Ten minutes later, I stood outside the butcher’s. The lights were still on and I paused, not wanting to intrude on their evening. However an image of Yanis’ soulless eyes sprang into my mind, along with desperate sound in Mrs Manos’ voice, from last night. I knocked. Then knocked again. Eventually the door opened. It was Yanis’ son. I smiled and handed him one of the gift bags from Santa’s Grotto. Old Mrs Manos appeared at his side.
‘Perhaps your grandson could come to the fair tomorrow and take part in one of the treasure hunts?’
‘Ya sou, Pippa. Yes, maybe.’ She opened the door wider. ‘Come in. We are playing a board game.’
I followed her into the kitchen, a sudden lightness entering my chest. Board games – that was good.
‘Follow me, my little honey donut, you can teach me how to play your latest computer game,’ she said to the boy, as Yanis and Maria looked up from the kitchen table. Her hair was cut in a shoulder-length bob and boasted the warmest of chestnut colours. Yanis got to his feet and cleared the game away.
‘Tea, Pippa?’ said Maria. ‘Or something stronger?’
‘No – thank you. I’m not stopping long – just wanted to check that everything was okay.’ I smiled brightly at Yanis who sat down. His son and old Mrs Manos had disappeared.
‘Yanis said he told you about…my difficulties.’ Maria’s chin trembled. ‘Thank you for being so understanding. Since losing my job…’ Her voice broke. ‘Everything is my fault. If only I could find other employment.’
‘Maria, don’t speak like that,’ muttered Yanis, as his fingers curled around her slim arm. ‘Could happen to anyone. I am just lucky that I work for my family, no? Otherwise I would be in the same position as you.’ He leant forward and kissed her cheek.
Newspaper headlines flashed into my head again. Rising crime, due to joblessness. Rail tracks being stripped of metal. Mentally ill patients being turned out of bankrupt psychiatric institutions. Plus drug addiction on the increase and an influx of refugees causing especially dangerous crime hotspots… Burglaries on the increase. The Manoses deserved respect for not having given in to crime, despite their desperate situation.
‘I know things are hard, but here’s an idea…’ I said. ‘…Maria, I believe your meat filo pastries were once labelled the best in Kos, by food critics.’
Her cheeks blushed. ‘Yes, customers used to come back week after week just to buy them. And sales always went up during special seasons, like Christmas.’
I placed my hand over hers. ‘Why not bake them still and I’ll sell them through my teashop?’
Maria sat more upright. Yanis ran a hand over his unshaven chin.
‘I’ve decided to diversify and bake more savoury goods,’ I continued. ‘So has Creami-Kos and if your pastries sold well, I could put in a word with the owner, Orion. Of course, you could sell your pastries here, in the butcher’s, but I reckon they would complement my other baked goods and sell better from my shop, alongside an English speciality – Cornish pasties. I’ll start off with three very English flavours – traditional meat, potato and swede, then chicken tikka and pork with apple.’
Maria’s face broke into a smile. ‘Just before I got pregnant, Yanis and I holidayed in England. We visited Cornwall and loved those – especially their shape.’
‘So, what do you think to my offer?’
Maria nodded her head vigorously, colour momentarily entering her pale cheeks.
‘And Yanis…word has it that you are something of a builder. I believe you do temporary brickie and plastering work, during the winter?’
He nodded. ‘When I can get it.’
‘Super, because I might have a job for you, converting a disused boat shed into an office, plus signs to build and acting as a patrolman for part of the beach, if the council agrees…’
He and Maria looked at each other and shrugged, before I told them all about my charity fundraising plan.
When I eventually left, a smile spread across my face. The Manoses thought the charity venture was an excellent plan. Yanis had some great ideas of his own and knew a local vet who might want to be a trustee. Now I really had something definite to share with Niko about our future.
As I pulled my coat tighter I realised, more than ever, that I loved being part of the Taxos community, even if – my eyes tingled – the wedding didn’t happen.
‘Ya sou! Pippa! Where have you been?’
I looked up. Coming towards me was Cleo, hands waving, glossy curls lifting in the slight breeze. ‘I’m just about to go back home for the night, but said I’d try to find you first, because I have arranged a Christmas drink out with the girls. You must come. We can catch up on old times.’
