The Gypsy's Dream (24 page)

‘
You give that here!’ he makes a little jab with the fire iron.

‘
She’s under-age, Stavros!’ Vasso shouts.

The poker lifts, ready to swing, rage in his face.

‘If you had done the maths you would have realised,’ Vasso says quickly, shrilly. There is a high-pitched edge of panic.

‘
What are you talking about?’ He dismisses her with the curtness of his question but the poker is lowered slightly.

‘
This.’ Vasso holds the booklet towards him, her finger pointing out a date next to the picture of Abby. Stella looks away from Stavros, interested in what Vasso has to say.

‘
Her date of birth. Stella, ask Abby if Stavros tried to kiss her or touch her.’

Stella relays the question in English. Stavros watches in hor
ror. Abby nods her head.

Stavros lowers the poker. He scowls at them all under his brow, guttural noises like a dog, the poker not lowered to the floor, still holding its menace.

‘Under-age, Stavros. Fifteen years old.’ Vasso sounds triumphant.

Stavros ro
cks back on his heels, his chin jerking upwards. Stella searches Abby’s face, trying to reassess. ‘And we have a few other items that we can call as evidence if Abby’s word is not good enough. In fact I think it is time we called in the police.’ Vasso feels through her pockets for her mobile phone.

Stavros lunges at her, a hand towards the passport. Stella grabs at Stavros
’ shirt sleeve to stop him, Abby grabs the shirt tail. But his momentum urges him forward toward Vasso.

Stella pulls harder, Abby makes
a second grab, Vasso steps backwards and in the moment he twists in an unexpected way and falls on his face.

Mitsos stands in the doorway calmly pulling his shepherd
’s crook out from the tangle of Stavros’ ankles.

‘
I just came back as I felt the need for my crook,’ Mitsos says simply.

Stella grins at him. He puts the end of the crook in between the shoulder blades of the prone Stavros.

‘Or I could not call the police, and leave Abby’s father to do that when he arrives tomorrow. He flies out tonight, I believe?’ Vasso looks to Abby for confirmation.

At the mention of a father Stavros twists his head and tries to look up at Abby.

‘Abby, just nod your head,’ Stella says, knowing that Abby will not understand a word of all that is being said in Greek. Abby nods, looking Stavros in the eye.

Vasso puts the passport down her blouse to nest in her ample bosom and takes her phone from her apron pocket and presses the button.
‘I think it is time to call the police,’ she says. Mitsos takes his crook from Stavros’ back and picks up the folded piece of paper Stavros had brandished earlier.

Stavros, scrabbling to his feet, goes red, his eye bulge and he begins to back away.

‘I suggest you go a long way away.’ Vasso lowers the phone and holds it against her chest while she speaks. ‘The police are always just a phone call away. When Abby’s father arrives he will want to file the charges even if you have gone. You will be a wanted man.

‘My advice would be to leave and go very very far away because round here they are going to look for you.’ She turns her attention to the phone. ‘Hello, yes, police. I would like to report an assault on a minor. He was in the village but I understand he has just left.’

Stavros glares at Stella, his rage expressed in his contorted features. He
turns and faces Mitsos.

‘
Take the slut, she’s only fit for a cripple,’ he slurs into Mitsos’ face, his nose almost touching Mitsos’ in threat before he hurries outside and swings open the grating car door. Stavros jumps in, forces the ignition, rams his foot to the floor and the dust kicks up, hiding the world from view as he speeds from the village.

The shop seems suddenly silent, the four of them facing each other. Vasso puts her phone away.

In the quiet Stella turns to Abby and says in English, ‘Fifteen?’

‘
What?’ Abby replies.

Stella grabs the passport that Vasso is retrieving from her bosom and thrusts it at Abby.
‘It says you are fifteen! Why did you lie to me?’ Her voice cracking, she begins to shake.

‘
What are you saying?’ Vasso asks in Greek, trying to lower Stella’s arm which holds the passport up to Abby’s face.

‘
I am asking her why she lied to me about her age,’ Stella says quickly in Greek.

Vasso lets out a shriek of laughter.

