Desperately Seeking Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  ‘You have a permit for this?’ Aleko inquired.

  ‘A permit?’ Abby queried. ‘For a table just outside the office?’

  ‘And a licence to play music?’

  Abby looked to Melody. ‘He is joking, isn’t he?’

  ‘This is Greece, Abs,’ her sister replied. ‘You’re meant to have a piece of paper for going to the toilet, but don’t flush it down there because you’re not allowed to do that either.’

  Aleko began his arm swooping again as the coach slowed to a crawl, its wing mirrors appearing to get dangerously close to neighbouring buildings.

  ‘Aleko, I really don’t think that coach is going to fit down the road,’ Abby said. The engine had slowed now, the vehicle’s speed at the crawling rate of a very old tortoise as its driver attempted to manoeuvre its bulk onwards without causing damage.

  ‘Everything has been measured.’ He put a hand either side of his mouth. ‘Ela!’ he called. Then he turned to Abby. ‘Please move your easel.’

  ‘No,’ Melody stated, putting her hands on the chalkboard George had painted and re-blackened and she had adorned with swirly writing advertising the event. ‘The easel is on the edge of our terrace, not on the road.’

  ‘Please move the sign,’ Aleko ordered.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Melody asked. ‘Should I say “no” in Greek?’

  ‘Aleko,’ Abby said, trying to keep her voice a lot more level than her sister’s. ‘I really don’t think the coach is going to fit down the road.’

  ‘You English with your closed ideas and your health and safety.’ He tutted and moved to the middle of the street, looking to the left and right of the creeping bus, before making more come-hither motions with his hands.

  ‘I know what’s going to happen,’ Melody said. ‘That coach is going to try and come down here and it’s going to get stuck right between our olive tree there …’ She pointed at the overhanging branches. ‘And Makis’s flagpole there.’ She indicated the slim metal pole from which a Greek flag was proudly displayed on the frontage of the small store. ‘And the whole bloody giant thing on wheels is going to be outside our business, stuck, so no one can see it or get into it, for the whole wanging day!’

  ‘It’s going to ruin everything,’ Abby whispered, suddenly struck with the seriousness of the situation.

  ‘Not if I’ve got anything to do with it!’ Melody stated. She strode up the road, towards the coach, making hand gestures opposing the guidance Aleko was handing out. ‘Back it up! Right back up! Whoever’s on there is just going to have to get out at the end of the road and walk.’

  ‘They cannot walk,’ Aleko exclaimed, moving alongside Melody.

  ‘Who’s on board?’ Abby heard her sister ask. ‘More of the grey pound you’re going to try and con out of their retirement pot?’

  ‘They have instruments!’ Aleko shouted.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Desperately Seeking, you may play your music without the correct licences, but nobody will hear this over my steel band!’

  And right at the very moment, when the news of Ionian Dreams’ Caribbean calling hit Abby’s consciousness, a dreadful screeching noise, followed by the sound of crumpling metal filled the air.

  ‘Aleko!’ Melody shrieked. ‘Get this coach out of here! It’s just taken out Stathis’s bicycle! Let’s hope, for your sake, he wasn’t on it!’

  Forty-two

  The Blue Vine

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ Leon began, as he watched Theo arrange a selection of bottles containing multi-coloured liquids on the bar top. ‘You told Abby you were a gardener.’

  Theo was still cringing about it now. Why hadn’t he been able to see that starting a friendship with someone on a lie was never going to work out well? ‘Yes.’

  ‘I do not know if I should laugh or cry,’ Leon said.

  ‘I am feeling exactly the same way,’ Theo admitted.

  ‘I may not be an expert with ladies, but I do know that lie-telling is right up there with not complimenting them enough and watching too much football … actually, I think telling a lie is worse. That goes for mothers, grandmothers and sisters too, if you are Greek.’

