Sophia sniffed. ‘Yes, I cry with happiness, Pippitsa. My son is back with us. The doctors listen to his heart – everything okay.’
‘The X-rays are fine,’ said Georgios in a gruff voice and slipped an arm around my shoulder. ‘They don’t think the bump on his head is significant. Probably he can come home tomorrow.’
‘That’s the best Christmas present ever,’ I mumbled and mouthed “Efharisto” to the doctor, as she filled in a chart and left. The rock-hard sensation in my stomach turned to mush.
I looked at Niko again, but he didn’t smile. In fact…oh no. He turned away.
‘Just give him a bit of time,’ whispered Sophia and returned to her son’s side. I picked up my coffee and sat in Georgios’ seat, as he sat in mine. The three of them spoke in Greek. Sophia and Georgios laughed. Niko must have made a joke. That was good. An hour or so later, the Syrian husband stood up, holding a packet of cigarettes. No doubt he was going outside. I retrieved the lucky charm from my pocket and went over. I kissed it before stretching out my hand, to give it back.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said. ‘Niko will be fine and should come home tomorrow.’
The couple spoke rapidly to each other in their mother tongue and then shook their heads. ‘You keep it,’ said the man. ‘We have all the luck we need. Difficult times still face us, but nothing as difficult as we have already experienced.’
With a smile, I shook their hands and returned to my seat. However, Sophia stood up and indicated for me to take hers. She caught Georgios’ eye.
‘Um, we could do with some fresh air too,’ she said.
Georgios duly stood up. ‘Of course we could, my little meatball.’ He winked at me. ‘We leave you two youngsters to chat.’
‘I don’t want to tire him,’ I mumbled, suddenly afraid of what Niko might say.
‘It is okay,’ said Sophia. ‘As long as he keeps drinking. Just call the nurses immediately, if he complains of a headache or feels sick.’
I stood up, stomach feeling hard again. When I sat down on Niko’s left and took his hand, he didn’t squeeze it back.
‘Niko.’ My voice broke. ‘I’m so glad you’re okay. These last hours have been the worst of my life. If anything had happened to you…’ My voice cracked.
‘Why are you here, Pippa?’ he said, staring at the ceiling.
‘Because Taxos is my home.’
His head moved and he gazed straight at me. ‘But there are no black cabs or fancy parties here,’ he said, in a measured voice. ‘Go get some sleep, Pippa. You look tired. Then fly back to London – to Henrik. We both know you don’t belong here.’
‘Don’t talk like this. We’ve just had a silly argument,’ I said, rambling a little. ‘Look, I’m sorry, about London and for moaning about money, but I’ve worked it out – why I’ve been feeling dissatisfied, and it’s nothing to do with you or Henrik or the Greek economy.’
Eyes showing not the smallest flicker of interest, he merely raised one eyebrow.
‘The teashop – supplying scones to Creami-Kos, it was challenging at first but has quickly become routine. You’ve got to understand, Niko – I’ve spent my whole life, from high school through to university, and then in my job, solving mathematical equations…solving problems on an intellectual level. To be happy, I could be living on a celestial cloud or in a dustbin – it doesn’t matter, as long as my brain is flexing. And when running the teashop felt too easy, I mistook that dissatisfaction for unhappiness with the austere way of Kos life.’ I sighed. ‘Oh Niko, I missed Taxos – the mountains, the fresh air and salty breeze. Yes, I’ll always love London, but live there? Without you, fresh olives and ouzo?’ I attempted a smile. ‘Never.’
‘But I am no intellectual, Pippa. I am a down-to-earth man. My talents are of a more practical nature. Will I…will the Taxos life ever be enough for you?’
I stood up to pace around the bed. ‘Intellectual was a bad choice of word. I’m just talking about…about the things, on a professional level, that excite my mind.’
Niko shrugged. ‘You are lucky to have had that stimulation, all these years, and to have chosen a career that will give it to you. Most people just take any job they can get, to pay the bills.’
My cheeks burned. ‘I know. But I can’t change who I am – or the advantages I’ve enjoyed.’ I sighed and tried again. ‘It’s like…even if you’d gone to university, I reckon you’d still be wired to be fascinated by the practical stuff, like your fishing. Take me – I love baking scones and yes, the afternoon teashop was a dream. But I’ve realised that dreams are fiction and in reality, I need something more – another project that exploits my financial skills. That’s what I’m wired to and it’s not better or worse than you, it’s just different.’ I stopped pacing and sat down again. ‘I’ve come up with a plan that is going to be good for me and the community.’
