Chapter 33
THIRTY-THREE
‘I love it.’
A couple of weeks have passed and I am here to see the completed sign for the café. I almost have a tear in my eye when I see it. The yellow sign with the navy writing looks absolutely perfect above the doorway of the blue painted door.
‘I have to say, it all looks very inviting,’ says Jack as he sips a coffee and gives the outside of the café a final once-over. ‘I might even take up some coastal walking so I can pop in here.’
‘You don’t need to be a walker to come and have a coffee.’
‘True enough.’ He smiles. ‘I might take it up anyway though. My wife enjoys a walk with her ladies’ group. I might suggest we take one together. She says I work too much and that I ought to be slowing down a bit at my age.’
His comment reminds me of what Zeta said about Takis’s girlfriend complaining about the same thing.
‘Well, remember that all work and no play makes Jack a very dull boy,’ I say and he laughs.
‘You probably have a point. But I find my work relaxing.’
‘As long as you remind your wife that she is also your passion,’ I advise. ‘When was the last time you took her out for a romantic dinner?’
He ponders the question.
‘Her birthday, which was four months ago.’ He scratches his chin. ‘Maybe I ought to do just that. Or treat her to something nice. She deserves a medal for putting up with me. Have you ever thought of becoming a marriage counsellor?’
I haven’t exactly been lucky in love, so I am hardly an expert on such matters, I think to myself.
‘No. I just think people need a little reminder of what is important to them from time to time. We are all guilty of forgetting that.’
‘Well, thanks for the reminder, love. As it happens it is our anniversary next month – I will look for somewhere special. And we might just pop in here for lunch one day.’
From the corner of my eye, I see Ireta greet a few of the locals who are congregated near the skip watching with interest. I watch her make her way towards us, pleased I didn’t miss her.
‘The sign looks wonderful,’ she says as she looks up and slowly nods her head. ‘A new beginning.’
A teenage boy I recognise from the village, rides over on his bike and smiles, before asking Ireta a question.
She directs him to me. ‘Why don’t you ask the owner?’
‘Your English is better.’ He shrugs.
‘This is Kostas. He wants to know if there will be anything for the people,’ Ireta tells me.
‘Yes, he mentioned a pool table outside, but I don’t think that would work, as it will be my garden. I do understand them wanting a place to hang out though; I have been thinking about that.’
I tell Ireta of my thinking about a special evening once a week, where I could sell milkshakes, burgers and pancakes in the style of a diner, maybe have some live music.
‘In fact, I might ask if there is any local talent to perform,’ I tell her. ‘Have a kind of open mic night.’
‘What is open mic night?’
‘It is when amateurs perform at a bar or café. They are quite popular back home,’ I explain.
‘Hmm, maybe. It might inspire them to stay here in the village. At least for a while longer. When the village children grow older, they move away,’ she explains. ‘Then it is full of older people. The young think it is boring here.’
‘I don’t suppose you fully appreciate things when you are young.’
‘That is true. Many of them go to the large towns and cities for work. When they are older, sometimes they return. I suppose we were all young once with our dreams,’ she says wistfully.
Ireta relays the information to the boy about a possible music evening and his eyes light up.
‘Nai. Kithara. I play.’ He plays air guitar to demonstrate his point.
‘He thinks it’s a great idea. He plays guitar,’ she reinforces, a little unnecessarily.
‘Then it is something I will seriously consider if there is a demand.’
My town back home has nothing much for teenagers – apart from the swimming pool, which will probably end up closing down. Most of them won’t be able to afford the prices of the swanky new leisure centre. Hardly surprising that kids disappear to more exciting towns with more facilities.
It occurs to me then that lots of local people could benefit from the re-opening of the café. Especially Ireta, who seems to have a new found spring in her step, And the enthusiasm in the voice of the young man tells me he is hopeful the café will be somewhere to visit once more.
I feel a sudden rolling of nerves in my stomach. Up until now, I have had the security of a paid job and live-in accommodation. Soon enough, I will be going it alone and wonder if I am doing the right thing?
I have a moment of panic. Yes, I will have help from Phoebe if I need it, and of course Zeta, but ultimately, I am going this alone.
I feel my heart rate increase, as a feeling of uncertainty washes over me.
My palms feel a little sticky and I can feel my breathing becoming faster. Is this a ridiculous idea?
I breathe deeply and hold it, releasing the breath slowly as I recall the instructions on my relaxation tape. Inhale, hold breath for a count of four. Exhale.
‘Are you okay?’ Ireta frowns. ‘You look a little pale.’
For a second I almost forgot there were people around.
