Page 51 of The Greek Café

‘Nai, sandwich. Santouits. Maybe soup in the very cold weather. I can give you my soup recipe if you would like it.’

‘Thank you, yes, the soup recipe would be good. I guess you know what the locals like.’

‘I like to cook. I try to feed my daughter, but she prefers to snack on fruit and nuts.’ She throws her hands up. ‘No wonder she is as thin as a pencil.’

‘The food you mention is similar to what I was thinking of serving,’ I tell her. ‘Paninis. Coffee. Maybe omelettes as they are quite simple.’

‘Omelettes, yes.’ She nods.

‘I was speaking to Phoebe the other day in Rhodes. She said she loved working here.’

‘Ah, Phoebe.’ She smiles. ‘Yes, she was a good worker, always cleaning when the café was quiet. She is a good girl.’

‘I don’t think she enjoys her job in town quite so much. She misses the community feel here.’ I feel it is okay to tell Ireta this.

‘I imagine,’ she agrees. ‘It is mainly tourists in the cafés downtown. But it was good for her to have a change, I think.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Did she tell you about the boyfriend?’ she asks tentatively.

‘She did. Between you and me, I think she may be regretting turning down his offer of marriage. Gosh, I hope you don’t think I am gossiping,’ I say, wishing I could take the words back. Maybe Phoebe told me that in confidence.

‘I do not think so,’ she assures me. ‘I see already, you are someone who cares about people.’ She smiles. ‘I think working in town helped her get away from the gossips, especially the mother.’ She pulls a face. ‘A shrew of a woman. But now? It is forgotten, and they talk of something else.’

‘Village life, I guess. I bet I have been the subject of gossip for buying the café.’

She has a smile on her face as she shrugs.

‘So if things got busy, do you think I should offer Phoebe a job here at the café?’ I ask her.

‘I think you should wait and see,’ she tells me honestly. ‘If it is quiet, you may not be able to afford to pay another worker. At least she is earning good money at the café in town.’

‘You’re right, of course.’

‘But if you need a hand now and then, I will help,’ she offers. ‘No charge.’

‘Volunteer? I could not let you do that.’ I shake my head.

She shrugs. ‘What else do I do? Clean the house, chat to the other old ladies in the village, gather the herbs for the stew. I miss it,’ she says quietly.

I imagine how much Ireta’s life must have changed since her husband died. Especially as they ran the café together. She told me her husband would buy in supplies and keep the outside areas clean and tidy and that her heart was no longer in the café after he was gone. Maybe she needs a purpose once more.

‘Of course! I would love that. I just would not want to take advantage of you,’ I tell her.

There is a sudden sparkle behind her eyes. ‘I promise I would not be a nuisance,’ she says. ‘One, maybe two days each week. I can show you how to make my pulled pork. Very good in the santouits.’

‘Amazing.’

Ireta embraces me, then gives a little cough and looks slightly embarrassed.

‘Okay. When you are open, we can talk. Bye, Erin, enjoy your day.’

If Ireta is back in the café, even for a day or two each week, it might encourage the locals, as well as passing trade. And I will do some advertising too. Maybe I am taking a huge gamble and the café will not succeed. But I feel I owe it to myself to at least give it a try.

TWENTY-SIX

The afternoon passes quickly. I man the adult pool, where I am tempted to tell a couple locked in an embrace to get a room. We are in a hotel, after all. Thankfully, their public display of affection is interrupted by a soft ball hitting the guy in the face, with cries of ‘sorry’ from a teenage boy. I almost thank him. I’m sure their over-amorous snogging was putting off some of the guests in the pool. Afterwards, I cover for an uneventful hour at the poolside bar and soon enough my shift is over.