‘Family life and mess go hand in hand.’ I walked up to a photo on the wall by the back door. ‘What a beautiful wedding dress. You and Mr Manos look so happy.’
‘And young.’ She laughed.
I hadn’t heard Mrs Manos laugh before and turned around. It took twenty years off her face. I glanced at the sink, took off my coat and rolled up my jumper’s sleeves. Around the kitchen stood pottery loggerhead turtles of all sizes, plus one on a fridge magnet.
‘I never knew you were such a fan,’ I said and nodded at a large turtle plant pot on the windowsill.
Mrs Manos smiled. ‘Yanis has always loved animals but especially those turtles. He used to tour the island with his father, trying to get a glimpse. For a few years it became something of an obsession. Any souvenir in the shape of the caretta, Yanis had to have it. He did some very good sketches.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Then he discovered girls.’
I smiled back and turned on the tap. ‘I hope you don’t mind but please, let me wash up. Dipping my hands in hot suds will warm me up after that December stroll.’
‘No! It not so cold, Pippa! And you are my guest.’
‘Why don’t you make the coffee? I’ll be finished in a few minutes.’
She glanced out of the window, which faced onto the garden with a big shed at the bottom of it – presumably where the stray dogs slept. One was sniffing around the garden, near a big green caravan where Yanis and his family no doubt slept. He crouched down and talked to another, tickling its head.
I emptied the sink and ran it full of steaming water. Mrs Manos and I chatted about her grandson who had recently come top in science at school.
‘He has big dreams,’ she said, crooked teeth showing through a wide smile. ‘Like our learned forefathers of astronomy and mathematics, he wishes to discover something life-changing. But then we all have big hopes at school.’ She stared wistfully at her wedding photo.
Had she been happy with her life in little Taxos? My mind jumped forwards, imagining me in forty years’ time, and a sense of unease washed across my chest. Forty years in a fishing village…what seemed romantic in the short term might not over a period of years.
I picked up the dishcloth, but almost dropped a pan on the floor when the back door flew open and Yanis strode in. He wore a coat stained with mud and worn jeans. He caught sight of me washing up.
‘What’s going on?’ he said, brusquely. Mouth pursed, he looked from Mrs Manos to me.
‘Is nothing for you to worry about, dear Yanis.’ Mrs Manos cleared her throat. ‘Pippa simply brought us scones and—’
‘And now she cleans the crockery? We no charity. Thank you all the same, Pippa,’ he said and took the dishcloth from me. ‘Appreciate the thought, but we can manage. Is best you leave.’
Goodness. Talk about an over-the-top reaction. Whilst admirable, sometimes Greek pride had a lot to answer for. I raised an eyebrow at Mrs Manos. Her lips downturned and she nodded.
‘Another time, Pippa,’ she mumbled. ‘Today’s not been good. We received an unexpected bill.’
‘Are you sure?’ I said, ignoring Yanis’ sour expression. ‘I’d love to look at the dogs. If you ever need a hand walking them, I’d be more than happy to—’
‘Bah. Please leave!’ said Yanis.
You’ll never guess what then happened. He muttered something in Greek, grabbed my coat and practically frogmarched me through to the front shop. Yanis opened the door and firmly pushed me outside. I lost my balance and fell over, twisting my ankle. Was that a brief flash of concern on his face? I wouldn’t know as he disappeared and moments later appeared with the basket and set it roughly on the ground. It tipped over and scones scattered across the road. So much for Grandma’s prediction that my new ankle boots would bring me good luck. Their pristine slippery soles were no doubt to blame for my tumble.
‘The Sotiropoulos family think they above anyone else!’ he shouted, purple spots in his unshaven cheeks.
‘Yanis, stop!’ spluttered Mrs Manos, eyes wide, whilst I caught my breath.
Yanis took some deep breaths and then – oh no. I gasped. He lunged at me. Crouching on the pavement, I instinctively raised an arm to protect my head. Had he gone mad?
But Yanis never reached me, because – big mistake – he had no idea that six foot four of incandescent Dutch property developer was approaching.
‘Take that back,’ boomed Henrik. ‘The Sotiropoulos name clearly has ten times more integrity than yours!’ He swore loudly, strode past me and despite Mrs Manos’ pleas, grabbed Yanis by the collar.
Dutchmen in shining armour (okay, Italian suits) certainly had their uses. With one arm, Henrik pinned Yanis against the shop’s doorframe, whilst stretching the other out behind him. I grabbed it and he pulled me up. Hopping, I reached Mrs Manos and did my best to tear the men apart. As much as I appreciated Henrik’s intervention, I could look after myself – with words, anyway.
‘Let go of him, Henrik,’ I said for the third time.
With a snarl my ex backed off.
‘And if you’ve any sense, Yanis,’ I continued, ‘you’ll keep away from Taxos Taverna – otherwise I’ll have you charged with intent to cause grievous bodily harm.’
The Greek’s brow furrowed as he rubbed his neck where Henrik had held the collar tight. ‘No understand.’
‘You were about to hit a woman – whilst she was on the ground,’ spat Henrik. ‘Coward!’
‘Not true!’ said Yanis and his fists curled. ‘Never would hit anyone. Was going to help Pippa up.’
‘Didn’t look like it to me,’ I said in a measured voice, heart racing, having glared at Henrik to keep quiet. ‘And I’ll be around tomorrow – if I can walk – to check on your mother. You’ve clearly got a temper. If you so much as…’
Mrs Manos mouthed “sorry” at me and, eyes glistening, shut the door after Yanis had shook his head and stormed back inside.
‘I hope it’s okay to leave her here,’ I muttered.
Breathing heavily, Henrik reached out and brushed strands of hair from my face. ‘Are you okay, Pips? He didn’t… I mean, before I got here…’ Henrik’s voice broke and his face went all squishy for a second. ‘Yanis hasn’t hurt you?’ He scoured every inch of my body.
I almost teared up. Despite everything, Henrik clearly still cared.
‘Only my pride,’ I said and forced a laugh. ‘No one has ever thrown my scones on the floor before.’
You’d think there was a lot more hurt than my pride, though, the way he insisted on carrying me home. Using his seafaring strength, Niko easily lifted me into his arms (usually to whisk me into the bedroom), whereas
