fire. Now he was calling to somebody and waving his hands, frantic. She stood up, rocking the table.

  ‘Are you going to ask George where the main course is?’ Melody asked. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘You can’t be starving,’ Jackie stated. ‘Those starters were humungous, not to mention delicious too.’

  Abby continued to watch. Theo was back up onto the dock now, as Igor and his friends began to power around the bay, creating white waves that were churning up the tranquil water, spray flying into the air.

  ‘Abs, go and ask George how long the main course will be,’ Melody said, swigging back her champagne.

  She couldn’t see Theo at all now. But she could hear the Russians on the water, jeering, fists in the air, singing what sounded like a fight song. Then there was another roar, a bigger, more powerful engine noise and suddenly a blue-and-white motorboat started to move. It was fast, but controlled, turning away from the pontoon and making room to manoeuvre. Theo was at the wheel.

  ‘Isn’t that the barman from The Blue Vine?’ Melody asked, eyes back on the waterfront.

  ‘Theo,’ Abby said. ‘He’s also the gardener at Villa Pappas.’

  ‘Well, no barman or gardener I’ve ever met has a boat like that,’ Melody remarked. ‘It’s not quite the same stature as Valentin’s but—’

  Abby put a hand to her mouth in shock, suddenly understanding exactly what was going on. ‘There are children in the water down there!’ She stood, shifting herself out from behind the table.

  ‘There’s always people swimming. It’s called “the sea”. That’s where people go when they don’t live near Romsey Rapids,’ Melody joked.

  ‘But,’ Abby said, finally getting herself out and into space. ‘In Romsey Rapids you don’t have inebriated Russians driving speedboats at you.’ She swallowed and looked to her mum. ‘I’ll be back. Tell George to keep my dinner warm.’

  ‘Abby,’ Jackie said. ‘What are you doing?’

  The truth was she didn’t know what she was doing but she had to do something. She ran towards the beach, her mother’s voice ringing in her ears.

  ‘Abby! Where are you going?!’

  ‘Stop the boat!’

  Theo had blasted the horn and tracked the Russians around the harbour in a bid to get them to kill their speed and listen to his warning but to no avail.

  ‘Stop the boat!’ He pulled his vehicle up alongside, as close as he could get without putting anyone in danger, or so he hoped. Everything had gone way beyond attention to detail now. He was thinking only of how quickly this joy-sail could turn into tragedy.

  ‘You want to race with us?’ came a reply.

  ‘No!’ Theo barked angrily. ‘I want you to stop! There are—’

  His next words, about the children nearer to shore were lost in the noise of accelera
tion as the Russians powered out to sea. Relief flooded him. Out to sea was where he wanted them to go. If he drove them out further, into open water, where they could do a lot less harm, the children would be safe. He turned up the power.

  ‘You need to come out of the sea,’ Abby said as strictly but also as calmly as possible. She was waist-deep in salt water, trying to make all eight children pay attention to her. Where were their parents? If this was England the parents would be right there. She supposed, living around the water, they could all swim so the parents might not worry quite so much …

  ‘Do you speak English?’ she tried again. ‘Anglika?’

  ‘Ochi,’ a little girl with dark plaits responded before splashing Abby in the face.

  What words of Greek were going to help her here? She couldn’t make a whole, grammatically correct sentence but she had got considerably through that first CD a few years ago. Surely, she could manage simple words with actions and … a roar. She took a breath.

  ‘Exo! Thalassa! Tora!’ She said ‘out’, ‘sea’ and ‘now’ with the most badass voice she could muster – something akin to the vicious grunting of The Mountain in Game of Thrones without the embellishment of gory entrails to follow it up.

  The girl with plaits gave a scream of panic, looking at Abby as if she were a sea monster about to swallow them all up. Her instinct was to tell her to calm down, to say there was nothing to worry about if they just got out, but that tact hadn’t worked before. Perhaps better to continue the way she was.

  ‘Exo!’ she growled, clapping her hands together, then slapping them to the water, making noise and effect, wading nearer to the children and directing them towards shore like a lollipop lady creating safe passage.

  Abby was sodden, her bare feet going from soft sand to picking out rocks, shoulders relishing the cool water, the fabric of her dress not so much. It was only when the children began to stop their game, move towards the shore, that she realised she was breathless, had been scared. And then the roaring of the two boat engines started to grow louder …