‘Um, thanks but…’
‘Great! Tomorrow night in Kos Town. Sophia, even Grandma comes too. Pandora. Mrs Vesteros. Postie’s wife. Me, naturally.’
‘Tomorrow? Impossible! I have the villa to get ready for my parents and—’
Cleo’s eyes narrowed. ‘But I have booked a table at Sexy Shades nightclub. You might have just been to London, Pippa, but after recent happenings…after a bad year for Greece…your girlfriends could do with a fun night out and want you there.’
‘Um, I’m not sure – look, the invitation is appreciated, but—’ I eyed her perfect figure – the flawless olive skin. In time, could she steal Niko’s heart? Was that already happening?
Cleo sniffed. ‘Pfft, come on, Pippa – don’t succumb to the sleepy village life. You must still live a little. Even Grandma seemed up for it – as spirited as ever. Don’t tell me you have less energy than her?’
I managed to suppress a chuckle. Yes, God help the person who’d suggest Grandma was too old for anything, let alone a party. As for the others, at the most recent night of dancing in the taverna, Postie’s wife had circle-danced until the early hours. Plus, if business picked up for a week or so, Pandora would always treat herself to a night’s salsa dancing in Kos Town.
‘I shall come over early, to do Sophia and Iris’ make-up and hair,’ said Cleo. ‘If you like, I’ll help you cover those blemishes on your face. You can get ready at the taverna as your villa has water problems, no?’
‘The drainage problems haven’t been too bad since I moved in,’ I spluttered. ‘And for your information, those “blemishes” are called freckles – or sun-kisses.’
Cleo snorted. ‘Kisses? That one by your nose looks as if it has been snogged to death by Eros, our ancient god of love.’
I forced my lips to stay together and not utter an insulting riposte.
‘Plus the club’s owner – Romeo – is a friend of mine from Manchester, in your England. He will give us discounted cocktails.’
Romeo didn’t sound like a very English name.
Expectantly, she raised an eyebrow and my chest twinged. I guess I owed it to everyone to join the Christmas spirit. Especially if….I blinked rapidly…there was to be no wedding party this week. Had Niko confided in Cleo about his decision?
I fiddled with my ponytail. ‘Okay. Thanks. Sounds great.’
‘Good. You are in Greece now – we have a history of decadent partying. Don’t let us goddesses down. Be ready at eight. It’s a busy week for the village, no? I’m sure everyone could do with relaxing over a Cocksucking Cowboy…
Chapter Sixteen
First up, allow me to explain that a Cocksucking Cowboy is a drink containing butterscotch schnapps and Baileys cream. Whilst my Greek friends’ English was excellent for the most part, tonight’s cocktail names could need translating. Awkward. I smiled to myself. All day, I’d been thinking what to wear and actually felt a little excited. Begrudgingly I admitted Cleo might be right – perhaps a night out with the girls was just what we all – what I – needed.
I finished work early, to get ready. Georgios and Niko cleared up our market stall and tided up after the Grotto. I’d chatted to my gorgeous fisherman for a while about the fair, and he’d listened intently – even complimented me on galvanising the villagers into action
to earn some extra money for Christmas. This was a good sign, no? I hadn’t liked to push him about the wedding. Tonight, before going out, I would pen out my detailed plan for the charity, and then tomorrow I would present it to him; proof of how much I was committed to my future here… I swallowed – with or without him.
My chest glowed as I recalled seeing Yanis at the fair today. His little son had loved the bauble-decorating and treasure hunt. I insisted on treating his parents and gran to mulled wine, whilst he went in the Grotto. Maria announced that tomorrow she would deliver a batch of her special pastries for me to try.
Mmm, pastries…talking of which, I was hungry and hoped this nightclub did food. As we climbed out of the taxi, I gazed at my friends.
‘Grandma, I love that purple and green top, and Sophia, your hair looks really classy pinned up.’ I turned to Cleo. ‘Where did you learn to do that?’
‘My aunt is a hairdresser. As a little girl I loved going to her salon to learn how to achieve a perfect chignon or plait.’
I scanned her clingy gold dress. What a figure. Curved and compact. She and Niko used to be the perfect height for each other as teenagers, me towering over both of them. Would they still match up well? Both from the same culture, Niko might think someone like her was a better life partner. As for me, tonight I wore my favourite black cocktail number with sequinned trim, and had even found time to straighten my hair. Pandora looked fashionable in her usual understated way, with a classic white blouse and black trousers combo, jazzed up with copper costume jewellery.
