Six
Taverna Georgiou, Kalami
Andras’s mother, Isadora held her hand up in the air and clicked her fingers like she was summoning a Greek god down from the clouds. Then his cousin Marietta gave a little wave. A bottle of wine was in Andras’s hands, the stubborn cork making him perspire even more. He turned away from his family’s table and concentrated on the job in hand, literally.
‘Andras!’ Isadora called.
Cringing, his hand tugged at the corkscrew until finally the cork gave way with a satisfying pop. All the staff were fighting their way through a very busy lunchtime service and his mother wasn’t helping with her constant need for attention.
‘Andras! Come here!’ Isadora squawked again.
He couldn’t ignore her again. He turned around, offering a smile … until he saw Papa Yiannis. The local priest was joining the table. In his long black robes, hat and beard almost reaching his midriff, Andras knew that there was going to be wedding talk. He didn’t want to face wedding talk. Marietta turned to look at him again, her cheeks a little flushed. There was no escape. He would have to just make it quick.
Taking a deep breath, he moved towards them, with the hope of bringing the conversation to a swift resolution. He needed to focus on the restaurant … and run some lettuce up to the tortoise he’d installed in his garden and named Hector.
‘Mama,’ he greeted, offering a smile.
‘Did you not hear me calling for you?’ Isadora asked him.
‘I did hear you but I also heard the shout of Dorothea from the kitchen. We are very busy today,’ Andras said. ‘Business is good.’ He looked at Papa Yiannis then did a double take. Papa Yiannis. He hadn’t thought of asking a priest for an investment in the restaurant. Were men of the cloth allowed to own stakes in businesses? He could be the perfect candidate: quiet, obviously trustworthy, and in regular employment. He smiled at him. ‘How are you, Papa Yiannis?’
‘I am well, Andras. It is good to see the restaurant is thriving in these difficult times.’
‘Thank you,’ Andras said. ‘I have plans to make it even more successful next season.’
‘Sit down, Andras,’ Isadora ordered.
‘I cannot sit, Mama. I have customers to serve.’ He held out his arms, indicating the full tables and the hubbub of lunchtime going on in their midst.
‘Sit, Andras.’
Now the instruction wasn’t a request but an order. Arguing would take longer than just doing as he was told. He pulled out the wood and rattan seat and sank down next to Marietta. His cousin hastily reached for a glass and filled it with water, setting it down in front of him.
‘You would like some more food?’ Andras asked his mother. ‘Dessert perhaps? We have Dorothea’s peach and vanilla cheesecake you like.’
‘Papa Yiannis is here,’ Isadora said, smiling at the priest as if they were all in the presence of God himself.
‘I know that, Mama, I asked him how he was.’ He picked up the water and took a swig.
‘He would like to speak with you and Marietta,’ Isadora stated.
Andras almost dropped the glass. A little water spilled from his lips. ‘What?’
‘Where are your manners, Andras? Wipe your mouth,’ Isadora said, ripping a serviette from the wooden holder on the centre of the paper cloth-covered table.
He took the offered napkin and dabbed at his lips, mainly to stop himself from saying anything else. What did the local priest have to discuss with him and his cousin? Spiros’s earlier comments started to come back to him.
‘We are the chief members of the wedding party, Andras,’ Marietta told him. ‘It is our job to guide Spiros and Kira along their journey this week.’
Guide his brother and his soon-to-be-wife along a wedding journey? It sounded like something straight out of the kind of sickly romance novels that tourists read on the beach. And who was he to be some sort of a relationship guru? He had a failed marriage behind him. The only advice he was going to be able to offer was, unless you want your heart broken, don’t do it.
‘It is important,’ Papa Yiannis began, ‘that Spiros and Kira are fully supported by their family at this time. For them to understand how serious their vows of marriage will be and to prepare them for their upcoming lives together.’
