Staying Out for the Summer

by Mandy Baggot

  And from what Michalis had learned since he had been back on the island, Melina was not talking about livestock… ‘Who owns this now?’

  ‘The village,’ Melina answered. ‘Remember the American couple who walked all the time? Up the mountain. Down the mountain. Around the garden. To the beach. Always always walking.’

  Michalis did remember them from his youth. They were kind and they were different and Michalis had been intrigued by their accents. ‘They have sold the house?’ he asked.

  ‘They went back to America and… they died.’

  ‘Both of them?’ Michalis exclaimed.

  ‘I cannot remember which one was first.’ Melina shook her head. ‘But the house was left to the village and the village has been renting this out for holidaymakers for the past few years.’ She sniffed. ‘While you were away fighting disease and devastation.’

  His father hadn’t told him anything about this either. Michalis was starting to wonder what else Dimitri had held back. It wasn’t as if Michalis had completely abandoned the village. He had made visits when he could. To begin with, at university, Thessaloniki had been new and exciting. He had wanted to spend time with his friends, drinking in the atmosphere of the city, drinking in the beer and meeting like-minded others who had grown up in many different places. Then, once he was qualified, it had been all about making an impression. Being on call for whatever was needed, getting known as reliable and trustworthy as well as knowledgeable and skilled. That ongoing commitment had earned him the job he had wanted from the very beginning within just five years. He had done good works, was still doing everything he could. He shouldn’t feel guilty about it. But somehow being back here and seeing his father and his sister existing like they always had, it felt a little like he had abandoned them.

  ‘The profit,’ Melina continued. ‘It goes to village projects like… Andreas Kousaris’s son Spiros’s dream to build a lift that will transport villagers down the mountain from Sortilas to Acharavi via cable car.’

  Michalis blinked, not entirely sure he had heard correctly. Everyone had cars these days. Why did they need a cable connection? And what an eyesore that would be!

  ‘And, of course, the Day of the Not Dead festival,’ Melina concluded. ‘So, I am commandeering the studio for health purposes and there will be a wage for the doctor. Your surgery. Ela!’

  Melina beckoned him into the space, leading the way, and Michalis followed, stepping over the tiny form of a light-coloured gecko making its escape over the threshold. The room wasn’t exactly spacious, but it was enough. There was even a desk under one window and that incredible view of the sea. The floor was tiled and there was a small sink for handwashing and a bookshelf he could store supplies on. He’d brought a small amount of equipment with him from Thessaloniki, not knowing what he might need, not knowing when he was going to return. He needed to make a decision about his apartment there soon. His friend Chico, a fellow doctor, had always admired its view over the park when he’d stayed over. It could be an easy transition if the landlord was agreeable…

  Michalis put his hand on the chair with wheels and it listed a little to the left. That would need some adjustment.

  ‘Your first patient will be here at six,’ Melina stated.

  ‘What?’ he asked, turning to face her again.

  ‘If I have to hear another word about Athena’s eye condition I will need a doctor for myself.’

  Michalis shook his head. ‘I have told her what to do for her eye. I gave her a solution over a week ago.’

  ‘Well,’ Melina began. ‘She has one more chance to listen correctly this time. No follow-up appointments. I have a list that will keep you going for a few weeks.’

  A list already? Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He needed to assert his authority on this, and fast.

  ‘I will set my own hours,’ Michalis told her, turning the chair upside down and toying with the wheel.

  ‘Five days a week.’

  ‘Three,’ Michalis countered. ‘One day the morning. One the afternoon. One evening.’

  Melina seemed to muse on this point, head gently swaying to the left and then the right until… ‘OK. But what about emergencies?’

  ‘No emergencies,’ Michalis said quickly. ‘That is what the healthcare establishments in Roda and Acharavi are for.’ He sniffed. ‘Besides, I know what Sortilas is like. The emergency would be the cat with only three legs has got stuck up the tree again.’

  ‘But,’ Melina began. ‘If there was a real emergency…’

  Michalis sighed. He was a doctor. It was his duty to preserve life. Help in any way he could. It therefore seemed being taken advantage of was also going to be forever in his remit.