We went to queue up but Cleo flicked her glossy curls and headed straight to the front. She muttered something in Greek. I heard the word Romeo and the bouncers let us through.
Sexy Shades was a small, grubby building, near the centre of Kos Town, down a little avenue, with the brightest neon pink pair of sunglasses gleaming above the door. Plus grubby was not a word to describe the interior. Huge, spotless gilt-framed mirrors greeted us, with fake snowflakes sprayed onto them. Loud music pulsated as we walked in. A man with fudge-coloured hair and teeth as white as his Saturday Night Fever suit greeted us with a kiss on both our cheeks. A spray of mistletoe was clipped onto his collar. Sophia got a bit giggly. Perhaps it hadn’t been wise for us to down an ouzo in the taverna before our taxi arrived.
Finally he came to Cleo and she stretched out her arms to give him the biggest of hugs.
‘Romeo, darling, thanks so much for this.’ She pointed to me. ‘Meet Pippa.’
Romeo bowed his head. ‘Dead pleased to meet you, girls.’
Gosh, I loved that Mancunian accent. His fingers gently touching my elbow, he led us past a well-stocked, ultra-modern mirrored bar that from a distance looked like it was full of James Bond gadgets. Romeo pointed towards a circular table in an alcove and clicked his fingers. A barman came over as we sat down on its sofa. For a Wednesday night, the club was surprisingly full. I studied a miniature pine tree, in a pot, in the centre of the table, tiny glitter baubles and tinsel hanging from its branches. Glitzy festive decorations were draped across the club’s ceiling.
‘This is the VIP area,’ he said and bowed his head again. ‘First drinks on me.’ He left.
‘What a lovely young man that Romeo is,’ said Grandma, who then asked the barman for a straight Metaxa brandy. ‘All those fancy cocktails could bring on my indigestion.’
‘Tonight is not a night to be sensible,’ declared Cleo. ‘Pippa, what do you think the rest of us should start off with?’
I gazed around the club, with the neon palm trees and pineapples. ‘It has to be Pina Coladas.’
Cleo pulled a face. ‘Sickly, no? But you boss tonight.’
I grinned. ‘My mother is firmly stuck in the Eighties and introduced me to this as soon as I turned sixteen. Sometimes we’d make them at home, with her Wham! music playing in the background. Dad refused point blank to partake.’
‘The Eighties oozed excess,’ said Pandora and grinned back. ‘We had our very own real-life Dallas story going on, in Greece, with the wealthy Onassis family.’
Talk of our favourite decades continued through our first drink. Grandma loved the Seventies, having had – by the sounds of it – a massive crush on Kaftan King, Demis Roussos. Pandora had fond memories for the decadent fashions of the Eighties, whereas Cleo and I both liked the eclectic Noughties bands. I was glad no one had mentioned the wedding, grateful that Grandma and Sophia had kept its potential cancellation secret.
Iris drained her glass and as my straw ran dry, catchy Greek string music interrupted the pop music. She clapped her hands and stood up. ‘Ladies, we no come here just to drink.’
We pushed our way onto the dance floor. Phew. Years studying books, behind desks, back in England had done my fitness no favours. Mentally I wrote a note to myself: must find cheap Zumba class in the New Year. Next up was the song ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’. Eventually Grandma sat out and ordered some food. By the time the rest of us had finished strutting our stuff, a new round of Pina Coladas stood waiting, along with baskets of chips and fried calamari.
Cleo raised her glass. ‘Here is to a wonderful Christmas and your wedding, Pippa.’ She shot me a quizzical look. ‘You must be very much in love with Niko, to move so far away from your home.’
I stared at her innocent face. Was she testing me somehow?
Grandma, Sophia and I exchanged looks and I cleared my throat. ‘But everyone has made me feel so welcome, and I don’t exactly come from a settled background. Mum and Dad have always travelled extensively with their work. My summers in Kos were the most time my family ever spent together.’
Pandora raised her glass too, along with Postie’s wife. ‘Yes, here’s to you Pippa – you have become a very good friend.’
‘The daughter I never had,’ said Sophia, eyes glistening from behind the small umbrella in her glass.
