Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
SAM
‘Mega latte for … um, Christopher?’
‘Christoforos,’ a bearded man says, stepping to the counter.
‘Ah, signómi, my friend.’
The man takes the latte away, giving me a look that makes me think he has just cursed my whole family. He trudges out of the shop, shaking his head.
A woman approaches the counter, and I step forwards, asking in Greek, ‘Yes, how can I help?’
‘Kafé filtrou,’ she says.
‘You sure I can’t interest you in the Freddo Espresso? It’s new and sweet.’ I ask her in Greek. She stares at me blankly. ‘Freddo. Gliko.’
‘Sam,’ my mother, working alongside me, warns.
I take the payment as our customer heads over to the pick-up counter, shooting me looks that says if the man hasn’t cursed my family already, she will make sure she does.
Mum busies herself making the drink, and I lean on the back counter.
Sunlight trickles in through the arched windows that offer a perfect view onto the colourful street, a thoroughfare of tourists and regulars alike heading in the direction of the Parthenon.
Music plays on a vinyl player, and people sit alongside red-bricked walls and rough stone floors, colours of beige complimented by dark wooden tables.
No Name Coffee Shop is my family’s pride and joy, but it’s not mine.
No Name Coffee Shop, located halfway up the Plaka stairs on Mnisikleous Street, is Mum and Dad’s creation, catering to the tourists of Athens.
We do get the locals coming in; only, when they do, they always have the worst experience known to man.
Or to Sam. Hi, I’m the problem here. My customer service skills are nowhere near as good as my Welsh mother’s or my Greek father’s.
The woman takes her drink, smiling at my mother, blanking me.
‘That was chilly,’ I say. ‘She’s going to turn that into an iced coffee if she’s not careful.’
‘You’re terrible,’ my mum says, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as if to say ‘what are you like?’ She bats a tea towel at me. ‘I swear you do it to wind them up.’
I smirk. ‘Maybe.’
‘Well, don’t,’ Mum pleads. ‘They’re our bread and butter, you know.’
I do know. Very much. ‘It’s tourist season. We don’t need the locals until at least October.’
Maybe that’s why the locals hate me.
‘Sam.’
Holding up my hands, I head towards the counter as the door pings and a couple head in. ‘I’m joking, Mum. I’ll be nicer. I am trying, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘Take this gorgeous couple, for example.’ I turn to address our new customers, speaking in Greek.
‘Hi, welcome to No Name Coffee Shop. I’m Sam and this is Jill and we will be your coffee connoisseurs today.
’ The couple stare blankly at me and I survey them, taking in the man’s burnt neck and nose, the camera strapped around his chest, and the backpack the woman carries. I repeat it in English.
To my relief, the couple grin at me. ‘Hi, Sam. I’m Tim. This is my wife, Jemima.’ They’re British, I know that much. Yorkshire, perhaps? ‘Don’t suppose we could have two black coffees, could we, lad?’
‘Greek style,’ Jemima adds.
‘Two black coffees Greek style coming right up,’ I say. I stop at the rack of mugs, my brow knitted. ‘Or maybe I could interest you in a sweet Freddo?’
‘Will you just get on with it?’ Mum laughs.
As I’m making the coffees for Tim and Jemima I sing along to the music, a Beyoncé song. My voice rings out through the shop, out of tune and tone deaf. Mum is used to it by now, but Jemima films me from where she’s sat near the window.
I play up to her camera, using the extendable tap to sing into it. Mum flips the switch and water splashes straight into my mouth.
‘Mum,’ I choke.
She’s hunched over, cackling. Jemima hoots as Tim claps.
These are the customers I like. They’re fun.
I dab at my wet face with blue kitchen roll, as I head back to the coffee machine.
I do like my life in Athens, but there’s an itch, a need to explore the world, to find something more. I have an emptiness that needs filling. A need for excitement, for something different.
As I place the coffees down on Tim and Jemima’s table, smiling, I feel as though I’m overdue a change in this monotonous routine I’ve created for myself.