Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  Jackie slammed down the phone and got to her feet. ‘We need Tom Hanks.’

  ‘No,’ Abby said immediately. ‘No, we don’t. See!’ She thrust an invitation at her mum. ‘I took it off the invitations when we agreed it was over the top.’

  Jackie took the paper, her eyes skimming over its contents. ‘Well, that’s all well and good, but that woman has seen scores of fluorescent orange posters advertising the party from here to Arillas.’

  Abby was confused. She hadn’t done any posters. And on fluorescent paper?! They were moving away from the bold and not-so-beautiful garish look. She swung around, looking at Melody, still almost statuesque with the chalk in her hands. ‘Melody, did you make posters?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Posters!’ Abby exclaimed. ‘Did you make orange posters for the party and stick them up everywhere?’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’ Melody snapped back. ‘Bugger!’ The chalk in her hand snapped. ‘Now look what you’ve done!’ She stood up, glowering at Abby. ‘When have I had time to make posters?’

  ‘Well, we only have two options now,’ Jackie stated, frantic. ‘We either find these posters and take them down, or we find a Tom.’

  ‘Good morning! Kalimera!’

  All eyes went to the office door and standing there, a large sunhat as big as a sombrero on her head, vintage cream-framed sunglasses hiding her eyes, was Diana.

  ‘Fuck’s sake,’ Melody muttered under her breath as she stepped back and crushed another piece of chalk.

  ‘Hello, Diana,’ Jackie greeted, voice attempting calm. ‘Lovely, lovely day out there, isn’t it?’

  ‘Goodness,’ Diana said, stepping in. ‘Have you had time to actually leave your premises? I was under the impression it was all hands to the pump organising a party for Saturday.’

  ‘It is,’ Abby jumped in. ‘But everything’s organised.’

  ‘And we’ve been doing a viewing this morning,’ Jackie continued. ‘A gorgeous villa. Belonging to Spyridoula Pappas’s brother.’

  ‘Really?’ The tone sounded disbelieving.

  ‘Really!’ Abby found herself insisting.

  ‘It must be very nice to finally have similar properties to Aleko.’ Diana let out a sigh, whipped off her hat and began fanning her face with it. ‘Perhaps the commission will lead to the installation of better air-conditioning.’

  ‘Actually,’ Melody said, rising up from her crouching position. ‘Before you came in there was a lot less hot air in here.’

  ‘Would you like a glass of lemonade?’ Jackie offered quickly, coming out from behind her desk. ‘It’s one of the specialities from Abby’s hotel.’

  ‘Is it made with lemons?’ Diana asked, putting one high-heeled sandal in front of the other and treading cautiously like she might be in the centre of a minefield.

  ‘It’s lemonade,’ Melody replied with an exaggerated eye roll.

  ‘Are they ripe?’

  ‘They were yellow,’ Melody continued. ‘You know, fruit … slightly waxy skin … grow on trees round here.’

  ‘I’ll pass,’ Diana said, the moment Jackie picked up a glass and the jug. ‘Save myself for the wonderful Greek fruit punch Aleko is serving on Saturday, at his party.’

  Abby felt the humidity in the room rise tenfold and suddenly her lungs seemed incapable of providing her with oxygen. What had Diana just said? Aleko was having a party – on Saturday. Before she could even open her mouth, Melody had pounced.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Oh, I thought you were bound to know. In fact, I thought it was deliberate on your part, having your little soirée at the same time as the one at Ionian Dreams. A bit of healthy competition, like, I suppose, a small-scale expo.’

  Abby watched Jackie’s expression. All their hard work with the quick rebranding, the invitations and culinary party planning and their arch-rival was trying to scupper their event. Perhaps the facts were correct, but she was not about to let this horrible woman come into their office and rub their noses in it.

  ‘Of course we knew,’ Abby interrupted, stepping towards Diana with as much confidence as her body could create. ‘What better way to get more people to San Stefanos than for both of us to have an event on the same day? It gives people a choice and here at Desperately Seeking, we’re all about choice.’

  ‘That’s why we have a wide range of properties on our books,’ Melody continued. ‘From ruins costing less than ten thousand euro to houses like the Pappas Villa. We don’t exclude. We are all inclusive.’

