Love, Nina by Nina Stibbe Page A

the same. But the rule is not to tell anyone about these things. Apart from you. Obviously.
    *  *  *
    Dear Vic,
    Hope you got pc from Rhodes?
    Helen had good knowledge of how to be abroad in that kind of place. For instance, you try to blend in and not wear short shorts but long shorts or a skirt and you don’t smoke except with a coffee or Metaxa. She learned how to say certain phrases (in Greek) just in case, but never needed to use them. Except “Can we share one between us please?”
    HH: You have to blend in when abroad.
    Me: I did live in France for six months.
    HH: But France is France and Greece is Greece and they’re worlds apart.
    Which is true.
    Rhodes town is the oldest inhabited medieval town in Europe and altogether foreign. The writing, heat and smells, all very foreign. The modesty thing is confusing—on the one hand you can’t really wear short shorts, but there are images of Priapus (Greek god with a huge erect penis) everywhere—key rings, pens, postcards, jewelry, bottle openers, statuettes, shoehorns.
    A man told us that every new building in Greece now is left slightly incomplete, usually the roof and plumbing, because when a building’s finished the owner pays some kind of tax. I wish the bloke hadn’t told us that. Helen never stopped pointing out pipes and exposed workings and saying how the tax was ruining the skyline and how people should do something.
    Helen put the vegetarianism on hold due to Greece being so limited in veggie choices. We had breakfast every morning at the widow’s café (χήρα καφενείο) where the widow cooked floppy bacon and eggs with bread and honey (μέλι). I wished Helen knew how to say, “Please can you cook the bacon for a bit longer?” But she couldn’t work it out and we decided to put up with it floppy.
    The widow had some green herby stuff growing out of a Shell can, which turned out to be oregano, and two hens in an upside-down supermarket trolley called Elvis and Athena (both females).
    Walked into the countryside—saw some goats eating watermelons with stained pink mouths. At nights Helen had lots of cocktails and got quite tipsy. One night she confided in me that she feels she let her parents down by not being a doctor.
    HH: I feel I could have achieved more for them. I could have been a doctor.
    Me: Are they doctors?
    HH: No, but they’re bilingual and love opera.
    Me: Well, you speak Greek and you’re vegetarian by choice.
    HH: I suppose.
    Then she went quiet and ate so many pistachios, her thumbnail was bruised the next day.
    Anyway, it was all great. Hot sun, nice sea, arid countryside, history, sardines, and cheap sandals. And very foreign, which I loved.
    Love, Nina
    PS Have got you some worry beads. You fiddle with them when you’re doing nothing and worrying. People fiddle with worry beads a lot in Greece. They find it soothing. It’s instead of biting their nails.
    *  *  *
    Summer 1983
    Dear Vic,
    They came home from France, MK and Will both brown as berries. Sam not brown but glad to be home and back to normal, needed a trim.
    Pippa is harvesting carrots and beginner’s veg in the garden with the kids she looks after. She’s surprised we don’t do any (kitchen gardening) here and keeps going on about it.
    Pippa: Blah and blah get such a thrill growing their own carrots.
    Me: That’s nice.
    Pippa: Have you tried gardening with Sam and Will?
    Me: They’re too busy. Will’s writing a novel and Sam’s an actor.
    Pippa: But they seem to watch a lot of TV.
    Me: For inspiration.
    Pippa: The snooker?
    I was defensive and annoyed but I did also think to myself, “Why can’t I work for a family like hers who enjoy growing carrots etc.?” It’s all telly and books at 55 and no one wants to set foot outside unless it’s to go somewhere. There’s Pippa munching away on homegrown