by Mandy Baggot
‘The flight was on time, no turbulence and I had the best stifado I’ve ever had at a lovely little taverna.’ Imogen downed the shot of ouzo and closed her eyes. Her sister-in-law was panicking but a degree of panicking was good. It meant she still cared what Harry was doing. That she hopefully still cared for him.
‘You’re drinking, aren’t you? It’s that bad, you’re drinking just thinking about it.’ Janie sniffed. ‘Are you there? Are you looking at the devastation and wondering what the fuck is… duck, I said duck, children, what the duck is going on?’
‘It’s going to be OK, Janie. I promise. And I promise it isn’t World War Z.’
‘Mad Max?’
‘No, it’s…’
‘Sharknado?’
‘Janie, calm down.’
‘I can’t calm down. You’re on the other side of Europe, Harry’s spent a fortune on a money pit and Grace is…’
At the mention of her mother’s name Imogen gripped the ouzo glass tighter. ‘Is Mum OK? Was she dressed?’
‘Sorry… I didn’t mean to worry you. We went to see her on the way back from school and… well, I haven’t seen her for a while and…’
Janie didn’t need to say any more. Nothing seemed to get her mum animated – until she’d dropped Harry’s restaurant news on her. She swallowed, putting the glass down and picking up the tea cup without a handle.
‘She had a dressing gown on. And she asked if you’d taken Harry in hand yet,’ Janie finished. ‘She was catching up on Poldark.’
Imogen let out a sigh. ‘She’s doing something I guess.’
‘Is Harry there?’ Janie asked.
‘He’s asleep.’
‘I had a thought… you know… because this restaurant idea is so mental. Is he taking his medication?’
‘I’ll check in the morning. He’s been fine today.’
‘So,’ Janie said. ‘Tell me. Apart from the hideous run-down restaurant, what’s Corfu like in 2016? It must have changed since I visited it last.’
Imogen focussed on what was in front of her. A star-filled sky and the sound of the waves as they spurted rhythmically forth, shaking the stones on the shore. She watched the fronds of a nearby palm shifting in the light wind. ‘It’s lovely,’ she answered finally, meaning it. ‘If things were different, then…’
‘Then?’
‘Then I’d definitely consider it for a holiday destination.’
Imogen closed her eyes as tension took hold again. If only this could be a holiday. How different would she be feeling right now? What would she be doing? Seeking out the music drifting across the beach? Dancing until her feet got sore? Maybe she would still be on the beach with Panos…
But she was here now, committed to helping Harry set up a restaurant to win back Janie. But what if they could achieve neither of those things? There were no guarantees about any of it. And she had a life back in England to maintain. The possibility that the Wyatt Group might reply to her application…
‘Do you think you’re going to be able to persuade him to sell it on?’
She held the phone a little tighter to her ear. What was the right thing to say to someone so many miles away? What did she really think after half a glass of this disgusting aperitif? She couldn’t tell Janie about Panos’ offer. Janie would probably find his contact details and accept the offer on Harry’s behalf before the sun set.
‘We’ll see,’ she answered, slugging back the rest of the drink and wincing as it burned her insides. She started to cough violently.
‘What are you drinking?’
‘I don’t know,’ Imogen answered, shaking her head as the alcohol flooded her system. ‘I found it in a cupboard under the sink.’
‘Bloody hell, Imogen, are you sure it isn’t cleaning fluid?’
‘I’m sure,’ she answered. ‘Cleaning fluid would probably taste a whole lot better than this.’
16
Elpida Dimitriou’s home, Agios Martinos
The sound of a garden strimmer roaring into action had Panos shutting the lid of his laptop and simultaneously getting up from his seat, coffee cup swinging from his hand.
‘What is wrong with that boy?’ he asked his grandmother, who was sitting at the breakfast bar reading a thick hardback book.
