“Yous is welcome to come along as a paying customer when I leave in a minute, if yous can pay my reasonable fare,” Nitsa replied. “Yous will ‘ave to wait till yous get ‘ome to dig up all this ragweed yous ‘ave just planted, before it takes root all over yous garden. Didn’t yous know Did-Rees that this is the most pervasive weed yous can ‘ave the misfortune to find in yous garden, an’ it’s not even edible?”
Surveying the huge patch of greenery she had just tenderly planted under the scorching sun Deirdre was very tempted to throttle her annoying neighbour.
“Nitsa, don’t talk nonsense, this is a mountain herb which will be an aromatic addition to my cooking,” Deirdre insisted.
“No, it’s not. It’s a noxious weed with an ‘igh pollen count what will most likely set off K-Went-In’s hay fever. Look, it’s already given yous ‘ands a red itchy rash,” Nitsa said, squinting at Deirdre’s now blotchy hands. “Luckily I can sell yous a bottle of ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’ to fix it.”
“I tell you it’s a herb,” Deirdre cried, wringing her itchy hands in frustration.
“We will get Fotini to settle the matter,” Nitsa said as Fotini scuttled out of the chicken coop, walking with great caution to prevent a baker’s dozen of stolen eggs from dropping out of their secreted spot in her bloomers.
“Fotini, do you know the name of this herb?” Deirdre asked. She was conscious the two old crones couldn’t possibly have had the chance to confer and drum up a pack of lies to amuse themselves at her expense because Nitsa had been indoors schooling Quentin in the fine art of peeling artichokes whilst Fotini had no doubt been ransacking the chicken coop of every last egg.
“That’s not an ‘erb Did-Rees, it is nasty ragweed,” Fotini clucked. Staring at Fotini in dismay Deirdre danced awkwardly as a huge black beetle circled her hair before landing on Fotini’s head. Instinctively swatting the noisy insect away, her hand connected with a purloined egg stashed under Fotini’s headscarf. There was the telltale sound of breaking eggshell and the yellow yolk dripped down Fotini’s nose. Ignoring the egg on her face as evidence of her petty thievery Fotini hobbled back to her kitchen with as much dignity as she could muster, desperately hoping no further eggs would fall out of the legs of her bloomers.
Chapter 17
A Vacant Position
Stavroula was sweeping away the squashed fruit that had fallen from the mulberry tree, splattering the ground between the taverna tables with blood red juice, attracting an army of ants. Boukali the taverna cat sprawled languidly in the early morning sunshine, keeping a wary eye on Stavroula’s broom and licking up drops of water splattering from the leaking hosepipe.
Stavroula had been up and about before the first cock crow, excited by the prospect of the grand unveiling of her tourist tat annex. Looking out across the tranquil blue sea she spied the distinctive blue and white striped sun awning of Toothless Tasos’ fishing boat puttering slowly back towards the harbour. Stavroula debated whether to call him to drop off some sardines. She was preparing a selection of complimentary meze for the crowds she expected to swamp the taverna for the opening. However the very thought of that particular dish still turned her stomach since her hospitalisation after eating the fish meze prepared by Fotini from the sardines and anchovies fished out of the beauty salon’s wart infested and fungal foot infected fish pedicure tank.
The idyllic peace was disturbed by the sudden toot of a horn and a swish new sports car screeched to a halt in the ‘No Parking’ spot outside the taverna. Automatically brandishing the broom, Stavroula rushed over, shouting,
“Cant’s yous read, yous eejit? The sign says No Parkin’.”
“Stavroula, you haven’t changed at all, still welcoming your customers with an offensive weapon I see,” the driver drily observed.
“Uncle Luka, is that you?” Stavroula cried out, instantly affecting a posh and proper accent. “I wasn’t expecting you until next week,” she blanched; realising there had been no time to make sure his house was thoroughly cleaned before his arrival. Lukas was a stickler for a clean house and was willing to pay below minimum wage for the convenience of a woman to come in to sweep, scrub, polish and cook.