  ‘And that’s why I’m still here,’ Jackie joined in. ‘Almost ready to celebrate the business’s second anniversary. Because of the wonderful Greek community spirit.’

  ‘Aleko has free pens,’ Diane countered.

  ‘We have cocktails that are going to knock everyone’s sandals off,’ Melody informed.

  ‘And then there’s the free spa days—’

  ‘Well, we have … Tom Hanks.’

  Right at that moment Abby wanted to gag her mum but she held on to her smile, Melody at her side, all three of them facing Diana like a vision of unity.

  ‘Goodness!’ Diana exclaimed. ‘A Hollywood A-lister.’ Her eyes roved around the interior of the office. ‘In … here.’

  ‘Take an invitation,’ Abby said, holding the flyers out. ‘And perhaps some for your Pow Wow and Pikilia group.’

  ‘Delighted,’ Diana said, accepting the invitations. ‘See you on Saturday.’

  ‘We will reserve the very best plastic cocktail glasses just for you and your … what’s the word I’m looking for?’ Melody asked. ‘Ah, yes … friends.’

  All three of them held their stance (and their nerve) until Diana had left the building and then …

  ‘Mum! Why did you mention Tom bloody Hanks?!’ Melody exclaimed.

  ‘I don’t know! I didn’t want her trumping us with Aleko and his bloody spa days and his free pens.’ Jackie took a frenzied breath. ‘I can’t believe that little weasel has planned a party the same day as our party. It’s sabotage! And he knows, I’m sure he knows, how close to the wind we’re sailing financially.’

  ‘Trump!’ Melody stated, eyes wide.

  ‘What?’ Abby asked.

  ‘I might be able to get Donald Trump.’

  ‘Melody, that man wants to build a wall around Mexico. He’s not someone I want associated with our business. Tom Hanks, on the other hand, made a friend out of a football and played Sully. And everyone loves Sully.’

  ‘Not the real one!’ Melody exclaimed. ‘There was a lookalike who worked in Sidari last season. He did photos and let people throw wet sponges at him and stuff. He really did look like him.’

  ‘Even the hair?’ Jackie asked.

  ‘Especially the hair.’

  ‘But he’s not Tom,’ Jackie stated with a sigh.

  ‘Tom’s a very busy man. He could send Donald in his place.’ Melody grinned. ‘Mum, come on, how much would everyone enjoy throwing stuff at Trump?’

  Abby showed them both the screen of her phone. ‘Life-size cardboard cut-out of Tom Hanks or … celebrity face mask just £3.57 on Amazon. How quick can they get it to Corfu?’

  ‘Next day,’ both Jackie and Melody answered together.

  Melody laughed. ‘We know a hack.’

  Abby smiled. ‘Let’s get a cardboard Tom and trump Aleko with Trump.’

  ‘So wanging.’

  Thirty-five

  Pelekito

  Before Theo’s job at The Blue Vine, every day had been a day off here in Corfu. But back in the routine of work, with a whole day to fill, he had been at a loss as to what to do, until he had opened up his father’s garage. The aroma had hit him straightaway, right in the heartstrings. Oil, dust, polish and leather, notes of these scents had all spiralled around him as he stepped inside the large space in the under-build of the villa. Here, in spring breaks when the weather wasn’t too hot, he and his father had worked – tinkering, improving, fixing. These were about the only things Dinis did
not pay someone else to take care of. Most of the time they had worked alone, together but not together. Side by side, but separate in their project and their thinking, until one needed the other for advice or a second opinion. Breathing in the nostalgia, Theo had surveyed the two vehicles sat in front of him, both immaculately presented, their gleaming chrome and paintwork showroom-ready. It had taken him mere seconds to decide between the speed and ostentatious appeal of the Porsche and the guttural grunt and freedom of the motorcycle.

  The breeze from his speed on the bike flicked loose strands of his dark hair around his face. The helmet, as was the sometime Greek way, he wore strapped to his arm. It felt so good, to travel like this, liberated by the winding roads, a new, fresh, enchanting scene at every turn. He never got tired of Corfu. It had always meant a break from normality, a time-out from the stresses and strains of working life – or his father’s working life when he had been a child. Days filled with sunshine, laughter, family … but here he was, alone. And alone seemed to be sending him to Pelekito and that olive-wood workshop.

