The Explosive Nature of Friendship (24 page)

She takes the battery out and shakes it and puts it in again, but there is no life in it.

A vein in her temple begins to throb. She sucks in her lips, chewing a little on the bottom one. Sweat runs down her back. She looks around the square, her eyes darting, unseeing. Her breath quickens. She takes out her purse and counts the change. The tears in her eyes begin to fall, their silence broken by her sucking of air. The sun’s warmth, now full on her, is no longer a tender kiss. It is just heat that makes her sweat. The light is a nuisance in her eyes. The charm of the village turns to desolation. The excitement turns to fear. She can feel herself spiralling into despair and struggles to pull herself out.

Logic. She must use logic. The bar must be here. Abby throws her phone in her bag. Her shoulders are feeling hot, she should put some sunscreen on. But not now.

The woman in the kiosk is counting change.

‘
Excuse me, do you speak English?’

‘
English. Hello.’ She pauses and then recites ‘El’beeback’ and laughs.

‘
Sorry?’

‘
El’beeback. Ter-min-a-tor. English. Welcome, welcome!’ The woman laughs and offers a single wrapped chewing gum from her counter.

‘
Do you speak English?’ Abby asks again, taking the gift without thought, hope binding her manners.

‘
Yes English.’ The woman has a nice smile and, to a degree, it reassures Abby. Her perfect hair transports Abby into civilised salons. Everything will be fine, she breathes again.

‘
I have come for a job, at a bar. The Malibu?’ Abby realises the woman’s next words could quell all her panic, wipe out all her thoughts of her own stupidity, or not. She stares. Part of her wonders how much lacquer the woman must spray on to hold her halo so still.

Finally,
‘Job’, the woman says. She is still grinning as she leans out of her little window and points down the road to where the taxi had dropped Abby first thing.

Abby breathes again, exhales deeply, releases the tension from her chest and automatically says
‘Thank you’ in English and walks in the direction indicated, hoping, wishing. The shop the woman pointed to has opened its doors. It is not clear what it is from a distance. But there are no neon lights, no chairs and tables on the street. It is not the bar on the website. But maybe the owner speaks English and knows of The Malibu.

A donkey brays to remind Abby how far in the country she is. Maybe it’s the wrong village. Maybe the right village is just a walk away.

A petite woman sits outside the shop, slid down in a plastic chair like a child, sucking her drink through a straw. She shields her eyes from the sun as Abby approaches.

‘English?’ Abby asks.

‘
No, I’m Greek.’ The woman smiles.

‘
Ah, you speak English. I am here for a job. The Malibu.’

The woman stands, spilling her drink down the front of her short dress in the process.

‘What is this “The Malibu”?’ Her accent is strong, she speaks slowly, wiping her dress with her hand.

Abby
’s hope dissolves. ‘A bar.’ Surely she must know it.

‘
Where this bar?’

‘
Here, Saros.’

‘
Here is no Saros.’

Abby can feel her shoulders droop. Her bag slips off and onto the pavement.

‘Are we near Saros?’ She feels she knows the answer before she hears it.

‘
The Saros an island.’ The woman waves her arm, suggesting impossible distances.

‘
But the boat said Saros.’ Abby blinks the tears away. She cannot stop her lip quivering.

The woman says kindly,
‘I am thinking it say Soros.’

‘
But the taxi driver! He must have known this was not Saros.’

‘
Did you ask him? What you say to him?’

‘
The Malibu bar. I was told the bar was in a neighbouring village to the port, and everyone knew it.’

‘
What else you have said to him?’

‘
Well, he looked like he didn’t understand so I said Yiannis’ bar.’

‘
Ahhh!’ The woman laughs and Abby feels herself relax a little, she seems to know of it. ‘There is the Yiannis bar.’ She points to the drab-looking kafenio on the square, where the metal-framed glass doors are now wide open and two old men, one with an impressive moustache, are playing an animated game of backgammon, slamming the pieces down, the noise echoing around the village. Abby puts her hand over her mouth and squeezes her nose in the crook of her thumb to stop herself crying. The woman continues, ‘But Yiannis dead. Son Theo now has bar. But not Malibu, never Malibu. This not Saros.’

Abby sinks where she stands, next to her bag, and sits on the kerbside.

Her shoulders are burning.

Dad was right, she has overreacted. She wishes she was at home making his coffee, Rockie there to cuddle, for comfort and to be easily made happy with his marrowbone treats.

The Gypsy's Dream and the other books in the Greek Village Series are available on Amazon.

1. The Illegal Gardener

2. Black Butterflies

3. The Explosive Nature of Friendship

4. The Gypsy's Dream

5. The Art of Being Homeless

Good reviews will help others find The Explosive Nature of Friendship. If you enjoyed the book, please be kind and leave a review on Amazon.

Sincerely,

Sara Alexi

About Sara Alexi

Sara Alexi divides her time between England and a small village in Greece. She is working on her next novel in the Greek Village Series, to be released soon!

Sara Alexi is always delighted to receive emails from readers, and welcomes new friends on Facebook.

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PUBLISHED BY:

Oneiro Press

The Explosive Nature of Friendship

Book
Three of the Greek Village Series

Copyright © 2012 by Sara Alexi

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.