Andras felt sick. He hadn’t signed up for this. He might love his brother and want to be there, standing by his side at the ceremony, but this mentor business was a step too far. He was ill-equipped for it. Or maybe that was the point. Perhaps this was a kind of penance – from his mother and Papa Yiannis – a punishment for getting married in the town hall and not a church.
‘Do not look so worried!’ Isadora exclaimed, her face smiling. ‘I have a list.’
‘A list?’ He tried to keep his voice even, but everything about this conversation was teasing each tender nerve.
‘Cousin Antonia has all the wedding customs that must be performed and we need to help with this,’ Marietta stated.
‘Mama, of course I want Spiros and Kira’s wedding to go smoothly but I run a restaurant and—’ Andras began. He seemed to have to repeat himself several times before things actually sunk in. Or not.
‘This is not for when you are running the restaurant,’ Isadora assured him, her hand patting her tight bun of black hair pinned, like always, to the crown of her head. ‘This is for when you are not running the restaurant.’
He blinked at his mother. ‘But I am always running the restaurant.’
‘Nonsense! There is down time,’ she said, hands flapping. ‘Things get quiet here around three or four o’clock, before the evening crowd come in.’ She sniffed. ‘Do you think I notice nothing?’ She paused to swat at a mosquito. ‘Then there is after dinner service, and your day off.’
He swallowed. He had one day out of seven away from the restaurant. It had been that way since his father had died. Most of his days off recently had been taken up with something that needed organising for the wedding. As much as he loved his family, he equally loved those few hours of peace. Lately he had been working on long-overdue renovations to his house.
‘One day, Andras. For your brother’s wedding … I cannot believe you would think of being so selfish and not straightaway say yes to this!’
He stayed quiet, knowing he was never going to win this argument.
‘I can do most of it myself,’ Marietta chipped in. ‘But I thought perhaps we could talk about it more, over dinner tonight.’
A sinking feeling took hold of his gut and dived it down like a submarine hurtling towards the seabed. This wasn’t just about wedding customs, this was, as his brother had forewarned him, about his mother wanting him paired off with someone she approved of.
‘I cannot,’ he said quickly. ‘I will be running the restaurant.’
‘Andras, you have staff,’ Isadora interrupted. ‘That is what staff are for. And this is an important week for our family.’
He didn’t need to be reminded of that. ‘I know.’
‘Then what is the problem? After the service tonight you will leave your staff to run the restaurant and you will have dinner with Marietta,’ Isadora directed.
Marietta topped up his glass of water. ‘I will serve the marithes you like.’
He shook his head. He couldn’t do this. It would be cruel. To go along with this to appease his mother. Agreeing now would give Marietta false hope. She needed to know that he wasn’t in the market for a relationship.
‘I am sorry, Marietta. We are fully booked for tonight and—’
‘And after?’ Isadora snapped. ‘When you are closed?’
‘I am …’ What was going to end this conversation if running a restaurant, clearing it up for the next day, tackling the accounts and remembering to order the right amount of bread wasn’t going to do it? Papa Yiannis was looking at him like he should start repenting now or end up in hell. ‘I’m meeting someone.’
He picked up the water glass and concentrated on rehydrating as the sentence settled in the air.
‘Meeting who?’ Isadora snapped back.
And that’s why he should have thought this through. How could he expect a simple, nondescript ‘someone’ to suffice when it came to his mother? He could pick one of his friends, perhaps Panos or Vasilis, but he had a feeling Isadora would just dismiss any friend like they were unimportant compared to this wedding of all weddings.
They were all looking at him now, his mother, Marietta, Papa Yiannis. He needed to say something.
‘My girlfriend,’ Andras rushed out.
The first thing he saw as he set his eyes to the paper table-covering was a water glass falling over and its contents spilling. Marietta quickly got to her feet, swiping up napkins and dabbing the mess.
‘There is a lot of noise in here,’ Isadora stated, leaning her body closer to him. ‘I do not think I heard what you said.’
‘Andras said he was to meet a girlfriend,’ Papa Yiannis stated for half of the restaurant to hear.