‘Olivia’s far too good for Henrik,’ muttered Niko, as if he hadn’t heard a word.
‘They’ve broken up,’ I said quietly. ‘She realised he didn’t love her – not in the way he should. She realised the two of them had no future together – not one that would work.’
‘And that’s how I feel, Pippa. Will you ever truly satisfy that intellectual restlessness here? Perhaps it would be best for both of us – long-term – to…’ His voice went rusty. ‘…to call off the wedding.’
I gasped.
‘Go back to your London life. Perhaps it is not too late for you and Henrik.’
‘Henrik?’ My eyes widened and vigorously I shook my head. ‘Niko – you are the first and the last man to ever truly own my heart. Anyway, Henrik is moving – to Dubai,’ I said, as if that made any difference.
‘Perhaps that would suit you better. The fancy beaches…designer lifestyle…the professional opportunities.’
My eyes pricked. Niko must have been in shock. Last night he’d almost lost his life and now his thoughts weren’t rational.
‘We can’t call the wedding off, anyway,’ I said, forcing a cheery voice. ‘Imagine the uproar in the village? All the work that’s gone into giving us a special day?’
Niko’s eyelids drooped. ‘I’m tired. No ceremony, Pippa – we cancel the church. And I can’t face talking about this when I come out tomorrow. Move out to your parents’ villa.’
‘But they’re arriving on Thursday for the wedding. What will I tell them? And the drains are not working properly, plus I need to bake scones and that will be much easier using the taverna’s professional equipment. But most importantly, Niko…you and me…we can’t be apart at this most special time of year.’
‘It’s not a long walk from the taverna,’ he said quietly, eyes closing. ‘You can visit if you need to borrow the shower. And the villa’s kitchen is adequate.’
‘Niko! Stop being like this! Enough of the practicalities! Talk to me. I love you. Please. Don’t call the wedding off! When I thought you’d be drowned…’ I had to stop talking to prevent dissolving into a fit of sobs.
‘Yes, and when I thought I’d drowned it made me realise marriage, it is the key to my future – the biggest decision I will ever make. It needs to be right.’ He sighed. ‘Pippa. Move out. Please. It is for the best.’
My chest constricted so tightly I almost couldn’t breathe. ‘Okay. If that’s what you want – I won’t be there when you get home. But nothing’s going to stop me marrying you, Niko Sotiropoulos. That bump on your head – it’s skewed your sense of reason. I won’t be telling anyone about your decision….you…you’ll feel differently tomorrow.’
‘Perhaps the bump knocked sense into me,’ he murmured.
No, said a forlorn voice in my head. I love you and your quirky smile and your ever enticing, dancing eyes. I love Grandma’s feisty stares and Georgio’s bushy eyebrows. Plus how would I survive without Pandora’s luscious baklava and Cosmo’s harmonica tunes? Nor could I leave behind chocolate box sunsets and the comforting song of the cicadas. ‘Oh, Niko…’ Damn that Greek pride.
Wit
h a deep breath I stood up and somehow made my way out of the ward, along the corridor and outside. Darkness approached and buildings opposite were lit up with Christmas fairy lights. A group of children hurried past, led by a woman wearing a red woolly hat. With twinkling eyes, they sang carols, plus banged triangles and drums. Each child also carried a gold-painted model boat, filled with coins and nuts given by people they’d sung to. They stopped near me and started a new song. My bottom lip quivered and the woman in the red hat shushed the children and moved them on.
I slumped onto a bench and held my head in my hands, forcing my palms against my eyes in a vain attempt to stem a stream of tears. Smells of baking lamb from nearby houses wafted my way. The door to a taverna opposite must have suddenly opened as a burst of laughter and string music shot into the air. An image of the smiling Syrian couple came into my mind and I took the charm out of my trouser pocket.
How far it had travelled, across war zones on land and a perilous ocean, yet all that while its owners had never lost faith in this amulet. Perhaps it really would bring luck to me.
