‘He’s stubborn as hell, too. Zenobia’s soft as anything, she wouldn’t hurt a fly, but whatever happens, he won’t give her up without a fight. He might be ninety-five but he’s hard as stone.’
‘Ninety-five?’ Stella said, astonished.
‘Well, maybe not quite that old, but getting on for it.’
Louise looked slightly sheepish, perhaps because she’d succumbed to temptation and bought some of the old man’s sandals. She omitted to mention this to April.
‘Would you like me to have a word with him?’ Jon asked. ‘Have you got a dustpan and brush?’
April nodded.
‘Give me a mop and bucket as well. And warm water and bleach. And a bin bag. I’m sure he’ll give the dog back if the chicken mess is cleaned up properly.’
Thrilled to be able to delegate such an unpleasant task, April dug into her pocket and swiftly produced a black plastic bag for starters.
‘He’s Mr Makris, for your information,’ she said, passing the bag across. ‘He reckons he’s above everyone else, on account of his daughter.’
Jon raised his eyebrows.
‘Marina,’ April explained. ‘The artist. She’s a weird one, if you ask me, but everyone else round here seems to think she’s marvellous. They reckon she’s got special powers.’ She tapped her nose. ‘They say she can see things others can’t.’
Jon looked sceptical, but April pressed on regardless.
‘They say she was born with the gift. Personally, I think it’s all a load of nonsense, but Mr Makris loves boasting about her.’
Stella shivered, remembering the artist’s strange comments. Despite having little time for mystic hocus pocus, one thing was certain: she didn’t wish to hear any more of Marina’s ‘insights’, whether there was any truth in them or not.
After April had scurried upstairs to dig out an assortment of cleaning items, Jon heroically headed off to the scene of the crime, accompanied by Meaty.
They’d only been gone about five minutes when April, who wasn’t very patient, plonked the baby back in Stella’s arms and stuck her head round the door to see what was happening.
‘They’re on their hands and knees, scrubbing,’ she said, half excited, half outraged. ‘They’ve got wire brushes. The old fool’s just standing there, watching them slave away.’
The baby, Nikos, started whimpering and clawing at Stella’s neckline now, desperate to be fed, but April was oblivious.
‘He’s got my Zenobia on such a tight leash, she’s probably choking, the poor lamb,’ she went on. ‘And now that old crone, Mrs Papadakis, is getting stuck in. What does she want? It’s got nothing to do with her.’
At the mention of the housekeeper’s name, Stella’s ears pricked up.
‘I hope it wasn’t her chicken that was stolen,’ she mused. ‘She wouldn’t be at all impressed.’
April sniffed, before giving a mean chuckle. ‘Lady Muck!’ Then, leaning further out, ‘She’s having a right go at Mr Makris. Looks like he’s backing off. Ooh! And Meaty and your friend are standing up. And the old fool’s handing Zenobia over!’
‘Thank God,’ said Louise, and Stella gave an inward cheer.
At that moment, the baby finally succeeded in pulling the neck of Stella’s T-shirt down so far, her boob popped out. Luckily, she was wearing a bra.
‘I’m sorry, sweetie, I don’t have what you want,’ Stella cooed, making herself decent again as quickly as possible. ‘You’ll have to ask Mummy. Here?—’
She thrust him into his mother’s arms.
April sniffed again, before yanking down one of her sundress straps, whopping out her enormous breast and latching the infant on. Then she jiggled him to and fro on the spot while he made contented slurping sounds.
Stella didn’t dare look at Will, who was hovering by his mother. He was probably mortified.
It wasn’t long before Jon and Meaty returned with the dog, who was thirsty but otherwise none the worse for wear despite her ordeal.
Jon plonked the mop and bucket on the floor of the supermarket and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of an arm.
