From my long and distinguished past experience with romance novels, it’s clear to me the fake-date trope always, always leads to the unlikely duo falling in mad passionate love; however, this isreallife and I won’t be lulled by his charm. That’s only for fiction. Still, I’m not sure why my heart is beating a rhumba. Probably the thrill of deception. That and the fact Gran’s livelihood hangs in the balance of this whole circus.
My legs wobble slightly as I head home. I haven’t seen a man that exposed in a good year. OK two. Fine. Three. But that’s only because I’ve been focusing on my career. I rush back to my bike as quickly as my out-of-breath body will take me. Why is walking on sand so arduous? I’ve got the long ride back to the villa to contend with when my legs are already having trouble holding me up. But the excitement of it all is enough to propel me along.
Back at the villa, I’m a sweaty mess from the long journey up and down hills. I find Gran and recount my not-so-chance meeting with Georgios and am rewarded with a long exhalation and her megawatt smile. ‘That really takes the pressure off, darling. If you can keep them sweet, I can get the business up and running and profitable. We just might be able to drag Konstantine home.’ For the briefest moment her eyes pool with sadness. Gran must really miss her new beau.
Our chat is interrupted as Pork Chop bounds over with a huge bone in his mouth. A very meaty bone that to my untrained eye looks rather human. Could it be … Yannis, the landlord, come to a grizzly end after an altercation with the gang of six, who were protecting their queen?
‘Pork Chop!’ Gran calls. ‘That was supposed to be dinner, you little minx!’ Bile rises in my throat. Dinner? Surely not …
Gran proceeds to wrestle Pork Chop, eventually jumping up dusty but triumphant, bone held aloft like the Statue of Liberty torch. I’m frozen to the spot when she swings a glance at me. ‘What is it, darling? You’re decidedly green around the gills.’
I point a shaky finger to the bone. ‘Where did …thatcome from?’
‘This?’ She holds the fleshy bone aloft. ‘Zorba’s pig farm.’ She narrows her eyes at me. ‘Why, where did you think it came from?’
I don’t know how to answer that.
‘Did you think it washuman?’
I gulp.
Before I can answer she doubles over laughing, leg of indeterminate species dangling by her side, chortling so hard I worry she might stop breathing. Pork Chop takes this moment to gnaw on it again, teeth flashing. It’s an alarming sight. I feel like I’m smack bang in the middle of a true crime re-enactment for some reason.
After an eternity, Gran composes herself and wiggles what’s left of the appendage from Pork Chop’s tiny razor-sharp teeth. ‘Oh you’re killing me, Evie. If I wanted to hide a body I most certainly wouldn’t eat it! That would take forever and really, it’s not very palatable. Sixteen pigs can eat a dead man in eight minutes. Or so I’ve heard. That would be a far more effective way to get rid of a pest.’
‘Uh … huh.’ As of right now all pork products are off the menu. And there will be no innocent tour of said pig farm either. Who knows what’s really going on there. A man who messes up the colour order of books for fun is clearly someone with a troubled soul.
‘So,’ Gran says, dumping the bone on the sink before washing her hands. ‘You’ll be around for dinner tonight?’
I give her a long look. ‘Where else would I be? A nightclub?’
Gran twerks – at least that’s what I presume the movement is supposed to resemble. ‘A nightclub with that sexy Georgios. What’s not to like?’
‘The noise, the dark, the people. Over-eighties women dancing like they’re Beyoncé – you know, the usual.’
‘Moi? I’m dropping it like it’s hot.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘OK, Iama little puffed. These days it’s such a long way down and then to get back up requires a lot of muscle power.’ Sweat beads her brow. Next minute she’ll put her back out and the Fun Police will be enraged when I explain it was a simple booty-poppin’ accident. ‘So no plans for this evening?’ There’s disappointment on her face as if I’m letting her down by being the perfect non-wayward grandchild. Gran moves at a faster pace than me. If she were the poor lamb fake-dating Georgios, they’d have moved in together already.
‘I have a date with my book boyfriend, and it’s not like we can eat …thatnow.’
‘It’s OK. You go relax for a bit. Later I’ll throw together a meze plate: olives, dips and the like. We can sit under the trellis and enjoy the sea breeze.’
Vegetables sound good right about now and forevermore. ‘Perfect.’
My phone beeps with a text.
‘Off you go, darling. We all know who it’ll be.’
I scoff. ‘It could be any number of people, I’ll have you know. It could be a job offer. A secret admirer. An ex-flame.’
‘It could be. However, we both know it’s my busybody daughter who surely has better things to worry about than me.’ Gran picks up the meaty appendage again and jabs it in the air to emphasise her point. ‘Remember our little deal, darling.’ She grins and walks away, Pork Chop jumping wildly beside her trying to get his prize back. I lean against the kitchen bench to check my message and manage to step in a small puddle. Has one of the dogs upended their water bowl again? I find some paper towels and tidy it up before I go back to my phone.
Darling, you’ve been very quiet. How’s it all going there? Mom xoxo
Hmm, I’d been expecting more of an inquisition. Perhaps she’s learning to leave well enough alone?