‘What time is this to start work?’ He put the cup down on the worktop, tension in his shoulders. The restaurant was on his mind but he couldn’t shake the image of Imogen Charlton, coming off the beach in her swimsuit, sparkles of water speckling her skin…
‘Speaks the man who has been working since five a.m.’ Elpida said without looking up.
‘That is different. That is quiet work, not waking up the entire village.’
Elpida raised her head, pushing her glasses up her nose and directing her gaze at him. ‘You did not sleep,’ she stated. ‘That is why you are being like this.’
He took a breath and calmed himself. ‘I just have some documents to look through and it isn’t being aided by the gardener.’ He leant against the work top and put his finger and thumb to the bridge of his nose. He was starting to get a headache. Despite what he had said to Manilos on the phone, he was not going to let the Asp deal go if there was still a sliver of a chance. But the man hadn’t replied to his email last night and there was nothing this morning either. He now had to wait until it was a civilised – not too eager – time to call him.
‘I saw you talking to Tomas yesterday,’ Elpida remarked, turning over her book.
He closed his eyes. He knew Elpida had noticed him taking Tomas to one side before they left. He’d wanted to test the water, to know if the owner of one of the most popular restaurants on the strip was willing to embrace new opportunity. At first he was greeted with resistance where the restauranteur would dig in his heels and flatly refuse to continue the conversation, but, as soon as he mentioned the sum of money he had in mind, he saw the alteration in the man’s attitude. He would fold. Panos was sure of it. And once the other owners folded too, he would be well on the way to his reinvention of the Acharavi seafront. His contact on the council would see to the rest. But his grandmother didn’t need to know that.
‘Yes, I was asking him about the family, getting up to date on the news of the town.’
Elpida looked less than convinced. ‘And what news of the town did he give you?’
Panos smiled. ‘He told me you had employed a gardener.’
‘Pfft! That is not news of the town and I don’t see what is wrong with helping Nico and his mother.’ Elpida reached for her cigarettes, hurriedly opening the packet up.
‘Please, yiayia, must you smoke?’ He hated the habit and when he had heard her coughing like a car unable to start last night he knew it was taking its toll on her lungs.
‘Yes, I must smoke,’ she answered, flicking her lighter and igniting the end of the cigarette. He watched her inhale deeply before holding the breath then exhaling a grey-blue cloud that polluted the kitchen air. ‘Smoking is my one pleasure these days. I will give up when I have great-grandchildren, so…’
Panos shook his head. She always brought this up. Continuing the family line was on him and Risto and she never let Panos forget it.
‘Then you will be smoking for a long time,’ he stated.
‘Pfft! So there is still no one special in your life?’
It irked him the way she said it and he thought about Rhea. He didn’t consider her to be someone special. The time they had spent together had been in bed. As agreeable as that had been it didn’t come under the category of ‘special’. He swallowed. There had been a time when he had thought his parents’ relationship was special. Up until those last few years, they had appeared so deeply in love, behaving almost like newlyweds. His father would always hold his mother’s hand, whisper in her ear, gaze at her like she was his whole world. And they would always dance. It didn’t matter where they were – at home, at a neighbour’s house or a restaurant – the sound of bouzouki music would have Christos pulling Sophia into his arms
and holding her close. He rolled up the lead for his computer.
‘Have you called your mother? Have you told her you are here?’ Elpida continued, thankfully not waiting for an answer.
‘What is this? It feels like an interrogation.’
‘She worries about you, Pano.’
‘I thought you were the one worrying about me. Which is it?’
‘We both worry.’
‘She has John,’ Panos answered. He hadn’t really meant the sentence to come out as hard and self-centred as it had sounded.
‘What sort of answer is that?’
He had no reply.
‘Please, call your mother, that is all I ask,’ she said.
‘Yiayia—’ he began.
‘I don’t want to fight with you, Pano. I’ve never wanted to fight with you… but I will if I have to.’
He held her gaze until he had to look away. How could making million-Euro deals be easier than a conversation with his grandmother?
