A rustle in the near silence made Skye turn in time to see a lone goat making its way across the loose stones toward her.
“Geiá sou,” she murmured.
The goat fixed her with its pale marble-like eyes. One of its long ears was black and the other brown, though its flanks were predominantly white. As it lowered its head to nibble half-heartedly at a tuft of dry grass, the bell around its neck gave a soft jingle.
“I hope you’re not lost,” Skye said, though she doubted it. There were enough trails of goat dung around the village to convince her that the animals went wherever they pleased, and on more than one occasion, they had followed her back from the shop, muzzles pushing into her bags in search of food.
“I don’t have anything for you,” she said now as the goat began to nudge at her side. “The only thing in my fridge is leftover octopus, and I don’t think even you would want that.”
She and Joy had finally attempted to prepare the matsata dish the previous evening, but it had ended in disaster. The octopus had turned chewy once defrosted, the pasta had adhered itself to the bottom of the pan, while Joy’s decision to add “a decent glug of voddy” had rendered the sauce inedible. In the end, they’d opened a bag of Lay’s chips and dunked them into eggplant dip.
The goat nudged her for a second time, hard enough that she toppled to one side.
“You’re right,” Skye said, reaching over to stroke its neck. “I should get up.”
From somewhere below came the waspy buzz of a moped engine. No wind today, only heat, the sea a glittering carpet of fallen stars.
She had not planned on a route that would take her past the sisters’ house, but her legs carried her there regardless. She wanted to see Andreas even if he did not want to see or speak to her.
The front door was ajar. Skye stepped inside and was about to call out a tentative “hello” when she heard raised voices.
“You must do as I say.”
A man—probably Andreas.
“Oh, I must, must I?”
A woman—almost certainly Dusty.
Skye moved across the living area, with its mess of mattresses, tangled sheets, and piles of discarded clothing, and cut through the minuscule kitchen into the garden beyond. Mia was there, sunbathing in a deck chair, while Louisa stood rigidly in the shade, a panting Bruno by her feet. Dusty and Andreas were a short distance away, postures set, Dusty’s hands on her hips as Andreas gestured past her toward the extension.
“What’s going on?” Skye asked.
Louisa yelped in fright and spun around, a hand pressed to her chest. The green sundress she wore complemented the richness of her fox-red hair, though the worry etched on her face dulled its shine. Mia, by contrast, did little more than open one eye.
“Oh, hi,” she said, readjusting her bikini bottoms.
“You scared the life out of me,” Louisa added in her musical Bristolian accent.
Skye flashed her a sheepish grin. “I would’ve knocked, but the door was open.”
“It does that,” Mia said through a yawn. “Dusty keeps promising to fix the latch, then forgetting. She’ssoobsessed with the extension, although it appears our resident builder has taken issue with it.”
“I thought as much,” Skye said, casting a glance in Andreas’s direction. “Don’t tell me, it’s to do with a lack of steel supports?”
“That’s only part of it,” Louisa replied wearily. “Today it’s something about permits or restrictions. I’m not sure, to be honest. It’s all gobbledygook to me.”
Andreas had unfolded a document of some kind and was tapping it with an insistent finger as Dusty looked on, radiating insolence.
“Should we do something?” Skye said.
Mia stretched her arms above her head.
“Nah,” she said. “I’m enjoying being a spectator.”
“I’ll go and make some cold drinks,” Louisa said. “Cool everyone off a bit.”
Mia slid deeper into the deck chair and closed her eyes.
