it.
Standing up straight she eases the strain on her full stomach.
Tomorrow she will go into town, but for now she has landed well and truly on her feet.
She must ring Dad though, and let him know she is safe. Stupid man.
Maybe she should take Modern Greek. Languages are always useful. Even Stella, a Greek village woman, speaks English.
The other thing about Greece, Abby ponders, watching Stella adding some numbers in the columns of what looks like a home-made accounts book, is that it feels very safe, even as a single female. She has been into London with friends before and there were some areas where she was not sure she felt safe. Pickpockets, maybe even muggers worried her. But here she feels she can leave her bag unattended, hanging on the hook at the end of the grill with all her belongings and her phone, and no one will touch it, she is sure.
So much fo r England being the supposed civilised country. Half a laugh escapes her. Stella briefly looks up but her eyes are un-focused, she turns back to the ledger on the shelf behind the raised counter.
Abby leans against the door frame, the heat is making her fe el sleepy. Her eyes close and she imagines what would have happened if she had turned up in some district of London miles away from where she was supposed to be. Abby doubts that anyone would care, let alone find her a job and a place to sleep. They would either just walk past her or, worse, someone might even try to take advantage of the situation. There is no way anyone would offer her somewhere to stay for the night. They would be fearful she was a psycho or, if they did offer a place to kip, they themselves might be the psycho. She would instantly be another homeless person, curled up in a shop doorway. But she cannot conjure up the feeling of cold, the sun is too strong, sweat runs down her temple. She opens her eyes and steps from the doorway into the shade.
‘ Greece is an amazing place,’ Abby concludes walking round to see what Stella is studying. She points to a number on the page. ‘Shouldn’t that be a three?’ Abby asks. Stella makes a sound of relief and quickly rubs out the eight, and pencils in a three.
‘ Are you missing your Baba?’ Stella continues, looking at the book.
Abby had forgotten about Dad again. He will have read her note by now and no doubt has been trying to ring her. What were they, two hours behind in England? If everything had gone t o plan she would have been at her job on Saros where someone would have a phone charger and she would have been able to tell him where she was and how successful she had been in getting the job and getting there. She swallows.
She wonders what he would ha ve had to say about that, if it had all gone to plan. She had been really looking forward to the shock of doing that. ‘Hi, Dad. I am in Greece working at a bar called the Malibu with Jackie. Earning money to put towards Uni.’ Now she will have to wait, and so will he. Well, it serves him right.
She has done so well with her GCSEs, she knows it. Why did he think she would not put the studying into her A levels? Actually, she does understand. The whole “not working hard enough” thing was just a ploy. What he really meant to say was, ‘What was the point in her taking her A levels as no one could afford to send her to university?’ So she might just as well start working from sixteen and contribute to the household. Well, here she is, working at sixteen. But not for him. She will save enough to pay her own way through Uni. If she can make the tuition fees then a bar job while she is there will take care of the rest. Besides, there are always student loans.
‘ He has no faith in me.’ she blurts.
‘ Faith, like you are God?’ Stella looks up from the book with wide eyes.
‘ No, faith, like he does not believe I can do things.’ Abby steps towards the door before turning to lean against the counter again.
‘ Oh. My Baba used to say: “How can you know what you can do
Standing up straight she eases the strain on her full stomach.
Tomorrow she will go into town, but for now she has landed well and truly on her feet.
She must ring Dad though, and let him know she is safe. Stupid man.
Maybe she should take Modern Greek. Languages are always useful. Even Stella, a Greek village woman, speaks English.
The other thing about Greece, Abby ponders, watching Stella adding some numbers in the columns of what looks like a home-made accounts book, is that it feels very safe, even as a single female. She has been into London with friends before and there were some areas where she was not sure she felt safe. Pickpockets, maybe even muggers worried her. But here she feels she can leave her bag unattended, hanging on the hook at the end of the grill with all her belongings and her phone, and no one will touch it, she is sure.
So much fo r England being the supposed civilised country. Half a laugh escapes her. Stella briefly looks up but her eyes are un-focused, she turns back to the ledger on the shelf behind the raised counter.
Abby leans against the door frame, the heat is making her fe el sleepy. Her eyes close and she imagines what would have happened if she had turned up in some district of London miles away from where she was supposed to be. Abby doubts that anyone would care, let alone find her a job and a place to sleep. They would either just walk past her or, worse, someone might even try to take advantage of the situation. There is no way anyone would offer her somewhere to stay for the night. They would be fearful she was a psycho or, if they did offer a place to kip, they themselves might be the psycho. She would instantly be another homeless person, curled up in a shop doorway. But she cannot conjure up the feeling of cold, the sun is too strong, sweat runs down her temple. She opens her eyes and steps from the doorway into the shade.
‘ Greece is an amazing place,’ Abby concludes walking round to see what Stella is studying. She points to a number on the page. ‘Shouldn’t that be a three?’ Abby asks. Stella makes a sound of relief and quickly rubs out the eight, and pencils in a three.
‘ Are you missing your Baba?’ Stella continues, looking at the book.
Abby had forgotten about Dad again. He will have read her note by now and no doubt has been trying to ring her. What were they, two hours behind in England? If everything had gone t o plan she would have been at her job on Saros where someone would have a phone charger and she would have been able to tell him where she was and how successful she had been in getting the job and getting there. She swallows.
She wonders what he would ha ve had to say about that, if it had all gone to plan. She had been really looking forward to the shock of doing that. ‘Hi, Dad. I am in Greece working at a bar called the Malibu with Jackie. Earning money to put towards Uni.’ Now she will have to wait, and so will he. Well, it serves him right.
She has done so well with her GCSEs, she knows it. Why did he think she would not put the studying into her A levels? Actually, she does understand. The whole “not working hard enough” thing was just a ploy. What he really meant to say was, ‘What was the point in her taking her A levels as no one could afford to send her to university?’ So she might just as well start working from sixteen and contribute to the household. Well, here she is, working at sixteen. But not for him. She will save enough to pay her own way through Uni. If she can make the tuition fees then a bar job while she is there will take care of the rest. Besides, there are always student loans.
‘ He has no faith in me.’ she blurts.
‘ Faith, like you are God?’ Stella looks up from the book with wide eyes.
‘ No, faith, like he does not believe I can do things.’ Abby steps towards the door before turning to lean against the counter again.
‘ Oh. My Baba used to say: “How can you know what you can do
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