  ‘We will see how it goes,’ Michalis finally agreed.

  Melina slapped a hand on his shoulder, smiling. ‘This is a very good thing you do for the village. A very good thing.’

  He nodded, hope in his heart. But, in all honesty, he wasn’t quite sure this was the right move to make. His confidence had taken the biggest battering on the mainland. General practice here might seem much slower-paced and less intense than the hospital, but what if he made a misdiagnosis and put someone in jeopardy? He swallowed. That was the very last thing he wanted to do.

  ‘Now,’ Melina said, clapping her hands together and turning a full three-sixty in the centre of the space. ‘Where will be the best place to set up your skeleton?’

  Michalis shook his head. ‘I do not have a skeleton.’

  ‘But,’ Melina began, looking exasperated. ‘Every doctor has a skeleton. What about a white coat? The village will be expecting a white coat…’

  Twenty

  ‘I’ve written a list,’ Gavin announced.

  It was late afternoon and after the swimming, the breakfast and a good explore of Acharavi – the nearest town to Sortilas with supermarkets, tourist shops and about a gazillion restaurants Lucie was now aching to try – they had returned to the house to make the most of the sunshine weather and the luxurious sun loungers around their pool area. And, up until this slightly rude awakening, Lucie had been enjoying the complete switching off. Her back pain was waning a little and the only sounds to interrupt the utter peace were the cicadas, the whisper of a breeze and a sporadic chainsaw echoing up the mountain. Everything she had been caught up in in England over the past year was far, far away. Work was completely out of reach. The Other Sharon Osbourne’s constant invitations to virtual make-up parties were muted. This was her chance to press the reboot button, maybe even completely re-invent herself. She could be whoever she wanted to be. No one here, apart from Gavin, knew her past. It was like a clean blank slate, ready for the chalking…

  Lucie opened her eyes and looked at her friend. ‘Is it your favourite drag queens?’

  ‘No!’ Gavin exclaimed. ‘I did that up to Season 12 of Drag Race already. Mmm, Gigi Goode.’

  Lucie shook her head, smiling. ‘If it’s a list of favourite fruits, I’d like to remove apricots if they made the cut.’

  Gavin huffed a sigh and plumped down on the edge of Lucie’s lounger. He was wearing very small neon pink trunks that scarily didn’t look too far away from the shade of his thighs. She hoped he had put enough sun cream on. She silently cursed herself. Now she was sounding like Meg and, as solidly wholesome as her aunt was, Lucie wasn’t up for becoming a carbon copy.

  ‘I never knew you had such an aversion to fruit!’ Gavin said, pen and paper in hand.

  ‘Eating it, no. Riding around like I’m in a relationship with it, yes.’

  ‘Well, it’s not fruit. It’s a suggested list of experiences we could try while we’re here in Corfu. Number one,’ Gavin began. ‘A banana boat.’

  ‘Gavin! You said it wasn’t fruit!’ She knew what it was really. It was a huge floaty shaped liked a banana, attached to the back of a speedboat. And that speedboat’s whole purpose was to drive as fast as it could and try to fling you into oblivion… or further.

  ‘Very funny. Number two.
Wine tasting.’

  ‘I thought we started that last night.’

  ‘I mean properly. Not slugging them back to get that Pinot high.’

  ‘You’ve never complained before,’ Lucie reminded him. In fact, knocking them back as quickly as he could was usually Gavin’s pre-going-out warm-up routine. That and a short salsa to something by Lauv… ‘And I’m not sure that wine we had last night was even a long-lost relation to anything Pinot.’

  ‘Well, perhaps if we concentrate on enjoying and understanding the undertones and the top notes we might not end up shaving each other’s body hair off.’

  He had a point on that one. She was still trying to dredge up memories of that night and there was the vaguest recollection that Sharon had, at some point, been in her flat. ‘What’s number three?’

  ‘Karaoke.’

  ‘Oh, Gavin, really? We can do karaoke anywhere!’