‘It is not Abby who lied, it is me.’ Her shoulders shake as the laughter grips her. ‘I knew Stavros would not have looked at the date of birth.’ Stella turns the passport so she can read it for herself and she too begins to laugh.

‘
What’s going on?’ Abby says.

Mitsos watches Stella slowly cut up his food at the party in the square. Juliet is crying with laughter as Abby tells her what has happened. Abby has just got to the bit where Stella, Vasso, Mitsos and she had looked at the supposed lease Stavros had dropped, drawn up on the back of one of the baptism invites, to find it was nothing more than one of Theo’s feast preparation lists. Juliet cannot catch her breath for laughing.

‘
So the bit about her father coming out to Greece, Vasso, was that a lie too?’ Stella asks.

‘
Not only that, but my mobile has no battery, hasn’t worked for weeks.’ Vasso tips back a glass of wine and then gets up to trot over to her kiosk. Someone is waiting to buy cigarettes, maybe cigars.

Mitsos asks Stella no questions about what has been going on. Stella asks no questions about Marina, who wav
es to them from another table. Mitsos takes the fork from Stella as she finishes cutting his food, their fingers intertwining briefly. Her eyes meet his and she smiles.

The baptism feast is enjoyed by the whole village. The white tablecloths fl
utter in the slight breeze, children in their best Sunday clothes run between tables chasing one another. Theo hands out bottles of wine to each table to make sure no one runs dry. The butcher, who has set up a table inside the kafenio, carves endless slices of tender flesh from a roasted half pig, which are laid onto waiting plates. These are taken in turn and filled to overflowing with roast vegetables, beetroot with garlic sauce, peppers stuffed with feta.

A group of women in knee-length black skirts an
d black cardigans over black blouses natter away as they prepare bowl after bowl of tomato, cucumber, peppers, olives and feta, the olive oil poured liberally on top as local young men, turned waiters, hand them out along the trestle tables.

A man with a
clarinet wanders around the square playing music from the mountains. His friend, seated with a bouzouki, accompanies him.

A stray dog sidles hopefully between tables and chairs. The only dog being fed belongs to one of the shepherds. The animal lies at hi
s feet, licking from the floor any morsel his pack leader allows to drop.

As the food settles, the children begin to run and spin, playing tag in the area cleared for dancing. The musicians soak up their energy and amuse the youngsters with familiar tunes
. Young men strut to the open area, the music changes and they dance with their arms outstretched, their hearts on fire, pride in their eyes. Older men, with less wine in their veins, take their places, showing them how it is done; the younger men taking a rest, kneeling on one knee and clapping their encouragement to the rhythm of the song.

A new music comes from the bouzouki player and the women give little shrieks, several of them take to the floor and dance with swaying hips, outstretched arms and circl
ing wrists.

Abby is transfixed by all she sees, her heart full of the joy of her life and the people she has met, she feels she is home and yet
…

‘
Stella?’ She shouts over the music. ‘Can I use the phone in the takeaway to ring my dad?’

‘
Yes, of course.’ Stella has one hand resting on Mitsos’ shoulder. She is singing to the music and waving her wine glass around.

‘
I’ll pay,’ Abby assures her, but Stella pulls a face.

The green walls look almost blue in the festive illuminations, the light dancing on the surfaces like underwater reflections, enchanting, cosy. The sound of the clarinet trails down from the square, haunting in the emptiness. It is hard to believe that only hours earlier she had been frightened for her life, right here, on this spot.

Abby draw
s the toe of her sandal across the boards she had stood on, terrified for her safety but too afraid to even hurt Stavros. She had been shocked by her own timidity - fancy poking him like that. She giggles in the quiet but tears prick her eyes; she had been very scared.

The fear when Stavros tried to kiss her had been different; flavoured with indignation, shock, horror, but he had not been violent enough for her to fear for her life, just bruises to her arms with his grip. Scary none the less.

She will not tell Dad any of this. Nor will she tell him of the wind, when the ferry could not leave and all her money spent on the ticket. That was a different fear, but still it was about her survival, and had felt bleak. She rubs her eyes with the tips of her fingers, recalling the memory of sitting on the bollard, the expanse of the sea stretching out before her, the enormity of the world behind her, alone and scared. Abby wonders what she would have done had the baker not turned up.

