Chapter Eight
Maria stood behind Nina, apron tied and hands on hips, peering over her shoulder. Nina could tell from the sharp puff of Maria’s breath on her shoulder that all wasn’t going well.
‘What’s this here?’ she said. ‘Looks like Milo making it.’
‘I – pastry?’ Nina answered, picking at the lumpy, gloopy mush in the bowl. Her fingers were covered in the sticky mess, and her face, hair and the borrowed apron she wore were splotched with flour. She blew a clump of hair from her face and pushed it away with the back of her hand.
Maria tutted. ‘Looks like bird shit. Here, let me.’ She elbowed Nina out of the way; Nina happily obliged by standing aside.
‘I don’t think cooking’s my thing,’ she said, picking a sticky clump from her eyelash.
She hadn’t realised Maria had been serious when she’d suggested Nina cook for her, but at least her plan was to teach Nina how to make local dishes; if they were relying on Nina’s culinary skills alone they’d have been eating beans on toast.
Maria waved her hand in dismissal. ‘It will come. Bit of practice, that’s all.’
Nina doubted it somehow; she always ate well at home because Theo cooked, but she and Sam had either eaten out or ordered in. She’d always been careful with what she ate, plenty of salad and fruit and water, but she drew the line at cooking it herself.
She didn’t mention this now though. Maria wasn’t a woman you argued with. She chewed on her bottom lip and watched with only mild interest as the older woman expertly sprinkled the dough with a little more flour, balled it and tipped it out of the bowl onto the board.
‘You knead,’ she said, gesturing towards the now perfectly soft and round lump.
‘Huh?’
Maria shook her head, and attacked the dough with gusto. Nina suspected she was channelling the frustrations she would like to be acting out on her. ‘Like this, see? Your mama never make bread with you? Now you.’
She stopped and stood back. Nina was frozen for a moment, in the heat of the kitchen, memories of her mum flashing then fading in her mind; her mum pushing her on the swings in the local park so that she soared higher than all the other children, or crouching next to her as they fed the ducks on the pond, or laughing as they splashed in puddles.
‘Baba always cooked,’ she said, and her voice sounded faint.
It wasn’t that the memories made her sad, it was the unexpected reference to her mum that had thrown her.
Most people, including Theo, didn’t speak about her at all, and those that did usually tipped their head and widened their eyes in sympathy.
Maria was matter of fact, her focus on Nina’s lack of cooking skills rather than her bereavement.
She wanted so badly to ask if Maria had met her mum, to ask what she knew of her and pick her clean of the details, of any small snippet she could glean that was new.
Her heart was racing and her mind clamouring with unasked questions.
But Maria was pushing her, with surprising strength, towards the kitchen counter and gesturing forcefully at the dough.
And somehow, as Nina copied Maria’s example of squashing and stretching the dough, the words wouldn’t come. She was in a daze.
‘Okay, good. Stop, stop, stop.’ Maria shooed her out of the way. ‘Never overwork it. But we will make a cook out of you yet, yes?’ She nodded at Nina, smiling a little, and the moment passed. ‘Now, we cover it and make the filling.’
She hobbled over to the sink, dampening a tea towel that she pulled from a drawer and placing it over the bowl. Nina stood dumbly, watching, her mind churning with questions she wanted to ask.
‘Okay now, chop the onion and garlic, quick to it,’ Maria said, bustling over and placing the ingredients they needed on the chopping board.
Nina, who had watched Theo cook so often, was confident she could do this at least. They were making spanakopita, one of her favourites, and she couldn’t wait to take a piece home for Theo to try.
‘Okay, yes, good-good. Nice and neat, eh? Not big chunks to chew, eh? And now you tell me all your news and about this work you do on the house.’
And, under Maria’s instruction and scolding and fussing, Nina talked about the house and the work they were doing and her ideas of how it could be decorated, were they staying.
As she spoke she sautéed the onions and garlic, added spinach and parsley, and waited until it had cooled to add eggs, ricotta and feta.
The result was a delicious creamy mixture that smelled enticing.
‘Now, what about this hotel then?’ Maria asked. Her tone was nonchalant, but her gaze shrewd.
Nina shrugged. ‘Baba hasn’t told me much.’
‘It’s a local? Couple is making it into guesthouse maybe?’
Nina frowned. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
Maria turned away from her a little, idly stirring the mixture and nodding her approval. Her voice was light when she replied, but there was something strained about it. ‘Oh yes-yes, okay. So they just want the building nice for the guests?’
Nina shrugged. ‘I suppose so.’ The truth was Theo hadn’t spoken much about this, and Nina’s information was hazy at best. ‘I don’t think he’s sold it yet because he said he wants it looking its best to get the best offer or something.’
Maria was still for a moment, staring intently at the spanakopita mixture.
Her back was stiff and her shoulders tense, but when she turned she smiled.
‘Okay, okay,’ she said softly. She shooed Nina over, waving her hands.
‘Now so, we take this off the heat and roll out the pastry, yes.’ Her sharp gaze took in the state of Nina’s apron, face and hair. ‘I show you first.’
