by Mandy Baggot
‘You didn’t have to drive me,’ Abby said.
‘I told you it was as much for the car’s benefit as it was for yours. Leave this thing for longer than a day and its brakes stick.’ Melody turned off the engine then span in her seat to face Abby. ‘So, remember not to touch your hair at all.’
‘What happens if I do?’ Abby asked. She had already scrunched her hands up in her lap, as just thinking about not touching made her want to touch.
‘I don’t know what they put in the miracle lacquer, but I do know there are YouTube videos showing some awful after effects if you ingest it.’
‘What?!’ Abby exclaimed.
‘Focus on the fact that you’re not going to touch it, let alone ingest it and your hair is going to sit there, very still, looking impeccable for the whole night. And …’ Melody winked. ‘I mean the whole night. Believe me, this stuff has more than coped with the most energetic mattress-dancing.’
‘It won’t need to stand up to that,’ Abby said, the car suddenly getting a little greenhouse-like. She looked for an air-conditioning button she already knew wouldn’t be there because of the age of this model. She settled for winding down the window completely, but in flowed more heat, along with the cicadas’ song.
‘Well, what are you expecting from the night?’ Melody asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Abby replied.
Her sister’s mouth dropped open. ‘Don’t tell me you didn’t run through your Date Expectations while you were getting ready?’
Date Expectations? It sounded like something you would note down in a life journal, if you had time for a life journal. She preferred To-Do Lists. They were productive and sounded just a little bit less bohemian.
‘He’s invited me for dinner,’ Abby ventured. ‘I’m expecting food.’
‘What’s he making?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘What? He didn’t ask what you liked? Or didn’t like?’
‘No but I …’ She hadn’t even properly accepted. What if he had taken that as a ‘no’ and he wasn’t even really expecting her? She might be about to make a colossal fool of herself.
‘What if you had allergies?!’
‘Melody, I don’t have any allergies.’
‘He doesn’t know that!’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Does he know you aren’t that keen on sun-dried tomatoes?’
‘I’m sure I’ll cope.’
‘Well, if it’s barbecue food, you totally do not stay the night – unless he’s bought you a gift.’
Abby smiled. Melody did seem to live her life based on a whole alternative code of practice to most people. ‘I won’t be staying the night.’
‘Why not? You don’t know that. You’re single. You’re a modern woman. You’re on holiday.’
‘I don’t do casual.’
‘Because you’ve just been with Darrell for a billion years.’
‘It wasn’t quite a billion.’
‘It was not quite a billion too many.’
Abby put her hand to the door. She didn’t need a Melody pep-talk on dating expectations. If Theo thought she wasn’t coming, or maybe wasn’t even in, she would hang out in the garden until she was sure Melody had gone and then take a slow walk back to the harbour. No loss. Probably for the best, although the anticipation of spending a pleasant evening with someone she wanted to know a little better who also looked like he’d stepped off the pages of GQ was a little bit thrilling. ‘I should go.’ She opened the door and stepped out into the steamy air.
‘Well, I’d sleep with him!’ Melody called as Abby pushed the car door closed.
She took a deep breath then turned back to her sister and the open car window. ‘After I’ve sniffed at my plate of sun-dried tomatoes and ingested my hair products, I’ll let him know.’
‘Abs! That isn’t funny! Abby! Wait!’ Melody called as she headed to the gate. ‘Please don’t suck your hair! I mean it!’
Abby lifted the latch on the iron gate. What she really wanted to do was stand and wait, compose herself before going in, but not with Melody as a spectator. She was hoping, as soon as she was inside the grounds, she could take a moment, get used to the idea of being here about to spend an evening with a man who wasn’t the man she had thought she would be living the rest of her life with. She closed her eyes as soon as feet met the plaka stone of the terrace. She could do this. This was not sky-diving or abseiling or holding on to a wee you’d been needing since lunchtime. This was a pleasant meal, with good company, in a gorgeous setting, no expectations at all – because she wasn’t her sister – and he might not have even remembered he had invited her.
