Page 80 of The Greek Café

‘This is the best spanakopita I have tasted, Ireta,’ I tell her as I dig into a tasty slice.

‘I will make some to sell at the café,’ she offers once again.

‘Thank you. I don’t think I could make anything as good as this.’

I notice Phoebe glancing distractedly out of the window, before helping herself to some bread and Greek dips at the table.

‘Everything okay?’ I offer her a glass of Prosecco, which she gratefully accepts.

‘I saw Nicos outside. I think he was going to come inside, before he spotted me,’ she says, before glugging down her drink.

‘Maybe you should have gone out and invited him in?’

‘Perhaps I would have done,’ she tells me, looking a little sad. ‘If he had not had another woman with him.’

‘Someone from the village?’

‘I did not recognise her. Maybe she is someone he works with,’ she says with pain behind her eyes.

Once more, I think of how things can go wrong between two people, due to a misunderstanding or lack of communication.

‘I believe in what will be will be,’ I say to Phoebe. ‘But I don’t think you can keep avoiding each other. Try and talk to Nicos.’

‘I will. Maybe I have been afraid of making a fool of myself, but I know I must talk to him.’

‘Be brave.’ I touch her arm. ‘Sometimes we have to face our fears.’

‘Sorry I am late.’ Zeta breezes through the door, wearing a pale pink dress, and matching lipstick. All eyes are on her, especially those of the village men, whose wives give them steely glares.

‘Zeta, hi, gosh you look pretty in pink,’ I tell her.

‘Thank you. Here, this is for you.’ She hands me a gift bag.

Inside is an expensive-looking hand-painted vase.

‘In the colours you mentioned you would be decorating your room in.’

‘It’s perfect, Zeta. I will show you the finished room upstairs shortly.’ I offer her a glass of Prosecco. ‘Or maybe you would like some contraband ouzo?’ I point over to a few people crowded around the table Ireta is sitting at.

‘No, this is fine,’ she laughs.

‘What’s going on here then?’ I ask as Ireta stuffs something back into her handbag. Two old guys swig back a shot of something, one of them her friend who has made it.

‘Ireta, I told you about the home brew,’ I say, but it is hard to be cross with her as she has done so much to help me.

‘Do not worry. I only have a small bottle. I told you, just for good friends.’ She winks.

We eat and drink, and I speak to Kostas.

‘So do you know any other musicians?’ I ask him.

‘Nai, I mean yes.’ He nods. ‘I am hoping to improve my English.’

‘Would you like to sing here sometime? You know I mentioned a music evening. I was thinking maybe giving it a try this coming Thursday. I could stay open a little later.’

‘Yes,’ he says excitedly. ‘I have guitar and also a microphone.’

‘Great. Would you like to come along this evening around seven? Show me what you have got?’ I smile.