by Mandy Baggot
She pressed the doorbell with conviction. She heard footsteps. Two sets? More? Imogen pulled the sleeve of her shirt down, checking the time on her watch. Was Tristan back from Scouts? Was Harry there? Holding her breath, she waited.
Finally, after what seemed like aeons, the door swung back and there was Janie, and seven-year-old Olivia at her mother’s side. Her niece’s curly blonde hair bounced as she jigged about, brandishing a wooden spoon. Imogen smiled at her. ‘Gosh, you’re armed.’
Olivia grinned. ‘Hi, Auntie Imogen. We’re making cakes for the fete at school tomorrow. Do you want to come and help?’
Imogen smiled. ‘What sort? Battenburg? Angel?’
Olivia giggled. ‘Chocolate.’
‘My favourite.’
Janie didn’t look any different to the last time Imogen had seen her. Her hair was immaculate in a sleek, mahogany bob, she had a blue-and-white-striped apron on over a work suit and high-wedged shoes still on her feet.
‘Help me lick the bowl out?’ Olivia suggested, her tongue lolling onto the spoon.
Janie opened the door a little wider and took a half step back. ‘You’ve already licked the bowl out,’ she said to Olivia. ‘Maybe Auntie Imogen would prefer a coffee.’
‘I’ll make it. I need to practice for my Brownie badge.’ Olivia made an about turn and skidded up the laminate floor towards the kitchen.
Janie let out a sigh as Imogen stepped up into the house. ‘What’s he done this time?’
Imogen gave her a watery smile. ‘Is it that obvious?’
‘I know the look you’re wearing, Imogen. It’s one I perfected over ten years.’
Suddenly she noticed how tired her sister-in-law looked. It couldn’t be easy managing two children and her job on her own. Maybe Imogen should have pitched in to help more, but she’d been too busy managing the fall-out with Harry. He’d almost made an investment in BitCoin the day after he’d moved out.
‘Oh God.’ Janie’s hands went to her mouth as Imogen closed the front door behind her. ‘It isn’t your mum, is it? Has something happened? I know she hasn’t been too well.’
‘No… no, she’s fine.’ Imogen swallowed. ‘Well… still grieving for April and not getting dressed but… nothing else.’
‘So it is Harry.’ Janie’s voice was back to sounding harassed as she led the way down the hall towards the kitchen. The radio was on, playing an upbeat summer pop tune, and Olivia was shrugging her shoulders in time to the beat, knelt up on a stool, waiting for the boiling kettle. Janie steadied her daughter’s shoulders.
‘Yes,’ Imogen answered. She wriggled her handbag off from across her body and put it down on the granite-topped island. She sighed. ‘Harry’s bought something.’
‘Oh shit.’ Janie whipped her head around. ‘It’s not a boat, is it?’
‘No it’s… much worse.’ She swallowed, the photos of the Corfiot restaurant already burnt into her retinas. ‘It’s a restaurant.’
‘Daddy’s bought a restaurant?! That’s so cool!’ Olivia piped up, face covered in chocolate icing, boiling hot kettle swinging from her hand. Janie made a grab for it, steadying it over the mug.
‘Concentrate on the hot drinks, darling,’ Janie advised before hitching her head towards the living room.
Imogen got the message. She stepped through the double doors that separated the lounge from the kitchen–diner and plumped for Harry’s leather chair in the corner. Well, what had been Harry’s chair. She started to lower into it then stopped where she stood.
Janie closed the doors, then turned, wringing her hands like she was about to receive fatal news or be ejected from The X-Factor.
‘It isn’t good, Janie,’ Imogen started. ‘The restaurant is in Corfu.’
‘Corfu!’ Janie’s hands went to her hair. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
Imogen shook her head. ‘No, unfortunately I’m not. I spoke to the agent today. It’s been months in the making. He had to get a Greek bank account and a tax number, a lawyer and a notary to make the purchase and he did it all without telling me… and I assume without telling you, from the expression you’re wearing.’