‘Yes, yes.’ I nod furiously, convincing my brain I am fine. ‘I think I just felt a little overwhelmed. This time in two weeks I will be having my furniture delivered. I guess I just had a moment of uncertainty,’ I tell her truthfully.
Ireta frowns again. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’
‘Oh, absolutely not,’ I assure her, realising that is not the case. ‘I love it here and cannot wait to make it my home. I guess I just had a moment of panic. I have always worked as part of a large organisation. The thought of going it alone suddenly felt a little scary.’
I remember my ordinary life back home then and remind myself that this is an adventure. If it is not a permanent move, then at least I am making some memories to look back on.
‘But you will not be alone,’ says Ireta.
She takes my hand in hers for a second and pats it. ‘I will be with you. And for free.’ She winks.
I feel suddenly reassured, as well as a little emotional.
‘Thank you, Ireta.’
I turn and hug her and she stands a little stiffly, before pulling away.
I hear the sound of a huge truck approaching, edging over the narrow road onto the footpath.
The truck pauses as the driver busies himself with ropes, winching the huge skip into the air as some of the village children watch with interest. It doesn’t take long before the driver carefully manoeuvres it back onto the main road leaving a cloud of dust behind.
‘So, what was your dream as a young woman?’ I ask Ireta as the villagers drift off. I wonder where they will congregate now that the skip has disappeared.
‘My dream?’
‘Yes, you said earlier that we were all young once, with our dreams.’
‘Never big dreams.’ She shrugs. ‘I wanted a nice husband and a child. I got both.’ She smiles. ‘I would have liked more children, but it was not meant to be.’
‘And if you had not married?’
‘I liked to make things,’ she tells me. ‘Maybe I would have sold pots or paintings in a shop.’
‘So you are creative?’
‘Yes. I have some of my things at home. Maybe you would like to see them. If you have time for coffee. Or as you are English maybe you prefer tea?’
It is the first time Ireta has invited me to her home and I readily accept.
Arriving at her house, I realise how close it is to the café. It fills me with hope that maybe it will once again become a focal point for the villagers.
Ireta’s house is painted a pale yellow, the front garden immaculately looked after with pots of colourful flowers and a wooden bench swing.
She leads me through a hall to a kitchen with a terracotta-tiled floor, the inside of her home as pristine as the outside. Against a wall is a dresser displaying crockery and various pots and dishes in an assortment of bright colours.
‘What would you like to drink? Tea, or maybe some home-made lemonade?’ she offers.
‘Ooh home-made lemonade sounds delicious, thank you.’
She takes a jug from the fridge and pours me a drink into a long slim glass.
‘Your home is very pretty,’ I say, glancing around the kitchen that has cream units, and an assortment of herbs displayed on a windowsill that overlooks the rear garden.
‘Thank you. I like to display some of my work here.’ She gestures to the dresser, before selecting a pretty white bowl, decorated with tiny blue flowers.
‘You made this?’
‘Nai, I made everything here. At my pottery class many years ago.’ She smiles. ‘It was here in the village but is no more. The lady who ran it moved to Lindos. She sells her pots there.’
‘It is really beautiful, Ireta,’ I tell her as an idea forms in my head.
My eyes run over the assortment of beautiful things displayed on the dresser, which include olive bowls, bread trays and pretty drinks coasters.
‘You really are very talented. I don’t suppose you would ever consider selling some of your things?’ I suggest.
‘I like to have them around me,’ she says. ‘But I have many more. They are in boxes in the shed. I show you.’
I follow her outside and she unlocks the small wooden shed at the rear of her garden, that is as beautifully maintained as the front. I help to lift down a couple of boxes that we carry inside.
Carefully unwrapping some of the pots from their bubble wrap, I marvel at every pretty creation. There are more coasters and bowls, some painted in the traditional Greek colours of blue and white, others in bright yellows and reds. Every one of them beautiful and unique.
‘Some of them not so good.’ She shakes her head. ‘When I first learn.’
‘I disagree; I think they are all lovely.’
‘Thank you. I give them as gifts sometimes to friends. Would you like to take something?’ She offers. ‘A gift to celebrate the opening of the kafenion.’
‘Oh Ireta, that would be lovely if you are sure, thank you.’
I select a pretty bowl that I will display on the counter for tips. Not that I really expect any, but it might be a way to showcase Ireta’s talent.
When I finish my drink, I head back to the hotel with a renewed sense of purpose.
I guess it is only natural to feel a little panicked about a new venture, but I am quickly learning how to push any anxiety inside and focus on the positive.
And with my friends to support me, I’m sure I will continue to do just that, as I count down the days.