He felt his cheeks heating up under the scrutiny of his mother and the priest. The one word – girlfriend – coming from the mouth of the man of the cloth sounded more like ‘hoe’. What had he been thinking?
Isadora’s eyes flew to Marietta. ‘He does not have a girlfriend.’
‘No?’ Papa Yiannis asked.
‘Of course not!’ Isadora continued. ‘He works all of the time. He has just said so. And if he had a girlfriend then I would know about it.’
Andras sat there, eyes moving back and forth between each person in turn, watching them react to his words almost as if he were no longer there. He was twenty-eight years old. He should not be treated like he was unable to manage his life on his own. He had started this train of conversation, he might as well get fully on board.
‘She does not live here all the time. We have been speaking on the telephone and through email,’ Andras spoke.
‘What?’ Isadora stated. And then her eyes narrowed, dark irises almost completely hidden as the shutters came down. ‘She is not Greek?’
The words were spat out. He almost felt sorry for this imaginary non-Greek girlfriend he had made up. He shook his head. ‘No, she is not Greek. She is …’ His mind somehow decided to go back to the Kalami Cove Apartments, the blonde-haired girl in a jacket, desperate to have a conversation with her iPhone. ‘She is English.’
Isadora and Marietta both seemed to inhale like they were going to commence a free-dive. Papa Yiannis made the sign of the cross from left to right on his chest. This was madness. And their behaviour was only fuelling his fire.
‘I am sure Marietta can deal with everything on your list, Mama. I really need to get back to work.’ Andras stood up quickly.
‘You will meet Marietta here, after evening dinner service. Ten o’ clock,’ Isadora said matter-of-factly.
He furrowed his brow. Had his mother not heard anything he’d said? ‘Mama—’
‘Do you think I was born in Byzantine times, Andras?’ Isadora asked. ‘You no more have a girlfriend than Papa Yiannis has a wife!’
The priest had the good grace to make another sign of the cross and pick up a glass of water. Andras stood his ground. ‘I do have a girlfriend.’
‘In England?’ Isadora asked.
‘Yes.’
‘So how then can you be meeting with this woman tonight?’
He swallowed, not enjoying his mother’s scrutiny. ‘She arrives later.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Yes.’ What was he doing?
‘She is coming here,’ Isadora continued. ‘To the restaurant.’
He gave an uncomfortable nod.
‘Good,’ Isadora stated. ‘Then we can all meet her for dinner. Do you have a photo?’
‘A photo?’
‘What does she look like?’
Why had he started this? Why hadn’t he just agreed to have dinner with Marietta? He could have made it clear he wasn’t in the market for a romance over the meal she had planned to make. Now he was having to invent people, make up a relationship that didn’t exist and the only person coming to mind was the woman from Kalami Cove.
‘She is blonde,’ he answered. ‘With eyes the colour of the sea.’ He swallowed, unable to face Marietta.
Isadora sucked in a long, slow breath. ‘Eyes the colour of the sea.’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Technology is amazing, isn’t it, Papa Yiannis?’ Isadora spoke, looking to the priest.
‘Oh, yes,’ he agreed readily.
‘Being able to tell someone’s eyes are the colour of the sea from just looking down the telephone.’
Andras smiled. ‘Technology has moved on from Byzantine times, Mama. I have a camera on my computer.’
Isadora narrowed her eyes again. ‘Well, let me tell you something else you will have if this carries on, Andras. You will have the prospect of your new silent business partner not remaining silent if you lie to me again.’ She picked up a fork from the table and squeezed her hand around it. ‘Remember what happened to Uncle Dimitri.’
‘Andras!’ Dorothea’s voice calling across the restaurant was his saviour.
He smiled at his mother, nodded to the priest and looked finally to Marietta. ‘I will see you tonight,’ he said, backing away.
Heading towards the kitchen he started to realise he now had just a few hours to get himself a girlfriend and a handful of days to find a new business partner. Or death-by-Greek-wedding was going to be the only thing on his menu.