on.’
Lily sticks her tongue out. It’s covered with mushed-up brown stuff.
‘It’s ready!’ Eleni announces. ‘Lily, go and fetch Dad, will you?’
Lily nods, then turns and scampers up the stairs.
Jasmine and I grab a couple of dishes and carry them to the dining table, which is set in the corner of a large living room. Two sofas are buried under mounds of precariously stacked boxes and bulging bin bags. There’s a rolled rug propped against the window, a bag of coat hangers on the table and the TV has been plonked in the middle of the floor with a purple toilet air freshener perched on top of it.
Eleni apologises again. ‘ Signómi , sorry, sorry,’ she breathes. ‘What a tip. We really need to start moving this stuff. What must you think of us?’
It’s OK. You should see our place .
As Jasmine and Eleni return to the kitchen for more food, I settle at the table and my attention flits from dish to tantalising dish.
Heavy footsteps plod down the stairs. Seconds later, Jasmine’s dad appears. He’s so tall his grey, tousled hair almost touches the top of the doorframe. Bags hang like rainclouds beneath his eyes, which are a sharp, light blue.
‘Hello, I’m Arthur. You must be Megan. Nice to meet you.’
He holds out a hand, which I shake, surprised by his firm grip. ‘Where do you live, Megan?’
Silence descends, as thick as clotted cream. Jasmine, where are you? Her dad is frowning at me, I can feel it.
He doesn’t know what Jasmine sees in you.
‘Da-ad,’ Jasmine groans as she steps into the room. ‘I told you about Megan. Don’t you ever listen to me?’
‘Oh. I … er. Of course you did. I remember now. Sorry, Megan.’
‘So embarrassing,’ Jasmine mumbles.
True to Jasmine’s warning, Eleni is a ‘feeder’, and by the time the mezze is over, I’m so full, I can’t imagine being hungry ever again. My ribs ache and my head is woozy from too much laughter.
The meal was hilarious, raucous, exciting. The conversation, driven by Jasmine and Eleni, darted from subject to subject so fast I could barely keep up. Every now and then, little Lily piped up with something, her sweet voice cutting through her mother and sister’s chatter. Arthur was content to lean back in his chair and just watch.
‘Urgh. I feel disgusting,’ Jasmine complains, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m too full to move.’
Eleni smiles. ‘You’ll have to move some time. You can’t sleep here.’
‘I could,’ counters Jasmine. ‘If you leave this all out, I might wake up in the night and fancy a midnight snack.’
‘Yes, there’s too much left. Are you sure you can’t manage any more, Megan?’
I shake my head. I wish I could. I’m so glad I tried it. I’ve never tasted anything like it before. It was gorgeous. Everymouthful. From the delicately spiced kofte to the garlicky hummus and the refreshing, crisp Greek salad.
‘Would you like to take some home for your mum, Megan?’ Eleni asks.
Mum probably had a rubbery ready meal for dinner. I nod and Eleni promises to package a few things up.
‘Is it OK if Megan stays for a bit?’ Jasmine asks.
Arthur agrees.
I try to smile at Eleni as we leave, to thank her for the meal, but I’m not sure she sees me. I should write her a note or something.
Upstairs, I settle on Jasmine’s bed. My eyes wander around her room. There’s a cup of tea-dredges on the floor and a plate with breadcrumbs on. Her underwear drawer is open, with a pair of knickers and a bra spilling over the edge. The light blue walls are decorated with posters of Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.
Jasmine sees me looking. ‘Horrible colour, isn’t it? I can’t wait to redecorate.’
I find a notepad in my bag and write: I was looking at the posters .
‘Oh, them! Aren’t they glamorous?’
I nod.
‘Did you bring the photos?’
I pull Grandpa’s camera and a pile of photos from my rucksack. I pass the Canon to Jasmine. Sensing its significance, she holds it carefully. I
Lily sticks her tongue out. It’s covered with mushed-up brown stuff.