“I decided to surprise you,” Lukas announced, unfolding his long lean body from the too small confines of the car. Stavroula noticed even though Lukas had arrived in flashy wheels he still dressed like a penniless peasant. A length of twisted string around the waistline of his shapeless shorts acted as a belt, holding them precariously in place, reminding Stavroula of her uncle’s propensity for wearing indecent budgie smugglers beneath them, ever ready to strip off for a bit of beach posing. His tatty red tee-shirt had faded to pink from too many washes and there was an obvious hole in the sole of his flip flops. His face was pleasantly clean shaven and his sparse greying blonde hair was held rigidly in place with a generous application of something cheap and greasy.
“It’s a surprise all right, there’s been no time to get a woman what does to clean up the cobwebs yet,” Stavroula admitted.
“A woman what does just won’t be enough anymore Stavroula. I need a live-in housekeeper these days, I’m not getting any younger you know.”
Lukas’ reminder that his days might be numbered brought a smile to Stavroula’s lips as she contemplated being the main beneficiary of his fortune. She could imagine soaring off in the shiny silver sports car with the wind in her hair. She pictured herself in a fashionable outfit, an arm draped around Slick Socrates sporting a loosened bow tie and off-the-shoulder braces, exploring scenic spots along the coastline and discovering secluded coves perfect for seducing the slimy side-burned lawyer.
Her smile faded as it dawned on her the luxury car was destined to spend the rest of its time in the village hidden away beneath a plastic tarpaulin and it would be a practically impossible task to find a live-in housekeeper who hadn’t already heard of her uncle’s reputation as the local sex pest.
Lukas frowned in annoyance, before remembering that in all the confusion of his sudden departure from Athens he hadn’t actually tasked Stavroula with securing him a live-in housekeeper. The only reason he had returned to Astakos was because his live-in Athenian housekeeper had threatened to call the police over his persistent groping and he’d been forced to pay her off with a not insubstantial brown envelope. In spite of being bribed to keep her mouth shut she had blabbed so much about his sex pest proclivities he hadn’t been able to attract any new applicants for the position, except an illegal Moldovan who threatened to hoover his extremities with the vacuum cleaner attachment when he tried to goose her.
“As soon as you can with the housekeeper Stavroula, I’m not used to keeping house myself.”
“I’ll do my best for you Uncle,” Stavroula replied, thinking she had quite enough on her plate already without trying to find him a live-in servant. At least he hasn’t specified she has to be young and pretty, she thought with relief, wondering if she could dig up some old crone willing to supplement her meagre pension.
“Oh and Stavroula, do make sure you don’t hire anyone old or ugly,” Lukas added.
Stavroula smirked inwardly as she imagined hiring a young man for the position, thinking there were employment laws against sexual discrimination. “Malaka, I ‘ave to keep on ‘is good side if I’m to get in his will,” she muttered, waving with fake cheer as Lukas drove off to the finest house in the village. “Where on earth am I goin’ to find a presentable woman who isn’t ancient an’ who asn’t ‘eard of his reputation as a disgusting old pervert?”
Chapter 18
Soula Plants a Seed
Taking the doctor’s advice Bald Yannis rifled through the padlocked shotgun box stashed under the bed, looking for a bra that would offer suitable support. The steel box was the only place secure enough to keep his supply of stolen underwear hidden from the prying eyes of his wife Soula.
“I cant’s think who this brassiere belonged to,” he mumbled, holding up a scarlet push-up number that Thea had purc
hased from the Home Shopping channel. Bald Yannis discarded it, considering the padded cups would only accentuate his man boobs.
“Ah, this is more like it,” he exclaimed, examining a practical cotton sports bra edged with dainty trim, though wondering whatever had possessed him to steal it as it really wasn’t his style. Struggling to fasten the clasp of Tassia’s plain but serviceable bra he pondered if perhaps a purloined corset would suit his purpose better as it would hold his pregnant stomach in too. Hearing Soula return with Agapimeni he hastily threw a shirt over the sports bra and slipped the padlock back into place.
“Oh Yanni, such news. My sister Toula is to be wed,” Soula told him delightedly. “An old farmer up in the village ‘as a son what was looking for a wife and Toula caught ‘is eye. He doesn’t even want a dowry.”
