Game of Scones (3 page)

Mum and Dad’s villa had been built on the outskirts, for privacy, part of a cluster of four. Over the years, the others had always been full during the summer but now I noticed that two looked quite derelict, with worn “for sale” signs out the front. Smiling at an old woman, wearing a black dress and headscarf, I took in the wooded pine forests, either side. As perspiration glistened on my skin, I inhaled. Mmm. What a fabulous combination of cedar wood and salt.

Some things hadn’t changed one iota – like the gentle island breeze and chirp of cicadas. Memories once again came back: Niko pointing out a glimmering shoal of sardines, as we sneakily snorkelled, instead of helping out of with the melon harvest; the two of us munching on honey pastries in his parents’ taverna, sipping crafty sips of the grown-ups’ ouzo, whilst guests circle-danced. A grin spread over my face, as I realised just how much I was looking forward to seeing my former partner in crime.

‘Pippa!’ called a voice from the distance.

Uh oh, Henrik must have expected me to stay longer. Despite the early afternoon heat, I sped up, wishing I’d worn sun cream as well as my shades and hat. Eventually the wooded area thinned, and the dusty road forked into three smaller, paved-over pedestrianised avenues, which I knew all led to the small port and postcard-perfect sea. Behind me a bus pulled up, at the last stop. No vehicles ran up and down the streets of Taxos. The only transport from hereon was cyclists and donkeys. The latter’s dung gave the village a distinct odour when the weather became really scorching.

I gazed down the left fork, trying to remember the exact lay-out of the village. Let’s see… Down there would be the supermarket, post office and school, with great views of mountains in the distance, towards the south of the island. Then I turned my head to the right and far away spotted the blue dome of the church. That road led to a pottery workshop and gift store, run by Demetrios who now, ooh, had to be in his late thirties. He’d given up a bank job in the city to follow his artistic dreams, and with his last generous bonus had bought the premises and the equipment he needed. He’d let me and Niko make small pots and paint them. I narrowed my eyes at a maze of further avenues, lined with small whitewashed houses with blue painted doors and window shutters.

Even quicker now, I made my way down the central walkway ahead, past houses and a cake shop run by Pandora – a friendly, fashionable woman. It still had the gilt painted window sills, and colourful potted plants outside, plus the sign swinging in the breeze, bearing a delicious looking drawing of chocolate cake. Then I past the Fish House and Olive Tree restaurants… Moving on, I glanced into the cycle shop owned by middle-aged Cosmo, whose back faced me. I remembered his skinny build and penchant for his mouth harmonica. I could just see him, through the dusty window and frames of bicycles leant up outside. The walls of his shop looked grubby and chipped.

Right at the end, nearest to the boats and the water’s edge, stood Taxos Taverna, belonging to Niko’s family. My heart lurched at the cracked windowsills and door frame and decidedly weatherbeaten blue and white paintwork. The place looked empty inside, despite it being lunch time – in fact, the far half of it, the other side of its kitchens, looked completely closed down. I swallowed. The Olive Tree and Fish House had been the same – not buzzing with catchy Greek string music, nor pre-dinner smells of garlic and oregano. How tranquil it was for a Saturday.

Just before reaching its front door, I stopped and stood in the shade of a nearby palm tree, a must thanks to my pale skin, smattering of freckles and red-tinted hair. I picked up one of the large, fallen leaves and fanned my face. It had been so long since I’d enjoyed a foreign summer break. I’d forgotten how sensitive I was to the Mediterranean rays. Niko used to tease me for living in a cap and long-sleeved blouse. Our complexions couldn’t have been more different, with his caramel skin and curly black hair.

Feeling slightly queasy, despite my hat, I decided to visit Georgios and Sophia when I felt on better form. So I headed straight to the port and as soon as I could, left the concrete path and jumped down onto the beach. I approached the breaking waves, stepping across spiky sand lilies. Impatiently, I slipped off my ridiculously impractical high heels. Phew. I felt so much better, once I’d sat down and cool water lapped over my toes. Fishing boats bobbed gently nearby, now all tied up due to the heat sending everyone indoors. The local fisherman always used to head out first thing. The beach was empty, as was Caretta Cove, an inward curve of sand down to the left, named after the endangered species of turtle that used to nest there – the loggerhead turtle, to you and me.