  He turned off the main road, taking the natural curves in the road with as much speed as he could without slipping over to grass and earth in the olive groves. Within seconds he was pulling the bike to a stop outside the ramshackle building. It was hot today, even under the shade of these olive-laden trees and Theo pulled his T-shirt away from his body, trying to get some air under the fabric.

  Suddenly the door to the workshop opened wide, a section of corrugated iron falling to the ground with the force. Two sheep trotted out at speed and Stamatis came afterwards, a large, heavy, banister of wood in his hands.

  ‘Ela! Exo!’

  Theo clapped his hands at the animals, forcing them away from his father’s motorbike and off into the wood.

  ‘What is this? I don’t see you for months then two times in two days?’

  Stamatis’ tone was rich with sarcasm, but Theo didn’t miss the slight upturn on his mouth that said something else entirely. The older man was pleased he was here.

  ‘I can go,’ Theo teased, ‘if you are too busy for coffee and …’ He flipped up the lid of the box at the rear of the motorbike and pulled out a paper bag. ‘Apple cake.’

  ‘You have apple cake?’ Stamatis asked, moving his lips as they appeared to moisten.

  ‘Do you have time?’ Theo asked.

  Stamatis shook his head. ‘What is life without time for apple cake?’ He turned his back on Theo, retreating into his domain.

  Within a few minutes, the man had made a pot of coffee and given over a rustic bowl with a misshapen edge to house the pie. And there they both sat, at Stamatis’ favourite workbench, the coffee and pie set among shavings and off-cuts. Theo watched his friend tucking into the dessert like it was the first meal he had eaten in weeks. Perhaps it was. He well remembered the times Stamatis had worked late into the night, having forgotten to eat lunch and not seeming set for supper either.

  ‘Your father is not here?’ Stamatis broke the companionable silence that had been accompanied only by the sound of chewing.

  ‘No,’ Theo answered. He felt no need to say anything further.

  ‘He is coming later?’

  ‘No,’ Theo responded again. Then, ‘I do not think so.’

  ‘He came here last July, for a week.’

  Had he? Why didn’t Theo know about this? He racked his brain, trying to remember last summer. What he had done. What the family had done. He had stayed on the mainland, looking after the business while … his father had travelled to a boat exhibition. Was that what Dinis had done? Or had he flown over to Corfu?

  ‘You saw my father?’ Theo said.

  Stamatis nodded, his mouth full. ‘He did not come here, of course. He was at the petrol station in Acharavi. With the fancy car.’ The man smiled then, humour filling his wrinkled features. ‘I pulled up next to him in my van.’

  Theo laughed then, imagining the scene. Stamatis’ van was even more rundown than the workshop. It was held together only by the thick, red, metalwork paint he slathered over it every winter.

  ‘Stupid little car,’ Stamatis continued. ‘He is almost six feet tall. He has to bend himself in half to get into the driving seat.’

  ‘You are jealous,’ Theo teased. ‘Of the car and his height.’

  Stamatis shook his head. ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘Jealousy, it is a wasteful emotion. There is no point to it. It does not make anybody feel good and it is a feeling mostly about dissatisfaction with your own choices.’ He chewed up a mouthful of cake. ‘We are all in control of our own destiny, Theo.’

  Theo’s mouth suddenly felt dry and he had a job to swallow his portion of cake. He was in control of his own destiny now. But it didn’t feel liberating. It felt terrifying.

  ‘Who is the girl?’ Stamatis said suddenly, slurping at his coffee.

  ‘The girl?’

  Stamatis grunted. ‘Pah! There is more than one? Shame on you, Theo.’ He shook his head. ‘I blame your crazy hair.’ He slurped at the coffee again. ‘The girl you bring here.’

  ‘Abby,’ Theo said. Her name on his lips always felt so good and he had no idea why that would be.

  ‘You remember her name at least!’