  ‘We couldn’t last year! Singing was outlawed and I’m never happy to get to the end of a year not having publicly sung “Bohemian Rhapsody” at least twice.’

  Lucie smiled, shaking her head. ‘Number four?’

  ‘Donkeys,’ Gavin said. ‘There’s a sanctuary on Corfu.’

  ‘And you do love a nice soft ass.’

  ‘It has been said.’

  Lucie went to form the words ‘number five’ when suddenly her gaze went across the pool and met the form of an old woman. She was dressed all in black, casually leaning back on a sun lounger like a demonic apparition. ‘Gavin! Who… is that? And, please, tell me you can see her.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Gavin exclaimed, hand planting onto his chest. ‘It’s like something out of The Woman in Black. Literally.’

  ‘Well, who is she?’ Lucie asked. She felt the need to pull her swimming towel out from underneath her and cover her bikini top with it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Gavin answered. ‘But I really hope it isn’t the doctor.’

  ‘Oh God!’ Lucie exclaimed, looking up the stone steps that led the way down to the terrace and pool area. ‘There are more of them outside the house. Gavin, what’s going on?!’

  *

  Michalis was wearing a white coat. He couldn’t remember the last time he had worn a white coat. Back in Thessaloniki it had been disposable PPE, not cotton. And this was too small, something his father had worn for butchery circa 1980. But he also knew Melina was right about the village looking for something they defined as old-fashioned authority. The outfit of a doctor. The stethoscope hanging around his neck. To them, the almost fancy dress was the mark of a professional, not the certificates and qualifications for the years of work he had put in to achieve the status. It said everything. But, he supposed, in some ways his own feelings were similar. Medicine to him had always been more about the people than the paper.

  He breathed in the fragrance of herbs in the stone-wrapped beds next to the klimataria covered by grapevines, their fruit plump and ripened. And, just like that, the memories of his mother’s home-cooking were demanding his attention. Steaming pots of Greek specialities, something new she had seen made by a chef on television, the freshest ingredients, the healthiest cuts of meat. She had always always done the right thing in her life. It had been a simple life, being a wife, a mother, running a home, but she had revelled in it. And where had it got her in the end? He put fingertips to rosemary, running the fronds over his skin until he knew the smell had impregnated. Putting a finger to his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled. So soft, so light, but it had the strongest of reminders of what their family had lost. Its core. Its quiet yet strong and fearless queen bee. Even after all these years, they still hadn’t quite worked out what they were without her.

  Then, just like that, the peace was broken. Conversation. Chatter. As he walked on and rounded the corner, Michalis stopped still. There were people. A line queuing up on the courtyard of Villa Psomi. They were snaking around the stone building, some sitting on the low wall, others tucked into shady nooks. It was too many people to be the guests staying at the property. He swallowed. Melina had said a list but… were they all waiting for him? It was only half past five and he was expecting Nyx to bring their father here before six…

  Then, as they seemed to notice his presence, the volume of their conversation rose.

  ‘Yatros!’

  ‘Michalis!’

  ‘Dr Andino.’

  What had he started? He felt like a startled pine marten not expecting traffic. He could feel his hands begin to shake and he grabbed one with the other, trying to stop his emotions from snowballing. This was not like what had happened at the hospital. This was not going to be the same at all. He took a deep breath… and then he turned his back on them all. Everything felt like it was suddenly shrinking in on him. Exactly like it had that very last day before he got on a plane.

  ‘Hello? Are you the doctor?’

  Michalis squeezed his eyes tight shut. Why couldn’t he just take a break? He wasn’t meant to be practising medicine at all. Why had he set this up? He clearly wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to think. He didn’t want to feel. But most of all he wanted to forget…

  ‘Hello? Can you hear me?’

  He needed to focus. Retrain his brain to find something else. Anything else other than this overwhelming urge to run away or hide. The rosemary. Simpler times. Happy times. His mother’s proud smile when he learned to ride a bike…

  ‘Excuse me! I’m talking to you and… oh!’

