“You came here by yourself?” the woman clarified, to which Skye reluctantly agreed. Her skin was beginning to prickle, but the two of them had her penned. To get into the aisle behind and continue her grocery shopping, she would need one of them, at least, to step out of her way.
“I should really—” she began, only to be interrupted by the arrival of another customer. Skye had a few seconds with which to register the unruly mass of tawny curls, stacks of bracelets, and bright pink harem pants before the woman bowled across and grabbed her by the hand.
“Please tell me you speak English?” she said in a broad Australian accent. Then, when Skye said she did, “Thank God for that. I’ve asked about twenty people between the boat and here, and they all looked at me as if I was talking in bloody Liki.”
Klodi started to say something, but it was impossible for him to get a word in. The woman had launched into an animated story about “the bloody ferry crossing,” how she’d had to leave her luggage down at the port because there were “no bloody taxis,” and how the woman she’d collected her key from had been “worse than bloody useless” at giving her directions.
“Apparently my new digs are at the top of a place called Ano Meria, but I’ve got no clue where that is or even if I’m pronouncing it right, and my phone’s no bloody help,” she went on, glaring at the mobile in her hand.
“There’s no signal.” Skye held up her own phone. “I’ve had the same problem, but you are in the right place. This is Ano Meria.”
Klodi and Cora had melted away, he to resume the restocking of figs and she to the counter, where she propped herself on astool. The woman moved past Skye and slid open the door of the freezer, extracting a bag of ice and holding it against her chest.
“That’s better,” she said with a sigh. “It’s hot enough to sizzle steaks on the road out there. I thought I was going to pass out walking all the way up here—forty-four sure isn’t twenty-four, if you know what I mean. There was a likely chance you’d have found me in a ditch, half-eaten by mountain dogs.”
“I don’t think they have those here,” Skye mused.
The woman laughed.
“Well, that’s something to be cheery about, I guess. I’m Joy, by the way.”
“Skye.”
“Good to meet you, Skye. Now, I don’t suppose you happen to know where I could find a load of houses that have just been given away for less than two dollars, do you?”
Five
It was late morning by the time Skye and her new neighbor made their way back up the hill from the village. Once it had been established that Joy was also taking ownership of a lottery house, Klodi and Cora had been effusive in their welcome, insisting the two women join them for iced coffee in the garden before pressing gifts of fresh herbs, ripe limes, and a jar each of Cora’s homemade pasteli into their hands.
“I can’t get over the view,” Joy exclaimed. At numerous points along the pathway, she had stopped to take it in, a hand raised to shield her eyes from the sun. The sea, which had been quiet that morning, was now agitated into a blur of movement, its surface a treasure chest of sparkles in the light. “As soon as the rest of my stuff arrives, I’ll have a go at painting it.”
“You’re an artist?” Skye said, and Joy pulled a face.
“So it says on my tax return, but it’s been a while since I produced anything worth a bloody second look. What do you do?”
“Teach,” Skye said, “or did, until this whole moving-to-a-tiny-Greek-island thing happened.”
“When I told my folks I was moving here, my dad told me I must be ambo.”
“ ‘Ambo’?”
“As in ambulance. He reckons I need one to cart me off to wherever it is they take the crazies. But I don’t know, my friends were all for it. I have quite a few Greek pals back in Sydney, and they told me I’d love it over here. Bit of P and Q, find my mojo again, you know.”
Skye nodded.
“I think I do know,” she said.
Joy’s house was one of the smaller single-story dwellings, though she had the benefit of a long rear garden, complete with a stone-walled hut, which she immediately earmarked as a studio. The interior was structurally sound, though the walls were in dire need of repainting, a task that did not daunt Joy in the slightest. She was also delighted to discover that the crate of furniture she’d shipped across had arrived before she had. Skye helped her unload a decorative patio table and two foldout chairs, a tightly strapped mattress, and a stack of wooden planks that Joy would reassemble into a futon.
“I really must order a few bits,” Skye said, thinking forlornly of her deflated air bed.
“Share with me if you like,” Joy offered. “Though if you do, bring your earplugs. I snore louder than those drills they use to break up the highway, or so my husband used to tell me.”
Skye paused in the process of unboxing cushions.
“You’re married?”
Joy looked away.
