The Reluctant Baker (The Greek Village Collection Book 10) (20 page)

‘So
you are saying that The Old Town Bakery haven’t got the hotel’s bread order because they are your relatives?’ Loukas says. They are on their third coffee and Theo has brought biscuits over. Really, they should find some lunch, but neither of them want to move. The
kafeneio
is a safe heaven, a retreat from the world. As long as they stay where they are, they are untouchable.

‘No, no. It was just in with the package that Stella used to make the running of the hotel easier in the first few weeks. They deliver from Saros supermarket every other day, pick up the laundry, that kind of thing. The idea is that it is all smooth. But I think, if she can keep the hotel open, she wants to break it apart, you know, get the laundry done by someone who’s a bit more reliable. They brought back the sheets but no towels last time and she wants to use the local butcher to support him, that sort of thing. But all that takes time.’

‘Everything takes time.’ Loukas thinks he sounds older than he feels when he says this. Time is what is weighing him down. The years ahead spent making bread, getting up early, living under the roof of his in-laws, denied his own life.

Fillipos marches back across the square again, returning the way he went.

Loukas’ head jerks back as if a bee has stung him. He turns to Mitsos wide-eyed. His mouth is slightly open.

‘What?’ Mitsos says, looking across the square and thinking that whatever has startled Loukas must be out there.

‘It’s so obvious, it is staring us in the face. I cannot believe I have been so slow!’ Loukas can feel new energies stirring.

‘You have an idea?’ Mitsos asks.

‘Yes, yes, a solution!’

‘Theo my friend,’ Mitsos shouts across to Theo, standing behind the bar drying coffee cups. ‘Two ouzos, and you’d better bring some olives. We need to sustain the boy; he has an idea.’ Mitsos matches Loukas’ turn of spirits. ‘So, come on, tell all,’ he encourages as Loukas formulates what he is about to say. Theo is quick with the olives and they both look up at him as he puts down the plate.

‘You see, all you need is just a little time away from the women,’ Theo chuckles, putting down two shot glasses and filling them with ouzo before returning to his counter.

Mitsos stabs an olive with a toothpick. ‘Come on, I cannot be kept waiting!’ he says.

‘It will depend on you,’ Loukas begins, and Mitsos looks intrigued. ‘Do you think you could find a way to talk to your cousin in the old town bakery, explain to him that Stella needs to spilt up the package, that it is no reflection on the quality of his bread, that you want no argument, you know what I mean?’ Loukas talks quickly. Mitsos is frowning, pondering but then starts to nod his head slowly in agreement.

‘In that case, it is simple.’ Loukas exhales his relief. ‘If the village bakery got the hotel’s bread order, the old woman could afford to pay a worker. But that person does not need to be me!’

And then he stops speaking abruptly and looks at Mitsos, eyebrows raised.

‘Fillipos.’ They say the name at the same time.

‘Then I can take the bar job and everyone is happy!’

Theo’s smile matches his own and his hand goes around his ouzo to lift the glass in the salute that Loukas is offering. But Mitsos’ drink stays where it is and he shakes his head as if he is disappointed.

‘What? Why not?’ Loukas scowls.

‘Well, for one thing your mother-in-law came to the eatery the other day and said some things she should not have said to Stella. I don’t think there is any way Stella will give her the bread order now, not even if the old woman asked on bended knee!’

Loukas can feel his energy drain away as quickly as it was ignited. Just for a moment, he sensed his freedom, what it was like to choose his own destiny. Just for a moment, he felt like a man, not someone’s boy.

‘Also,’ Mitsos continues, ‘even if you did get Stella to agree to this, it doesn’t alter the situation with the legalities at the planning department.’ Mitsos slugs down his ouzo, but not with joy.

‘Hang on,’ says Loukas. ‘I was talking to Vlassis last night. He really got under my skin and something that he was saying bothered me, like it meant something…’

‘Vlassis?’

‘You know, he works in the planning office. The nephew of the old woman.’

‘Ah!’ Mitsos exclaims as if it is he who has been stung now, and this time, Loukas is not keeping up. His hangover may be clearing but that doesn’t mean he is thinking straight. ‘I see what you are saying,’ Mitsos says slowly. Which is more than Loukas does. He wonders if Theo will have any aspirins behind the bar, and rubs his temples. Mitsos continues, his slow speech suggesting he is thinking whilst he is talking. ‘You get the old woman to talk to her nephew,’ Mitsos says, ‘to see if he can clear the way with planning. I can talk to my cousins to release Stella from the bread contract. Then the old woman and Stella can do an exchange. The planning in return for the bread order. Ha! With that order, the bakery will make enough to pay Fillipos to do your job and you can take the bar job, and the world is tranquil once more.’ He exhales loudly and sinks into his chair, raising his ouzo glass, a satisfactory smile playing on his lips.

