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‘Of course,’ Roula said. ‘I can take some over tomorrow.’
‘That would be great,’ Galen said, relief evident in his voice. ‘She’ll eats for you.’
But then the moment was ruined as Roula turned a favour for a boss—or a long-ago friend, or whatever they were—into something far more personal.
‘I divert her with conversation while she eats,’ Roula said, and then she caved for the second time. ‘Whereas you just try to divert her with food.’
‘Don’t worry about the soup,’ Galen snapped. ‘I’ll make it myself.’
Good luck with that, Roula was tempted to call as he stalked off.
It was a taste of home, Roula thought that night as she unpacked the ingredients—and not just ones from the store.
She’d actually brought a packet of yellow split peas from home especially for Kupia Florakis, and she’d brought the dried mushroom powder from there too. It was a dish famous on Santorini, and also Anapliró, where the rich volcanic soil meant it could never be quite replicated.
Roula sniffed the fragrant garlicky air and found her mouth pooling with saliva. The scent was just too strong.
She walked out into the hallway but the scent followed her there, so she went into the bedroom and opened the window and breathed in the fresh air.
It was like having Covid in reverse. She’d suddenlygaineda sense of smell.
Galen’s scent...the soup...
Stop it, Roula told herself, even as she walked into the bathroom and stared at a box of tampons that had been there, unopened, since her arrival.
New job, Roula told herself. New city... Brother facing prison for murder. Family disowning her.
There were many reasons for her period being late.
Yet as the soup bubbled away so too did her emotions, and there were long-ago memories of Dimitrios’s temper at the arrival of her period each month.
Of course it had got worse when Ella, already having two sons, had announced that she was pregnant with twins!
But then she remembered getting her period one particular month, when that little baby who never was had made her brave. Roula stood there recalling it—the moment of decision. How could she bring a baby into a world that even she didn’t want to be in?
Oh, please, not now...
Thankfully Roula had the foresight to turn off the fava soup before she curled up on her bed and cried.
Galen wasn’t having a great night either.
Of course he hadn’t made it, but the chef at V’s might well weep to see Galen actually wearing his special recipe fava soup.
‘No!’ Yaya had shouted as she’d flung it towards him.
‘Shh...’ Galen said now, trying to soothe her. ‘Come on, take your pills.’
She spat them out, and for a woman of ninety she was very strong, because not even Galen and the one-on-one nurse were quick enough to stop her from pulling her IV out—and that was before the transfusion had even started.
‘Leave me alone!’ she shouted. ‘Enough!’
‘Yaya,’ Galen said. ‘You need it.’
‘You never listen to me!’ she yelled. ‘I tried to help you and what did I get? Trouble. Every day you bring home trouble. Get out! Give me peace...’