  Theo let go of a sigh and ran the flat of his hand over his hair, pushing a few stray strands into the band at the back. ‘I just wanted to be me, Leon. Me without my … heritage.’ He straightened up, picking up bottles and loading them into a crate. ‘The good parts of me I hardly remember, instead of the son of Dinis Pappas, the heir to a boat empire – if he hasn’t cut me out of his will as well as stopping access to my trust fund.’ He had discovered his more limited funds while he was in Lefkada. It had never been his intention to continue to use the family money when he’d left, but he also hadn’t anticipated his father taking that back-up plan away so quickly. Once his wages started to deplete, it had been a case of living on a very slim budget and scraping together enough to get over to Corfu. And now he had The Blue Vine. Despite how he had first felt about the job, it was giving him enough to live on, especially when you had a luxury villa at your disposal … but for how long?

  ‘Come on, Theo. You have never been like those Russians. Throwing money around like it is Greek pots at Easter.’

  Not here on Corfu. But he had on the mainland. He had indulged in the high-life, using his status to get in the best clubs, wasting euros on champagne and food he did not even like, just because he could. Leon did not really know that side of him, and right now he was so very glad.

  ‘I should not have lied to Abby. It was stupid.’ He squeezed another bottle into the crate then scoured the bar top for something he was missing. ‘Do you see the vermouth?’

  ‘Theo,’ Leon began. ‘I drink only beer. You could be talking of a country.’

  He turned around, eyes going along the mirrored back wall, searching the shelves of tightly packed bottles for the required alcohol. There it was. He snatched it up and put it into the crate with the other ingredients.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Leon asked him. His friend was now primping his hair in the reflection from the stainless-steel beer pump.

  ‘I thought about hiding,’ Theo informed, selecting a batch of straws and putting those into the box.

  ‘This is San Stefanos, remember. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.’

  ‘I thought about leaving the whole island,’ Theo reminded.

  ‘And going back to the business?’

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘And I’m not ready to leave Corfu yet.’ It was a strange feeling. The fact he was starting to feel settled here. Here in this tiny village of a few tavernas and shops, rustic traditions and limited recreational offerings, when compared to the bustling city he was used to dwelling in.

  ‘So,’ Leon stated. ‘No hiding. No running. What is your plan?’

  ‘Facing up to things,’ Theo said with a lot more confidence than he really felt. ‘Apologising,’ he added. ‘And making cocktails for Desperately Seeking’s party.’ He picked up the crate and shook it at little, making the bottles chink together.

  ‘That sounds like a good plan, although …’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Hera does know you are taking the cocktail ingredients out of her bar, yes?’

  Theo smiled. ‘Yes, she does.’ He moved from behind the bar, container in his arms. ‘And I am paying for these from my wages, and working a double shift tomorrow.’

  Leon smiled, shaking his head. ‘Giving money away. Helping others. That is a sure way to make up for gardener impersonation.’

  ‘That’s what I am hoping,’ Theo admitted. ‘Are you coming?’

  Leon hopped down from the bar stool. ‘Lead the way, my friend.’

  Theo got to the open doors of the bar just as the beeping of a large reversing vehicle pierced the air. Plumes of smoke infiltrated the sea air as the engine worked hard to back up accurately, each inch seeming to count.

  ‘What is a coach doing down here?’

  ‘If it is not careful it is going to fall down
onto the beach. Hey!’ Theo called. ‘Stop!’

  Forty-three

  Desperately Seeking

  ‘He’s got a steel band,’ Jackie whispered, fear in her voice.

  ‘It doesn’t matter, Mum,’ Abby said. ‘We have Donald Trump coming and George’s Greek delights and … our raffle.’ She swallowed. They didn’t have a prize for the raffle. She needed to think of a prize. Something sensational but not budget-blowing … she could call it a ‘mystery prize’ while she was giving out the tickets. That would give her a good few hours before announcing the winner.

  ‘Where did he get a steel band from?’ Jackie asked.

  ‘Mum, get with it!’ Melody ordered. ‘We don’t need someone playing a beaten-up oil drum to get our party started.’

  ‘Steel bands sound so holiday,’ Jackie said. ‘And people like that Caribbean vibe. That’s the only reason anyone watches that awful Death in Paradise.’

  ‘Listen to me.’ Melody took hold of her mum’s shoulders, forcing her to focus. ‘We are in Greece! Not Guadeloupe! We are giving people the real, traditional experience, coupled with wet sponges at a moronic American president and … and …’

  ‘A raffle!’ Abby jumped in. ‘Everyone loves a raffle.’ At least they did at The Travellers’ Rest. What were the prizes there? A few bottles of Merlot, some lily-of-the-valley-infused handkerchiefs and those hand-warmers that everyone thought were a great idea but, in reality, really didn’t know what to do with them. She could think of something better than that.