His excitement came through in his voice as he spoke and he looks up, surprised to see he has the attention of everyone in the room. Loukas is no longer rubbing his head. Instead, he has his own ouzo glass raised towards Mitsos and a big smile has brought out his dimples.

The other men in the café lift their glasses, following Loukas’ lead, some shaking their heads, as they have no real idea of what is going on.

‘
Yeia mas
!’ Loukas shouts in return to Mitsos’ speech, and all the old men in the bar back him.

‘
Yeia mas
!’

‘
Stin ygeia
!’

‘
Sto kalo
.’

‘
Yeia sou
.’

Each alters the toast according to their personalities. Although no one is really sure what it is all about, there is general chuckling and laughter and one by one, they return to their own conversations, their own affairs.

When Mitsos’ glass is drained, he pats the air, implying Loukas should sit. Loukas is grinning, Mitsos is not.

‘But what will it take to convince this, what was his name? In planning, your cousin. What will convince him to do this for the old woman?’

Loukas loses his smile; his dimple fades. His brow furrows, he shakes his head, shrugs.

‘What do you know about him?’ Mitsos says.

‘Not much. He goes to a bar in Saros every night because he is lonely. Well, that’s what the barman says.’

‘Is he married?’

‘I don’t think so. He was looking at every girl that walked past the bar.’

‘Really.’ Mitsos’ lips are tight and twisted to one side of his face; he is in deep thought. ‘How high up is he in planning?’

‘Oh, high enough to be able to push this through, I expect. There is only the deputy planning officer and the planning officer above him, and as far as I know, they spend their days in the
kafeneio
, leaving the work to him, this Vlassis.’

‘Ah, so all we have to do is convince him that this is a good idea.’

‘Why, what are you thinking, to bribe him? What if he tells the authorities? That will close the hotel for sure.’

‘Oh no, nothing so obvious and direct. I am sure I will think of something when we talk to him. Come on.’ He stands, puts some coins on the table, nods his thanks to Theo. Wandering over to a table where the local taxi driver is sitting, he whispers a word or two and with Loukas one step behind him, the three of them leave the
kafeneio
.

‘Saros please, Yianni,’ Mitsos tells the driver when they are all seated in the taxi. ‘We need to go to the planning department.’

The look on Stella’s face as they approach the eatery would, under normal circumstances, be enough to make Mitsos think twice and perhaps retreat again to the security of the
kafeneio
until things have calmed down. But although he is by nature a timid man, he has also a boyish sense of excitement that spurs him on in this instance.

‘And what is the purpose of you being here?’ Stella spits at him as he steps into the eatery. Loukas wants to jump in, explain everything, for the two of them to be in love again but Mitsos holds up a hand and gives him a sideways glance.

‘
Agapi mou
,’ Mitsos begins. The air conditioning unit in the room with the tables and chairs creates a background hum.

‘Don’t you
“agapi mou
” me. One farmer after another has kept me here all afternoon whilst you have being knocking back your ouzos.’ Stella throws a dirty plate onto the counter and the fork that’s on it slides off and chimes on the floor, catching the sunlight as it does so. ‘A girl from the hotel kitchens has taken it upon herself to answer the reception bell! What do you think that looks like to the public? Not exactly professional. All it takes is for a bad review or two, but oh no, drinking ouzo is more important to you!’ Loukas has never seem her so angry, her shoulder-length hair more like a lion’s mane, her kind eyes flashing with scorn. Although she is physically small, she is very intimidating.

‘Ah, but I come with gifts of repentance.’ Mitsos smiles. His weight shifts from one foot to the other as if he is excited.

‘Too late. Get out, Mitsos. I don’t need your humour. I need practical help. Just go,’ Stella retorts, her movements not slowing, her anger not subsiding.

Loukas takes a step forward, ready to reassure her. Mitsos puts his hand up again, another sideways glance. Loukas becomes still.

‘What would it take for you to forgive me?’ Mitsos asks.

‘If you don’t go, I will throw you out myself.’ Stella’s eyes flash again.

‘Stella, wait.’ Loukas cannot control himself. Her gaze turns on him. It stops him in his tracks. Stella the pussycat, the sensitive calmer of all troubles, has her claws out, talons exposed. Loukas has no idea of what she is capable, and no desire to find out. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth.

‘So, what is this gift?’ Stella turns to give her attention to the pockets of Mitsos’ jeans as if the gift is there.

‘What would you like most in the world?’ her husband asks her. Loukas wonders if Mitsos is pushing her too hard, teasing her, toying with her. But the sparkle in his eyes says he is enjoying himself.