‘I thought I saw you last night,’ Nina said as she leaned her elbow on the side and her chin on her hand, idly watching as Maria expertly balled the pastry into twelve portions, rolling and pulling each one into a papery thinness before layering them.
She began placing the layers in a pan, brushing a few with oil, then pouring the filling on before adding pastry on top.
She frowned as she worked, her mouth pinched into a crimped line and her face bent close to the pie she was assembling.
‘Looking up at the house? You were with someone. Was it your grandson?’
It smelled tempting, the cheese and spinach mixture having melted together, and Nina was almost distracted enough by the anticipation of the delicious flavour not to notice Maria’s sudden silence; the older woman seemed to have forgotten Nina, and was entirely focused on her creation.
‘Maria?’
Maria turned to her with a slightly startled expression, as though she’d forgotten Nina was there.
‘Last night? Was it you?’
‘Yes, yes, expect so,’ Maria said vaguely, waving Nina out of the way so she could place the pie in the oven.
‘How long does it take?’ Nina asked.
‘Oh, it’s a long time, long time to bake. Best you go now.’
‘Oh but – perhaps I could wait and we’ll have a coffee or . . .?’
But Maria was already shaking her head. ‘No, no,’ she said, taking Nina by the arm and propelling her firmly towards the door. ‘My grandson is coming home this moment now and you must go.’
‘But I – I was going to bring a piece to Baba . . .’
‘I bring. Later I’ll bring. You go.’
And Nina found herself in the courtyard, blinking against the sun that bounced off the white slabs and breathing in the scent of the flowers that Milo chewed on as the door was closed behind her.
Well really, she thought crossly as she began to march back home, there was no need for that rudeness.
It was one thing to be a quirky old woman, but there was no excuse for inviting someone over to teach them how to cook spanakopita then kicking them out before the bloody thing was even out of the oven.
And now she’d have nothing to show Theo for her efforts.
Although, thinking about it, she had to grudgingly admit that her efforts had been minimal.
Perhaps Maria had sensed her lack of interest and that was why she’d evicted her.
Well. Next time she’d just have to try harder, she supposed.
Perhaps it was a good thing their cooking session had been cut short anyway; this way she had more time to get ready for her date with Vassilis.
Yes, she thought as she neared her own door, this was what she needed to focus on; she was a young woman, about to enjoy a sophisticated and fun evening with a handsome man.
She wasn’t a kid being taught how to bake by her granny.
Theo was in the courtyard when she came in, his bare feet propped up on a spare chair and a bottle of Mythos sitting on the table next to him, condensation beading on its surface.
‘Hi, Baba,’ she said, kissing his round tanned cheek. ‘Hard at it?’
‘Oh,’ he said, raising his hands in protest. ‘Oh your poor old baba works all day and at last I take a little break and here you come and accuse me of lazy, is it?’ Nina grinned as she watched him; even this performance lacked energy, he didn’t bother moving his feet from where they rested.
She hadn’t seen him this relaxed in years.
‘And what is it you been doing, drinking coffee with an old woman?’
‘I was making spanakopita, actually – well, Maria did most of it but I helped.’
He turned his head to look around in an exaggerated manner, shading his eyes and peering at her, at the table, around the courtyard. ‘Where is it then? I don’t see none.’
Nina laughed and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Stop that, she wouldn’t let me bring it. She kicked me out!’
At this Theo leaned forward, placing his feet on the floor. ‘What? Why did she do this?’
Nina shrugged, her cheeks beginning to flame with a return of righteous indignation. ‘I don’t know, she said it takes ages to bake and –’
He snorted. ‘It does not.’
‘And she said her grandson was coming back and I had to go but she said she’ll bring some round later.’
Theo sat back again, replacing his feet on the chair. ‘Oh well, the grandson,’ he said, waving a hand in dismissal. ‘No wonder, she thinks the moon shines out of that boy’s backside. Always she has. Par for pause with her.’
Nina’s lips twitched and she pushed Theo’s feet off the chair so she could sit. ‘Par for the course, Baba.’
‘This is what I said.’
‘She was asking about the hotel that’s buying the house, and I didn’t really know – what’s happening with that?’
Theo picked up his beer and took a slow swig, gazing out over the wall to the view of sea and sky. He shuffled forward in his seat then settled back again.
‘Ah, you know – we’re getting it ready, so I get a better offer.’
‘Yes, I know, but from who?’
‘Well, you know, Baba got his fingers in some pies.’ He wiggled said fingers in the air.
‘Playing the game, got plans and plans. Making sure I keep that promise to your mama that I’ll look after you.
No worries for you, I do my job properly, you will be looked after.
But we have time, my Antheia. Few weeks before the biggle wigs are coming to see. ’
Nina laughed. ‘Big wigs, Baba.’
He shrugged. ‘What I said. Now, aren’t you out on the big date tonight, yes?’
Nina picked up her phone and checked the time. It wouldn’t hurt to start getting ready.