OPAP. The betting shop. Kostas knew his father liked to gamble. There wasn’t many a Greek guy who didn’t like to bet. This was not new news. Except to take money meant for something else, to take money from his mother – the knowledge of that didn’t feel so great.
‘You knew he did that, Konstantino, yes?’
‘Yes,’ he answered.
‘And the poker nights that started as fun at thecafeneonand then turned into bigger games at the casinos and then bigger and bigger games at other places most people do not know about?’
Kostas shook his head, but it wasn’t an admission that he didn’t know, more of a deep subconscious awareness that he had known in some way, but he hadn’t really wanted to know.
‘Do you want to know how I know all about it?’ Kyriaki asked him.
‘I am listening,’ he answered.
‘Because I made him tell me the night he broke into my house made of bricks and tried to steal everything I had that was worth anything. And the worst thing about that night was I could see in his eyes – through all the pleading and the begging when he realised he had been caught, together with the trying to blame the way we had raised him, attempting to say it was all God’s will and this was his path – I could see that no matter what happened, no matter if he stole everything or I handed it to him out of pity, he was never going to stop.’
It was hard to hear. But had he really not suspected this? Deep down? He had seen his mother’s agony and anguish first-hand and all he had wanted to do was make things better for her. That was one of the motivating factors behind his drive – to give her the life she deserved when his father was already lost. And then she had died anyway, before she had had any kind of a chance to really live.
‘Some people cannot change, Konstantino. No matter what you do. No matter how hard you try. Because change takes strength. It is a constant battle. Whether it is wanting to be a nicer person, or it is wanting to keep up exercise, falling back to familiar routines is easier than breaking a habit, even a bad one; actually, especially a bad one.’ She put a hand on his. ‘With your father it wasn’t just the addiction of gambling on games, it was the need to keep gambling with life itself, even if life was good.’ She squeezed his hand, little wrinkled fingers clutching tight. ‘But when you start to gamble with the lives of your family… well, that was when he was dead to me.’ She sighed. ‘Your mother, God rest her soul, she was already a lost cause, too blinded by her love and absolute devotion to a man who would never love her as much as he loved jeopardy, but you, Konstantinomou, they would have to be carrying me to the angels before I would let anything happen to you.’
He had loved his parents. He remembered only the best things. He wanted to only remember the best things. Because good memories didn’t keep you awake at night…
‘You understand what I am saying to you, Konstantino?’ Kyriaki asked him, softly.
‘You had to stop loving him because what he kept doing to us was wrong and he was never truly regretful.’
‘Konstantino, I never stopped loving him. He was my son. But I could not keep making excuses for the way he behaved, like your mother always did. And I was not as naïve as her, telling everyone who would listen that other people had corrupted him, that everyone else was to blame for leading him down the dark paths. He was a grown man and he was far from stupid. He knew exactly what he was doing at every turn in the road. And that is why I knew he had orchestrated the whole thing. It was all too convenient, the timing, the fact he was not around when he should have been around, the biggest match coming up…’
Kostas frowned. ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about?’
Kyriaki squeezed his hand again. ‘Konstantinomou, the night you were injured on the street in Athens. The way they hurt you, like they knew where to hurt you most,moro mou, your father, it was him and the dark world he now belonged to that attacked you.’
Now his brain was silently screaming, not wanting this revelation to even land, and definitely not ever be absorbed. It couldn’t be true. He had never been the same after that night. He had spent months and months in recovery and rehab working on the first repair after getting injured on the court and then in a few minutes it was shattered all over again, back to the beginning, or rather, straight to the end game.
‘You… can’t know it was him,’ he said to his grandmother. ‘The police never found the guys. They wore masks. The CCTV images were grainy. There was no evidence that?—’
‘Oh, Konstantinomou, I know because… he told me,’ Kyriaki said, tears filling her eyes. ‘It was the last conversation we ever had.’
46
HOTEL MARGARITÁRI, AVLAKI
‘Have a wonderful time at Paleokastritsa,’ Faye said to a family of guests as they prepared to leave the hotel. ‘Take lots of photographs!’
They all waved and smiled and, as always, it gave Faye a warm buzz of satisfaction. Sometimes she really needed to take a moment to appreciate how wonderful her life was here. She got to spend every day on an idyllic Greek island, doing a job she adored under a warm blue sky. No, every life issue hadn’t evaporated the second she’d moved to Greece, but at least she was problem solving in a much better climate than the UK and, more importantly, somewhere with infinitely better tomatoes. And whatever happened with Dimitria’s decision about the hotel, no matter what fallout there would be from Saffron when Faye told her about the pictures of her and Kostas in the news, she could handle it like she always handled it. She smiled to herself and then her smile dropped slightly as Alexandros walked through the front door.
‘Yássou,’ he greeted, approaching the desk.
‘Yássou, Alexandro.’ This felt awkward, but it really shouldn’t, and she could be professional. ‘Are you here to see Dimitria?’
‘I have seen Dimitria. We took coffee on the deck.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise. Is everything OK?’
‘Yes, everything is fine.’
‘Good,’ Faye answered with a nod. More awkward.
‘So, now I am here to see you,’ he stated.
