Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
It’s just after ten in the morning and not a single person has walked through the door of the café.
I am checking the drinks and food contents for the umpteenth time, when I hear the tinkle of the bell on the door. It’s Phoebe.
‘How is it going?’ she asks cheerfully.
‘Not great. In fact, you are the first person to walk through the door this morning.’ I sigh.
‘Oh, but the day is still young. Try not to worry.’
‘I am worried that people just showed up yesterday for the free food and drink. And out of curiosity.’
‘I’m sure that is not true. Perhaps some people are a little hungover.’ She raises an eyebrow.
‘I suppose so.’ Her comment makes me feel a little better. ‘So how are you after seeing Nicos yesterday?’ I ask.
‘A little sad. I threw away the chance to marry a good man,’ she says. ‘Seeing him with another woman made me realise that, but what can I do? It has been almost a year now since we split.’
‘I have told you what to do. Talk to him,’ I urge her once more. ‘You weren’t ready at the time; you can’t beat yourself up about that. And the fact that you haven’t met anyone else is very telling.’
‘It is true. But work has kept me busy.’
‘Anyway, thank you for calling over, Phoebe, but I can’t imagine I will be able to give you any paid hours today. Not without any customers.’
As soon as the words have left my lips, I hear the café bell once more, as a stream of people head inside. There are maybe a dozen of them, wearing shorts and walking boots. I recognise two of the people as Rita and John, the couple I spoke to the other day at the beach café.
‘Good morning,’ they say brightly. ‘We tagged along with a walking group today. I found your café on Google Maps.’
‘Thank you so much for coming! And for bringing your friends.’
They are all seated quickly, and over the next twenty minutes, we serve hot and cold drinks, paninis with hot or cold fillings. Phoebe’s custard tart soon disappears as the walkers settle in for a second drink and enjoy a slice of the delicious pie.
A Dutch lady tells me that this used to be part of their walking route, but they stopped coming out this way when there was nowhere to stop for a rest. The only place nearby is the Apollo Hotel, and they had got looks for walking mud through the foyer so had changed their route.
‘Our numbers vary, but there are usually at least ten of us,’ she tells me. ‘Every Monday around this time we can make this a stop-off point.’
‘Thank you so much. And be sure to spread the word,’ I say, pleased to hear I will have some regular custom.
When the group leave, one of them places a handful of coins into Ireta’s pretty pot on the counter and comments on it.
‘I will tell the maker.’ I smile. ‘Who is considering displaying some of her pots for sale in the café in the near future.’
If I can persuade her that is.
‘Interesting,’ she says. ‘I like to buy handmade pieces rather than mass produced.’
When the walkers move on, a steady trickle of customers pop in for drinks or snacks, sometimes a chocolate bar. Before we know it, it’s almost noon.
‘I might need to nip out for more bread from the bakery,’ I tell Phoebe, as Ireta appears at the door of the café, looking less sprightly than usual.
‘Good morning, Ireta. Or should I say, afternoon.’ I glance at the clock on the café wall.
‘Hmm,’ she mutters. ‘Do you have any village sausage?’
‘I do. Would you like some?’
‘Nai. And eggs. Two. And thick bread.’
‘My gosh, Ireta, is this your go-to hangover cure?’ I smile.
She flops down into a chair, rubbing her temples, and Phoebe and I suppress a giggle.
A minute later Athena arrives.
‘There you are,’ she says to her mother before she orders a takeaway coffee.
Ireta looks a little sheepish as she sips a bottle of water.
‘I thought I would buy my coffee here and support the café, rather than from my usual place in town.’ She smiles.
‘Thank you, Athena, I appreciate that,’ I tell her as I make her flat white coffee with ease now that I have figured out how to use the machine.
‘I wondered if I might find you here,’ she says to her mother as she waits for her coffee. ‘Maybe you ought to eat some food and go back to bed for an hour.’
‘I blame Georgios,’ mutters Ireta as Athena disappears clutching her takeaway coffee.
‘Bye, Mother.’ She rolls her eyes and smiles.
Half an hour later Ireta also leaves, telling me that my sausage and eggs were very good.
‘Thank you for that,’ I tell Phoebe. ‘I would never have manged without you when the walking group arrived.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ she assures me.
I peel two twenty-euro notes from my purse and hand them to her, and she hands one back to me. ‘You have been here almost four hours. In fact, maybe that is not even enough.’
‘Let us call it a trial,’ she says kindly. ‘I am owed money from the restaurant in Rhodes, so I am okay for money.’
‘If you get the money from the restaurant. Didn’t you walk out mid shift?’ I remind her.
‘I did. But when I mentioned them serving out of date food last week and how I might show the photo I took of the packaging to the food inspector, I was told the money will land in my bank account tomorrow,’ she says, a satisfied smile on her face.
‘Wow, I see there is no messing with you. I must make sure I don’t get on the wrong side of you.’
‘I don’t think we will have a problem.’ She smiles. ‘You are a good person. When people treat each other with mutual respect, then everything is okay.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ I tell her. ‘Even so, I will just go and check the date on those sausages in the fridge.’
‘You are funny, Erin.’ She laughs.
I tell Phoebe all about the music evening I will be trying out on Thursday.
‘I think it is a great idea. I will be working the bar at the hotel until five; after that I will come along,’ she says.
‘Great. I think Kostas is a real talent. I might see if I can find Simon Cowell’s number and invite him along.’
‘Good luck with that. See you soon.’
These evenings lend themselves to sharing a glass of wine on a balcony with some male company. And there is only one man I can see myself doing that with.