you think this young man will get a job at the Diamonds in a heartbeat? It could do with a better type of person in there.’
‘ Oh, for sure.’ She smiles. She, too, is not from Athens. ‘What can we get you?’ She looks down at her counter of wares.
‘ Somewhere to live if the job is assured,’ Theo jokes and begins to look at the shelves of breads and pastries.
‘ Didn’t think you were from here with that accent. Where are you from?’ the man asks.
‘ A little village near Saros.’ Theo’s mouth waters at the sight of the tiropitas —cheese pies—he fancies some cheese, although the spanokopitas look good, too, and the spinach will do him good.
‘ Really? Well, well, do you know Margarita?’ the lady asks.
‘ Er, I know a Margarita, but there must be many.’ Theo smiles his answer. Talking to them is almost like being back in the village.
‘ True, true, but she is from over that way. But more to the point, she has a flat she is letting just round the corner.’ The woman unloads bread from a large flat baking tray, the loaves steaming as she puts them on the latted wooden shelves behind the counter.
Theo looks up from the food although his stomach grumbles loudly. ‘I would really have to know if I have got the job first. I don’t have a deposit.’ He is about to launch into the tale of the wicked old lady and her flat scam but decides that would put him in the role of the victim. It will not start well on that footing, so he keeps his mouth closed.
The old man goes into the back. The woman looks after him before returning her attention to Theo. She has a housecoat on with big yellow flowers merging into big pink flowers, the same pink as her hair net.
There is a trader who comes to the village with his horse and cart who sells such clothes. Presumably, horse-and-cart men all over Greece sell them, but the simple recollection makes him yearn for the village square, Vasso calling hello, Marina’s little girl asking to feel his hair for the hundredth time.
‘ Can I have a tiropita , please.’ It comes out almost like a sigh.
Before the woman can respond, her husband returns from the back. ‘I just called Margarita. She says the flat is still available,’ he reports.
‘ But I have no deposit,’ Theo says.
‘ She’ll either trust you or she won’t. Isn’t that right, Eleni?’
‘ Yes indeed.’ There is a pinging noise from the back room. ‘Oh it’s done. I use the bread oven to cook on weekdays,’ she explains to Theo. ‘So many people come with a roast for oven space at the weekend. Shall we eat? Come on, young man, nice to have a bit of company. What’s your name?’
They sit back with full stomachs. Timotheos, Eleni’s husband, has just been recounting his days back at his village, the thrill of hunting rabbits before dawn, the rabbit stew at night. The leg of lamb they have just eaten is surely the best Theo has ever had. What wonders Eleni could create with a rabbit! The three of them lean back in their chairs around the table with their hands over their bulging stomachs.
Theo smells her cheap perfume before he sees her.
‘Look at you lot, like pregnant goats.’ A shrill voice comes from the back door behind Theo. He turns. A big woman blocks the light and he can make out nothing beyond her lumpy outline.
‘ Ah, Margarita. This is Theo.’ Eleni introduces them.
It turns out that Margarita’s village is nowhere near Saros, but she doesn’t care. She declares that she likes Theo and pats his hand. Hers is sweaty. She explains that her mother lives on the bottom floor of the building at the front and his will be the flat above. She gives kisses and hugs to Eleni and Timotheos and takes Theo to see the apartment.
The sun ’s brightness is a shock after the room behind the bakery but, almost unbelievably, the temperature is cooler. Two ovens were on the go while they were eating, making the place stifling. For a second, Theo tips his head back to let
‘ Oh, for sure.’ She smiles. She, too, is not from Athens. ‘What can we get you?’ She looks down at her counter of wares.
‘ Somewhere to live if the job is assured,’ Theo jokes and begins to look at the shelves of breads and pastries.
‘ Didn’t think you were from here with that accent. Where are you from?’ the man asks.
‘ A little village near Saros.’ Theo’s mouth waters at the sight of the tiropitas —cheese pies—he fancies some cheese, although the spanokopitas look good, too, and the spinach will do him good.
‘ Really? Well, well, do you know Margarita?’ the lady asks.
‘ Er, I know a Margarita, but there must be many.’ Theo smiles his answer. Talking to them is almost like being back in the village.
‘ True, true, but she is from over that way. But more to the point, she has a flat she is letting just round the corner.’ The woman unloads bread from a large flat baking tray, the loaves steaming as she puts them on the latted wooden shelves behind the counter.
Theo looks up from the food although his stomach grumbles loudly. ‘I would really have to know if I have got the job first. I don’t have a deposit.’ He is about to launch into the tale of the wicked old lady and her flat scam but decides that would put him in the role of the victim. It will not start well on that footing, so he keeps his mouth closed.
The old man goes into the back. The woman looks after him before returning her attention to Theo. She has a housecoat on with big yellow flowers merging into big pink flowers, the same pink as her hair net.
There is a trader who comes to the village with his horse and cart who sells such clothes. Presumably, horse-and-cart men all over Greece sell them, but the simple recollection makes him yearn for the village square, Vasso calling hello, Marina’s little girl asking to feel his hair for the hundredth time.
‘ Can I have a tiropita , please.’ It comes out almost like a sigh.
Before the woman can respond, her husband returns from the back. ‘I just called Margarita. She says the flat is still available,’ he reports.
‘ But I have no deposit,’ Theo says.
‘ She’ll either trust you or she won’t. Isn’t that right, Eleni?’
‘ Yes indeed.’ There is a pinging noise from the back room. ‘Oh it’s done. I use the bread oven to cook on weekdays,’ she explains to Theo. ‘So many people come with a roast for oven space at the weekend. Shall we eat? Come on, young man, nice to have a bit of company. What’s your name?’
They sit back with full stomachs. Timotheos, Eleni’s husband, has just been recounting his days back at his village, the thrill of hunting rabbits before dawn, the rabbit stew at night. The leg of lamb they have just eaten is surely the best Theo has ever had. What wonders Eleni could create with a rabbit! The three of them lean back in their chairs around the table with their hands over their bulging stomachs.
Theo smells her cheap perfume before he sees her.
‘Look at you lot, like pregnant goats.’ A shrill voice comes from the back door behind Theo. He turns. A big woman blocks the light and he can make out nothing beyond her lumpy outline.
‘ Ah, Margarita. This is Theo.’ Eleni introduces them.
It turns out that Margarita’s village is nowhere near Saros, but she doesn’t care. She declares that she likes Theo and pats his hand. Hers is sweaty. She explains that her mother lives on the bottom floor of the building at the front and his will be the flat above. She gives kisses and hugs to Eleni and Timotheos and takes Theo to see the apartment.
The sun ’s brightness is a shock after the room behind the bakery but, almost unbelievably, the temperature is cooler. Two ovens were on the go while they were eating, making the place stifling. For a second, Theo tips his head back to let
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