‘You will be back for dinner tonight. I have some friends coming over. I am cooking. Drinks will start at seven.’ She shook a finger at him. ‘Don’t be late.’
It was futile to try to refuse.
17
The restaurant, Acharavi Beachfront
Imogen’s mouth felt like someone had been sharpening pencils into it. She opened and shut it, looking up at the ceiling and slowly remembering where she was. She reached down to scratch an itch on her leg and shifted into a sitting position, looking around the room for Harry. The two windows she’d opened last night to let some much-needed air into the building were now sending early morning heat into the room and suddenly it wasn’t just the one spot on her leg that itched, it was everything. She pulled the sleeping bag off her body, almost too scared to look. What was there made her scream out loud. Her entire lower half was covered in ugly red welches. How had this happened?
Harry burst through the door, dust and debris all over his face, like someone had coated his cheeks in flour. ‘Immy? Are you alright?’
Imogen let out a frustrated noise as she scrambled to her feet. Both legs were on fire. She stamped her bare soles on the tiles and glared at Harry. ‘Look at me! Look at me!’
‘What’s happened?’ Harry moved closer, bending to inspect her. ‘Have you got an allergy?’
‘No! They’re bloody bites aren’t they?! From God knows what! Fleas from all the dust and grime in this place, or mosquitoes!’ Imogen screwed her face up, trying to ignore the itch and heat.
Harry stood up, his head turning left. ‘Did you leave the windows open all night?’ He looked puzzled. ‘I definitely shut them before I went to sleep.’
‘Well… the whole place was like an oven. I had to let some air in somehow!’
She watched her brother march over to the windows and pull them shut. ‘That will be it then. Corfu is well known for its mosquitoes, Immy. I thought you read the guidebook.’
‘I did… but it was all stunning scenery and flora and fauna and—’
‘Ah-ha!’ Harry said, pointing an accusing finger. ‘And that’s why the mosquitoes love it so much. Lots of vegetation.’
‘Tell me there’s a cure.’
‘I’ve got some bite cream,’ Harry answered. His eyes went from her legs to her face. ‘Just let me find it before you look in the mirror.’
‘What?’ Imogen’s hands went to her face and straightaway the itch spread. ‘You have got to be kidding me? Where’s the mirror?’
‘It’s not too bad, well, not from one side,’ Harry began. ‘The cream will bring the redness down.’
‘Get me a bloody mirror now!’
* * *
It was official. Imogen looked like a government advertisement about the dangers of not being vaccinated against measles. She had no idea you were supposed to close every window, douse yourself and the entire room in jungle-strength insect repellent to achieve a bite-free good night’s sleep. Now, she was drenched in sweat from sweeping and clearing broken furniture in already thirty-degree heat in preparation for the skip’s arrival… some time.
The outside area didn’t look much different except the broken chairs and tables were piled to one side. She leant on her broom and wiped a forearm over her brow.
‘Kalimera,’ a soft male voice greeted.
Imogen looked up to see a Greek man in his twenties standing in the entrance of the restaurant, dressed in jeans and a plain red t-shirt covered in paint. He had a mop of dark curly hair and large brown eyes that gave him a child-like quality. This had to be the cousin Panos Dimitriou had offered to help.
‘Hello, you must be…’ What had Panos said his name was?
‘Risto,’ the young man introduced himself.
‘Hello! Calamari!’ Harry greeted, bursting out onto the terrace, hair flopping with every stride. ‘It’s very good of you to help. Very generous.’
Imogen thought about Panos’ offer to buy the restaurant. She hadn’t told Harry about that and she really didn’t know why. She cleared her throat and addressed Risto.
‘So, we’re just clearing everything to one side out here and in the main room. Broken things, of which there are many,’ Imogen said.
Risto nodded. ‘Yes, I see.’ He looked at the brush Imogen was holding. ‘You have another of these?’
