Page 11 of The Little Greek Guesthouse

Maria placed the tray on top of the oven. It contained a sweet-smelling, golden pastry. ‘Paddleboarding,’ she said.

Nina laughed. ‘Okay. Or skydiving, right?’

‘Oh.’ Maria turned to face her, frowning and folding her arms, tea towel dangling from her fist. She jerked her chin up. ‘You don’t believe?’

Nina hesitated. Was this some strange Kefalonian sense of humour she didn’t understand? Or was it the monster Theo had warned her not to wake?

Beast, she thought, giving her head a little shake.

Maria’s face broke into a grin and she hooted a deep, throaty laugh. One that spoke of nights of ouzo and cigars. A misspent youth, perhaps.

‘Don’t look so worried, I don’t bite you,’ she said, wiping her eyes and chuckling as she began to slice the pastry and put it onto plates. ‘Funny girl.’

For a moment Nina thought she might say, just like your mother. She didn’t.

She pointed to her foot with the knife. ‘True, though. Paddleboarding. Pour the coffee, eh?’

And so Nina found herself sipping strong coffee and eating delicious pastry filled with sweet, creamy custard with an elderly woman who may or may not have injured herself paddleboarding.

‘So,’ she said, holding her hand in front of her mouth to disguise the chewing. It was so delicious, she couldn’t quite get herself to stop eating. ‘Is your grandson here?’

‘Yiorgos?’ She shook her head. ‘Out early, every day. He’s busy-busy.’ She waved her hand. ‘But good boy, looking after his yia-yia.’

Nina smiled as Maria plonked another slice of the delicious bougatsa onto her plate. She sliced into it without hesitation, the pastry melting in her mouth and the sweet custard filling bursting out. On some level, Nina registered the heavenly flavour, and on an even more minor level, the calories that she was pouring into her body.

Oh well. Holiday rules. And this was delicious, homemade food, not some chemical-filled processed nonsense.

She gazed at Maria as she ate, wondering again if this woman had known her mum, and if she had, how well she’d known her. Were they friends? Nina couldn’t imagine her glamourous, ladylike mum clicking with this slightly cantankerous strange old woman. Fiddling with her bracelet, she tried to think of a way to ask Maria if she’d known Clare, or even what she knew of a young Theo, but couldn’t decide how to ask in a way that felt natural.

‘So, you and your baba staying for good?’ Maria asked, and Nina had lost her chance.

She swallowed down the last mouthful of pie, which had somehow rapidly disappeared, almost choking on it as she snorted. ‘Oh, no. No, definitely not, it’s just a break really.’

Maria brushed crumbs from her lips and raised her eyebrows. ‘You don’t like the house? It’s beautiful, yes? But you too much of a city girl.’ She pulled a face, as though she’d stepped in something unpleasant.

Nina called to mind the holes in the roof and the half-fallen shutters. ‘Beautiful,’ she said. She had a feeling Maria would take any insult to the house as an insult to Kefalonia itself. ‘But we have lives to go back to, you know, I –’ She faltered. She’d been about to say that she had a career, a boyfriend. But all that was gone. What life did she have, really? Tears stung her eyes and she licked her finger, absent-mindedly dabbing at pastry crumbs and eating them.

Maria watched her shrewdly, though not unsympathetically. ‘Things go bad for you at home?’

‘Oh, I –’ She shrugged, shook her head. ‘No, it was just a small . . .’

She sighed. Just a catastrophic collapse of her whole life. That was all.

Maria patted her hand. ‘New start is good. Beautiful place, yes? Good food, good people to make you good food.’ She grinned, and Nina couldn’t help smiling back. ‘So what’s Theo’s plan with the house?’

Nina shrugged. Theo had been a little vague about it, or perhaps she just hadn’t been that interested. ‘I don’t know. I think he needs to do some work on it for a hotel to buy or something.’

Maria drew her hand away from Nina’s, and began to clear up the plates and cups. It seemed that breakfast was over. Nina helped gather the things.

‘I can wash up,’ she said.

Maria shook her head. ‘Not this time. Next one perhaps.’

Nina nodded. ‘Thank you for the –’

‘Yes, and next time we have a good talk.’ There was something in Maria’s expression that Nina couldn’t read. She didn’t seem angry, exactly. But not happy, either.

‘Did you know my dad when he lived here?’ Nina asked. Apparently just blurting out what the questions she wanted to ask was the way to go.