I was still staring at it half an hour later, shivering due to the Christmas Eve air. Night had fallen and from a distance, fireworks shot into the ebony sky. I put the charm back in my pocket. Come on, Pippa Pattinson. You are not a woman to give up. I wiped my eyes, straightened and took some deep breaths.
Even if not yet in name, I felt part of the Sotiropoulos family. That meant doing my best in a bad situation and fighting until the end. If they could rail against economic hardship and Grandma’s cancer earlier this year, then I could face and deal with this romantic hiccough.
Graphs, pie charts and equations flickered across my mind as I thought over the plan I’d come up with, whilst flying back to the Aegean. The plan that would prove to Niko that I belonged here in Taxos – with him. I reached into my handbag and took out a business card. The name at the top read “Olivia O’Connor”. Dare I phone her up?
Chapter Thirteen
Oh my word. What a culinary feast. We’re talking goose stuffed with lamb, celery pork, cheese pastries and stuffed cabbage – followed by walnut and almond cookies, macaroons and ginger and fig baklava. I didn’t yearn for a single slice of turkey or mouthful of mince pie. Christmas lunch at the taverna left my taste buds reeling and me feeling as bloated as a puffer fish.
Georgios and Sophia were picking up Niko from the hospital that afternoon. I’d made my excuses to move out to my parents’ villa, saying I had tens of scones to bake for the fair – plus how it would be more traditional for me not to live in the same house as the groom, in the run-up to the wedding… Okay. Both ridiculous reasons on Christmas Day, but no one objected. In fact, at my announcement silence reigned. No one even mentioned the drains. My stomach twisted. Perhaps Niko had said something on the phone this morning, when they rang to wish him Happy Christmas. I left his parents washing up, Sophia in one of her ouzo moods and Georgios’ hips swivelling to catchy string music. All good – except their eyes looked a little too twinkly and no one had dared mention the wedding.
Excluding, of course, you know who. Grandma gave me one of her looks. As I packed my luggage and scone ingredients into the back of Uncle Christos’ car, she came outside and folded her arms.
‘So, your argument so bad with Niko, that you cannot bear seeing each other on this most important day.’
‘He’ll need rest and I’ve got things to do,’ I said and forced a wide smile. ‘It’s more romantic if we don’t see much of each other this week.’
Grandma raised one eyebrow so high, it almost disappeared into her floral scarf.
Fighting back the tears that had threatened to flow all morning, I shrugged. ‘Things will work out – now why not go back inside and treat yourself to another Metaxa brandy?’
‘My indigestion wouldn’t thank me,’ she said softly. ‘Pippa, my dear child… Niko told Sophia this morning that the wedding is off.’
My eyes tingled. ‘I thought he might have.’ Urgh! No. He can’t still mean it. ‘He’s not himself,’ I managed to squeeze out. I closed the car boot.
‘Oh Pippa – why didn’t you tell me? All morning your face has shown the truth – it is like gravity tugs down the mouth’s corners.’
‘Because then…’ My voice wavered as I struggled to swallow a sob. ‘I’d have to admit it to myself. Niko…that bump to his head – he’s bound to change his mind when he’s fully recovered.’
I couldn’t share my real fears, could I? As a family, we’d been so used to protecting Grandma from bad news. But then I studied her determined jaw and solid frame. What a change from her fragile build a few months ago. Deep breath. ‘Oh, Grandma.’ The sob shot out. ‘What if Niko doesn’t love me any more? What if he’s convinced I’ll never be happy here?’
Grandma gave me the tightest of hugs, whilst tears streamed down my cheeks. Then she stepped back, pulled her shawl tighter and demanded to know what he’d said in the hospital yesterday.
‘Hmm… Okay. We need to talk this through properly,’ she said. ‘I visit your villa later. You tell me everything – all the details about this plan of yours.’
‘I can’t expect you to do that.’ I sniffed. ‘It’s Christmas Day. And do you really want to walk all that way?’
‘Pah! You insult me. It is half an hour for me at the most. I’m not a lazy ass. The stroll do me good after an afternoon of cold meats and walnut spice cake. I can help you bake the festive scones for the fair. Okay?’
Her last word was more a statement than a question.
