by Mandy Baggot
‘I didn’t think doing things cheaply would involve getting intimate with a watermelon.’
‘Hark at you, Baby Houseman!’
‘Gavin, seriously, if I have to ride in this fruit van once more I’ll… cut up your Cher tour T-shirt before you even get a chance to wear it here.’
‘Well, we obviously have to get the fruit van back to Villa Bread but after that…’
Lucie yelped as a watermelon shook with the vibration of Miltos pulling open the sliding door and rolled into her lap.
‘Come, Loosely! Leave the watermelons behind and get ready to taste sofrito.’
‘Sofrito?’ Lucie queried. ‘What’s that?’ She had her heart set on the souvlaki Meg had talked about.
‘Very nice Corfu meal with veal and garlic. My grandmother make. Come.’
Before Lucie could say anything else, Miltos had grabbed her hand and pulled her down from the van. She was regretting the wedged sandals now. Here in this hamlet there were weeds thriving between the gaps of the concrete ground and chickens roaming free, eyeing the newcomers like Lucie and Gavin might be next on the menu. One of the chickens let out a squawk and Gavin squealed as Miltos began striding towards a ramshackle house just ahead that seemed to be made up of stone, corrugated iron and washing lines…
‘Gavin,’ Lucie said, trying to wiggle her toes and remove the dust motes that had settled inside her shoes already. ‘This isn’t a restaurant, is it?’
Gavin was brushing down his Armani T-shirt and being as unresponsive as their Annie resus dummies during nurse training.
‘Gavin!’ Lucie said again. ‘Miltos meant this place makes this sofrito like his grandmother used to make, right? Not that his grandmother is actually making it now… for us.’
‘I don’t actually know,’ Gavin admitted tentatively. ‘But, focus on value for money. I’m starving. This dinner sounds authentic. It was cheap and we can both have a drink because we have a ride back to the house.’
First thing tomorrow Lucie was going to see about hiring a car from somewhere. So she might be a little apprehensive about driving on the other side of the road and there was the fact that every side of the road here in Corfu seemed like it contained more peril than a well-written road trip thriller. But, on the plus side, there would be no more fruit and she and Gavin could explore the island a little more. Find places that weren’t going to make them drink the urine of a local farm animal.
‘They better have wine,’ Lucie told Gavin. ‘And lots of it.’
Gavin linked arms with her and grinned. ‘This is great, isn’t it? Completely rustic… real Greece.’
‘And here I was thinking you wanted karaoke and bingo.’
‘There’s going to be plenty of time for that too,’ Gavin assured. ‘Come on… oh, but mind that chicken, step there.’
The cockerel in Lucie’s path gave out a growl like it might suddenly morph into a slavering beast of a dog instead of a ruffled and bedraggled Foghorn Leghorn.
‘Excuse me,’ Lucie said, bowing a little to it then quickly scooting past.
‘Kalos irthate! Kalos irthate!’
Lucie and Gavin had walked through an entrance porch that contained piles of wood, fishing rods, wellington boots and a collection of hats for all occasions. And now, here they were, in a large farmhouse style kitchen – thick flagstones on the floor – where pots and pans hung from ropes attached to the ceiling. A tiny silver-haired Greek woman was at its centre, giving off the kind of excitement you’d expect for the entrance of holy prophets. She was wearing an ankle-skimming grey dress with a full-length flowered apron over the top of it. Her hair was long and tied back from her face into a bun at her nape. There were slippers on her feet.
‘“Kalos irthate” means “welcome”,’ Miltos translated.
‘That’s nice,’ Gavin said, quickly ducking as a frying pan blew in the hot breeze. ‘Isn’t it, Lucie?’
‘Yes,’ Lucie bleated. How old was this little lady? She couldn’t really be Miltos’s grandmother, could she?
The woman said something else and Miltos smiled and nodded before speaking to them again.
‘My grandmother says you must treat her home as your own. That is what we do here in Greece. We are all about the philoxenia. Kindness to strangers.’
‘Ooo,’ Gavin began, turning a one-eighty spin as two fish slices banged together like a wind chime and threatened to slice off his ear. ‘I read about that on the plane. It’s a beautiful thing.’
