Page 39 of The Greek Café

‘Of course,’ she says, smiling. We walk to the reception where she takes details of the trip I would like.

‘Very nice. And as you enjoy swimming and snorkelling, the sea at Traganou is perfect.’

‘Thanks, I will look forward to that.’

‘Takis will collect you at ten the day after tomorrow. That is his usual time; is that okay for you? You will take the boat from Mandraki harbour in Rhodes.’

‘Sure, that’s great. Thank you, Zeta.’

‘I will ask the kitchen to make a picnic for you, if you like?’ she offers.

‘A picnic? That sounds nice actually. Thanks.’

‘Enough for two,’ she adds.

The thought of sharing a picnic with Takis has me in a spin.

‘I know my nephew enjoys a nice picnic,’ she says kindly.

‘Your nephew?’ I say in surprise.

‘Yes. Takis is my nephew, although he is more like the son I never had,’ she confides. ‘His mother was away a lot when he was growing up, and she never quite got over⁠—’

Just then a telephone rings. ‘Excuse me, I must get on. I will pass your message to Takis,’ she tells me, so I nod and walk away.

So Takis is Zeta’s nephew? That must be why she is so affectionate towards him, especially if she thinks of him as a son. I wonder what she was about to say before the telephone interrupted her?

I don’t have time to dwell on it, as my day is busy. Manning the pool and covering for a sickness at the poolside bar has the hours flying by. When my shift is over, I head to the café to check on the work. It’s a pleasant early evening and I enjoy the chirruping cicadas as I make my way along the road.

Approaching the café, I can see that the floor outside has been flagged and tidied, and a temporary fence erected around it. I can hardly wait until work begins on the inside and if I close my eyes, I can already visualise how it will look.

The rough stone walls upstairs in the apartment will stay as they are, the brown wooden roof and beams painted white. Vases of wildflowers, white voile curtains and colourful rugs will complete the rustic feel. I can see it all now. The very definition of Greek chic.

Downstairs, I am thinking about displaying locally made pottery and maybe jewellery for sale in a glass display case. With white painted walls and contrasting crockery in shades of green, my little café will be a haven to stop and rest. Zeta has offered to take me to a catering supplies warehouse for the coffee machine, telling me she can get me a discount.

‘It is most important that you serve good coffee. People will travel far for excellent coffee. You must buy the best machine too,’ she advised.

I take a photo of the newly transformed exterior and send it to Mum. Then I head inside and snap pictures of all the rooms in their current state, so I can keep a diary of the progress.

Glancing out of the bedroom window, the view once more takes my breath away. The sloping valley snaking down to the sea, the towering pines and the dazzling blue sky are a world away from the view back home and its grey, uninspiring outlook.

I let myself out, and after descending the rear steps, I see a young woman peering through the café window. I say hello and I make her jump.

‘Signomi. Sorry,’ she stutters, a redness creeping up her cheeks.

‘Please don’t worry,’ I assure her. ‘I understand people are bound to be curious.’

‘Yes, I am curious.’ She nods. ‘I used to work here, when Ireta owned the café.’

‘You did?’ I ask in surprise.

‘Nai. I was sad when the café closed down.’ She sighs. ‘I do not like the work I have now. My boss is strict. How you might say, a real taskmaster I think is the phrase.’

‘Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good.’

‘Please do not think I am lazy,’ she hastily adds. ‘I do the work of three people.’ She holds three fingers up. ‘When people leave, my boss, he does not replace them. He just gives me more tasks.’

‘That doesn’t seem fair. Do you still work in a café?’