Page 84 of The Greek Café

As soon as the words have left my lips, I hear the café bell once more, as a stream of people head inside. There are maybe a dozen of them, wearing shorts and walking boots. I recognise two of the people as Rita and John, the couple I spoke to the other day at the beach café.

‘Good morning,’ they say brightly. ‘We tagged along with a walking group today. I found your café on Google Maps.’

‘Thank you so much for coming! And for bringing your friends.’

They are all seated quickly, and over the next twenty minutes, we serve hot and cold drinks, paninis with hot or cold fillings. Phoebe’s custard tart soon disappears as the walkers settle in for a second drink and enjoy a slice of the delicious pie.

A Dutch lady tells me that this used to be part of their walking route, but they stopped coming out this way when there was nowhere to stop for a rest. The only place nearby is the Apollo Hotel, and they had got looks for walking mud through the foyer so had changed their route.

‘Our numbers vary, but there are usually at least ten of us,’ she tells me. ‘Every Monday around this time we can make this a stop-off point.’

‘Thank you so much. And be sure to spread the word,’ I say, pleased to hear I will have some regular custom.

When the group leave, one of them places a handful of coins into Ireta’s pretty pot on the counter and comments on it.

‘I will tell the maker.’ I smile. ‘Who is considering displaying some of her pots for sale in the café in the near future.’

If I can persuade her that is.

‘Interesting,’ she says. ‘I like to buy handmade pieces rather than mass produced.’

When the walkers move on, a steady trickle of customers pop in for drinks or snacks, sometimes a chocolate bar. Before we know it, it’s almost noon.

‘I might need to nip out for more bread from the bakery,’ I tell Phoebe, as Ireta appears at the door of the café, looking less sprightly than usual.

‘Good morning, Ireta. Or should I say, afternoon.’ I glance at the clock on the café wall.

‘Hmm,’ she mutters. ‘Do you have any village sausage?’

‘I do. Would you like some?’

‘Nai. And eggs. Two. And thick bread.’

‘My gosh, Ireta, is this your go-to hangover cure?’ I smile.

She flops down into a chair, rubbing her temples, and Phoebe and I suppress a giggle.

A minute later Athena arrives.

‘There you are,’ she says to her mother before she orders a takeaway coffee.

Ireta looks a little sheepish as she sips a bottle of water.

‘I thought I would buy my coffee here and support the café, rather than from my usual place in town.’ She smiles.

‘Thank you, Athena, I appreciate that,’ I tell her as I make her flat white coffee with ease now that I have figured out how to use the machine.

‘I wondered if I might find you here,’ she says to her mother as she waits for her coffee. ‘Maybe you ought to eat some food and go back to bed for an hour.’

‘I blame Georgios,’ mutters Ireta as Athena disappears clutching her takeaway coffee.

‘Bye, Mother.’ She rolls her eyes and smiles.

Half an hour later Ireta also leaves, telling me that my sausage and eggs were very good.

‘Thank you for that,’ I tell Phoebe. ‘I would never have manged without you when the walking group arrived.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ she assures me.