Taxos residents knew better than to sit out at midday. As the breezed lifted my fringe, a tightness inside me loosened up. It was good to be away from the stresses and strains of London life: my computer; the musty train journey to work; the artificial lighting in my office block. When was the last time I’d kicked back and relaxed without a phone or pen in my hand? I lay down, pulled my sunhat over my face and closed my eyes, revelling in the sound of lapping waves.

‘Oi!’ shouted an irritated voice from behind, ‘
Me sinhorite
!’ which I vaguely remembered meant “excuse me”. Really? The beach was deserted. Why would anyone need me to move? I kept my eyes firmly closed and pretended to sleep.

‘Woman! Move yourself, please. Now…’ said a man’s voice, in what could only be called Greeklish, pronouncing the consonants very strongly, with a slight roll on the Rs.

Opening my eyes to roll
them
, I sat up and turned around. From behind my big glasses, I spied four men, heaving a small boat. Oops. I now realised I’d been lying directly on a path leading from a boatshed to the nearby ramshackle jetty. I jumped up and grabbed my shoes as they puffed past and was just about to say sorry when a young man at the back muttered “
vlakas
”.

My cheeks felt hot and I folded my arms. Idiot? Me? How dare… Ooh, now my head started to throb and my mouth felt as if last night I’d drunk a litre of ouzo. I caught his eye as he stood knee-deep in water, the bottom half of his face hidden by a small mast. Feeling a bit weird, and not at all like myself, I held up my palm, fingers spread out (a milder equivalent of giving someone the finger in England).

Without waiting to see his reaction, I spun around, just a bit too fast. The beach swayed, as if I really had drunk a bottle of that aniseed liquor. Bile shot up my throat. This has happened to me once before when I’d actually been sick and spent a day in bed with the headache from hell.

‘Oi! Not so polite, huh? But
you
, woman, were in the way.’ A man loomed into view. My vision was kind of blurred but, phooey, even I could see he was one hot stud! Perhaps he was a mirage. Just a bit taller than me, he stood, mocha eyes fiery, yet a hint of a smile on his lips. Plus a tight vest top that showed… well… You could tell he did physical work for a living. He was earthy, kind of ruffled – the opposite to well-groomed Henrik. I had a sudden urge to squeeze his neatly formed biceps, but instead pulled down my sunhat, worried my tongue might be hanging out like a puppy dog’s.

‘I’m not usually so rude, but you called me an idiot!’ I muttered.

‘Sorry, but I was struggling with half a ton of wood. Of all places to sunbathe, why you choose the runway between the–’

‘I didn’t realise…’ I said. ‘It was an easy mistake. And I wasn’t sunbathing.’

‘You no looked as if you were about to budge.’

‘Budge? Good word,’ I muttered.

He chuckled. ‘Okay, all is forgiven.’

‘
You
forgive
me
?’ I shook my head, feeling too icky to remonstrate further, plus, oh God, any minute, this sun was once again going to make me throw up. If he didn’t get out the way, revenge for his
vlakas
comment really might be sweet – or rather sickly, and all down his shirt.

The stranger stared at me and then, with a surprised tone, muttered something in Greek. With one swift movement, he leant forward to remove my glasses and hat.

‘It is you!’ He gasped. ‘I recognise that feisty tone anywhere – yet you have no idea who I am.’

But I was hardly listening and in reply promptly vomited over his leather sandals, before everything went black.

Chapter Three

If this was heaven, then sorry Mum, Dad and Henrik, but I’m reluctant to come back to earth. Eyes still closed, I breathed in the comforting aroma of tomato and beef. Foreign voices muttered in the background. Cold air fanned across my face. Someone held my hand so gently, as if I were as valuable as a Fabergé egg.

Eventually I opened my eyes to wooden beams above my head and ochre walls all around. Guitars, pots and plates filled slightly wonky shelves. A ceiling fan spun above. Squinting, I averted my eyes to focus on the person who sat by me, their fingers curled around mine, a leather bracelet around their wrist.

Mmm. Caramel skin… a man with curly dark hair and mocha eyes full of concern… slanted lips… would they taste of olives or baklava?

I shook myself. Honestly, I was practically engaged! The sun must have warped all sense of reason. Clearing my throat, I focussed again. Ah yes, the tight vest top… those frayed jeans… This was the guy who’d called me idiot; the guy whose shoes must be covered in sick. My stomach twisted slightly. Something was bugging me. The thick eyelashes… the way his head cocked slightly to the left… A voice in my head whispered that I’d seen him before today.

‘What happened?’ I mumbled.