  ‘Besides,’ Melody started again, whisking a mosquito out of her orbit. ‘By the time the coach has found somewhere non-obstructive to park and they’ve got their very heavy instruments off the bus, they might be too sweaty and exhausted to play. And …’ She added, pressing at her iPhone. ‘We can always out-reggae them if we have to. I’ve got old school Bob Marley or new school “Whine to Di Top”.’

  ‘That’s how I usually like my chardonnay,’ Jackie responded with a smile.

  Abby smiled too, patting her mum’s bare shoulder – it was off the collarbone cream chiffon today. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Enthusiasm and positivity. The party is going to be brilliant. We just need to get the rest of the bunting into position, bring out the drinks … Melody, did you mix up that cocktail recipe?’

  ‘Done at seven this morning. It’s in an old five-litre water bottle next to the fridge. I hope it’s going to be enough.’

  ‘It will have to be,’ Abby stated. Because after last night’s date disaster she couldn’t see Theo turning up to help like he said he would. And that, she’d decided, was most definitely a good thing.

  ‘Kalimera.’

  Abby looked up to see a smartly dressed George and two equally well-dressed, rather dashing twenty-something Greek men standing at the entrance to their terrace, arms laden with platters of clingfilm-wrapped food.

  ‘Kalimera, George.’ Jackie’s face flushed, her eyes not seeming to know where to look. Their mum never seemed to be able to do normal when George was around.

  ‘Where would you like the food? Inside?’ George asked. ‘Until the time of the party.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jackie breathed. ‘Yes, that would be lovely. I’ll show you where.’

  Melody straightened up, flicking her bouncing curls back, pulling her very short dress up a little higher and regarding George’s two helpers. ‘Shall I show you where?’ she asked, listing a little towards the first assistant. ‘Or perhaps both of you?’ She looked the second man up and down.

  ‘Melody,’ Jackie called. ‘Leave George’s nephews alone, please.’

  ‘Mmm,’ Melody said, running her tongue along her top lip. ‘I never knew George had nephews.’

  Abby took hold of her sister’s arm and dragged her over to the table. The sun was getting stronger by the minute and, although they now had the gazebo up and most things underneath it, come midday it was going to be extremely warm. If only she could think of something novel to cool guests down … she wasn’t sure borrowing wet sponges destined for Mr Fake News was going to work.

  ‘We need a raffle prize,’ Abby said, picking up a line of Greek flag bunting.

  ‘You haven’t got one?!’ Melody exclaimed.

  ‘Ssh! Don’t let Mum hear you. She’s barely holding it together after the idiophones …’

  ‘The what now?’

  ‘The steel drums.’

  Melody laughed. ‘I thought it was a posh word for dickhead and you were talking about Darrell.’

  ‘Don’t forget that Mum’s also mourning her chance to make Mamma Mia 3 with me as a Greek bride.’

  ‘Well … I think there’s hope. As I said at breakfast, Theo is even more of a catch now he’s super-rich as well as super-hot.’

  Abby shook her head. ‘He lied to me.’

  ‘Pah!’ Melody said, unwrapping a lemon-flavoured boiled sweet supposed to be for invitees and popping it into her mouth. ‘Have you wondered why he didn’t tell you the truth? I mean, if he likes you it stands to reason he wouldn’t tell you his net worth. It’s what celebrities do when they’re trying to ward off gold-diggers.’

  ‘So, you think he thought I was a gold-digger?’ Abby asked, shocked.

  ‘I don’t know, I’m just suggesting, that perhaps there was a reason he wasn’t fully honest.’ She sucked on the sweet, moving it around in her mouth. ‘I mean most guys would use their wealth and status to attract a girl, not try and lure them with their oh-so-interesting bar and gardening work.’ Melody laughed and nudged Abby’s arm. ‘Although I know you’re a little bit different to most girls.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Abby asked, affronted.

  ‘Well, for starters, you had to be dating Darrell for something other than his looks, and his personality, come to that. So what was it?’