Perhaps the only thing she can
tell Dad without him losing his cool would be about the tree falling on the shop. She has just seen Marina at the baptism party, and didn’t even notice the cast on her leg at first, but she seemed in good spirits. She could tell Dad about that … maybe.

Th
e push-buttons of the phone are stiff, dirt clogging their depression.

She dials the number but there is silence and Abby is about to put the receiver down and try again when the tone turns to an intermittent purr.

She swallows. It will be nice to hear his voice. But what if he hasn’t received the postcards? He will be furious. He’ll probably be furious anyway. Abby takes the phone from her ear ready to replace it in the cradle; she can’t handle Dad being cross. But then again him being cross is nothing compared to some of the things she has been through since she arrived in Greece. She puts the receiver back to her ear. She will let him know she is safe.

Imagine if her friends got to hear.

If she were to go home now and tell her friends all that has happened in the days she has been away they would be drooling at the height of emotion of it all, real soap opera stuff. Before she came away she had been just like that, wishing for some drama to ease the boredom, something exciting to happen to mark the day. Now it has happened she would gladly give it away - and spend the sun-filled days reading a book and peeling potatoes.

‘
Hello?’ It is Sonia. Abby has not prepared herself for the possibility that Sonia might answer the phone.

‘
Abby is that you? Oh my goodness, we have been worried out of our minds, are you ok?’

This is exactly what she hadn
’t wanted. This was why she hadn’t rung earlier. She ignores what Sonia says and asks again for Dad.

‘
Sorry, he’s not here.’ Sonia sounds softer than Abby remembers, more real somehow. She can picture her sitting in the hall, the dog probably looking up at her with his big eyes. She misses Rockie. His tail will be banging on the floor, his head to one side.

‘
You still there? You ok?’ Sonia asks, ‘We got your cards, it seems you have found a nice place.’ But Abby can hear the tremor in her voice, suppressed emotion. Probably what Sonia really wants to do is shout about how she has worried them, stressed Dad out, been selfish. But her voice is gentle, caring, as if she is going to cry.

‘
Yes.’ Abby pulls a serviette from the counter. ‘It’s been a bit of a roller-coaster ride but I am ok.’ She surprises herself with the openness of her response. She rubs the tissue across her eyes.

‘
We sort of gather from your postcards that it hasn’t been all straight forward.’ Abby tries to remember what she has told them and what she has not, but so much has happened she cannot remember how discreet she has been. Sonia is saying something more, Abby tunes in again. ‘But don’t worry, I think he is anxious more than cross.’

‘
Is he there?’ Abby asks, she wants to get this over with now. The clarinet is calling, her friends waiting, maybe this was not such a good idea.

‘
Abby, darling, you know what a fusser your Dad is, after the first postcard he was all for rushing out there to bring you home. I managed to persuade him that perhaps that wasn’t the best thing to do, which was just as well as we both thought you were with Jackie on Soros, he would have ended up at the wrong place.’ She lets out a short laugh, ‘But when we got another postcard the next day, and it was clear that you had ended up somewhere entirely different, I couldn’t stop him.’

‘
What? What do you mean couldn’t stop him?’ Abby’s eyes widen.

‘
You didn’t really expect …’

‘
Sonia where is he?’ Abby’s voice sounds so in control, so adult, she shocks herself.

‘
Look, your dad is your dad and always will be. You are his first-born, first love and all that, why else would he fly out there to be with you?’ Sonia asks

‘
Flown here you mean? When?’ Abby jumps up from the chair which falls over backwards, she looks out of the
ouzeri
window almost expecting to see him there in the street.

‘
Abby, hang on before you get all uppity. Listen, I am a bit worried for him to be honest. I am not worried for you. You are one of life’s survivors.’

‘
When will he be here?’ Abby is not sure if she is concerned, pleased or cross.

‘
Are you listening to me? I am worried about your dad. He stresses too much, over me, over you, the baby. Look at all that fuss he made about your A levels, what nonsense.’

‘
Sorry?’ Sonia has Abby’s attention now.

