Page 39 of The Little Greek Guesthouse

Looking up, Nina saw the young waitress in tears as she put the beers on a tray ready to bring over. She couldn’t sit silently while the poor girl was treated like this.

‘I think the service has been great,’ she said.

She glanced around. Everyone was looking at them. She didn’t care.

‘And . . .’ she continued, doing her best to keep the rage out of her voice. ‘I didn’t want to come here tonight anyway. I told you that, but you didn’t seem to hear me.’ She put her napkin on the table. ‘I’m going back, to check on my dad.’

Nina took some euros out of her purse and gave them to the waitress who had arrived with the beers. ‘My half of the bill,’ she said, smiling at her. ‘And your tip. I’m sorry.’

Vassilis stared in astonishment as she got up and walked away to order a taxi home.

The cab came quickly, and Nina was soon back in peaceful Metalios. She got out in the square, and took a little time to walk through the quiet streets. Everything was closed now, the café, the market, the shops, and she could see lights through windows and sometimes people sitting out in their courtyards or on balconies, enjoying the warm evening. The sound of the sea whispering against the shore was like a lullaby, gentle and reassuring.

Nina walked over to the beach, taking in the pale sand and dark waters, black and still. The place was deserted, the calm of nature at night, and she felt her knotted stomach relax as she at last stopped fuming over the evening with Vassilis. Stopped replaying it in her head. Instead, she found herself feeling grounded in the peace of this place.

The last thing this village needed, she thought, was a hotel complex with a noisy, bright bar and drunken tourists littering the beach. But that wasn’t the plan. Was it?

Nina sighed and walked a little way along the shore, carrying her sandals, and then began to make her way up the hill to the house. She would check with Baba, make certain their actions weren’t going to harm the wildlife.

Maria was little more than a shadow in the fading light, and Nina only realised it was the old woman herself out in the front yard, and not just a trick of the light, because of the grunts and groans and mutterings in Greek (which, judging by the tone, she assumed were swear words).

‘All right there?’ she asked, stopping to lean over the little white-painted stone wall. ‘Need some help?’

‘No,’ Maria grunted, heaving up a watering can and sprinkling the flowers in the pots. ‘What you doing wandering around on your own? Where is that Vassilis tonight?’

Nina leaned over the wall to tickle Milo’s head as the little goat butted into her hand. ‘The evening didn’t work out so well.’

Maria raised an eyebrow and huffed out a breath as she placed the now-empty watering can down. ‘That Vassilis is a no-good boy. Not a good boy, like my grandson.’

Nina sighed. ‘I think you’re right. And I was already upset, I just wasn’t in the mood, to be honest. Baba’s been a bit – he’s not himself, you know, and he’s lost my bracelet, the one that was –’ To her horror, she felt her voice wobble and catch at the back of her throat.

‘Oh.’ Maria’s bright eyes filled with sympathy. ‘Not the one that was your mama’s?’

Nina nodded, unable to speak, and Maria reached over the wall and hugged her. She found herself leaning into the older woman for a moment.

She pulled away and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry, I’m being stupid. I know it’s just a bracelet, but . . .’

Maria was shaking her head. ‘It’s more than that, it’s special to you. I hope you find it.’ She cupped Nina’s cheek with her rough hand. ‘But don’t be too cross with your baba, eh. He’s annoying, silly man, but he loves you.’

‘I know, and I feel bad; I was upset with him. But I’m just –’

A voice interrupted her, speaking in Greek, and she was sure she heard the word ‘yia-yia’ at the beginning. There was a tone of gentle rebuke and Maria pulled a face as the speaker walked over and took the watering can.

‘My grandson,’ she said, although Nina had already made the connection. ‘Yiorgos. George, you will call him.’

Yiorgos. The grandson. Of course. It seemed so obvious, now he was standing in front of her, that Nina wondered why she hadn’t made the connection immediately.

‘We’ve met,’ Nina said, unsure whether she was pleased to see the man who’d helped her search for her bracelet, or irritated to see the man who’d organised protests against the hotel and been so rude.

He frowned at her, looking equally taken aback by her presence, while Maria watched them shrewdly, turning from one to the other.

‘He is a good boy,’ she said. ‘Looking after his yia-yia.’

‘Trying to,’ George said, smiling at her in that way he had when he talked about the turtles, a disarming beam that broke over his face. ‘But I might just give up on you and go home if you keep insisting on doing stuff like this and won’t let me help you.’ He indicated the watering can.

Maria’s face took on a stubborn expression. ‘My foot is almost better now, boot off soon. And the doctor said I have to keep moving, not just be lazy sit-about.’

‘She said gently, not heaving great heavy watering cans about.’