‘I’ll find something,’ Harry said. ‘Then we can get this place looking more like the restaurant I dreamed about last night.’
18
The restaurant, Acharavi Beachfront
Wearing sun cream, bite cream and insect repellent, sweat trickling down her back, hair plastered to her red, blotchy face, Imogen stopped sweeping, stepped back and took in her last couple of hours of handiwork. Thanks to Harry and Risto putting all the rubbish and broken furniture in the skip, salvaging what could be repaired and generally shifting everything from the front terrace, it now looked… almost good.
She leaned against the broom handle and looked hard around the open air terrace. With everything clean and bare apart from the thicket of weeds around the perimeter, it looked so different to the wreck they’d encountered yesterday. The tiles on the floor were actually made up of tiny pebbles – some brown, some white and orange – and she had an idea that when she mopped the area they were going to shine. Even the plants in the wall planters seemed to have perked up a little. Or maybe that was just her feeling exhausted and going cross-eyed. A look left to the sand and the glistening sea every few minutes had kept her going. She’d imagined the perspiration that was putting the twenty-four hour promise of her Sure deodorant to the test was that fresh, cool water on her skin from yesterday. Perhaps she’d take another dip later, after the meeting Harry had scheduled to discuss menus.
‘Kalimera! Hello!’
At the sound of the voice Imogen turned her head. It was Elpida Dimitriou, dressed for a cocktail party in a bright, figure-hugging floral dress but with black trainers on her feet. She was holding a brown paper carrier bag in each hand.
‘Hello,’ Imogen greeted, leaning the broom up against the wall and brushing her palms together to remove any dust.
‘Argh!’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘What has happened to you? You look like someone from horror film!’
Imogen nodded. ‘Thank you, I’m taking that as a compliment because I thought I actually looked much worse than that.’
‘These are bites?’ Elpida asked. She planted the bags on the floor, and before Imogen could move the woman had slapped her hands on both her cheeks, examining the damage.
‘Apparently so,’ she sighed. ‘Stupidly, I didn’t know Corfu was twinned with the Congo.’
‘I have something for this,’ Elpida said, stepping back and picking up her bags. ‘We will fix it.’ She strode towards the door of the building and Imogen hastily followed.
‘That’s very kind of you but I got some cream and some spray and—’ Imogen said.
‘What is this?!’ Elpida exclaimed, looking into the main room, eyes bulbous, shock written on her face.
‘This!’ Elpida stated. ‘This holy horror of destruction!’
‘Um…’ Imogen didn’t really know what to say. This used to be this woman’s restaurant. Surely she would know the state she had left it in.
The woman was shaking her head now. ‘This cannot be. How has this happened?’ She turned back to Imogen. ‘This is how this is when you get here?’
‘We’ve cleared a lot out this morning,’ Imogen answered.
‘This was not how I left things. This is terrible! What must you think of me?’ There were tears gathering at the corner of the woman’s eyes. ‘The weeds, they grow so fast in this weather, I will get Nico to fix this. But this… I had a manager, the last few months the restaurant was open. I cannot believe he—’
‘It’s all right,’ Imogen found herself saying. ‘It isn’t your fault.’
‘And your Harry, he buy this like this!’ Elpida exclaimed. ‘Is he crazy?!’
‘Yes.’ Imogen nodded. ‘Yes, he is.’
‘Well, this is not right. Not right at all. I will fix it.’ Elpida began striding through the building, stopping each time she had to navigate the debris in her way.
‘Wait, Mrs Dimitriou, you don’t have to do that,’ Imogen said, hurrying after her and hurdling two plastic buckets in her bid to catch up.
‘Pfft! I say I will fix it and I will fix it.’ Elpida stopped walking when she saw the further mess in the back room. ‘For the love of Zeus! There is more!’
‘We wanted to get the front area clear before we started on this,’ Imogen said, scratching her legs as the bites heated up again.