4
‘She’s a real character! So’s her son. I bet that flat’s noisy when all the family’s at home.’
Louise hooked an arm in Stella’s as they left the café after paying the bill.
April was newly positioned in her shop doorway when they walked past, with a toddler playing at her feet.
On catching sight of Stella and Louise, she bent down to pick up the child, balancing him on her hip and waggling his wrist to make his chubby hand wave.
He was in nothing but a nappy and T-shirt and was tanned and a bit grimy, with lots of messy black hair, like his older brother. He looked cute and rather grave, which made Louise and Stella smile.
‘God knows how she copes with four kids,’ Louise whispered. ‘Two seems like a lot to me.’
‘I suspect they don’t wash much,’ Stella replied dryly, remembering Meaty’s grubby feet. ‘But I’ll say one thing, she’s certainly doing a great job with their English. Meaty’s totally fluent – he’s even picked up her accent!’
It was a relief to escape the heat and stroll up the main street, which was shady and cool by comparison. They had to watch where they were going, though. The place was quite crowded now and stands were spilling out on either side of the walkway, displaying rows of brightly coloured clothes, hats, jewellery, beach bags and postcards.
Louise stopped a few times to look at cheesecloth shirts and gold earrings, while Stella was more interested in the food stalls, selling local honey and olive oil, bunches of fresh herbs and bags of spices, shelled almonds, walnuts and bottles of Cretan raki, a type of very strong, clear brandy.
Seeing the nuts reminded her of a delicious Greek basil, walnut and feta pesto, which she used to make. Al and the children loved it. They’d have it with pasta or jacket potatoes, for a simple weekday supper.
They were also keen on her classic moussaka, with cinnamon spiced lamb, aubergine and a creamy, nutmeg-spiked sauce. Al used to ask her to make extra so he could take it to the office and have it for lunch the next day. She’d always pop a few homemade sweet treats in his bag, too, as a surprise.
She’d honed her skills at a top London cookery school after A levels, having decided to forgo university in favour of following her passion – food. After that, she’d worked at several leading restaurants and established quite a reputation for herself as a sociable, hard-working, creative chef who specialised in seafood and game.
She went back to it after Hector was born, but found the hours hard to manage. Her then husband was drinking heavily, so she couldn’t trust him with the baby, and when the marriage started to implode, it became clear she’d need to be at home much more.
Luckily, she had a little money saved to start her own venture, and Deliciously Yours was conceived on the back of an envelope in her kitchen. It wasn’t easy running a business as a single parent, but her mother and father helped with childcare, and friends, including Harriet and Louise, rallied round and kept her sane.
‘This isDiktamo, or Dittany in English. It only grows on the mountains and gorges of Crete.’
The male stallholder held up a small white bag for Stella to sniff. It had a strong, distinctive, aromatic smell, something like oregano mixed with lemon.
‘It is very good for the stomach, the digestive system, good healing qualities. You want some?’
Stella hesitated. She could find a recipe when she got back to the villa and surprise everyone tonight or tomorrow with a new tasty dish. She used to enjoy doing that. Reaching in her bag for her purse, she was about to pay when something Al once said rang in her ears and pulled her up short.
‘You never cook any more, you just buy ready meals. It’s not good for the children.’
It was one of the last things he’d uttered before he left. That and, ‘You’re spending all your time with Jon and Jemima. What about Hector and Lily? What aboutme?’
She’d felt guilty, but instead of talking things through and trying to find a compromise, she’d been defensive and mean. She wasn’t proud of herself, but in her mind at that time, Al should have seen how stressed she was and backed off.
‘You’re so selfish,’ she’d snapped. ‘Everything’s about you.’
He’d looked hurt. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Yes, it is. I’m trying to support my best friend’s poor family and all you can think about is your stomach. You’re a grown man; you can make your own fucking meals from now on.’
It was almost the last straw. Ever since they’d met, cooking his favourite meals had been one of the ways she’d shown him how much she loved him.
That night in bed, when he’d tried to get close to her and she’d pushed him away for the umpteenth time, all of a sudden, he’d sat up straight and turned on the light.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this any longer, Stella,’ he’d said dully. ‘It’s not a marriage any more. Your coldness is killing me. I’ll find somewhere to rent. It’s sad, I know, but these things happen. We’ll be better off apart.’
Silence had descended and Stella thought he must have been able to hear the pounding of her heart.
At that point, she’d had a choice: she could have begged him to stay and promised to spend more time at home with him and the kids. But she didn’t. She felt spent, with barely enough energy to put one foot in front of the other, let alone fight for her relationship.