‘Abby.’
The low lilt of Theo’s voice had her snapping her eyes open. He was here and she felt suddenly vulnerable, knowing she had been standing just inside the gate, eyes shut, between the creeping, hot-pink bougainvillea and the low wall planters filled with lemon-scented miniature cypress, bright red anemones and geraniums.
He was standing just by the edge of the pool, a bottle of wine in his hands. All her senses were in battle as sight, sound and smell all ached to react first. He was wearing dark-blue linen trousers that fitted him beautifully, skimming over those lithe limbs to Havaianas on his feet. Stretching over his top half was a white linen shirt – not too tight, not too loose – achingly perfect and enhancing every inch of the shape of him. His hair was fixed back, that tight bun at the base of his neck and those dark eyes, shrouded by eyelashes it should be illegal for a man to own, were looking right back into hers. She should say something instead of gawping. And then she realised, apart from her handbag, she had brought nothing else. What idiot came to dinner without at least a bottle of wine or some chocolates for the host?!
‘Hello,’ she said, her voice sounding like a mouse stuck in the depths of a cave. ‘I … haven’t bought anything. I’m so sorry. I got caught up with …’ She swallowed. The words ‘Tom Hanks issues’ thankfully didn’t escape her lips.
Theo held up the bottle of wine. ‘I have white or red or I can make you an Old Fashioned.’
Just the thought of that gorgeously sweet yet bitter whisky concoction had her taste buds leaping. But she shouldn’t indulge in shorts too early.
‘Wine would be lovely,’ she answered, taking steps towards him. ‘White, please.’
Theo put the wine down on the table then held his position, waiting for her to reach him. She looked exquisite in the light, cream dress she was wearing. It fitted close to her body, accentuating her soft curves, then flared a little from the waist, the bottom of it skirting her mid-thigh. On her feet were sandals, with a small heel that gave her a few more inches to her height. He noticed nothing more, beguiled by those beautiful eyes. He leaned forward, his lips touching first one cheek and then the other. He stopped on the second touch, his mouth close to her ear, her hair touching his cheek, the warmth of the night coiling around him. ‘Kalispera,’ he whispered softly. ‘Pinas?’
As soon as he said the word in Greek he realised exactly how it had sounded. He stepped back, cheeks reddening, mad with himself.
‘Abby … I … that was Greek … I didn’t mean …’ This was the very worst start to a date he really cared about.
And then she began to laugh, her whole face lighting up, shoulders relaxing. ‘You’re lucky I’ve done a little course in Greek. I know exactly what “pinas” means.’
‘You do,’ Theo responded, a nervous breath leaving his body. ‘Fandastika.’
‘And yes,’ Abby answered. ‘Ne, pinau. I am hungry.’
‘Poli kalo,’ he responded.
‘Is it sun-dried tomatoes?’ Abby asked.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘It is chicken.’ He took a breath. ‘This is OK? You are not vegetarian? I did not ask.’ He tutted. ‘I did not think to ask.’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I’m not vegetarian and … I didn’t really give you time to ask, did I?’
He smiled. ‘Shall we sit down? I will
open the wine.’
Thirty-nine
The wine was sweet, fruity and wonderfully chilled. A bit like Abby herself after her second glass of it. Theo had led the way to a table set up at the rear of the terrace, the position commanding the best views of the harbour and the ocean beyond. There were candles all around, on the pillared wall, by the pool and on the table, ready to light when the sun started to go down. And at the edge of the old stone planters were glowing lanterns, their citronella fragrance warding off the evening bugs.
They had nibbled on fresh bread, fat, purple Kalamata olives, and griddled saganaki, accompanied by tzatziki, tirokafteri (a spicy feta cheese dip with pepper and oregano) and skordalia (a dip with potatoes, garlic and almonds). The latter Abby had never tasted before, but the combination had been a heavenly one. She had tried not to indulge too heavily, knowing there was chicken to come, but dips were a weakness akin to her pastry addiction.