Lucie was still staring open-mouthed at the small woman, who was now powering around the kitchen, lifting lids from steaming pots and plucking utensils from the hooks of the suspended strings. Miltos had to be in his fifties, didn’t he? Even a rough calculation would put his grandmother at… over one hundred?
‘What is your mother’s name?’ Gavin asked Miltos.
‘Yiayia,’ Miltos answered with a grin. ‘Grandmother.’
Gavin laughed. ‘No, I think this is getting lost in translation somehow.’
‘Ochi,’ Miltos said with a shake of his head. ‘My mother’s mother, she is my grandmother. Eki. There.’ He pointed to the woman pulling a crockpot out of the oven. ‘And her name is Mary.’ Miltos turned around and pointed. ‘And this is my grandmother’s sister, Ariana.’
Gavin squeaked and jumped, hitting his head on the side of a cast iron wok. Lucie’s gaze went to an armchair in the far corner of the kitchen at which another woman no one had noticed was sitting. She looked identical to Mary, from the clothes, to the hair styling, to the age.
‘Yassas,’ the woman said, waggling her fingers and smiling at them.
‘Twins,’ Miltos stated. ‘One-hundred-and-one this last birthday.’
‘What?! Seriously?’ Gavin exclaimed, holding a hand to his bumped head.
‘Seriously, Gaveen,’ Miltos told him, nodding. ‘They are the oldest living people in Vouni. But not the oldest in the area. The very oldest people are in Sortilas.’ He smiled. ‘That is why everybody want to come there.’ He inhaled deeply, straightening his back, the bottom button of his shirt popping undone. ‘Is it the air we breathe? Is it the soil in which we plant our seeds? Is it that we are blessed by the gods? No one really knows, but you cannot deny the facts. We are strong and healthy and living for a long time.’
‘And looking very well on it,’ Gavin replied. He got closer to Lucie and dropped a whisper into her ear. ‘She hasn’t exactly got the looks of the Ariana we know and love, but if I look like that when I’m a hundred-and-one I’d take it.’
Yes, Lucie would take it too, because after the year they’d had, she knew all too well that not everyone made it into any kind of old age.
‘The food does smell delicious,’ she said, still watching Mary diving around her kitchen space like she was sprightlier than any of her chickens scratching around outside.
‘It is delicious,’ Miltos assured. He dropped another quick few lines of Greek into the air and Mary gave a rapid response that Miltos laughed at.
‘What did she say?’ Lucie asked. ‘Would she like us to do anything to help?’ It felt right to offer, seeing as they had been told to treat the house as their own home. But, then again, women could be funny about their kitchen space. Meg wasn’t a fan of Lucie dipping in to help with serving up, even when she was red-faced and in danger of burning Yorkshire puddings. Lucie knew it was because she had burned her little finger on a hot pan when she was seven and even now, in her twenties, Meg didn’t trust her not to blunder around and scald herself.
‘No,’ Miltos said. ‘My grandmother said it is perhaps her home-cooked sofrito that is the key to long life here.’
‘Put me down for a double helping in that case,’ Gavin said, grinning.
Fourteen
Sitting back in her chair, Lucie put her hands on her belly and held it. She was so full. She couldn’t remember being this full ever in her life. First there had been homemade bread – fluffy, soft, huge – and then there had been the sofrito. Well, it really had
lived up to the deliciousness rating that had been promised. Lucie had never tried veal before, but she would definitely be eating it again. It was rich in flavour, tender in texture and had been served gently resting in the sauce it had been cooked in. Garlic was the overriding taste, but it had been succulent and perfection to the palate. The meat had been accompanied by the freshest courgettes and carrots, a little plain rice, and roasted potatoes that were a world away from frozen Aunt Bessie’s.
And the eating area was rustic perfection too. There was a large patio area outside, underneath a wooden and pipework pergola, where a thick hunk of a table sat in pride of place. It looked like someone had chain-sawed down an ancient oak, split it in the middle, and hand-sanded off the rough edges. It was covered in a pristine white tablecloth Lucie had been terrified to drop food on. Around it were six chairs, one for each of them plus one seat for four cats – one black, one black-and-white, and two a mottled grey-and-ginger colouring – who were ridiculously well behaved and ate in turns from a platter Ariana had put in front of them. Their view was green trees cascading over the side of the drop and ending at the blue of the sea.