Janie looked like she might cry and Imogen considered going over to her, giving her some sort of hug of consolation. She stayed where she was though, feeling just a little uncomfortable.
‘Why has he done this? I mean Corfu… OK, it’s where we had some of our best holidays together before we had the children.’ She tutted. ‘And we joked about calling Tristan Spiros once… but this is walking away, isn’t it? From me and the children and our marriage.’ Janie put her hands to her head.
‘No,’ Imogen said. ‘That isn’t what it is.’
Imogen didn’t want to be here telling Janie this but it would be just like Harry to bluster in when he was collecting the children and announce he was leaving for Corfu like he was just off to do a weekly shop at Aldi. Her brother delivering the news in a blasé way would have been far worse. Apocalyptic, probably.
A long breath left Janie’s lips. ‘I know you and Grace think I gave up on him…’
‘What? No!’ Imogen exclaimed. ‘We don’t think that at all!’
‘But I have to think of the children, and Harry… when he’s having a down episode is… just… soul destroying.’ Janie raised her eyes to Imogen’s. ‘I have to feel confident that he’s getting better and that what we have is strong.’
‘I know,’ Imogen said. She slipped her hands into the pockets of her jeans. ‘I understand completely and so does Mum.’
Janie sighed and her body dropped down to the leather settee. ‘And now he’s gone and bought a restaurant in Corfu.’
Imogen nodded. ‘Yes.’
Watching Janie close her eyes and shake her head, Imogen moved across the room and plumped down next to her sister-in-law. ‘I don’t think it’s his illness, Janie, he’s always been like this, ever since we were young. You’ve heard all the stories.’ She sniffed. ‘Although he did have some moderate success charging friends to come to a disco in a tent in the back of our garden once.’
Janie turned in her seat, facing Imogen. ‘Do you want me to talk to him about it? We’re on good terms at the moment, well, you know what Harry’s like, I’m not sure he takes anything seriously. I could…’
‘No, Janie, I didn’t come here to ask you that, I just…’ She clasped her hands together in her lap. ‘I just wanted you to know, and to know I’m going to do my best to sort this out. The compensation money he got from the accident should be better spent. For the children.’
‘Imogen…’
‘I think he thinks he’s done a good thing but, at the moment, in my mind, he’s thrown nearly one hundred thousand Euro down the drain.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Janie asked.
‘I’m going to go with him to Corfu and make him see, with that ramshackle excuse for a restaurant right there in front of him, that he’d have been better off investing in…’ Her eyes went to Olivia, who had appeared in the doorway and was hanging on every word. ‘One Direction nesting dolls.’
6
Southampton, England
‘So I thought we’d leave the day after tomorrow.’
Harry’s words were slightly muffled by the mouthful of homemade pasta he was munching. If there was one thing that would make Harry stop for five minutes it was food.
‘Harry, about the restaurant…’
His head shot out of the bowl straightaway. ‘Has your passport expired?’
‘No, it isn’t that.’
‘Phew! I was panicking for a minute there because I booked the tickets. I got a great price on a flash mob online.’
‘Flash sale,’ Imogen corrected, as she began to imagine air hostesses performing dance moves to Sia.
‘It’s an early morning flight but I’ll book us a taxi to Luton,’ Harry continued.
‘Harry, Mum’s worried about you and so am I. This has all come so out of the blue.’
‘Not really. You know a new pr
oject has been on my mind for a while. I can’t do a–’ he made quotation marks in the air ‘–normal job very well, so I have to think outside the box as they say.’
‘I know that, but Corfu…’ She left the sentence open, not really knowing what else to say.
‘You’re going to love it, Immy. Janie loved it. Little tavernas along the beach, green mountains and great people.’
‘But, Harry, having a holiday somewhere is a bit different to buying a business you’ve had no experience in.’
‘That’s why I’ve got you. With your culinary experience and your NVQ.’ Harry grinned.
‘I spoke to Janie,’ she admitted.