My vision sharpened and behind him stood two short middle-aged figures. The woman patted my shoulder before passing me a glass of water. I sat up and took a large sip, then set the drink on a scratched mahogany table. I looked up to say thank you and gasped.

‘Sophia?’ I gazed at the man next to her. ‘Georgios?’ Of course, I was in Taxos Taverna! I’d been lying on a sun lounger they must have brought in from outside. The wonky shelves… the familiar ochre walls… It all made sense now. So this man holding my hand had to be…

‘Niko?’

‘
Ya sou
, Pippa,’ he said, eyes dancing, probably because of my dropped jaw. I scanned him from head to toe. Of course. How hadn’t I recognised him earlier? Despite the fuller build and inches he’d grown, there was no mistaking the slightly bent nose and mole just above his left eyebrow. Laughter lit up his eyes. I grinned back, leant forward and gave him a big hug. Eek! How embarrassing, that just for one minute earlier – well, a second… no, a nanosecond, really – I’d considered him hot stuff.

‘It’s great seeing you all again,’ I stuttered, hoping my breath didn’t smell of sick. ‘My parents send their love.’

‘They shall visit us this evening, no?’ said Georgios. ‘We are so happy to see you. Tonight we celebrate.’

I loved the sound of the locals speaking English. Thanks to tourism, most people in Kos knew a smattering of my language – and many, like this dear family, much more than just a few essential phrases.

‘Afraid not. They are visiting my aunt in Canada. It’s just me here, with my… boyfriend, Henrik.’

Niko’s body stiffened, like a dog that had suddenly got a whiff of a cat.

‘Ah yes. We met him last winter.’ Georgios’ smile widened. ‘I introduced him to retsina. He was a little ill afterwards.’

‘Talking of which, sorry about your sandals, Niko,’ I said.

Georgios’ deep laugh bellowed out. Sophia punched her husband’s arm.

‘My little meatball, it is not funny. Poor
Pippitsa
has not been well.’ She came forward and kissed me on the forehead.

Sophia hadn’t changed, apart from being just a little fuller around the waist. My chest glowed at the familiarity of her floral skirt, long hair scraped into a bun and friendly heart-shaped face.

Playfully Niko shook a finger. ‘What a welcome you gave me, Pippa, although… sorry for calling you
vlakas
.’

My cheeks burned. ‘Sorry I palmed you – must have been due to sunstroke.’

‘Enough of the apologies,’ said Georgios and ran a hand over his round, hairless head before stepping forward to give me a hug. He’d been bald as long as I’d known him, and still tried to make up for that with a big, black moustache. ‘Pippa, to see you back in Taxos after so many years, warms my heart. But before we exchange news, you eat, no? Let me fetch moussaka, or a fresh feta salad, with toasted pitta bread, like you always preferred.’ He raised his bushy eyebrows which were grey and didn’t match his moustache.

‘Both dishes sound lovely – although that moussaka smells divine.
Efharisto
.’ Some words, like “thank you”, had stuck in my mind.

Sophia insisted on helping me to one of the tables, then took the sun lounger outside as a couple of blonde tourists trickled in – a rare sight, I suspected, in Taxos nowadays. On her return we chatted about my job and parents. Niko headed over to the diners, two young women.

‘
Ya sas
, ladeez,’ he said and soon they were laughing with him. Neither could take their eyes off my Greek childhood friend. No idea why. The fact that I couldn’t either meant, um, nothing at all.

‘Apollo?’ I said to a black cat that strolled over and meowed. I picked him up and tickled his chin, before running my hand over the soft fur. Niko eventually came back, carrying two plates of moussaka – not without winking at the tourists, as he passed them. Sophia left us alone at the table to catch up. Carefully, I put the purring cat down.

‘I can’t believe Apollo is still around.’

Niko forked up the juicy layers of meat and vegetables as if he’d not eaten for a week. Henrik would not have approved – back home, he never ate without a full set of cutlery and napkin.

Several mouthfuls later, Niko paused for breath. A chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Sorry, hunger wins over manners when I’ve been out fishing all morning… Yes, Apollo does well – he is eighteen this year and still catching mice. And I can’t believe you’ve come back, Tomboy…’ His eyes shone. ‘Although I cannot call you that any more.’ He put down his fork and reached for my hand. ‘Those manicured nails – so mature and sophisticated, no? And your neatly tied-back hair… Where are those cute spots on your cheeks?’