‘Look, I am tired. I need to go to the hotel now you are back, so if you have something to say, just say it.’ Stella relaxes her stance and leans against the upright fridge. The beer bottles inside rattle as she does so. She looks exhausted.

‘You must tell me the answer, Stella. What do you want most in the world?’

Stella shuts her eyes as if to find some patience.

‘World peace.’ She sighs the words.

‘No, seriously.’ Mitsos does not seem to be able to stop himself.

‘Okay. Seriously, all I want is for this planning to be sorted. That is my heaviest weight. Can you do that, Mitsos? Can you and your gang of one manage to perform that miracle?’ She looks at Loukas as she says
your gang of one
.

‘Done!’ Mitsos says.

‘Please don’t tease. Mitsos.’ She sounds as if all her fight has left her and she pulls her apron off and wipes her hands as if she is about to leave.

‘It’s true; it is done!’ Loukas chips in.

Stella looks from Loukas to Mitsos.

Mitsos pulls, from his trouser waistband at the small of his back, an official-looking sheaf of papers. Stella uncurls the front page and reads the title and then thumbs through them. Her lips twitch. It turns into a smile. Her face lights up and she throws herself into Mitsos’ arm and he kisses the top of her head again and again. Their closeness, their joy, their love for one another feels so intimate, Loukas looks out into the sunshine, watches a dog sniffing at a stationary moped before it runs off down the street after a cat.

‘Hang on.’ Stella is looking at the back of the bundle of papers and she pulls herself away from Mitsos’ embrace. ‘This may be all correct and in place, but it hasn’t been stamped.’ She shows Mitsos and Loukas the dotted line with Vlassis’ signature, but there also should be the official stamp. There is always an official stamp in Greece.

‘Ah, well
agapi
mou
, there is a small price that we must pay.’ Mitsos’ words drip like honey.

‘How much?’ Stella asks, her own voice hard and cold. Corruption in official places is, Loukas knows from their many talks together, one of Stella’s pet hates.

‘No money. But your ego may have to take a little hit,’ Mitsos says softly.

‘Why? What is wanted?’ Stella says cautiously.

‘The village bakery must have the bread order.’ Mitsos waits for Stella to ask what this has to do with her planning, but she doesn’t. She casts a look on Loukas. It is a look that Loukas would do anything to absolve himself from but before he has a chance to explain, Mitsos goes on. ‘Once the village bakery have the order, and only after that is agreed, Loukas can tell the old man and old woman that he is leaving.’ Stella’s eyes widen at this. ‘He can do this because they will have the money to employ Fillipos to make the bread. Then you must offer Loukas for the bar job.’

The hardness of Stella’s face creaks and his eyes light up as she smiles. ‘Of course he can have the job in the bar!’ She puts a hand on Loukas’ arm as if to pull him into her, but then the implications of what Mitsos says seems to seep through and the smile fades and her mouth sets hard. ‘You mean I am to give the old woman the bread order!’ Stella’s eyes are on fire again. She releases Loukas’ arm.

‘Is it too high price,
agapi mou
? If it is, I will say so. We will let them close us.’ Mitsos puts his hand out to take the official document back. He clamps his fingers around the sheets and gives them a pull but Stella does not let go.

For a moment, there is a deadlock, nether pulling harder than the other until, with clenched teeth, Stella tugs the papers out of Mitsos’ hands.

‘Okay, but I am not asking her. Loukas, you can tell her.’

‘Actually Stella, we have already tried that,’ Mitsos says and Loukas can no longer look at Stella. Instead, he looks at the floor.

‘Oh, I see, the old witch wants me to beg, eh?’

Mitsos sighs.

‘If I beg, my prize is I get the hotel legal and Loukas working the beach bar,’ she summarises. ‘And she wants me begging her, to see me grovel at her mercy, lose my dignity because she would enjoy that!’ Stella’s words come out clipped.

Loukas can see that this might all go badly wrong. He has seen how petty the old woman is; maybe Stella is the same. He has never seen her in such a situation. Maybe all the villagers are the same. Oh God no, let her not be like that. He is so close to his freedom. He wills her with every ounce of his being.

‘Please,’ Loukas begins. But Mitsos’ fingers twitch again for his silence.

The two men watch Stella’s face, waiting. Her chest expands as she takes a breath, her lips tighten, the sinew in her neck taut until she explodes with, ‘She does not know me!’

With no warning, arms swinging, head held high, she marches across the road and straight into the bakery. The bakery door slams behind her. Loukas can just hear the bell above the door tinkling on the inside and then all is quiet.

Loukas and Mitsos wait.

Mitsos fiddles with the latch on the fridge. It is an idle movement, not designed to fix the fault more than distract his attention, give him a reason not to make conversation with Loukas.

