Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
It’s another glorious morning, and I wrap my light robe around me and take a cup of coffee out onto my balcony.
As I sit with my thoughts, a sudden feeling of anxiety grips me.
Much as I would love to own my own café, I wonder if I am running away from reality.
Could I do something similar back home? Would it be easier than having to navigate the Greek legal system?
I try not to listen to my inner voice that asks me what I will do in the winter when the tourists disappear.
Hopefully I can earn enough money before then, once people know about the café.
And the winter months are not nearly as harsh as those back home, Rhodes being one of the warmest islands.
I could give it a year. I read somewhere that to decide about a place to live, you should try and give it twelve months and see everything through the seasons.
Glancing out towards the sea, and listening to the chirruping cicadas, helps to convince me that this is where I want to be.
I could make friends here, especially with the hotel being close by, and chatting to customers would more than fill my day.
And if things don’t work out there is nothing to stop me heading home.
I could be on first-name terms with the locals living in the nearby village and learn enough Greek to get by.
I just know I could settle here; I can feel it. My redundancy has given me this chance that I might never have had otherwise, along with learning of Dad’s life insurance and the savings plan.
I can hardly wait to meet Kai’s friend at lunchtime. I’m desperate to find out what the costs will be. Despite any niggling doubts I may have, I feel an overriding feeling of excitement.
‘Morning, Erin.’
Summer approaches me at the breakfast buffet. She is wearing her hair in pigtails and, in her pink shorts and sparkly logo vest combo, she reminds me of a cheerleader.
‘Hi, Summer. How are you?’
‘Good,’ she says cheerfully. ‘I’m doing the kids’ club for a couple of hours today; we are going to make cupcakes. I have bought sparkly edible glitter.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Your face tells me that you don’t really think so,’ she giggles.
I shrug. ‘I guess I just don’t really have any experience of kids, other than in a swimming pool.’
Over breakfast I tell her all about my upcoming meeting with Kai’s builder friend.
‘You really think you could stay here?’ she asks as she eats a pancake topped with fresh fruit.
‘I do,’ I tell her. ‘I just adore being in Rhodes.’
‘I guess you should go for it then. How exciting!’ she says.
‘It is, although I do wonder whether I can really do it.’
‘Of course you can!’ She almost shouts the words in her enthusiasm. ‘Why shouldn’t you? You told me you have the finances. And that you worked in a café when you were young. You have all the qualifications needed, right?’
‘Oh Summer, you’re right. It will be a café selling snacks, not the Café Royale. Thank you.’
I reach over and squeeze her hand, and she stands and almost squeezes the breath from my body in a bear hug.
‘You go for it.’ She beams.
I can’t get those early morning swims out of my mind, and the temperature here in Rhodes stays warm for almost nine months of the year. How often will an opportunity like this come along? I feel like it is meant to be, and I decide to grab the chance with both hands.
‘It’s actually structurally quite sound,’ says Jack, a cheerful fifty-something-year-old who is wearing glasses and carrying a notebook as he looks over the building. The fact that Jack made the move from the UK to live here in Greece reinforces my belief that making a life here is doable.
The interior of the building already has the layout of a café, with a kitchen at one end and a small storage room and toilet beyond. The top floor is accessed by some stone steps at the side of the building.
Ireta stays outside and leaves us to it. Following Jack upstairs, I push a door open to reveal a huge front room with a tiny kitchen leading from it.
I walk over to the window, and I am instantly mesmerised by the view of the lemon grove, sloping down to the sparkling sea.
‘That’s quite a picture window,’ comments Jack before he prods walls and probes the wooden skirting boards. ‘No sign of woodworm,’ he tells me to my relief.
‘Not bad at all,’ he concludes as he glances around. ‘Bit of plastering, obviously replacement windows, new bathroom and kitchen’ – he drops his voice to a hush – ‘unless you like the brown bathroom suite,’ he teases. ‘And those pink tiles.’
‘Yes, you can leave that,’ I joke. ‘And the lime-green kitchen cupboards.’
‘Actually, they are probably in vogue again.’ He grins. ‘I have fitted a few glossy kitchens in bright colours lately.’
‘Really? I think that colour would make me feel sick. They can go.’
I hope Ireta hasn’t heard me, in case she chose the kitchen. I don’t want to be disrespectful. ‘Although I imagine some people might find them quite cheerful,’ I add, just in case.
He quotes me what seems like a fair price for the renovation, and we head downstairs. Ireta and an estate agent are chatting outside. I have no idea how much the property is worth so a valuation is necessary, even if I do deal directly with Ireta.
‘Kalispera,’ says the female estate agent. ‘I see you have already had a look around.’
‘I have.’
‘It’s in pretty sound condition,’ says Jack. ‘Although it will need a full renovation.’
Ireta eyes the agent suspiciously, who carries her clipboard inside and takes a good look around.
Eventually, she reveals its valuation.
‘In its current state I would suggest an asking price of eighty thousand euros,’ she tells me.
Ireta raises an eyebrow, but I certainly wouldn’t want to be paying more than that, even though I can comfortably afford it.
‘Thank you.’
‘And if the apartment upstairs is renovated to a good standard, it could possibly sell for almost double that amount,’ she informs me. ‘It could be a good investment.’
I thank her for coming and the cheerful estate agent disappears, along with Jack, and Ireta looks at me, as if trying to gauge my reaction.
‘So, what do you think, huh?’ she eventually asks.
‘I think it’s a little more than I want to pay,’ I tell her.
It would take a big chunk of my money, with the renovation costs added in. Although, of course, I definitely want to offer her a fair price.
‘Hmm. Okay, we say sixty,’ she says. ‘You sell to me. No estate agents’ charges.’ She shakes her head.
‘That might be a little low if the valuation is eighty,’ I find myself saying.
‘You say it is too much, now the price is too low.’ She gives me a puzzled look.
‘I don’t want to underpay its worth and rip you off.’
‘Rip off?’
‘Fiddle you, take the Mickey.’
‘Who is Mickey? Take him where?’ She frowns and has me laughing. I realise I must speak to her in standard English.
‘Sorry.’ I smile. ‘What I am trying to say is, we must agree a fair price.’
‘Nai.’ She nods.
‘So how about we meet in the middle and say seventy thousand euros?’ I suggest, which will still give me plenty of money over, even after the renovation.
She mock spits on her hand and holds it out to shake. ‘Okay.’
And just like that, it seems I have agreed to a private sale on a café in the middle of a lemon grove in Rhodes.
For a second, I wonder whether I have lost my mind. I also wonder what my mum and Mel back home will say, now that it is really happening. Maybe they thought it was just another daydream, which is something I am prone to having. Let’s just hope I haven’t bitten off more than I can chew.