Chapter 22
FAYE’S APARTMENT, HOTEL MARGARITáRI, AVLAKI
‘Are there really no rooms for me to stay in?’ Saffron asked as Faye brought a Greek salad to the little table on her small terrace outside her front door.
As tempting as it had been to get takeaway gyros for ease, her friend, Marietta, had left a bag of homegrown tomatoes, cucumbers, red onion and a jar of slick, fat, purple olives with reception for her.
A loaf of fresh bread, feta cheese and some tzatziki and there was a feast for her daughter’s first Corfiot meal of her visit.
It was almost nine o’clock in the evening now, work was over – apart from the WhatsApp messages that were bound to come in – and she could relax a tiny bit.
Faye sat down and began pouring them both a glass of white wine. ‘Sorry, Saffy, I have one room, but it has to be kept for emergencies. Anyway, is my sofa bed not good enough any more? You used to love staying on it.’
‘Two summers ago when it was a novelty. Dad got me a new mattress at home. It’s like sleeping on air.’
‘That sounds lovely.’ She really wasn’t going to grit her teeth knowing this was another case of Matthew buying something Saffron really didn’t need to win some competition of parenthood that Faye wasn’t even playing.
‘But it will probably ruin your sleep everywhere else.’ And she definitely shouldn’t have said that.
‘Sorry, I just meant that every other bed probably won’t be as nice, sadly. ’
‘Your sofa bed absolutely won’t be.’
‘Saffron, don’t be rude.’
‘I’m just being honest,’ Saffron answered. ‘And, your place, it’s so small. I thought you were looking at buying somewhere.’
Faye bristled. This was the side of Saffron that appeared after she had spent time with Matthew and Matthew’s mother.
They gave her the best of everything, which was what you thought you wanted for your child, until you realised that they then lost a grip on reality and had expectations that could very rarely be met.
Saffron just needed a few days to settle in and realise how much she had always loved the rustic vibe of Greece and how some things were perfect with their imperfections.
‘I’m still looking,’ Faye admitted. ‘But I talked to an estate agent today actually.’ It wasn’t a lie, but she had managed to avoid taking Alexandros’s mobile number. Probably a good thing because it had seemed like he wanted to discuss much more than her sea view and parking space requirements.
‘You need a villa right on the beach,’ Saffron stated, helping herself to salad.
‘I think I would need to become a millionaire to achieve that.’
‘Or marry one.’
‘Saffron!’
‘Well, Dad’s on Bumble now, just so you know. Looking for a long-term partner.’
Faye swallowed. ‘Is he?’
‘I helped him with his profile pictures. Made him wear some of his less terrible outfits. Not the shorts he doesn’t know are in the bi-sexual flag colours, not that there’s anything wrong with that apart from his total bewilderment.
No dates yet, well, not that he’s told me, but I did have to tell him what “wyd” meant. ’
She knew that meant ‘what you doing’. Was that a plus point for Parent Mum? She shook herself. Stop it. She put some salad on her plate.
‘I could do your photos for an app like that. If you wanted,’ Saffron said, taking a sip of wine. ‘Unless you already have someone. I mean, you were on the back of a motorbike with a guy this morning.’
Faye shook her head. ‘I told you, he’s a guest and he happened to be at the airport when I arrived and you were missing. There’s nothing at all romantic there.’ Was there?
Saffron almost spat out her wine. ‘God! I didn’t mean that I thought you were with him! Christ, Mum, he’s like in his twenties and you’re in your forties! Don’t give me a heart attack.’
The feta cheese in Faye’s mouth tasted a little sour suddenly. Why did it sound like her daughter was insinuating she was one breath away from a care home? Perhaps she should have taken Alexandros’s number after all…
‘I mean you need someone with the same interests as you.’
‘Are you going to suggest a nice cream tea or a garden centre trip?’
‘What?’
Faye bit back any next words that might be forming. She was being oversensitive… wasn’t she? ‘I don’t really know if I want to share my life with anyone again, Saff.’
‘Well, you don’t have to share your whole life with someone. And it would be a struggle in this tiny apartment to be honest. But you could have age-appropriate fun. Like you had with Dad.’
‘Wow. OK.’ Now nerves were being pinched.
‘Nan does pottery classes,’ Saffron said.
‘That’s nice.’
‘And she’s going to Bruges with her friends on one of those organised coach trips. You know, so you don’t have to think about what sights to see for yourself.’
OK, that was enough. ‘Saffron, Nan is retired. She’s almost eighty. I am not. I have a job, a good job that keeps me busy and my mind active so I don’t get dementia and I have fun. Fun that people can actually have at any age!’ She picked up her wine and had a large swig.
Saffron went quiet, forked around with her salad, looked much younger than her age… It was her first night back in Corfu; Faye didn’t want to argue and she knew how draining time with Matthew and his mother could be.
‘Would you like to sleep in my bed?’ Faye asked softly.
Saffron’s face lit up. ‘Oh, Mum, are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘No, I don’t mind. The sofa bed isn’t as bad as you’re making out. I’ll be fine on that.’
‘Well, we can talk about that in the morning but don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Saffron said, smiling.