They continue to wait. The room seems to grow hotter. The last farmers leave, settling up with Mitsos, who seems glad of the distraction.

Then they wait again.

Time seems to slow to a standstill. Loukas watches the clock, the seconds ticking into minutes, the hand moving so slowly. He is waiting for the screeching sounds of the old woman’s temper, the slamming of doors, the sound of things being thrown.

The phone rings. The noise not what they expect. They both look at it.

Mitsos clicks into work mode and answers it, tucking the phone under his chin, picking up a pen ready to write an order. He drops the pen and holds the receiver, looking at Loukas with wide eyes. He says ‘oh’ and then ‘right’ and puts the phone back in its cradle with a click.

‘That was Vlassis,’ Loukas says. ‘He just got a call from the old woman to confirm that it is her wish that the planning goes through. He says if we are honourable about the other half of the deal, he will stamp the papers tonight.’

Loukas jumps on the spot, his fist clenched. The bakery doorbell tinkles across the road as Stella comes out, her head held high. Loukas has no idea what to expect now. Should he thank her? Should he stay silent? Should he take his lead from her?

‘Right,’ Stella says as if nothing has happened. ‘The old woman has the bread order. Loukas, get yourself down to the beach bar.’

‘Yes!’ How does he hold in his excitement? He wants to hug her. His arms go out towards her but she does not respond. He feels awkward and then decides he will hug her whether she likes it or not and he throws his arms around her. Mitsos pats him. He cannot let her go, she is marvellous, astounding, wonderful. He pulls himself away far enough to kiss her on both cheeks.

‘Alright, alright.’ She releases herself from his grasp. ‘Before you go to the hotel, you better go over there yourself and tell her you quit!’ She indicates the bakery.

Loukas swallows and all his joy seems to drain from him. His arms fall to his sides limply. He had forgotten that he now needs to face the old woman himself.

He never thought it would feel strange pushing open the door to the bakery. He does not know what he expects to have changed but he feels so different, like the rest of the world should be different too. If Stella grovelled to the old woman, which is so hard to imagine, then what mood will the old woman be in? Smug? Righteous? Bitter? He really does not want to face her but this is the last step to his freedom.

They burnt the bread that morning. He can tell. The singed smell is still in the air. He wonders how many loaves. He hadn’t noticed that when he was there just a couple of hours ago with Mitsos, before they talked to Stella.

The way Mitsos spoke to them about the bread order was all very civilized, and Loukas learnt a lot in that brief half-hour. Mitsos did not directly accuse the old woman of using her nephew to stall their planning application. Instead, he implied that she had more power then she could imagine, and did she know that? If she could do anything to get planning, help him out, the bread order would be hers. Not only that, but if she wanted to make biscuits, they would take small packs of them for the hospitality trays in the rooms, and would she be interested? He would be very grateful. For an old farmer, he was very eloquent in his speech, charming even. The old woman’s gaze was fixed on Mitsos and Mitsos alone. Mitsos continued, and almost implied that the order was too much for his cousins in the old town bakery, that she would be doing a kindness not only to him but the town baker as well.

By the time Mitsos had finished, Loukas almost believed that without the old woman’s agreement, the hotel and all the knock-on jobs for the villagers would not happen and it was she and only she who could set the village on this steady footing offered by the hotel’s existence. Her bent frame straightened until she was sitting upright with such importance. Mitsos seemed to sense when to stop talking and the three men—Mitsos, Loukas and the old man—waited for her response.

She began to speak and Loukas felt his heart drop to his boots.

It would be so hard, she said. The extra demand on her would be so draining, she said, she was not sure she could do it. Did Mitsos not realise how old she was? Loukas was on the point of saying something but under the table, Mitsos’ hand slid to his knee and squeezed it briefly, ensuring his silence.

‘But if it is for the good for the village,’ the old woman went on, ‘then who am I to stand in the way of making so many people happy? If my bread assures work for the villagers and an increase in tourism for the area, then I will push my own feelings to one side and take on this burden. On one condition.’

It was then that the old woman said she would only agree to the proposal if Stella herself would come and ask. She wanted the village to know, all the village to know, that Stella had come to ask! Then maybe there was something she could do to make the paperwork go through.

Loukas wanted to spit on her, but Mitsos took her hand, raised it to his lips, and told her she was nothing short of a saint as he lightly kissed her withered fingers.

Now, through in the bakery, the old woman is sweeping the floor and the old man is cleaning the mixing machine. His mixing machine, that he designed and helped to construct.

The old women sees him first. She straightens her back and leans on the broom. The old man, sensing her stillness, looks up and follows her gaze. The sunlight filters through the shuttered window and picks up all the flour particles that have been driven into the air by the broom. The old woman has her faded pink flowered housecoat on and the old man’s brown trousers are covered with flour.