Page 66 of The Greek Café

For a second I almost forgot there were people around.

‘Yes, yes.’ I nod furiously, convincing my brain I am fine. ‘I think I just felt a little overwhelmed. This time in two weeks I will be having my furniture delivered. I guess I just had a moment of uncertainty,’ I tell her truthfully.

Ireta frowns again. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’

‘Oh, absolutely not,’ I assure her, realising that is not the case. ‘I love it here and cannot wait to make it my home. I guess I just had a moment of panic. I have always worked as part of a large organisation. The thought of going it alone suddenly felt a little scary.’

I remember my ordinary life back home then and remind myself that this is an adventure. If it is not a permanent move, then at least I am making some memories to look back on.

‘But you will not be alone,’ says Ireta.

She takes my hand in hers for a second and pats it. ‘I will be with you. And for free.’ She winks.

I feel suddenly reassured, as well as a little emotional.

‘Thank you, Ireta.’

I turn and hug her and she stands a little stiffly, before pulling away.

I hear the sound of a huge truck approaching, edging over the narrow road onto the footpath. The truck pauses as the driver busies himself with ropes, winching the huge skip into the air as some of the village children watch with interest. It doesn’t take long before the driver carefully manoeuvres it back onto the main road leaving a cloud of dust behind.

‘So, what was your dream as a young woman?’ I ask Ireta as the villagers drift off. I wonder where they will congregate now that the skip has disappeared.

‘My dream?’

‘Yes, you said earlier that we were all young once, with our dreams.’

‘Never big dreams.’ She shrugs. ‘I wanted a nice husband and a child. I got both.’ She smiles. ‘I would have liked more children, but it was not meant to be.’

‘And if you had not married?’

‘I liked to make things,’ she tells me. ‘Maybe I would have sold pots or paintings in a shop.’

‘So you are creative?’

‘Yes. I have some of my things at home. Maybe you would like to see them. If you have time for coffee. Or as you are English maybe you prefer tea?’

It is the first time Ireta has invited me to her home and I readily accept.

Arriving at her house, I realise how close it is to the café. It fills me with hope that maybe it will once again become a focal point for the villagers.

Ireta’s house is painted a pale yellow, the front garden immaculately looked after with pots of colourful flowers and a wooden bench swing.

She leads me through a hall to a kitchen with a terracotta-tiled floor, the inside of her home as pristine as the outside. Against a wall is a dresser displaying crockery and various pots and dishes in an assortment of bright colours.

‘What would you like to drink? Tea, or maybe some home-made lemonade?’ she offers.

‘Ooh home-made lemonade sounds delicious, thank you.’

She takes a jug from the fridge and pours me a drink into a long slim glass.

‘Your home is very pretty,’ I say, glancing around the kitchen that has cream units, and an assortment of herbs displayed on a windowsill that overlooks the rear garden.

‘Thank you. I like to display some of my work here.’ She gestures to the dresser, before selecting a pretty white bowl, decorated with tiny blue flowers.

‘You made this?’

‘Nai, I made everything here. At my pottery class many years ago.’ She smiles. ‘It was here in the village but is no more. The lady who ran it moved to Lindos. She sells her pots there.’