Harry put down his fork then sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers together and bringing the triangle shape to his mouth. ‘What did she say?’ he whispered.
His tone had tears springing to her eyes. What she said next was going to be make or break. She could see just how much this adventure meant to him and all she had done so far was jump up and down and crush everything like a recycling maniac trying to fit everything into the weekly black box collection.
Imogen swallowed before forcing out a smile. ‘She said she remembered your holidays there.’
‘I told you, didn’t I? I knew she would.’ He smiled, his eyes moving to the window and her view of the Brooks Plant Hire unit as if he was admiring the forklifts and diggers.
Imogen’s heart was breaking. He was putting so much on himself and now she felt equally burdened because he was relying on her to make it happen too. Maybe she should have acknowledged how serious this separation could be for all of them. How was Grace going to cope if ‘the break’ became permanent? Their mum had already lost so much. She smiled at Harry. Tristan, Olivia and Janie were Harry’s world and now he appeared to be hanging all their futures on a restaurant in Greece.
‘I have two weeks’ holiday I can take,’ Imogen said to him. ‘After that we’ll have to play it by ear.’
‘Yes!’ Harry exclaimed, knocking the pasta bowl with his elbow. ‘You wait, Immy, you’re going to love it.’
* * *
Harry had left her with a Greek phrasebook and an AA travel guide from his very first trip to Corfu – the one he was still replaying as if it were a collection of scenes from an Oscar-worthy romantic motion picture.
Curled up on the sofa, a glass of chardonnay on a side table next to her, Imogen perused both books, her finger clicking on and off a bright turquoise pen that stated in gold letters it was from the Hotel Palma Real in Varadero, Cuba. She now knew the words for ‘wine’ and ‘where are the toilets’. Basically a native. However, Harry was expecting her to know the Greek for words like ‘flambé’ and ‘julienne’. She wasn’t even sure she still had those skills.
She had to admit that Corfu did look beautiful though. The capital city was packed full of history, two forts – old and new – and more mixed architecture than you could shake some marble at. Coves of white pebbles, golden beaches and a seemingly endless cerulean sea. These facts were what the stress-ravaged, holiday-hungry looked for when booking a package with Travel Republic or Holiday Hypermarket. But they only came when the sun was shining and why would they come to Harry’s restaurant when there were already authentic Greeks serving authentic Greek cuisine and they were just two Brits trying their best?
Imogen put the books down, got up, and walked over to the windowsill, with the view of the unit of Medwell’s Blinds, stopping only to pick up the palm-sized stone her dad had brought home from Mexico. A piece of foundation from an ancient Inca temple. When she was twelve she had believed him; now she wasn’t so sure. There had to be a law against picking at artefacts. But, to her, the most important thing was he had taken time to find it, even if it was in a tourist shop. Just like the pens he never forgot.
She squeezed the pebble in her hand until the cold stone made her skin ache. Her dad would want her to help Harry. And, despite all her plans for the hotel industry, she had only ventured abroad once and it hadn’t been Greece. Maybe it was time to stop holding on to the past and take off her safety belt. Harry was throwing everything at something new with hardly a second thought. What did she have to lose by joining him?
7
Ioannis Kapodistrias Airport, Corfu, Greece
The heat hit Imogen as soon as they disembarked the Easyjet flight. Her skin prickled at the twenty-plus temperature as she and Harry walked from the plane to the waiting bus.
‘We’re here,’ Harry stated. ‘In Corfu.’ There had been a smile on his face ever since they’d boarded. In fact he had grinned the entire flight, even when the baby seated on her mother’s lap next to him had thrown half the contents of a snack box at him.
‘Yes,’ Imogen answered, clinging onto her handbag as she powerwalked toward the bus.
‘Wooo,’ Harry said, flapping a hand in front of his face. ‘Hot, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she answered. She would think of something else to say soon. Hopefully in Greek. She had taken the non-worrying time on the plane to look at the phrase book. She could now add ‘good morning’ and ‘unleaded petrol’ to her repertoire. She stepped up onto the bus.