  Abby found herself unable to answer the question. Darrell had been interested. That was all. At the very beginning, he had been interested, when there had been nothing but work and the odd beer-and-balti night with her friend Lauren – who had got married and moved to Germany with her soldier husband. Deep analysis over the past few weeks since the break-up had only provided her with more and more evidence that they had had nothing in common apart from a mutual appreciation of Orphan Black. Their whole time together had been nothing more than a string of acceptable times. Where was the need, want and passion in that? She swallowed. Darrell had also poo-pooed her learning Greek. Philistine.

  ‘Raffle prize. Think,’ she blurted out at Melody.

  ‘Just get some booze,’ Melody suggested. ‘Everyone appreciates that … Oh, hello.’

  Abby looked over in response to Melody’s greeting and there, toned arms taut from the box he was carrying, was Theo. Her entire insides reacted to his appearance, popping and locking like Ashley Banjo as she perused the athletic physique covered only by a white, abdomen-skimming vest top above black jeans. But that was just chemical, she told herself. It was like dining out on Zac Efron in Baywatch and not paying attention to the actual film. It was superficial … do not focus on the ‘super’ bit.

  ‘Good morning,’ Theo said. ‘We are here to make cocktails for your guests.’

  Melody poked Abby in the ribs with her elbow, jolting her into movement.

  ‘Oh … I … we …’ she spluttered. Like. An. Idiophone.

  ‘Desperately Seeking Ladies!’ Leon bounded onto the terrace, one arm around a small box, the other waving what looked like something you would hit a steelpan with.

  ‘Was that a greeting?’ Melody asked, plucking the box right out of Leon’s hands. ‘Or a singles advertisement?’

  ‘Just jesting! So feisty, Melody. It is going to be a party, no?’ Leon said. ‘Fun times, for everybody.’ He used the stick in his hand like a conductor’s baton.

  Melody snatched it from him. ‘Where did you get that from?’

  ‘I found it on the road.’

  ‘One down. How many to go?’ Melody asked, then looked to Abby. ‘How many players are in
a steel band?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Abby answered. She was having trouble joining in with this conversation. There was this bubbling cocktail mix of tension as she remembered her and Theo’s almost dirty dancing last night and their oh-so-sexy interrupted kiss …

  ‘Come on,’ Melody said, grabbing Leon by the arm. ‘I’ve got heavy lifting for you to do inside. We need another table brought out.’

  Abby wanted to grab her sister’s freshly serumed hair and stop her from leaving, but she was twenty-four, not thirteen. She was a strong, independent woman perfectly capable of conversation no matter how handsome the interactor.

  ‘Cosmopolitan,’ Abby blurted out.

  ‘Your party?’ Theo inquired. ‘Or the village now there are people with metal drums?’ At the mention of the band, a group of men and women in brightly coloured Hawaiian shirts wandered past the office heading towards Ionian Dreams’ establishment.

  ‘I meant the cocktail,’ Abby replied. ‘I just … wondered if that might be the one cocktail you make to suit everyone best.’ She swallowed. Cocktail talk might lead to a Between the Sheets or a Hanky Panky. She shook her head hoping the ridiculousness would fall out through her ears.

  ‘I am here all day,’ Theo told her. ‘I can make a different cocktail for everybody. Whatever they want,’ he said. ‘Whatever you want.’

  The only way he could have made that last sentence more suggestive would be to have delivered it naked, without the modesty lilo.

  ‘You don’t need to do that,’ she stuttered. She had to remember she was mad at him. He had lied to her. She had started last night having dinner with a gardener-cum-barman and ended it dancing with the son of a Greek tycoon. ‘Melody has mixed up some sort of alcoholic rocket fuel and, well, I’m not sure we could afford to pay you for your time, or the bespoke cocktails.’

  ‘Please,’ Theo said. ‘You do not have to pay me. I said last night. I want to help. I want to … apologise for not being honest with you.’

  Theo held his breath, watching her react to his words, wanting so much for it to be in a positive way. Or had his twisting the truth turned her away for good? It was worrying him how much he didn’t want to have upset her. He was caring. Really caring what she thought of him. That had never happened before. He wasn’t even sure why it was happening now, right now, when his life was so far from together he barely knew which way was up.