Now there was a plate of the most fragrant-smelling chicken dish in front of her, sizzling peppers, onions and courgettes in a hot pan centre-stage, along with a platter of stuffed aubergines.
‘Theo,’ she began as he sank back into the seat next to her. ‘I have to ask.’
‘Anything,’ he replied, looking at her.
‘Did you really make all this food?’
He grinned then. ‘You think that I have takeaway boxes in the kitchen?’
‘No … I wouldn’t be so rude to even think that … I just …’ She couldn’t say that she was judging him on Darrell’s standards. That his idea of cooking was opening a tin of Heinz Big Soup.
‘I make this,’ Theo admitted.
‘All of it?’ Abby queried, aghast.
‘Not the bread,’ Theo said. ‘It said it would take hours to make the bread so …’
‘It’s delicious,’ Abby told him. ‘Really delicious.’
‘I have not made it before.’
‘It’s a new recipe?’
‘No,’ Theo said. ‘Yes … I mean, I have not really cooked before.’
She dropped her fork to her plate. ‘Sorry,’ she said, picking it back up. ‘You haven’t cooked before? And you made all this?!’
‘Growing up I did not have a mother for very long a time and my yiayia, she was very old when I was very young.’
‘Your mother died?’ Abby queried.
He nodded. ‘I was four. My brother and sister, they were two and newly born.’
‘Oh, Theo … I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for you.’
He shrugged, his body almost hardening like a toughened exterior had just been welded to his skin. ‘It was a long time ago. It was a condition of her heart that no one knew anything about. One of those unfortunate things that could happen at any time.’
Abby nodded, memories of her dad coming to the fore. His heart had been weak too, but at least he had known what was ahead, and savoured those few precious years.
‘My father died,’ she said aloud. ‘When I was a teenager.’
‘He did?’ Theo said. He took her hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and comforting. Immediate physical connection without concern for hidden meaning or misunderstanding.
‘His heart was weak too, but he had an operation they hoped would cure it, but … it didn’t.’ She sniffed, eyes filling. ‘Well, it did, I suppose, for a little while. We had a few more years with him.’
‘And you miss him still I am sure,’ Theo said, his thumb softly caressing her skin.
She nodded, trying to hold steady. It was harder to hold in your emotions when someone was being so nice. She let go of his hand and picked up her napkin. ‘So, did your father do the cooking for your family?’
‘Some of the time,’ Theo answered. ‘The other times my aunts would come and cook and the one that can’t cook would pretend that she had cooked.’
What was he doing talking about Spyridoula? Abby didn’t know who he really was. If he told her it would change things, make things more complex. Acting a simple barman and gardener was suiting him in so many ways. There were no expectations, there was no pressure, no assumption … no having to tell her about his past. But Leon’s words were filling his mind.
‘What do you mean?’ Abby asked, looking at him with interest. ‘One of your aunts hates cooking? She sounds a bit like my mum.’
He needed to relax. She had come. Abby had come to enjoy a dinner with him. And it wasn’t because he had charmed her with cheap flattery in a bar and she was too inebriated to know better, or because he was from a rich family and unmarried, she was here simply because she wanted to be here. At least that was what he really hoped this was.
He smiled. ‘Most Greek women, they are excellent cooks. They enjoy spending all day in the kitchen making a hundred different dishes for one meal … this aunt, she is the opposite of most Greek women. She would rather spend her time out of the kitchen, buying food from someone else’s kitchen.’ Although that was not what Stamatis had said to him earlier that day.
‘It is very traditional to think of all women in a kitchen all day,’ Abby said, taking a sip of wine.
‘Oh!’ Theo exclaimed. ‘Please, do not mistake what I am saying. I do not have outdated views about women.’
‘No?’ Abby queried, tilting her head a little and looking unconvinced.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘But I also do not think that women are equals.’
‘What?!’ Abby blasted. She jolted her wine glass as she returned it to the table, a little bit of the liquid spilling out onto the cloth. ‘But, you aren’t allowed to say that. That’s definitely having outdated views and there’s nothing men can do that women can’t!’