‘
Your dad with your A levels, of course you should do them, why on earth not? I think your education is paramount at this point in your life, don’t you?’

‘
Really?’ Abby picks up the chair and sits before she takes a tooth pick and begins digging out the dirt around the buttons on the telephone.

‘
Yes. Look Abby, I have had quite a strong word with him about school. Let him blow off some steam when he arrives if he needs to, and he probably will need too, but let’s you and I agree you will be going back to do your A levels and I’ll deal him later if we need to, ok?’ Sonia sounds so kind, ‘Don’t be shouting back at him, raising his blood pressure, it’s pointless. Oh, I need to pee again, no morning sickness, just a constant need to pee.’

Abby can hear her struggling to get out of the hall chair.

‘You still there Abby?’

‘
Yes.’

‘
Ok so we are agreed, yes?’

‘
Ok.’ She hears Rockie yap.

‘
Look I have to go to the loo. Will you do me a favour and persuade him to stay a few days, take a break, unwind, stop fussing. Give me a break too! Get him to swim in the sea, float a bit. Will you?’

‘
Um, Ok, I’ll suggest it.’

They say quite a warm goodbye. Abby wonders how big Sonia
’s stomach is now and if she can feel the baby kicking yet. It feels funny that she is so far away.

Abby replaces the receiver and sits in the dark, listening to the party in the square, the laughter and the dancing. It
’s getting late. The dogs around the village stop their endless barking, the last cockerel gives his final salute. There is the occasional wooden creak of shutters being pulled on old hinges and the slam as they close: Abby finds it all so alien, all so familiar.

She is conscious of her happiness. A happiness tha
t will be short-lived, Dad will be here soon, tomorrow, the next day?

He is going to make such a fuss when he gets here. What if he is rude to the villagers, ignoring them as he focuses on her? It will be humiliating. He
’d better not dare to shout at her. He will ignore what she has to say, thinking he is right, that his way is the only way. Why are all grownups like that? She wonders where he is now. Athens airport, in a hotel somewhere?

She closes the
ouzeri
doors and wanders slowly back to the square. She will deal with Dad when he gets here. She can see Stella dancing, the ‘
sirtaki
’, the ‘ten minute dance’, because that’s how long it took Abby to learn it. Step - step - kick, step - step - step - kick … Stella is arm in arm with her neighbours, the one on her left with his head bent forward, following Stella’s steps, feet clumsy. His white shirt is striped and for a moment his familiarity transforms him into Stavros, and Abby catches her breath. But Stella is laughing, the man is almost bent over following her steps. It cannot be Stavros, and besides, this man is not obese. He straightens, stands upright. Daddy! How can that be, she has only just got off the phone to Sonia? But then Sonia never said when he left …

Abby
’s first instinct is to run and hug him, a rock in all this roller-coaster world she is part of. But her second impulse is to hide, avoid him, why can he not leave her be, let her have her own life, stop fussing? How does Sonia stand him?

Her feet continue unbidden until she is on the edge of
the circle of dancers. Dad looks past her, he is laughing, he looks a little drunk. How long has he been here?

‘
Ah Abby, look who introduced himself to me!’ Stella has no understanding of how or why he is here and a look of inquiry flits over her face replacing a dance of emotions. Abby notices Stella’s big hoop earrings, like a gypsy’s, they suit her floaty dress.

Dad turns, still smiling, but when he sees her he frowns and looks her up and down.

‘Abby? Abby!’ He says.

Abby marches off to the other side
of the kiosk, hiding from view of her friends. Whatever he wants to say it will not be in public. Dad follows her.

‘
Abby darling …’

‘
Stop Dad, before you say anything I have talked to Sonia and it has all been agreed …’

‘
Hang on, what? Aren’t you going to even say hello to your old man after I have flown all this way?’ He opens his arms out, inviting her to hug him.

‘
Sure, hello.’ Abby folds her arms and looks away.

There is a moment of tense silence.

‘I hardly recognized you, you look, well, amazing. I love your trousers, very retro.’ Abby doubts he knows what retro even means. ‘Do you know I saw you earlier from a distance but I didn’t recognize you at all, you look so, well, er, grown up.’