“Evangelia, I still recall the pain of that accidental moustache waxing yous gave me. The very thought of havin’ the rest of my body hair removed in such a torturous way was too much to contemplate,” Mel winced, stooping down to retrieve the stockings that had slipped from his trouser pocket. Noticing Evangelia’s inquisitive stare Mel immediately fibbed, “I brought some cushion filler along with me. I thought it was time the cases had some shape stuffed into ‘em.”
Sensing Mel’s physical discomfort Evangelia posed a hard question.
“Mel, have you used that depilatory cream anywhere else or just on your chest?”
“Well my legs were a bit hairy,” Melecretes admitted.
“Then you must strip of your trousers at once and let me rinse your skin with cool water and then apply some antibiotic ointment,” Evangelia sighed wistfully, wishing the circumstances necessitating Mel’s trouser removal were more passionate.
“Ouch, Evangelia you have just clipped my ear,” Deirdre screeched as warm blood flowed over her ear and trickled down her neck, bringing the hairdresser out of her reflective reverie.
“I’m so sorry Did-Rees,” Evangelia gasped, instantly contrite. “My mind was elsewhere, there really is no excuse for losing my concentration.
“Shall I take over, Evangelia?” Sofia asked, throwing Deirdre into a panic when forced to choose between the eager but inexperienced novice and the scissor happy salon owner.
“I think it is fine as it is, I just wanted it tidying up,” Deirdre decided, studying the lopsided hair skirting her nicked and bloody ear. The mood Evangelia was in she’d prefer to take her chances with Quentin making merry with his home hair clippers to finish the job. Evangelia was in such a tight-lipped mood that Deirdre’s salon visit had failed to uncork any of the juicy ‘back in the days of the brothel’ gossip which had been the only point of her visit.
Mail order Masha burst into the salon, indiscreetly whooping, “Ooh Evangelia, I is so thrilled for yous that Mel ‘as finally fallen for yous womanly charms.”
Tears trickled down Evangelia’s face as she protested, “No Masha, my romantic evening with Mel was a complete disaster.”
“But I ‘eard on the village gossip vine he stayed all night,” Masha blurted. “Trust Petros the postman to get the wrong end of the stick, but he swore blind he saw Mel sneaking out of yous apartment first thing this morning.”
“Mel only stayed the night as he was taken unwell,” Evangelia revealed, cursing the postman; reluctant to gossip about Mel’s unfortunate encounter with the expired depilatory cream. He had spent the night in excruciating agony, much exacerbated by his insistence on applying a generous coating of ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’ to his blistered skin. Evangelia had tenderly applied wet cloths to his feverish brow as she sympathised that his buffed and hairless body would need to stay under wraps on the beach until his chemical burns healed. She was no closer to interpreting Mel’s feelings for her but had to admit on reflection that his earlier kiss had sadly been far more sloppy than passionate.
Keenly sensing Evangelia’s embarrassment at being the subject of village gossip Deirdre hurriedly changed the subject by dropping a bit of gossip of her own.
“Nitsa stopped out till all hours with Pungent Pedros,” she revealed, adding “and she had a real shiner of a black eye this morning.”
“What a brute. It’s a pity Pancratius didn’t let Kyrios Antonopoulos knock nine bells out of ‘im,” Masha declared. “The ‘ideous old hag ‘as not had much luck lately, what with bein’ kidnapped by dastardly Dastan and now takin’ up with a woman beater. I think I will try an’ make an effort to be more nicer to ‘er, after all if Dastan ‘adn’t mistakenly thrown Nitsa in ‘is car boot the evil Kazakh might ‘ave ravished me.”
The other women pondered Masha’s words, agreeing poor Nitsa really had drawn the short straw lately and they should all make more effort to make allowances for her.
Chapter 20
Discovering a Duck in the Plumbing Aisle
Quentin had planned to indulge in a leisurely morning whilst Deirdre was otherwise engaged at the beauty salon. Taverna chat about the Eiffel Tower had reminded him of a weighty tome on the subject he looked forward to reading in the shade of the fig tree. Deirdre’s unwelcome discovery that she had inadvertently planted a rampant weed in the garden put paid to Quentin’s best laid plans and he was now under strict wifely orders to dig up the ragweed and replace it with seeds that would flower into something more visually appealing.