‘Our family. Friend.’ Grandma looked around the alcove. ‘An all-round VIP, Pippa. That’s what you’ve become to us.’
Cleo said nothing and I couldn’t quite work out whether Niko had shared his doubts with her or not.
‘Tell us about the wedding dress,’ she said.
‘It’s a secret, I’m afraid – but Pandora made it.’
Cleo’s eyes turned dreamy. ‘I’ve already spotted mine, for husband Number Two – whoever he might be.’
I stared at her hard. Had she already aimed her affections at my fiancé?
‘It’s a low-cut fishtail dress with a sequinned bodice and crystals sewn onto the veil,’ she continued.
‘I loved the Duchess of Cambridge’s,’ said Sophia. ‘Those laced arms were so pretty.’
‘My aunt got married in the Eighties and had a Bo-Beep style one.’ I smiled. ‘You could have fitted half the congregation under its billowing skirts.’
As if on cue, a classic Bee Gees song from that decade came on. Everyone else discoed onto the dance floor. I ate another calamari ring and then stood up to join in.
‘Hey, Pippa.’ Romeo appeared. ‘Sit with me. Let me treat you to another drink.’
‘Oh, um…’
Pandora winked at me from across the dance floor and I mock-glared at her.
‘Only if you tell me your real name,’ I said.
He raised one eyebrow.
‘Oh come on. Romeo? You’re from Manchester, not Milan.’
He dazzled me with those white teeth. ‘Fair cop. My mate, Cleo, was right – you don’t suffer fools.’
‘Well, it’s hardly rocket science. As for Cleo, what else has she said?’
‘That you opened a teashop in Taxos.’ He guffawed.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Heat flushed into my cheeks. ‘My scones are very popular.’
His laugh increased in pitch and eventually I giggled.
‘Okay, agreed, a teashop in Greece sounds rather random, but it caught the tail-end of the last tourist season and proved to be popular. But don’t change the subject – your name?’
‘As long as you don�
��t tell anyone else, I’ll tell you.’ He pulled a face. ‘Kevin. Hardly the charismatic name of a nightclub owner, is it?’
I drank some water. ‘It’s not that bad – I’m thinking Kevin Costner, Kevin Spacey, Kevin Kline…’
‘It’s still a naff name,’ he said. ‘Take it from me – I’ve been teased about it all my life. And most women coming here are tourists – they want two weeks of fantasy and the exotic away from the humdrum, not Kevin from Coronation Street. But then I can tell you aren’t most women. Although I’d appreciate it if you’d still call me Romeo.’ He grinned and indicated to a barman, who brought over a bottle of champagne. Despite my protestations, Romeo poured us each a glass.
‘Here’s to your future,’ he said and relaxed back into the sofa. ‘So, tell me about this Niko. From what Cleo says, he seems like a sound bloke.’
‘He’s a fisherman. We knew each other as children. We’re getting married on Friday.’ We are. Nothing will stop it, I told myself, and sipped the champagne.
He stared at me. ‘I’ve had a lot of hen parties in here. If you don’t mind me saying, you’re the least excited fiancée I’ve ever met. No silly outfits or drinking games. Why so low-key? Pre-wedding nerves?’
‘No!’ I put down my glass and it almost fell over.
‘Ah ignore me, Pippa, shouldn’t be mithering you. None of my business.’
‘Talking of business…’ I said, glad to change the subject, ‘how do you fill a place like this, in the winter, midweek, in this era of austerity?’
Romeo undid his shirt’s top button. ‘We don’t open every day and cocktails are half-price tonight. I do promotions. Get in top DJs. Mingle with the guests to make them feel special. It’s quality not quantity. I don’t open Sunday, Monday or Tuesday between November and March.’
‘So, are you just mingling to keep me happy?’ I said and grinned.
‘Nah. You’re one interesting lady. Not many bank executives would give it all up for the quiet life.’
‘Cleo really has given you the low-down.’
He chuckled. ‘If you weren’t engaged, I’d be sure she was trying to set us up, as you seem the perfect partner for me. She knows my taste. You run your own business – I like feisty, successful women – and I’m mad for redheads. My fave movie as a kid was The Little Mermaid and when I got older, my affections switched to Nicole Kidman.’
My Big Fat Christmas Wedding Page 16