hard for dog-loving Mrs Manos who had taken in a couple of strays, keeping them in the shed at the back of her property. She fed them unsellable scraps from the butcher’s business. I’d wanted to home one, but Niko wasn’t keen. Not until we moved out of the taverna into our own place. Which made sense. Since we’d got engaged and talked of the future I’d seen a new side to Niko that was less spontaneous; more logical. That was good, right?
Mrs Manos stood up and went over to Yanis. ‘We go,’ she said and sniffed loudly before nodding at Niko’s parents. ‘Thanks for the coffee and cake.’ She glanced at me. ‘As for this meeting…a Christmas market? What difference will that really make?’ Her voice wobbled. ‘Until our businesses take off next summer and the Marine Museum is completed…’ She threw her arms in the air. ‘I know not where the money comes from to pay the electricity for my big refrigerators, let alone help pay for my young grandson’s measles jab. And as for Christmas presents…this pointless idea belongs to a thriving English town, not a Greek village crippled by debt.’
Yanis patted his mother’s shoulder as my mouth went dry.
‘Mama is right,’ he said. ‘Everything going to still be a struggle, for a few months at least. A market no make any difference.’
Mrs Manos shook her head. ‘At the moment I see so few prospects for our children. How will a Christmas market change that?’
I swallowed and thought back to Mrs Manos’ comment about her grandson’s measles jab. Only last week I’d got talking to a doctor in Kos Town, who shook his head saying he had diagnosed many a case of malnutrition in hard-off adults and children.
‘Mrs Manos, Yanis, I know my idea doesn’t seem like much at the moment, but—’
She snorted. ‘A market stall won’t raise enough to buy even the door of the new money-saving freezer we need, to cut down running costs.’
Pandora glared at her but I noticed the way Mrs Manos’ chin trembled; how she wrung her nicotine-stained hands. A lump formed in my throat.
‘It’s got to be better than doing nothing,’ I said softly. ‘Let’s see… Taxos schoolchildren do a dance performance each year for the parents, don’t they? Maybe they could perform a couple of times a day, out in the street, for visitors? We could have fun games like…like hook-a-turtle,’ I said, ignoring the blank stares from people who’d clearly never heard of hook-a-duck.
Uncle Christos rubbed his chin. ‘Really, it would be more like a fair.’
My eyebrows raised. ‘Yes, that’s an even better concept. We’d have Christmas music playing or carol-singers…’
‘Mama, Papa, you could serve hot egg-lemon chicken and rice soup in mugs, with chunks of sourdough bread from the taverna, for local visitors who want their traditional festive food,’ said Niko.
‘Pandora, what about selling some of your handkerchiefs?’ I said. She’d built up quite a collection since her husband had died in a local forest fire, when Niko and I were children. Clearly, sewing had filled many an empty evening.
‘Me and Niko could plan a Christmas-themed treasure hunt each day for children, with some strategically placed boats on the beach,’ said Niko’s cousin Stefan.
Vigorously I nodded my head.
‘Perhaps your friendly goats could wear cardboard antlers,’ I said to the Dellises.
Yanis muttered something under his breath, rolled his eyes and left with his mum.
Ignoring their departure, Mr Dellis bowed. ‘And we could offer donkey rides. Our youngest ass loves children and we’d make sure she got a number of rests during the day.’
I smiled. Mr Dellis had obviously heard that the English were huge advocates of animal welfare. Every time I visited to buy some of their delicious goat’s cheese, he would describe, in great detail, how he tended to his livestock’s every need.
A couple of hours later, the villagers had switched from coffee to wine and Sophia had put on one of her compilation Christmas CDs. She was a big fan of Bing Crosby and Michael Bublé. Despite the chilly December breeze, several people spilled onto the back patio where someone accompanied Cosmo’s harmonica with guitar. Fairy lights lit up the outside and inside of the restaurant. Most people seemed to be coming around to the idea of giving my venture a go.
‘I have started making scented candles,’ said Postie’s wife, a gifted jewellery maker. ‘Perhaps, Pippa, you can help me think up some Christmas fragrances?’
‘Yes!’
‘And my legs are used to walking,’ said her husband, a squat man with enormous, postbag-carrying shoulders. ‘Like in the summer, when the village put together that leaflet to advertise our new businesses, I can ask my bosses at the post office if you can borrow our big printer again for the flyers. Then on my day off I will post them around Kos Town.’
‘Excellent,’ I said. I took a big glug of one of Taxos Taverna’s famous orange granitas as alcohol wouldn’t refresh the parts of me worn out by the several hours of animated chat. Grandma sat next to me, in a chair, with a half-empty glass of ouzo.
‘You a good girl, Pippa. People laugh with sparkly eyes – once again you have fired their ambition.’
‘Not the Manoses’,’ I mumbled. ‘Do you think it was a stupid suggestion of mine? Did it…’ My voice wavered. ‘…sound patronising? I’d hate that. I mean, Mrs Manos is right – selling a few festive scones and gifts won’t give people back their decent incomes and dignity overnight.’
Grandma squeezed my shoulder. ‘It’s a great idea. Like you say – at least better than nothing. And who else is looking out for Taxos? Mrs Manos will come around. It’s not been easy for her, since April when her husband died.’
Arms slipped around me and I turned to face Niko’s intense gaze.
‘The Christmas fair is a great idea, even if it will just fill our wallets in the short term. Papa is going to make bags of Greek yogurt-dipped nuts, raisins and figs – any tourists will love those. And Demetrios will make pottery flamingos, seeing as they inhabit Kos at this time of year.’ He shrugged. ‘It will give everyone something positive to focus on.’
Grandma sipped her drink. ‘Just like in the summer, lots of small ideas, pooled together, make one big success.’
‘I’m determined they will,’ I said and pursed my lips.
The villagers started to put on their outdoor clothing, to go home and make a late dinner. Someone tugged at my sleeve. Sheepishly Theo grinned up at me. Of course, the chocolate scones! I dashed into the kitchen and a minute later returned.
‘Thank you,’ chorused Mr and Mrs Dellis.
Pandora came over and hugged me goodbye. ‘Tell us, dear Pippa – the most important thing: what other flavour scones will you bake for the fair?’
‘I’m thinking plain, with a generous dollop of glittery jam in the middle, in different colours, like Christmas baubles…lime green, blueberry purple and apricot orange…’
‘So preeetty they will look!’ Pandora buttoned up her coat. ‘I must work on some festive recipes too, to go alongside my traditional