Venturing into the garden he hoped it would remain a parrot free zone. It was far too hot to work in the protective beekeeper’s outfit resembling a hazmat suit, a precautionary device he sometimes wore to deter the blasted bird from sinking its claws into his scalp. Hoisting the shovel Quentin made steady work of digging up the rampant weed, hopeful that his quick action would be enough to prevent the weed proliferating through random seed scattering. The most effective way to destroy the noxiously poisonous plant would be to burn it, but Quentin recalled there was a strict ban on lighting fires during summer. Wondering how best to dispose of it he came up with the ingenious idea of bagging it up and delivering it to Bald Yannis as a treat for his darling pet goat Agapimeni.
It occurred to Quentin he really ought to dedicate more time to the garden as the results were most rewarding. His muscles already felt more toned after his short spell with the shovel and he was ever conscious of the need to take more physical exercise to keep his body in shape. He didn’t want to end up with a pregnant belly like Bald Yannis or a quivering stomach such as the one which always presaged Gorgeous Yiorgos’ arrival. Quentin decided he would take up jogging again once the days cooled off, but in the meantime he would tackle the out of control undergrowth behind the house. The neglected area was home to waist high weeds which Quentin realised resembled the fledgling ones Deidre had transplanted from the mountain, as well as a host of other tall scratchy varieties of grass.
Surveying the spot he intended to aggressively scythe with a petrol strimmer, Quentin noticed glimpses of what appeared to be large green rugby balls scattered across the ground. Tucking his trousers into his socks as a precautionary measure against any snakes lurking with evil intentions in the overgrown undergrowth, he ventured tentatively forward with shovel in hand, unable to believe what his eyes were seeing.
Quentin had chanced upon the wonderful find of a field of wild watermelons. This rich bounty of lush green summer fruit made his mouth water. Sinking to his knees he examined the interconnecting vine snaking rope-like between the fresh melons. Most of the fruit appeared in perfect condition, though the odd one showed visible signs of intrusive nibbling, the skins punctured perhaps by mice or birds gnawing their way towards the ripe red flesh inside.
“No need to lift weights with these beauties to carry,” Quentin exclaimed, heaving a hefty watermelon onto his shoulder. Realising there were far too many for him and Deirdre he imagined the pleasure he would bring by generously sharing this fruity abundance with his neighbours and village friends. Suddenly realising it was almost time to meet Deirdre he made quick work of carrying a few watermelons into the kitchen. Grabbing the bag of weeds he’d put to one side for Agapimeni, he added a choice watermelon for the goat’s owner and set off on foot for Astakos.
Stavroula dashed out from the taverna, intercepting Quentin as he strolled along the harbour, reminding him the grand opening of her tourist tat annex was scheduled to begin very shortly. The mood soured when she received the sharp edge of his tongue on asking if Deirdre would possibly be amenable to moving in with her rich Uncle Lukas who was desperate for a house keeper.
“Really Stavroula, the sex pest reputation of your uncle preceded his arrival in the village. Do you really think that even if I was willing to hire Deirdre out as a ‘woman what does’ I would ever think of exposing my delicate wife to your disreputable uncle’s lewd advances?” Quentin snapped abruptly. He was so offended he added, “We have better things to do
with our time this afternoon than perusing the cheap tat you wish to flog, which is no doubt, like you, entirely tasteless. Good day to you Kyria.”
As Quentin stomped off he didn’t look back, thus failing to notice Stavroula’s completely gobsmacked expression. “Well I never,” she muttered, “whoever would ‘ave ever thought K-Went-In would go an’ grow himself a backbone?”
“The nerve of that woman,” Quentin spluttered, entering the hardware shop. “The very idea that Deirdre would go and clean for Stavroula’s sex pest uncle.”
“What’s that?” Bald Yannis asked. “Is Lecherous Lukas after a cleaner?”
“Worse than that, he apparently wants a woman to move into his iniquitous den so he can pass the poor soul off as his housekeeper,” Quentin ranted.
“’Ang on a minute K-Went-In,” Bald Yannis shouted, hot-footing it over the road in the hope of securing the position of Lukas’ live-in housekeeper for his sister-in-law Voula. It occurred to him during Quentin’s rant that the live-in housekeeper position offered the perfect solution for Soula’s sister to move to the village to give a hand with the babies, whilst safely installing the nuisance of a woman well out of his way under someone else’s roof.