‘It’s ready!’ Eleni announces. ‘Lily, go and fetch Dad, will you?’
Lily nods, then turns and scampers up the stairs.
Jasmine and I grab a couple of dishes and carry them to the dining table, which is set in the corner of a large living room. Two sofas are buried under mounds of precariously stacked boxes and bulging bin bags. There’s a rolled rug propped against the window, a bag of coat hangers on the table and the TV has been plonked in the middle of the floor with a purple toilet air freshener perched on top of it.
Eleni apologises again. ‘ Signómi , sorry, sorry,’ she breathes. ‘What a tip. We really need to start moving this stuff. What must you think of us?’
It’s OK. You should see our place .
As Jasmine and Eleni return to the kitchen for more food, I settle at the table and my attention flits from dish to tantalising dish.
Heavy footsteps plod down the stairs. Seconds later, Jasmine’s dad appears. He’s so tall his grey, tousled hair almost touches the top of the doorframe. Bags hang like rainclouds beneath his eyes, which are a sharp, light blue.
‘Hello, I’m Arthur. You must be Megan. Nice to meet you.’
He holds out a hand, which I shake, surprised by his firm grip. ‘Where do you live, Megan?’
Silence descends, as thick as clotted cream. Jasmine, where are you? Her dad is frowning at me, I can feel it.
He doesn’t know what Jasmine sees in you.
‘Da-ad,’ Jasmine groans as she steps into the room. ‘I told you about Megan. Don’t you ever listen to me?’
‘Oh. I … er. Of course you did. I remember now. Sorry, Megan.’
‘So embarrassing,’ Jasmine mumbles.
True to Jasmine’s warning, Eleni is a ‘feeder’, and by the time the mezze is over, I’m so full, I can’t imagine being hungry ever again. My ribs ache and my head is woozy from too much laughter.
The meal was hilarious, raucous, exciting. The conversation, driven by Jasmine and Eleni, darted from subject to subject so fast I could barely keep up. Every now and then, little Lily piped up with something, her sweet voice cutting through her mother and sister’s chatter. Arthur was content to lean back in his chair and just watch.
‘Urgh. I feel disgusting,’ Jasmine complains, clutching her stomach. ‘I’m too full to move.’
Eleni smiles. ‘You’ll have to move some time. You can’t sleep here.’
‘I could,’ counters Jasmine. ‘If you leave this all out, I might wake up in the night and fancy a midnight snack.’
‘Yes, there’s too much left. Are you sure you can’t manage any more, Megan?’
I shake my head. I wish I could. I’m so glad I tried it. I’ve never tasted anything like it before. It was gorgeous. Everymouthful. From the delicately spiced kofte to the garlicky hummus and the refreshing, crisp Greek salad.
‘Would you like to take some home for your mum, Megan?’ Eleni asks.
Mum probably had a rubbery ready meal for dinner. I nod and Eleni promises to package a few things up.
‘Is it OK if Megan stays for a bit?’ Jasmine asks.
Arthur agrees.
I try to smile at Eleni as we leave, to thank her for the meal, but I’m not sure she sees me. I should write her a note or something.
Upstairs, I settle on Jasmine’s bed. My eyes wander around her room. There’s a cup of tea-dredges on the floor and a plate with breadcrumbs on. Her underwear drawer is open, with a pair of knickers and a bra spilling over the edge. The light blue walls are decorated with posters of Grace Kelly and Audrey Hepburn.
Jasmine sees me looking. ‘Horrible colour, isn’t it? I can’t wait to redecorate.’
I find a notepad in my bag and write: I was looking at the posters .
‘Oh, them! Aren’t they glamorous?’
I nod.
‘Did you bring the photos?’
I pull Grandpa’s camera and a pile of photos from my rucksack. I pass the Canon to Jasmine. Sensing its significance, she holds it carefully. I
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