“sorry” at me and, eyes glistening, shut the door after Yanis had shook his head and stormed back inside.
‘I hope it’s okay to leave her here,’ I muttered.
Breathing heavily, Henrik reached out and brushed strands of hair from my face. ‘Are you okay, Pips? He didn’t… I mean, before I got here…’ Henrik’s voice broke and his face went all squishy for a second. ‘Yanis hasn’t hurt you?’ He scoured every inch of my body.
I almost teared up. Despite everything, Henrik clearly still cared.
‘Only my pride,’ I said and forced a laugh. ‘No one has ever thrown my scones on the floor before.’
You’d think there was a lot more hurt than my pride, though, the way he insisted on carrying me home. Using his seafaring strength, Niko easily lifted me into his arms (usually to whisk me into the bedroom), whereas I was surprised executive Henrik could support my weight for so long. Gratefully I leant my head against his broad shoulders and breathed in the familiar citrus aftershave. It reminded me of so many things – dancing in clubs, strolling through Hyde Park, booking into a luxurious hotel with a king-size bed and… Urgh, not again! Enough with the nostalgia!
We chatted about the recession – the homeless from all sections of Greek society, now on the streets of Kos Town, reliant on soup kitchens and handouts. Once a fortnight, Niko and I volunteered there and donated fish and a batch of scones. People down on their luck would relish every mouthful, be they former road sweepers, office workers or entrepreneurs. The face of poverty had never before been so diverse. Cue a fascinating discussion about Greece’s position in Europe. What Henrik lacked in poetry, he made up for with statistics and figures.
As we approached Taxos Taverna, Niko arrived back from his morning’s sailing. Grandma pushed open the door to let us in. Henrik set me down at one of the mahogany tables and Sophia and Georgios appeared. Niko threw off his gloves and coat and rushed to my side and positioned a chair so that he could raise my foot onto it.
‘Pippa? Henrik? What is wrong?’ Niko knelt down by me and squeezed my hand. For some reason I started to shake.
‘Shock,’ muttered Grandma and disappeared.
In an annoyingly trembly voice, I explained what had happened. Honestly, I was fine. Mrs Manos was the person to worry about. It was just… Henrik carrying me home had made me forget the anger emanating from Yanis’ inky black eyes. Now the memory hit me full pelt. What if my ex hadn’t turned up? Greece’s economic unrest had, in recent times, let to many outbursts of uncharacteristic violence. I forced a smile as Grandma returned with a large glass of Georgios’ finest herby Metaxa brandy. Niko held it to my lips.
‘I’m all right,’ I mumbled and took the glass. ‘Just grateful Henrik saved the day.’
Niko got to his feet and stretched out a hand, whilst muttering something to Sophia who promptly headed for the bar.
‘We owe you, Henrik,’ Niko said. ‘And the Sotiropoulos family always pays its debts. So, if you ever need our help…’ His eyes narrowed into bullets. ‘And now I must visit Yanis myself and warn him never to treat a Sotiropoulos like that again.’
‘You follow me, son,’ said Georgios, bushy eyebrows knitted together, plump jaw clenched.
‘Niko, leave it, mate – and you, Georgios. Yanis is in no mood to talk.’ Henrik shrugged. ‘He’s not worth it and you’ll only upset his mother.’
Niko looked at his dad, then Henrik, and gave a sigh. Sophia returned with the bottle of Metaxa and filled glasses for everyone.
‘To our brave friend,’ said Georgios and raised his glass, before knocking back the brandy. Then he stretched out his arms. A bemused Henrik duly leant down for a hug.
‘You defend the Sotiropoulos name,’ said Georgios, ‘so always welcome in our house.’
‘And more importantly,’ added Sophia, ‘you kept dearest Pippitsa from harm.’
‘You
‘I hope it’s okay to leave her here,’ I muttered.
Breathing heavily, Henrik reached out and brushed strands of hair from my face. ‘Are you okay, Pips? He didn’t… I mean, before I got here…’ Henrik’s voice broke and his face went all squishy for a second. ‘Yanis hasn’t hurt you?’ He scoured every inch of my body.
I almost teared up. Despite everything, Henrik clearly still cared.
‘Only my pride,’ I said and forced a laugh. ‘No one has ever thrown my scones on the floor before.’
You’d think there was a lot more hurt than my pride, though, the way he insisted on carrying me home. Using his seafaring strength, Niko easily lifted me into his arms (usually to whisk me into the bedroom), whereas I was surprised executive Henrik could support my weight for so long. Gratefully I leant my head against his broad shoulders and breathed in the familiar citrus aftershave. It reminded me of so many things – dancing in clubs, strolling through Hyde Park, booking into a luxurious hotel with a king-size bed and… Urgh, not again! Enough with the nostalgia!
We chatted about the recession – the homeless from all sections of Greek society, now on the streets of Kos Town, reliant on soup kitchens and handouts. Once a fortnight, Niko and I volunteered there and donated fish and a batch of scones. People down on their luck would relish every mouthful, be they former road sweepers, office workers or entrepreneurs. The face of poverty had never before been so diverse. Cue a fascinating discussion about Greece’s position in Europe. What Henrik lacked in poetry, he made up for with statistics and figures.
As we approached Taxos Taverna, Niko arrived back from his morning’s sailing. Grandma pushed open the door to let us in. Henrik set me down at one of the mahogany tables and Sophia and Georgios appeared. Niko threw off his gloves and coat and rushed to my side and positioned a chair so that he could raise my foot onto it.
‘Pippa? Henrik? What is wrong?’ Niko knelt down by me and squeezed my hand. For some reason I started to shake.
‘Shock,’ muttered Grandma and disappeared.
In an annoyingly trembly voice, I explained what had happened. Honestly, I was fine. Mrs Manos was the person to worry about. It was just… Henrik carrying me home had made me forget the anger emanating from Yanis’ inky black eyes. Now the memory hit me full pelt. What if my ex hadn’t turned up? Greece’s economic unrest had, in recent times, let to many outbursts of uncharacteristic violence. I forced a smile as Grandma returned with a large glass of Georgios’ finest herby Metaxa brandy. Niko held it to my lips.
‘I’m all right,’ I mumbled and took the glass. ‘Just grateful Henrik saved the day.’
Niko got to his feet and stretched out a hand, whilst muttering something to Sophia who promptly headed for the bar.
‘We owe you, Henrik,’ Niko said. ‘And the Sotiropoulos family always pays its debts. So, if you ever need our help…’ His eyes narrowed into bullets. ‘And now I must visit Yanis myself and warn him never to treat a Sotiropoulos like that again.’
‘You follow me, son,’ said Georgios, bushy eyebrows knitted together, plump jaw clenched.
‘Niko, leave it, mate – and you, Georgios. Yanis is in no mood to talk.’ Henrik shrugged. ‘He’s not worth it and you’ll only upset his mother.’
Niko looked at his dad, then Henrik, and gave a sigh. Sophia returned with the bottle of Metaxa and filled glasses for everyone.
‘To our brave friend,’ said Georgios and raised his glass, before knocking back the brandy. Then he stretched out his arms. A bemused Henrik duly leant down for a hug.
‘You defend the Sotiropoulos name,’ said Georgios, ‘so always welcome in our house.’
‘And more importantly,’ added Sophia, ‘you kept dearest Pippitsa from harm.’
‘You
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