“That is good news,” Bald Yannis agreed. He knew Soula had been worried about her two spinster sisters living alone in the dreary old farmhouse up in the high mountain village of Osta ever since her father’s unfortunate death by falling from a helicopter during his botched prison escape attempt. To add to her worries her sister Koula was still incarcerated in a padded cell for stalking Prosperous Pedros, and attacking mail order Masha and the Pappas.
“I will worry though about poor Voula being stuck all alone in the farmhouse once Toula is wed,” Soula sighed.
“Can’t she move in with Toula?” Bald Yannis asked.
“It might be a bit awkward Yanni. Toula an’ ‘er new ‘usband will want the chance to be alone, to get used to each other like. Yous wouldn’t ‘ave liked it if I’d brought one of my sisters to live with us as soon as we got wed,” Soula said, buttering up her husband as groundwork to spring a clever plan on him.
Bald Yannis agreed. It had been a huge adjustment bringing Soula into his home. Living with a woman took a lot more getting used to than simply living with a goat. He mused it wouldn’t have been seemly to take Soula, a practical stranger on their wedding night, into his bed, if she’d insisted on moving one of her sisters in with her. More than likely he would have felt obliged to offer the pair of them the goat’s bed on the living room floor and move the goat into his own double bed.
“I ‘ave been thinkin’ Yanni,” Soula continued in a hopeful tone. “It’s goin’ to be ‘ard for me to be workin’ in the ‘ardware shop, keeping ‘ouse an’ tendin’ to all the sponsored goats, when the twins is born. I was thinkin’ we could do with an ‘and looking after the babies.”
“Cant’s yous just bring ‘em to the ‘ardware shop with yous?” Bald Yannis asked, clueless how much extra work the arrival of twins would mean.
“It will be ‘ard Yanni, sometimes the cryin’ can keep a new mother up all night, an’ they will want feedin’. It might be ‘andy to ‘ave an extra pair of ‘ands, even if it’s just at the beginning.”
Bald Yannis mulled over Soula’s words. He hadn’t given any thought to the practical implications of how their lives would change once the twins arrived, presuming Soula would simply manage everything in her usual competent style in addition to keeping up with all her other wifely duties. He had no experience of babies and hadn’t bothered reading up on them, simply dismissing it as women’s work.
“Of course, yous could be one of them ‘ands on fathers and ‘elp with the night feeds,” Soula suggested.
“Soula, yous know ‘ow I need my eight ‘ours,” Yannis vociferously complained.
“I understand Yanni. I suppose if I’ve been up with the babies all night yous can look after ‘em during the day in the shop, that way we won’t need any ‘elp at all,” Soula suggested.
“That don’t sound too sensible, babies an’ chainsaws sounds like a dangerous combination,” Bald Yannis objected, suddenly beginning to fear just how much disruption these babies would bring to his pleasantly ordered life. He hoped Soula wouldn’t turn into a nagging shrew, expecting him to help in the house and harrying him out of the kafenion to change nappies and sterilise bottles.
“Which is why I was thinkin’ my sister Voula could come down from the mountain to give me an ‘and,” Soula cleverly suggested, having carefully led her husband down the route of acceptance. “That way she won’t be all alone when Toula is wed.”
“I can see it would be ‘elpful for yous to ‘ave Voula around, but there just ain’t no room for ‘er to stop at the ‘ouse,” Bald Yannis immediately decided, horrified at the thought of being outnumbered by nagging women in his own home. “We’ll be full to the rafters when the twins come, an’ there’s Agapimeni to consider. Yous cant’s expect ‘er to give up ‘er bed for yous sister, after all she did live ‘ere first.”
“I would never expect yous to put the darling goat out Yanni, but she’s not going to be the most reliable babysitter. I don’t want to speak badly of yous darling goat but she ‘as a bad habit of kicking an’ she’s a bit indiscriminate in ‘er chewin.’”
“Well let me think on it. It might be a good idea for yous to ‘ave Voula down in the village to give yous an ‘and with the babies, but we’d ‘ave to find somewhere else for ‘er to live.”
