The Gypsy's Dream by Sara Alexi Page A

tonight, then you will agree a price to pay. This is all I can offer. I can offer no more. It is up to you.’
    Abby finishes washing the glasses and wipes her hands dry on some kitchen roll.
    ‘ I have been thinking. You have been very kind trying to arrange a job here for me. I am happy to work today to pay for my meal but I think that perhaps tomorrow it is best if I go and get a job in the town.’
    ‘ Yia .’ A gruff goodbye comes from Stavros as he leaves the shop.
    ‘ He is going for a sleep, it is his habit at this time of day. You need a sleep?’
    ‘ I did earlier but I am past it now.’ Abby looks around the counter area. There is a picture of the old Greek King and Queen on the wall. ‘How long have you had this place?’
    ‘ Seven years, since my Baba died.’
    ‘ Baba?’
    ‘ Dad.’
    ‘ Oh, I am sorry.’ Abby looks at the ground. ‘Um, can I use the loo I am bursting?’
    ‘ No need to ask!’ Abby feels Stella watching as she takes the kitchen roll with her through to the presently empty café. When she returns Stella asks, ‘You like Greece?’ as she tidies the high counter.
    ‘ I have only been here, well, less than a day, but it’s amazing. The people are so different.’ Abby folds her arms and slouches to rest them on the counter top, still standing.
    ‘ Yes? Different how?’
    ‘ Oh, I don’t know ...’
    Abby cannot quite articulate the differences she is feeling. Sure, Greece looks different and it ’s hotter. A donkey brays and Abby declares, laughing, that this is just another difference, there are few donkeys in England, and none in the towns. But it is more than that. The heat relaxes her, as it seems to relax everyone who lives here.
    She lowers her head onto her arms and stares. The walls are g reen in the counter area too, but in here they are streaked where condensation has run down them. She recalls standing at a bus stop near to her house, the rain streaming down the glass sides. Two of the people in the queue for the bus were people she knew: one was her next-door neighbour and the other the lady who used to feed their cat when they went away on holiday. But they didn’t speak to each other. It was not as if anyone was being rude, it was just that it was cold and wet. Abby remembers pulling up the collar of her coat and trying to dip her chin inside for warmth. The neighbour had put on a see-through plastic head covering that tied at her chin and everyone had pulled their shoulders up around their ears and tucked their arms into their sides to keep warm, hands deep in pockets. No one was going to expend energy or expose themselves to the chill wind just to have a conversation.
    Here the sun has people lifting up their faces to feel the warmth, arms unstuck from their sides as they try to create t he biggest surface area to cool themselves. There is no possibility of rushing in this temperature and, as things happen slowly, there is time to talk. She sees the people in the street demonstrating this all the time. The man who brought the bread this morning must have tarried for ten minutes or more talking to the lady from the kiosk. And the man who came out of the grim café at the top of the square to buy cigarettes from the kiosk seemed quite happy to wait, leaning on her counter, until she finished her chat and wandered with no hurry back to serve him. He had stayed and chatted with her a while as well. People are important here, more so than the jobs they do, it seems.
    A restrictive weight is lifted from Abby with this thought. On reflection, she fin ds herself smiling despite her circumstances and she experiences a strange confidence that everything will be fine.
    Stella, if nothing else, is being honest. Maybe they do need her help and really cannot afford it. Maybe they don ’t need her help and are being kind. Either way, she wants to stay for the ‘trial’ day to thank them for their kindness, and besides, she has got a tasty chicken dinner out of