  ‘She’s …’ What was she? He had only known her a few days. She had been a customer at The Blue Vine but the destiny Stamatis talked about did seem to be putting them in each other’s paths. ‘She’s … someone I would like to get to know better but …’

  ‘You have not brought a girl here before.’

  ‘No, well, she wanted to buy a sign.’

  ‘I have not seen you look this way before.’

  ‘I do not know what you mean.’ He did know, because the old man’s scrutiny was making his insides react as well as his cheeks.

  ‘Theo, I have lived a long time.’

  ‘And will continue to,’ Theo said quickly.

  ‘I have seen many things and I have let many things slip through my own fingers.’ He sighed. ‘And I do not mean trunks of trees.’

  ‘I am not letting anything slip,’ Theo sat back on his stool a little. ‘There is nothing to slip.’ He swallowed. ‘Leon … he likes Abby too.’

  Stamatis nodded for the longest time and Theo could almost see the workings of his mind churning over the scenario that he had no intention of sharing when he had ridden over here.

  ‘Let me share with you one thing I have learnt over all these years.’ Stamatis picked up a stick of wood and held it out like a sword, swishing it back and forth over the bowl full of cake.

  ‘That you wish to have been a knight?’ Theo offered, smiling at his friend’s display.

  ‘That I wish I had not stepped away from what I truly wanted. That I had not let pride and stupidity and tradition stop me, and someone else, from being happy.’

  Theo looked at the old man now, the stick shaking a little in his gnarled hand. This was a piece of a story he had never heard before.

  ‘I know that what happened on the sea has changed you forever,’ Stamatis carried on. ‘But you have an opportunity to make those changes count. With everything negative there can be a positive. But you must let the positive in. Do not let the black clouds swallow everything, including you.’

  Theo opened his mouth to protest, to brush off the man’s claims, to say that he was fine, everything was fine, that the old fool did not know what he was talking about. But his voice didn’t come out and instead he found his eyes moistening, his leg beginning its tell-tale twitch as he felt the need to jounce it up and down.

  Suddenly, the door of the workshop opened, then just as quickly it closed again, as if a rogue wind (or sheep) had breached the mix of wood and steel. The moment was broken and Theo picked up the tin mug, putting it to his lips. Stamatis took another section of cake and said nothing more. Eventually the silence was too much to for Theo to bear.

  ‘Stamatis …’ Theo stated.

  ‘Yes, Theo?’

  ‘I have invited Abby to dinner and I have no
idea how to cook.’

  Stamatis let out the deepest roar of a laugh that shook both the wooden wind chimes and the spindles on the shelves waiting to be fashioned into chairs. ‘You ask me! Someone who eats only from tins? A better person to ask would be your aunt.’

  ‘Now you really do joke with me,’ Theo said with a shake of his head. ‘Spyridoula has never made anything in her life. She even buys tzatziki from the supermarket.’

  ‘Now, perhaps,’ Stamatis said. ‘But only a few years ago there was every dish imaginable produced in her kitchen.’ He nodded knowingly. ‘Ask her.’

  Thirty-six

  The Dolan House

  Abby had decided she wasn’t going to go to Villa Pappas to meet with Theo. Being ready to feel slightly more settled about being single was one thing, dating was another matter entirely. And she hadn’t accepted, so she wouldn’t really be letting him down. He had just said eight o’ clock and she had run into the house to help finish the viewing. She didn’t even have his phone number to call or text, and anyway she was too busy finalising things for the relaunch party.

  She was enjoying sitting on the edge of her bed writing a list of things to do, a cool evening breeze drifting through the open window. And then her door crashed open, banging against the wall, Melody barrelling in.

  ‘Mum’s made a right pig’s ear of the canapes! They’re supposed to be feta, chive and tzatziki mixed together and rolled into a tortilla then cut up into individual wraps – look pretty, taste nice and save money – but …’

  ‘What’s happened?’ Abby asked.

  ‘She’s dropped the sugar bowl into the mix! It’s this new mother we’ve got! The one who wants to use every plate we have to serve us wholesome meals we haven’t ever seen the like of before!’

  ‘But we have to remember that this mum is full of confidence again. She’s enthused about the changes, the opportunities selling the Pappas Villa has already brought to Desperately Seeking, with new interest and quoting opportunities.’