Satisfied the seed had been planted Soula smiled sweetly and thoughtfully asked her husband how he was coping with his syndrome.
“Well the doctor reckoned my symptoms would ease if I started doin’ something to prepare for the babies hatching. I’ve been thinkin’ on it an’ will start to construct somethin’ for ‘em to sleep in.”
“Yous is a natural at makin’ things Yanni,” Soula cooed. “Do you think you could manage to knock up these?” she added, showing him a glossy photograph of twin cots in her maternity magazine.
“They look a bit posh,” Yanni replied, studying the expensive baby beds. He’d been thinking of something more in the line of drawers for the babies to sleep in, but one look at Soula’s face when he made his suggestion necessitated a quick rethink.
“Yous offspring deserve the best Yanni, after all they will be yous sons an’ carry on the family name,” Soula encouraged, appealing to Yannis’ vanity. She realised she had a lot of work to do preparing her husband for the life changing event, but he’d coped amazingly well adapting to marriage for such a confirmed bachelor. She had every faith his paternal instinct would click into place once the babies were a reality, but she couldn’t quite imagine him being as doting a father as Fat Christos was to the side-burned Andromeda.
Chapter 19
Scissor Happy in the Salon
Fidgeting from foot to foot in her new uncomfortable bunion pinching high-heeled shoes, Evangelia was in a terrible strop, wielding her scissors with reckless abandon through Deirdre’s hair like a demented harpy on speed.
“Just a trim dear, don’t take too much off,” Deirdre reminded her.
Evangelia barely heard, ruminating over the previous evening with Melecretes who had finally kissed her the moment she opened the apartment door. She recalled how his manly Greek moustache had tickled her lips with thrilling promise; a promise that went unfilled as the evening progressed.
Melecretes had immediately excused himself to use the bathroom and Evangelia took the opportunity to loosen a few buttons and flame up some romantic candles. When Mel failed to reappear after an hour, Evangelia became worried. Sidling over she placed an ear to the bathroom door, tentatively asking, “Is everything all right in there Melecretes?” only to be greeted with the distinctive slurping and sucking sounds of a plunger attacking a blockage and Melecretes crying out, “Just call me Mel. I’ll be out in a jiffy.”
Finally the bathroom door opened and her love interest emerged, shirtless and incoherently blabbering away his absence by blaming a plumbing emergency. Rushing past him Evangelia was disturbed to discover her pristine clean bathroom basin overflowing with scummy water topped with an impenetrable floating layer of emollient clogged chest hair. The air was heavy with the sickeningly sulphurous smell of rotten eggs. This could only mean one thing: Melecretes had been making merry with the expired tube of hair removal cream lurking in the back of the
bathroom cabinet.
With a desperate need to air the dreadful smell Evangelia rushed to open the window, immediately attracting a flurry of moths drawn to the light. A strangulated gasp escaped Mel’s lips as he slapped away a moth landing on his blotchy chest, its slight touch exacerbating the agony of his blotchy chemical burns. Evangelia stared at Mel in transfixed horror, watching the angry red patches begin to blister and suppurate, and couldn’t help but notice he appeared to have a pair of rolled up stockings bulging from his trouser pocket.
“Oh my goodness Mel, what the devil have you done to yourself?” Evangelia cried.
“I just wanted to get my body beach ready. I ‘ave to be all buffed and beautiful for summer posing. Yous ‘ave no idea ‘ow hot it gets Evangelia, having such a hairy body,” Mel said, impulsively trying to come up with a convincing lie rather than admitting his chest hair sprouting from the top of Hattie’s twinset had ruined the line of his nonexistent cleavage and the thick hairs on his legs had poked obtrusively through the sheer nylons like parched grass desperate to meet a lawnmower.
“Mel, have you forgotten I have a beauty salon? If you were worried about unwanted and unruly hair growth I could have given you a professional waxing,” Evangelia admonished. “There was no need for you to resort to such subterfuge in my bathroom. From the state of you it’s obvious you didn’t bother reading the instructions and left the depilatory cream on far too long.”
Mel acknowledged bashfully that the instruction leaflet had not even received a summary glance.
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