‘Hello,’ Harry greeted an elderly woman sat in one of the few seats. He put his rucksack down on the floor and straddled it before choosing a pole to hold on to. He smiled at the woman. ‘Have you been to Corfu before?’
‘Oh yes, dear. We’ve been coming here every year since our honeymoon. Haven’t we, Bill?’ The woman nudged the man next to her, leaning on his two sticks.
‘1965,’ he stated, nodding.
‘Gosh, congratulations.’
‘Is this your wife?’ the woman asked, her eyes going to Imogen.
‘No,’ Imogen said quickly. ‘I’m his sister.’
‘This is Imogen’s first time in Corfu,’ Harry informed them.
‘Is it, love? Well, you’re in for a treat.’ The woman adjusted herself in the seat as the bus doors closed and the engine revved up. ‘Where are you staying? North? South? Somewhere in between?’
Imogen watched Harry’s grin widen, his blond hair flopping over his forehead as the bus moved across the tarmac. ‘The north,’ he said. ‘Acharavi.’ He waited a beat. ‘We’ve bought a restaurant.’
She swallowed heavily, the taste of the in-flight croque monsieur repeating on her. Harry saying the words out loud to other people made the situation hit home. Here they were, a thousand miles from England, in charge of a rundown restaurant.
‘Did you hear that, Bill?’ The woman elbowed her husband a second time. ‘These two have bought a restaurant. Ooo, that’s so lovely. Isn’t it lovely, Bill? We had a pub… Well, it was a few years ago now and it wasn’t anywhere exotic like Corfu, it was in…’
‘Bromsgrove, 1980,’ Bill answered.
‘I can’t wait,’ Harry stated, another beaming smile stretching his lips. ‘I’m still high on the summer of 2000.’
The bus came to a halt and Imogen looked out of the window at the small terminal. They had travelled less than a hundred metres. The doors opened at a paved slope leading indoors.
‘Always makes me laugh, that bus ride,’ the woman said, getting to her feet. ‘All that palaver for a few feet even I could walk. Still, I suppose it’s something to do with health and safety.’ She shook her head. ‘What did we do before health and safety?’
Imogen’s eyes shot to Harry. A lack of health and safety had been the cause of the accident that had led to him being unable to carry on with his career. He had fallen from the aeroplane he was working on in the hangar and shattered his hip, an event that ultimately contributed to his depression. The sad times had started with the death of their father and Harry had never seemed to come out of it as well as anyone else. It always seemed to be loitering in the background ready to step in when life proved difficult.
Harry grinned again. ‘I’m guessing we weren’t healthy or safe.’
Imogen blew out a breath and followed Harry down the step and out onto the tarmac aga
in.
* * *
‘I tied a woggle round it,’ Harry announced. They were standing at the carousel in arrivals watching luggage appear in front of them. Buggies, car seats, a leather holdall with the zip undone, all rotated around waiting for their owners to claim them.
‘What?’ Imogen asked, her eyes going to her brother.
‘Tristan had a spare neckerchief and I tied it onto my case with a woggle so I could find it easier.’ Harry stopped talking and pointed. ‘See! There it is!’
Imogen looked in the direction Harry was pointing to see his already extremely noticeable bright green case slipping down the rubber-clad incline to join the rotation party, a Scout’s scarf flying from its handle.
She watched Harry rush over to fetch his luggage, kicking the edge of a metal trolley in his hurry. Unlike Harry she was in no rush. In fact she needed every second to work out how this was all going to go down when they got to Acharavi. What sort of a town name was that anyway? It sounded like a hot curry.
As she hauled her case from the carousel she noticed Harry had found the elderly couple from the bus again. He was animated, his hands in the air. Imogen let out a breath. She could imagine every word he was saying. This restaurant, in his eyes, was only a few days away from being awarded its first Michelin star. Setting her luggage down, she pulled it along the floor to join him.