Bald Yannis was positively beaming on his return and remarkably still attached to the hand Stavroula had desperately snatched off. He was eager to share with Soula that he had just secured for Voula not only a job, but somewhere to stash her.
“Now what can I do for yous K-Went-In?” Bald Yannis asked, positively brimming with genuine bonhomie.
“Well nothing actually. I just stopped in to give you this bag of tasty weeds for your delightful goat,” Quentin replied.
“Is yous crazy? ‘Ave yous any idea ‘ow many fields of weeds my goats ‘ave at their disposal. Bringing yous weeds ‘ere is like bringing souvlaki to a pig farmer,” Bald Yannis mocked. Remembering Quentin had just done him a favour by mentioning the housekeeper job before Lukas had chance to find anyone else to fill it Yannis suddenly changed his tune.
“Now I thinks on it Agapimeni will enjoy these weeds. She does prefer to ‘ave a nice midday snack ‘ere at the ‘ardware shop rather than ‘aving to be dragged out to the fields. She’s very domesticated yous know,” he boasted proudly.
“Well I’m happy to oblige your special darling,” Quentin said sarcastically. “I also brought this amazingly fresh watermelon along for you and your good lady wife to enjoy. I had no idea the overgrown land at the back of the house was home to a magnificent growth of these fine wild specimens.”
“Is yous sure it’s yous land K-Went-In? Watermelons dont’s usually just grow wild, someone ‘as to plant the seeds an’ then water ‘em. There’s been no rain for weeks an’ they ‘ave a tendency to be thirsty,” Bald Yannis reasoned.
“It’s definitely my land,” Quentin assured him “but I didn’t plant any seeds and I haven’t been back there into the overgrown undergrowth until today.”
“Yous said the back of yous ‘ouse? Is this overgrown bit of land anywhere near yous bathroom?” Yannis queried.
“Yes, it’s definitely in the vicinity, just off to one side of the house below the bathroom,” Quentin agreed.
“Malaka, I’ll bet any money yous magical crop of watermelons ‘ave been watered by a leaking toilet pipe comin’ out of yous bathroom,” Bald Yannis yelled. “’Ave yous noticed any strange smells?”
“I can’t say I have. Of course we don’t sit out at that side of the house. How would I know if the pipes are leaking Yanni?”
“Yous will know soon enough as soon as a bit of wind picks up.”
“Oh no, if you’re right this will render all that magnificent fruit inedible,” Quentin groaned.
“Dont’s be so soft K-Went-In, a bit of manure does ‘em good an’ it would account for the humongous size of this watermelon.”
“I suppose you’re right, but I can’t see Deirdre being too enthused about eating something that grew in sewage.”
“I see what yous mean, she is a bit prissy. If I was yous I wouldn’t tell ‘er about the leak, women can be a bit squeamish when it comes to bathroom waste disposal.”
Quentin appeared surprised that Bald Yannis was so well up on what women might find disgusting until it dawned on him the hardware shop man been selling plumbing accessories for years so was probably an expert in the sewage arena.
“I trust you sell all the necessary whatnots I will need when I tackle the leaking pipes,” Quentin said, thinking he was more than capable of sorting the job himself, thus dispensing with the need to pay Achilles the borrowed builder for his services.
Bald Yannis didn’t deign to answer, instead indicating with his thumb the sign reading ‘Plumbin Parts: Cash Only, No Refunds.’
Quentin sauntered up the plumbing aisle, attempting to look knowledgeable as he handled widgets and whatsits he had no clue what to do with. A flash of brilliant yellow caught his eye, offering the only splash of colour amid the dusty merchandise.
“I say Yanni, is that some kind of inflatable?” Quentin called out excitedly.
“Yous mean the floating duck?” Bald Yannis replied, remembering his disastrous investment in a stash of giant inflatable’s with dodgy valves. Eager to offload the vinyl horror onto the gullible Quentin he pushed rudely past him to drag a deflated duck from the top shelf.
“This is just the ticket for Deirdre. She’s not a strong swimmer and prefers the security of something solid beneath her. Deirdre’s lilo was unfortunately ruptured,” Quentin began to explain, before biting his tongue. There was no point in amusing Bald Yannis at his expense by explaining Deirdre’s lilo had experienced an unfortunate encounter with the kidnapped goat’s horns when he’d tried to stash it onto Pungent Pedros’ motorcycle.