‘Okay. Efharisto,’ I said, for a few seconds enjoying the sensation of being about ten, wishing that Grandma really could make everything better. Like the time, years ago, she’d told me to blank the school bully instead of rewarding her with tears or sad faces; how the only way to grow my confidence in English Lit would be to read more widely. And that Christmas, just after Granddad died, together we cross-stitched a heart and, once home, I left it by his grave.
Feeling all fuzzy inside, I gave her a hug. Uncle Christos drove me to the villa, after we stopped off at the make-shift refugee camp in the empty school to donate some food Georgios had put together. Then I unpacked the scone ingredients and got to work, cheered by the thought that Grandma was coming and might be able to help me and Niko sort things out. Whilst working the dough, I went over the plan I’d thought up for my future. The kneading movement calmed me down and my eyes no longer pricked every time I pictured my fisherman lover, bloody shirt torn, lying on the ground behind the boat shed. Those images had haunted me in bed last night. What if he’d not made it to shore?
I straightened my back and reached for the scone cutter. Things could be worse. At least I had a chance to make things up with him – persuade him our destiny was to stay together.
As I placed aromatic circles of dough onto the baking tray the tightness in my chest alleviated.
‘So, tell me your idea,’ said Grandma, as she sat on the cream sofa. She’d arrived about half-past six and helped me pack scones into Tupperware boxes. I’d almost chuckled at the thought of me dirtying Mum and Dad’s kitchen, which had hardly ever been used, with its gleaming white units, cornflower blue cupboards and pristine silver appliances. On holiday, my parents ate out three times a day where possible.
The aroma of cloves, marzipan and sage and onion wafted around the kitchen. Christos would pick me up early tomorrow morning to transport me and the boxes to the main high street, where we’d set up the fair. I’d made them smaller than usual and it looked as if I had enough to feed the whole village.
I set my liqueur glass onto the low wooden table in front of us. Well, it would have been rude not to double-check the quality of the alcohol I’d used in the port scones drizzled with dark chocolate.
‘Okay, Grandma – but first of all, I haven’t had time to ask…’ I dabbed my eyes. They’d been blurry and wet most of the afternoon. ‘Are the villagers prepared for tomorrow? Hopefully there are no last-minute hitches with ev
erything we’ve been organising the last couple of weeks.’ I took another sip of the ruby red liquid. ‘The Dellis made their jam in time, and miniature cheeses for their market stall? Demetrios will set up his pottery? The schoolchildren are singing? Pandora has sewn enough napkins and handkerchiefs? Stefan has organised the treasure hunt?’
Grandma smiled. ‘Yes. And as you know, the headmistress has arranged for the pupils to man all sorts of stalls to attract Kos children, like a chocolate tombola. Postie handed out the last of the flyers in Kos Town on Saturday. The tent is already up in the teashop to make the Santa’s Grotto. The school’s art teacher is coming over early tomorrow, to help us make it look Christmassy.’
‘And everyone has enough tables to set up on? I think the weather is due to be dry this week.’
‘Some have been borrowed from the school – others from painters.’
‘Ah yes, wallpapering trestle tables.’
Grandma put down her glass. ‘I don’t know if the refugees will venture into the high street – we could offer some of the children’s activities to them for free.’ She shrugged. ‘At least for the moment they are safe in Taxos, with food, shelter and electricity.’
‘Word is, Stavros is moving them on, to the island’s official registration centres tomorrow.’
Grandma raised both eyebrows. ‘Right. Okay. So.’ She stretched out her legs. ‘This plan…’
I picked up a notepad and biro from the coffee table.
I suddenly felt my face crumple. ‘Oh Iris – what if it doesn’t work? I can’t live without Niko… My heart…I swear I can feel it tearing in two.’
Grandma shuffled nearer, turned me and put a hand on each of my shoulders. ‘Pippa. No more crying. What’s done is done. Now you have to work a way out of this.’ Her voice became softer. ‘Niko adores you – everyone knows that. This is good. A strong building block to win him back. Now, focus and tell me your plan.’
‘Bossy boots,’ I said and we smiled. I straightened up. Grandma was right. I had to clear my head. There was no time to lose. ‘Did you know that when Henrik visited, he talked about the successful loggerhead turtle protection scheme that had been set up down south, on Kos? It involved a patrol team checking the beaches, plus an information bureau encouraging people to adopt a turtle. The benefits were two-fold, from both a wildlife and tourism angle.’
My Big Fat Christmas Wedding Page 13