Chapter Thirteen
Thirteen
If Skye had to choose one word to sum up her first week on Folegandros, it wouldn’t have been something idyllic, such as peaceful or sun-soaked, but rather chaotic.
Despite the gentle pulse ticking over at the heart of the island, life for its newest residents was anything but serene.
When she opened her eyes each morning, the patched air bed lumpy beneath her, Skye was met not with birdsong and the purring breeze but growling engines, a whirring cement mixer, and the thud of Andreas’s heavy fist against her front door.
His was the first face she saw, he the first person she spoke to, and more often than not, the last, too. Kaliméra (good morning) and kalinychta (good night) were among the first entries on her slowly growing list of Greek words.
As promised, Andreas had made her house a priority, and in the days since their drive out to Chora, he had fitted steel support beams in the attic and stripped one bedroom of rotten floorboards.
For the past two nights, Skye had bunked down in the main living area, but that, too, was about to become off-limits.
The downstairs floors had to be leveled before the terra-cotta tiles could be laid—a process that involved spreading fresh cement.
“It will take around forty-eight hours to dry,” he told her. They had stepped outside to escape the noise of Stamatis’s hammering, though Skye could still hear it, low and monotonous.
“Does that mean I won’t be able to get in or out?” she asked. Andreas rubbed his chin in the way he always did when turning a problem over in his mind.
“We can set planks across from the front door to the stairs,” he said. “But it is better if you stay somewhere else for a few nights. There are some nice hotels in Chora, and—”
“I don’t want to stay in a hotel,” she said. Hotels meant credit cards and names kept on file. “I’ll just be very careful not to step on the floor.”
“It is your decision, of course.” He paused, his jaw shifting as if working against him. There was plaster dust in his hair, a crease deepening between his brows. “Although”—she’d known there would be a caveat—“if there is any damage, we will need to begin again.”
Just then, Joy’s halo of copper curls appeared around the side of Andreas’s truck, framing a smile that widened when she caught sight of them.
“G’day,” she said, long red skirt swirling as she made her way over. “How are we doing today, folks?”
Andreas got in before Skye had the chance.
“We were in the middle of discussing the problem of Skye’s floor,” he said, going on to explain briefly about the wet cement and her reluctance to stay elsewhere while it dried.
“Don’t waste your money on a hotel,” Joy said to Skye. “You can bunk up with me.”
“Bravo.” Andreas gave a short nod as if that settled the matter. “The perfect solution.”
“Are you sure?” Skye turned to her neighbor. “I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”
“Very sure,” Joy said, bracelets jangling as she swatted at a fly. “Feel free to stay as long as you like.”
Stamatis appeared at an open bedroom window above them and called down to Andreas.
“Nai.” He turned to Skye. “Perímene.”
This word, she had quickly learned, meant “wait.” Andreas threw it out often, seemingly to prevent her from straying too far away. He might have been in charge of the renovation, but she was still the boss—another fact of which he frequently reminded her.
“éla, you are the one who is paying the wages, and you must be stern with the men as they come and go. Tell them what you want, and if you see them being lazy, you must shout at them. They will not respect you if you are too nice.”
It was good advice in theory. Skye could easily have issued instructions to a classroom of children, but a handful of strange men whose language she did not speak was beyond her capabilities.
The previous day, she’d cautiously asked Stamatis if there was any chance of saving the original wooden shutters.
He had stared at her blankly, then wordlessly tossed the remnants over her shoulder onto the scrap pile.
Skye had waited until nightfall to sneak out and retrieve them, though she had no idea how to begin repairing them.
Her dad had been the artistic one, and he was no longer there to ask.
It caught her off-guard, the grief short and sharp, as if she’d plunged into freezing water.
An ache pulled taut behind her lungs, and she swallowed, blinking hard.
“You all right there, chook?” Joy’s concerned face swam into view. Andreas had already moved away; she could hear his voice filtering out through the open window.
“Sorry.” Skye forced herself to focus. “Drifted off for a second there.”
“It’s this heat,” Joy said, fanning her face with her hands. “God only knows how Dusty spends all day working in it. Have you seen what she’s building over in the girls’ backyard?”
“I haven’t been over since they moved in,” Skye admitted. “It’s been a hectic few days.”
“You’re not wrong,” Joy agreed. “Dusty’s been out there all hours, digging in the ground, creating this long patch from the back of the old hut to the house. It’s going to be an extension eventually—and a fancy one at that. All glass doors and underfloor heating.”
“That sounds…modern,” Skye said. “Aren’t we supposed to complement the local aesthetic?”
“That’s what I said,” Joy replied. “But apparently she had the planning permission signed off before they even arrived.”
“And she’s doing it all herself?”
“Seems to be.” Joy leaned in conspiratorially. “Mini Mia’s been doing her best to help, but the poor kid gets yelled at so often. Dusty’s a doer, that’s for sure, but woe betide anyone who gets in that girl’s way.”
They both turned at the sound of Andreas thundering back down the stairs.
“I have to go,” he said as he reached them. “Stamatis will remove the floorboards from the second bedroom, so there will be a lot of noise, a lot of dust. Later we will begin downstairs.”