“Well there’s this blow up duck, or ‘appen this flamingo would be more goodly for Did-Rees ‘cos it’s a bit bigger. It ‘as a nice roomy seating bit for ‘er to relax in.”
Quentin shot Bald Yannis a filthy look for implying his wife’s bottom would require the larger inflatable. Dithering over the selection he suggested the hardware man blow up both floating creatures. Bald Yannis was taken aback, having presumed Quentin was stupid enough to buy one and only contemplate the hot air needed to inflate it when he was safely ensconced on the beach. Muttering under his breath he retrieved a rusty foot pump and pumped until he was red in the face. He managed the last smirk on the matter when Quentin plumped for the enormous pink flamingo and struggled to manoeuvre the plastic pink monstrosity through the shop doorway. The dilemma of what to do with the unsold inflated yellow duck was solved when Agapimeni wandered over and chewed its head off.
Chapter 21
Goodly News for Soula
“Ooh Yanni, such a morning,” Soula sighed, rushing into the hardware shop and yanking the pet goat off the inflatable duck before it choked on its vinyl snack.
“I ‘ad to undress fifty goats, those knitted clothes were makin’ ‘em sweat somethin’ ‘orrible in this heat.”
“I thought yous ‘ad a bit of a pong about yous Soula,” her husband replied. “I ‘ave goodly news for yous. I ‘ave managed to secure a position ‘ere in the village for yous sister Voula as the live-in housekeeper of Stavroula’s rich Uncle Lukas who ‘as just returned to live ‘ere from Athens.”
“Ooh Yanni, yous is so clever,” Soula gasped delightedly, planting a kiss on Bald Yannis’ cheek, blissfully ignorant of Lecherous Lukas’ reputation as the local sex pest.
“Now we’ll ‘ave ‘elp when the babies is born an’ I wont’s need to worry about Voula bein’ all alone in the dreary old farmhouse once Toula is wed.”
“I’ve been thinkin’ on that,” Bald Yannis said. “The farmhouse will be empty an’ we’ll still ‘ave to cough up for the property tax. I should scheme up some plan to make it pay for itself.”
“Like rent it out to a farmer?” Soula asked.
“Don’t be daft Soula; no one could make more than a subsistence livin’ out of that place. The ol
ive trees are ‘ardly productive an’ all the goats ‘ave moved down ‘ere in that sponsored agreement I ‘ave with the Japanese,” Yannis said. “I was thinkin’ more on the lines of doin’ the old place up as a tourist attraction, ‘appen as a spiritual retreat for them new-age bearded hipsters with more money than sense. There’s always some stupid foreign type that go for things like that Soula an’ would be moronic enough to pay an exorbitant rent to run an exclusive mountain village business. Look ‘ow easy it was to con them gullible Doomsday trippers.”
“Well yous know best Yanni,” Soula said humbly, relieved he hadn’t suggested they move up to the village she’d been so happy to escape from. “When will Voula arrive? I’m that excited to see ‘er.”
“She was in luck that the weekly bus passes through Osta today. She should be ‘ere by early afternoon.”
“Ooh, I’m that excited to see ‘er. What’s this Lukas chap like?”
“He’s stinkin’ rich,” Bald Yannis said, not bothering to elaborate on Lukas’ penchant for visiting brothels and being a bit hands on with his cleaners.
“Do you want to grab a free bite of lunch over at Stavroula’s taverna? She’s invited everyone,” Soula asked.
“Absolutely not,” Bald Yannis snapped. He intended to keep his distance, determined no one would link him to the disruptive chaos his pet stooge Nitsa was about to unleash. Suddenly realising he didn’t want Soula caught up in whatever Nitsa was cooking up he announced, “I’d forgot all about them inflatables until K-Went-In wanted one for Did-Rees, now’s the time of year to flog ‘em. I’ll dig the rest out of the back and yous can get busy blowin’ ‘em up. We can ‘ang ‘em up outside the shop.”
Soula pumped air into an inflatable unicorn, imagining what fun it would be to spend a free afternoon frolicking in the sea. She had seen happy families playing together on the beach and hoped once the twins were born Bald Yannis could be persuaded to loosen up. It suddenly occurred to her that in all the time she had lived in Astakos she had never walked hand in hand with her husband on the beach or even dipped so much as a toe in the sea. Feeling suddenly brave she announced,
Float the Goat Page 9