‘I think my stomach is doing my lungs out of room,’ Gavin said.
‘You are too full for dessert?’ Miltos asked, looking like he might be angry if the answer was yes.
‘I… no,’ Gavin said quickly. ‘I mean, no one is ever too full for dessert, right, Luce?’
Why was she nodding her head when there was no way she was going to be able to fit another thing in her stomach? She was praying it was only ice cream because everyone knew ice cream took up no room at all.
Mary and Ariana got to their feet and disappeared inside the house again. Neither of them spoke any English, but Miltos had played the role of translator. It had made Lucie feel a little bit lacking when it came to languages. Perhaps, with Meg’s help over the phone, she could at least learn a little of the local lingo while she was here.
‘You like the sofrito, ne?’
‘Miltos, it was amazing,’ Gavin said. ‘Please tell your grandmother and your great-aunt that when they come back.’
‘Ariana has made kataifi,’ Miltos informed them, sipping from his water glass.
Was that the Greek word for ice cream? If not then Lucie’s stomach was in real trouble…
‘What is that?’ Gavin asked, cupping his hands around his wine glass.
‘Almond and walnut pastry in syrup,’ Miltos said, chuckling. ‘It looks like the hair of Donald Trump.’
Lucie’s stomach braced itself at the word ‘pastry’. There was just no way… Perhaps she could sneak some over to the cats.
The sisters arrived back outside, holding an edge each of the most enormous silver tray Lucie had ever seen. On it were piles and piles of rolled up oblongs that looked like Shredded Wheat, all swimming in syrup. There had to be a hundred of them and Lucie wondered who else was going to be joining them for pudding…
‘Wow!’ Gavin exclaimed, picking up the copper wine jug and refilling his glass. ‘Fantastic!’
‘Fandastika,’ Miltos translated, jumping to help his grandmother and great-aunt get the platter over to the table.
Once it was in front of them and Lucie could smell the sweet scent of the syrup, her stomach reacted in quite a different way. Perhaps a few teeny little bites might be possible…
Miltos picked up large wooden salad servers and began plating up for them. How many was he putting out? Five? Six?
‘These look so delicate,’ Gavin said, nodding and trying to engage with the two ladies. ‘Beautiful.’
Mary said something in Greek and Miltos laughed out loud. ‘My grandmother says you are very handsome and she wishes she were twenty years younger.’
‘Only twenty?’ Gavin whispered to Lucie. ‘How old does she think I am? Maybe my eyebrows being gone has aged me!’
Ariana asked a question then as Lucie accepted a plate from Miltos. A serving was put down in front of the cats.
‘Ariana wants to know when you two are going to get married.’
The kataifi Gavin had just put into his mouth came shooting out and Lucie watched her friend deftly hide the mouth missile under a serviette.
‘We’re just friends,’ Lucie said with a smile.
‘Oh, Loosely,’ Miltos said softly. ‘That is the way it always begins.’
The sisters were giggling to each other and whispering now. The cats even seemed to be paying attention.
‘My aunt longs to make a wedding dress,’ Miltos said, translating the excited babble. ‘In our villages there are not many weddings any longer.’
‘Oh,’ Lucie said, not really knowing how to reply. ‘Well, as I said, Gavin and I are just friends. We work together.’
‘What do you do?’ Miltos asked. He spoke in Greek to Mary and Ariana, presumably translating.
‘We’re nurses,’ Lucie said.
‘You are a nurse, Loosely?’ Miltos asked.
‘Yes. And Gavin’s a nurse too.’
Gavin was saying nothing but was now picking up the roll of kataifi that had previously been in his mouth and jamming it back in there again.
‘You mean Gaveen is a doctor?’
‘No,’ Lucie said. ‘A nurse.’
‘Nurses are women.’
‘Not anymore,’ Lucie countered.
‘Well,’ Miltos said. ‘We will tell my grandmother and my aunt he is a doctor, because they will not understand.’
He gave this message over in Greek and Mary and Ariana clapped their hands together and chattered away excitedly.
‘What are they saying?’ Lucie asked.
