Page 85 of The Greek Café

I peel two twenty-euro notes from my purse and hand them to her, and she hands one back to me. ‘You have been here almost four hours. In fact, maybe that is not even enough.’

‘Let us call it a trial,’ she says kindly. ‘I am owed money from the restaurant in Rhodes, so I am okay for money.’

‘If you get the money from the restaurant. Didn’t you walk out mid shift?’ I remind her.

‘I did. But when I mentioned them serving out of date food last week and how I might show the photo I took of the packaging to the food inspector, I was told the money will land in my bank account tomorrow,’ she says, a satisfied smile on her face.

‘Wow, I see there is no messing with you. I must make sure I don’t get on the wrong side of you.’

‘I don’t think we will have a problem.’ She smiles. ‘You are a good person. When people treat each other with mutual respect, then everything is okay.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I tell her. ‘Even so, I will just go and check the date on those sausages in the fridge.’

‘You are funny, Erin.’ She laughs.

I tell Phoebe all about the music evening I will be trying out on Thursday.

‘I think it is a great idea. I will be working the bar at the hotel until five; after that I will come along,’ she says.

‘Great. I think Kostas is a real talent. I might see if I can find Simon Cowell’s number and invite him along.’

‘Good luck with that. See you soon.’

These evenings lend themselves to sharing a glass of wine on a balcony with some male company. And there is only one man I can see myself doing that with.

FORTY-THREE

I am happy to see a steady trickle of people from the village appear in the café the following morning. They order coffee and cake and they tell me how much they enjoyed the café opening the other day.

Complaining of the sickly heat, they take their drinks onto the patio area outside. A couple of walkers drop in and glug down iced cold water, before purchasing some more along with a snack bar for their onward journey.

By late afternoon, the sky has grown dark and heavy looking; an eerie silence seems to be hanging in the air.

‘No doubt the storm is coming,’ says Ireta when she calls in for coffee, before joining the other villagers at an outside table. ‘I felt it in my body last night. I had the headache.’

‘Are you sure that wasn’t down to ouzo?’ I joke.

‘No more ouzo.’ She shakes her head. ‘At least not the home-made raki. I am too old now.’

The day passes quickly, the heavy weather sapping the energy from me and everybody else.

I close the door of the café a little after six, and hear the first rumble of thunder that has followed a flash of lightning. I make my way upstairs to my apartment and quickly close the door. As I sit on the sofa opposite the window, I see another fork of lightning dance across the sky.

I try not to feel too anxious as I bury myself in my book, but I find it hard to concentrate.

I busy myself with small things, dusting and watering the plants on my windowsill, as I try to push down my feelings of anxiety. As a child, I would sit beneath the stairs and count the seconds between the thunder and the lightning. The light has disappeared outside, so I flick on a lamp, to discover that there is no electricity.

I try to busy myself with some book keeping, and hoping that the storm passes soon, when I hear another violent crack of thunder that followed some lighting.

Fifteen minutes later and feeling restless, I head downstairs, hoping that the power cut doesn’t last too long as the food in the fridge and the freezer will soon be ruined. As I put the key in the door of the café, I spot Phoebe walking towards me.

‘Erin, are you okay? I’ve just finished a shift at the hotel.’

‘Did the electricity go off?’

‘The hotel has its own electricity generator. These power cuts can happen, but they do not usually last long,’ she assures me.

Another thunderclap has me jumping.