‘I wish she was dead,’ he snapped back.
‘Don’t say that!’ Faye said. ‘Listen, stop, just stop for a second. Stop.’
She grabbed hold of one of his arms then and tried to pull him to a halt. Except such was her slight frame all she ended up doing was pirouetting in a half circle until he had to stop before she fell over. And it was then, as Faye straightened up, he realised he was still carrying the box of giant beans.
He breathed out, long and hard, before he spoke again. ‘And she gave me fucking beans.’
‘Is she not a very good cook?’ Faye asked.
‘No, she is an excellent cook. Some of her food combinations can be unusual but she always made it work.’ He slapped a mosquito off his arm. ‘Fuck! Why is this happening?’
He felt vulnerable. That was the worst of it. The things his grandmother had alluded to about his father, he didn’t want to hear them; it was wrong. He knew the truth. He had seen how desperate his father had become. And he was building something in his memory with this project.
‘Do you believe in divine timing?’ Faye asked, brushing her hair off her face.
‘What?’
‘You asked “why is this happening?”’
‘Yeah, I was kind of just thinking of another way to say “fuck it”.’
‘Oh, OK. Well, sometimes even things that make us think “fuck it” happen for a reason.’
‘Maybe it’s just because I haven’t had giant beans in a while.’
‘Is that what you really think?’ Faye asked him.
‘I don’t know, Faye. My life was kind of straightforward before I landed here. Now I’m standing in the middle of bamboo with a hotel manager, carrying a pot of beans my resurrected grandmother made on her doll house stove.’
She smiled at him. ‘And which bit of that sentence scares you the most?’
He looked back at her and answered with honesty. ‘Not you.’ He sighed. ‘And I don’t wish she was dead.’
‘Good,’ Faye said, nodding. ‘So, the next time you go and visit your grandmother you will have got over the shock of her being alive and you can be ready to talk calmly about family matters.’
‘I am not sure we have ever talked calmly about family matters.’
‘Well,’ Faye said. ‘One thing I’ve learned over the years is it’s never too late to start approaching things differently.’
‘Ne,Dhaskala.’ Yes, Teacher. Why had he said that? She was just trying to help. Someone trying to help. He wasn’t used to that, unless there was something in it for them… ‘Sorry.’
‘Look, as I said up there, it’s none of my business but I do know what it’s like to have family drama and feel like you’re going mad with everyone’s different needs and wants and agendas for this and that. There’s one good reason why I live alone now. So, you know, in my job as hotel manager, committed to ensuring the ultimate guest experience, if you need someone to listen then…’
‘Then?’
‘Then I will listen.’
Kostas looked at her. Really looked at her. Outwardly she was beautiful. Petit features, those grey eyes usually partially covered by strands of her hair fallen out of place, but in this moment he saw so much more behind her eyes. Compassion. Strength. Resilience. He was certain she had many stories to tell too, but he knew she was offering him an unconditional safe space to vent. And one he suspected would be more genuine than any therapist’s chair.
‘You’re beautiful, you know that?’
OK, he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
‘Ha!’ Faye said. ‘Don’t make me laugh, I’m going to breathe in mosquitos if we don’t move from here.’
‘Why do you do that?’ Kostas asked her.
‘Breathe in mosquitoes? Believe me, it’s not a choice, I?—’