“Hot date, is it?” Joy drawled. Andreas frowned, momentarily confused.
“Ah.” He grinned. “Yes, a hot date with a man named Pericles who sells rubber insulation panels.”
He wiggled his brows suggestively, making both women laugh.
“See you later, OK?” He looked directly at Skye.
“OK,” she said.
The truck engine fired, and almost immediately, a loud banging began above. Joy glanced at Skye.
“Is he always like that?” she asked as the two of them started across the hillside.
“Who?”
“Andreas. I don’t know, he seems so concerned about you. He’s always checking in, telling you where he’ll be, making sure you’re all right.”
“Is he?” Skye was careful to keep her tone neutral. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“I reckon someone might have a little crush…”
Skye gave a half smile. “I hope you don’t mean me?”
“Not you, him. What’s his story, anyway? Is he married?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, does he? But then, maybe Greeks don’t.”
“They do,” Skye told her. “On their right hand.”
“Well, there you go, then. Single and ready to mingle—and you could do a lot worse,” she went on, opening her front door. “Andreas is pretty lush, and I’m not the only one who thinks so.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah,” she said, leading Skye through into the kitchen. “Haven’t you noticed Louisa having a good old gawp? That’s one smitten kitten, you ask me. You want a tea?”
She held up two boxes, one of peppermint and the other ironwort.
“Mint is great, thanks.”
Joy filled the kettle and readied two cups.
“Would you, though?” she asked, and Skye turned from where she’d been admiring a framed print of anatomical fruit. Joy had several—a lemon, a fig, and one that depicted red cherries.
“Would I what?”
“Go out with Andreas if he asked you.”
“He’s not going to do that.”
“But if he did,” she badgered, “would you?”
“The kettle’s almost boiled,” Skye said.
“So that’s a yes, then?”
“That’s not a yes.”
“But it’s not a no, either, is it?”
Skye laughed helplessly.
“Stop,” she pleaded. “Andreas is great, and yes, he’s also attractive, but I’m not interested in dating him, or anyone else for that matter. You can quote me on that.”
“I may well,” Joy said. “Ms. Mentionitus next door would be pleased to know there’s no competition coming from your side.”
“You mean Louisa?” Skye blew on the tea Joy passed across. “Isn’t she a bit young for him?”
“She’s twenty-five, and I reckon he can’t be much over forty.”
“Thirty-five.”
“There you go, then. Ten years is nothing, especially when it comes to men. Most of them would jump at the chance to hook up with a— Oh, hey, Theo.”
Skye turned as Joy’s other neighbor strolled into the kitchen.
Stocky and square-jawed, with dark stubble and thick-framed glasses, Theo had the air of someone more comfortable observing than being observed.
He was a writer, born in Greece but raised in England—details Joy had managed to dig up with no small effort, as she’d confessed to Skye, “not from want of trying.” He had arrived on the island with his son, George, although the whereabouts of the child’s mother remained a mystery.
“Apologies,” Theo said now, looking from one to the other. “The door was open, and I—”
“Not a bother, mate. You remember Skye, don’t you?”
“Yes.” He flashed her a hesitant smile. “Hello again.”
“Tea?” Joy offered, but Theo declined.
“I have a favor to ask,” he said. “I was wondering if you could perhaps watch George for me tomorrow. I have a Zoom meeting with my editor, and—”
“Say no more,” Joy said. “Send him over whenever suits.”
Theo rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking toward the floor.
“I’d keep him with me,” he said, “but he doesn’t like the taverna, and that’s the only place nearby with reliable Wi-Fi. It gets so loud in there, and George is— He doesn’t like it.”
“Poor little mite.” Joy sipped her tea. “How’s he coping with all the building work that’s been going on?”
Theo grimaced.
“Not that well. He has his noise-canceling headphones, but when he uses those, it’s hard to help him with his schoolwork, and I have this deadline looming…”
He trailed off, bottom lip drooping miserably. Skye put down her mug.
“Is George a special-needs child?” she asked gently.
Theo looked up, nodded.
“I might be able to help you,” she said. “I was a teacher in my former life, and I have some experience of working one-to-one with children like George. If you’d like, I could sit with him for a few hours on weekdays. It doesn’t have to be here. We can find somewhere quieter.”
“You’d do that for him—for us?”
“I’d honestly love to,” Skye said. “But only if George agrees. It can be his decision.”
“Thank you.” Theo’s shoulders dropped a fraction, as if a weight had been lifted. “So much. I’ll go and tell him. This is…Thank you.”
“Sweet fella,” Joy observed as Theo hurried from the house. “It’s good of you to help out.”
“It’s not an entirely selfless act,” Skye said, her voice quiet but firm. “Teaching wasn’t something I chose to give up.”
It was the first crack she’d allowed to show, and Joy caught it, though for reasons unknown, she chose not to probe further. Instead, she offered a simple, if not entirely untrue, assumption.
“You miss it, don’t you?”
Skye was silent for a beat, and when she finally spoke, the words were heavier than she expected.
“Honestly? Teaching is the only thing I miss about my old life.”