“Rain in June is not impossible,” he said, “but it is unusual.Most of the time, we have a lot more at the end of August and also in the winter.”
“You’re forgetting I grew up in England,” she reminded him. “Rain is part of my DNA.”
Andreas’s smile grew.
“If that is true,” he said, “it means the sun is part of mine.”
The two of them shared many of these playful exchanges, and this moment itself did not demand attention. Yet there was something in the way they looked at each other now, soft and unhurried, that made it feel like one worth remembering.
“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” she said. “I thought everything was on hold until Pantelis had time to do the plastering?”
A violent gust of wind tore through the house, and Andreas flinched as the back door slammed shut with a crash that echoed through the walls.
“That is true,” he allowed. “It is, perhaps, unfortunate that the best plasterer on the island decided to also open a taverna. But it is OK because, today, I have brought my potty.”
“Your…potty?” Skye spluttered out a laugh. “I know this place is a work in progress, but there is a functioning toilet.”
He stared at her, incomprehension writ large.
“Why would I use a toilet to fill holes in the walls?”
“Oh,” she said, “you mean putty.”
“Nai, potty.”
“What do you call it in Greek?”
“Stokáki,” he said.
Skye let her own smile come, small and irrepressible.
“Maybe stick to that in the future,” she suggested. “Less risk of misinterpretation.”
Andreas gave a faint shake of his head as if amused but slightly resigned.
“Do you want to help me?” he asked. “It is a messy job but quite satisfying.”
“I can’t,” Skye said. “It’s Monday, and Mondays and Wednesdays are my teaching days, remember?”
“Nai, of course,” he said. “And how is the boy getting along?”
“George? Very well. Now that the initial adjustment has eased, I think he’s starting to really enjoy living here. I’ve discovered that he finds it easier to concentrate when we’re outside, walking and talking rather than sitting together at a desk. I was actually planning to head down to the beach today, but perhaps that’s unwise?”
She glanced up toward the sky, the clouds congregating in bruised layers, their dark underbellies threatening to spill.
“I think it is better to stay indoors today,” Andreas agreed, briefly touching her arm. “Teach him some Greek history.”
Skye lingered inside the door, watching as he pulled a tub of “potty” from the back of the truck. Andreas was right, history made sense. Teaching it wouldn’t just provide George with some background about his new home, it might deepen her own understanding, too. The thought sparked something, and she dashed up the stairs, returning moments later to find Andreas unfolding a dust sheet. Like her, he was protective of the terra-cotta floor tiles they had laid together—a task that had offered a welcome distraction from all the things she was trying not to think about. Martyn’s emails had stopped, though the silence was, in its own way, more unsettling. Her insomnia had worsened since leaving London, and even when sleep came, it was fragile. The slightest noise would jolt her awake, adrenaline surging and nerves shredded, leaving her twitchy and irritable.
“Sorry I can’t stay and help,” she said, grabbing her bag and making for the door.
“Éla, it is OK. This is my happy place, and now you must go and be in yours.”
It was uncanny the way his words always found their mark. Language, to Andreas, was a tool, too, wielded with the same gentle precision as a hammer or drill.
There was a spring in Skye’s step as she crossed to Theo and George’s house. She raised her hand to knock, but just then, the door swung open.
“Hi,” George said in a sullen sort of voice. “Dad’s on the phone, like always.”