  Michalis forced himself to turn round then and he was greeted not by one of his would-be patients but by the woman from the butcher’s this morning. Lucie. Wearing nothing but a towel from what he could see. And he couldn’t seem to divert his eyes…

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I… thought you were someone else.’ She pulled her towel a little tighter around her body. ‘I think all these people are waiting to see a doctor who’s meant to be coming here. Do you know the doctor in the village? Are you waiting to see him too?’

  ‘I… am the doctor,’ Michalis said. He sounded awkward, unsure of himself. He definitely couldn’t see patients like that. He thought about the buffed image of himself on those festival posters. He wasn’t that man. He was as far from that superhero image as could be. He shook himself. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You’re the doctor?’ Lucie asked, tipping her head to one side. Droplets of water were sliding down her cheek from her short crop of wet hair now. ‘But… you’re the butcher.’

  He nodded. ‘In Corfu, people wear many hats. In the village of Perithia, the postman is also the mayor.’

  ‘I… don’t know what to say to that.’

  He felt himself slowly begin to recover. This was different. There would be warts and infected insect bites, not life-saving surgery or tiny underdeveloped babies. He could do this. He had to. To prove that his life could still be about helping those in need. That his course and purpose was true.

  ‘And this is where you are staying,’ Michalis remarked, indicating the old stone house. ‘I am so sorry for my intrusion. If you are unhappy, I will do my best to arrange another place for my surgery as soon as possible.’

  ‘Ah, let’s not be too hasty there!’

  It was Lucie’s partner. The man who had rinsed away the goat urine with Michalis’s coffee. Was it… Gary? Whatever he was called, the man was smiling at him, his eyes appraising the white coat like it was high fashion from a Paris runway. The man was wearing bright pink underwear. Very small underwear.

  ‘I’m sure we can make this work,’ the man stated. ‘But the woman on the sun lounger has to go. She’s started knitting and I’m worried it might be a jumper to cover me up.’ The man moved a little closer to him. ‘And I want an all over tan while I’m here in Corfu.’ He waggled his forehead. He didn’t seem to have eyebrows.

  ‘Again,’ Michalis began. ‘I apologise. I intend only to be here for three days a week. One morning surgery, one afternoon and one evening. But if that is not OK for you I can rethink.’

  Lucie was still looking at him lik
e she thought he might pull a side of beef out from under his white coat. He put his hands into his pockets.

  ‘Well,’ the man began. ‘If you need any assistance, then Nurse Burrows or Nurse Gale are on hand right across the courtyard.’ He grinned. ‘Don’t be shy.’

  ‘You are nurses?’ Michalis queried.

  ‘That’s right,’ the man answered. ‘I’m Gavin. And this is…’

  ‘We met this morning,’ Lucie jumped in. ‘He’s apparently also a butcher. Michalis.’

  She had remembered his name.

  ‘Well,’ Gavin said. ‘You must know all of the anatomy in that case.’

  ‘I would not say that exactly,’ Michalis replied.

  ‘Well, don’t let us hold you up,’ Gavin said, passing him quite close and heading towards the front door. ‘You have patients to see and we have dinner to prepare. Actually…’ Gavin stopped walking and turned back to face him. ‘Why don’t you join us for a drink when you’ve finished? We have this mysterious bottle of alcohol on a bookshelf Lucie wouldn’t let me try last night. But with you being a local and hopefully knowing it won’t kill us, maybe she’ll let me pop the top off under supervision.’

  ‘I’m going for a shower,’ Lucie said, slipping past them both.

  Michalis watched her go. She might have remembered his name, but she seemed annoyed that he was here. He would need to tell Melina that this studio wouldn’t do while guests were staying at the house. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘Stay for a drink,’ Gavin said again. ‘Reassure me it’s not bottled goat piss again.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Michalis answered. ‘If this does not take all night.’ He wouldn’t stay. He had intruded enough already.

  ‘Good!’ Gavin said, clapping his hands together. ‘Then I will definitely slip into something more comfortable.’ He skipped to the door and Michalis was left with the expectant looks of villagers with ailments. He offered them a smile then checked his watch. Would his father, the one he was really doing all this for, actually turn up?