‘Hmm,’ he mused, finger on his chin. ‘Pushing a car when it has run out of fuel?’
‘I don’t think that’s a very fair example.’
‘Moving cows from San Stefanos harbour,’ he continued.
‘I moved some too! I just ran out of apples!’
He laughed then, watching her frustration, the way her cheeks pinked and her eyes danced as the sky grew darker and the candles burned more brightly. ‘What I was going to say,’ Theo began. ‘Was that I do not think women are equals because … I think that women are superior.’
Now her expression changed, as he knew it would, and this wasn’t just talk. He really meant it.
‘I told you about my mother and her weak heart, well that was the only part of her that was weak, from all the stories I have heard.’ He smiled. ‘She climbed mountains before she married my father and broke in difficult horses. She jumped into the sea from clifftops before it was a trend, ran for miles and, some of our family, they believe she knew about her heart, sensed it somehow, perhaps packing so much into her life because she knew she did not have long.’ He wet his lips. ‘My aunt, the one that does not cook, she had her own business too. One small boutique that became a chain of others in Greece. My sister too, she is strong. She has to put up with my brother-in-law.’
Abby laughed.
‘So, you see, I am surrounded by beautiful, strong women who do not let anything get in the way of their ambition.’ He tore a piece of bread in half and dipped it into the sauce of his chicken. ‘Men, we can only do one thing at a time. You must know this!’
‘That’s not true in your case,’ Abby answered. ‘You work in a bar and you look after this villa. That’s a little multitasking.’
‘What do you do, Abby?’ Theo asked, moving the conversation on. ‘In England.’
‘I … I used to help manage a small hotel.’
Abby had thought about lying. Talking in the present tense and making her previous job at The Travellers’ Rest sound how her mum would want it to sound if she was talking to Diana Le Carré. But what would be the point? There was no going back and, being here in Corfu, weeks down the line from that day in the café when her whole life had blown up, the grief was dying, and rebirth seemed suddenly possible.
‘Wow,’ Theo said, looking truly in
awe. ‘That was a difficult job, I imagine. All those customers wanting this and wanting that and wanting something you cannot possible provide to them.’
‘It wasn’t that bad,’ she admitted. ‘I liked the customers – apart from the guitar players. They always seemed to think being a “musician” was OK at any time of the night.’
‘You do not like music?’ Theo inquired.
‘Oh no, I do like music. I like music a lot.’
‘Who do you like best?’
‘Gosh, I don’t know really. I just like “happy” music. Songs that make me smile and feel good.’ Was it wrong if she said Jess Glynne?
‘OK,’ Theo said, getting to his feet. ‘Let me see if I can make the music happier.’
‘Theo, but you haven’t eaten your meal!’
He was already halfway around the table and heading inside to control the music they were listening to on the terrace. Abby took a moment to breathe. She had never had an evening like this before. She had known Theo mere days and yet everything about this situation felt so natural, so normal, so right.
Pinpricks of lights from the village below skirted the dark blue water, the tall trees and brush on the hills like shadowy sentries. She could smell the herbs and spices from their meal but also the fragrant perfume of clematis, jasmine and lemon. Warmth spread through her entire body. Was this the dream her mum and Melody had chased when they had moved here? The hard work but the gorgeous reward of this view, this peace, endless nights being wrapped up by these simple un-buyable pleasures?
The music changed then and Abby smiled as a drumbeat began, followed quickly by the thrum of guitar, cymbal and trumpet. The vocal was Greek and the tune was completely her definition of ‘happy’ music, a fusion of Euro-pop with a lick of folklore.
‘Abby!’ Theo called, reappearing. ‘This is happy music, no?’
She laughed and nodded, her attention turning to him. And then he started to move, the way not many British straight men ever did. His hips were shifting, his arms coming up in time and his feet keeping the beat. Abby swallowed as she watched. Every inch of him was just sexy perfection and it was alerting parts of her that had been, for so long, settling for vanilla.