‘They are saying that Gaveen must meet the doctor in Sortilas. He has come back from Thessaloniki. The rumour is he will be starting a practice in the village any day now. Even more to celebrate at our new Day of the Not Dead festival.’
‘Well,’ Gavin began, bits of pastry all over his teeth. ‘That doesn’t sound creepy at all.’
‘What is creepy?’ Miltos asked, slamming his palms onto the table and looking a little cross. ‘You think it is wrong to celebrate our health and well-being?’
‘No,’ Lucie said quickly. ‘Of course not. Gavin didn’t mean that. And I think if ever there was a reason to celebrate, then health and well-being is completely the best thing to have a festival for.’ But she hadn’t noticed any posters advertising it. Perhaps they were all in Greek and her mind hadn’t acknowledged them.
‘And wine,’ Miltos added, calming slightly. ‘And olives. And saints. And, of course, sardines.’
‘You have a lot of festivals,’ Gavin said. ‘I mean, of course, why wouldn’t you, when there’s so much to celebrate?’
‘What can I say?’ Miltos replied with a shrug. ‘We are Greece.’
Mary said something to Miltos, but her eyes were fixed on Lucie.
‘My grandmother says she would like to make you a wedding dress,’ Miltos stated. ‘She is going to get her measuring equipment.’
With that said, Mary was up from the table and disappearing into the house with all the enthusiasm of a mother to the bride. Except there was no bride here. And there wasn’t likely to be one, seeing as Lucie didn’t have a significant other. She hadn’t actually ever had anyone significant enough to call a significant other. She’d only taken one guy to meet Meg – Gabriel. And Meg had given him quite the inquisition over a stilted meal of bolognese, which Meg had added anchovies to, even though Lucie had forewarned her that Gabriel wasn’t a fish fan. Asking someone if they had a ten-year plan and their opinion on over-the-counter medication was too much for a fourth date and Lucie had told Meg exactly that when Gabriel decided he wasn’t ready for a fifth date commitment. It was one of those times when Meg’s care had turned claustrophobic. For the most part Lucie let those situations slide, but on some occasions she tried to explain to Meg that it wasn’t fair for her to attempt to control everything, despite the good intentions behind it. But Meg never reacted very well to criticism and after a week or so of ra
dio silence, it was usually Lucie who had to settle things between them with a box of cakes from the baker’s.
Lucie shook her head to try to clear her thoughts, taking a swig of her drink. This wine was very nice but was obviously even more potent when you’d only just got to Greece and were a little jaded from the travelling. And she had come here to forget! Ha!
‘Honestly,’ she breathed. ‘I really think your grandmother would be wasting her time making a wedding dress for me. It might be twenty years before I get to wear it.’ If at all, her brain said. Marriage hadn’t worked for Meg. Her mum had never got old enough to be asked. Why would it work for her? And wasn’t it an outdated concept anyway? People changed and grew and, in her experience, they moved apart from each other’s original remit. The Other Sharon Osbourne was on her third husband…
‘You think my grandmother has time to waste?’ Miltos said, scowling. ‘She is one-hundred-and-one. She wastes nothing. She does not know how many more mornings she will wake up.’
Lucie swallowed. She didn’t want to be rude to their hosts but… being measured for a wedding dress. On her first night in Corfu…
Mary was back now, a huge circle of rope around her shoulder like she might be about to attach it to a boat and haul it into shore. This was the strangest dinner Lucie had ever attended. And was she really going to play mannequin and have her sizes taken to fill the wishes of a one-hundred-and-one-year-old woman she barely knew?
‘Come on, Luce,’ Gavin said, encouraging her out of her chair, a bit handsy after all the Greek wine. He lowered his voice a little then. ‘Before we have to tell them that I actually like boys.’ He sighed. ‘If Miltos couldn’t understand I was a nurse, he’s not going to be woke enough to understand I prefer an aubergine.’
Mary was beckoning Lucie forward, Ariana was also on her feet now too, the rope being unravelled much to the delight of the cats. Lucie sighed. What harm would it do to be measured? It would make these two sisters happy and they had just provided them with the most exquisite meal in a gorgeous setting. She splayed out her arms and got ready.