I swallow a lump in my throat. Now it makes sense; the lack of following a budget, the muddle of money woes. Gran’s not planning on leaving this island. Her words have an inevitability to them, as if she’s predicting the end of her life. The pang of hearing it hurts deep in my heart, producing a sharp visceral pain.
A world without my gran will be a dark, dull place indeed. It doesn’t bear thinking about. ‘What a wonderful place to call your forever home.’ Not final, I won’t say the words out loud.
She leans over to pat Lily. ‘That’s why I got these old pooches. They’ve been around the block many times too, and they deserve to live out their days in comfort.’ Gran lifts Lily into her lap. ‘Their twilight years will be their best – I’ll make sure of it.’
This revelation cements the fact that I have to make it work with Georgios so Gran can live here peacefully in her sun-drenched literary paradise. Even if I have to play the part of a woman who has her life together, a woman who dates hot, buff beach bods all the time. I’m going to have to fake it until I make it. I do feel guilty about lying to Georgios, but if I keep things casual it should be fine. I’ll take things so slow he’ll probably die of boredom, but it needs to be this way, so no one gets hurt feelings.
Zeus lightens the mood when he bounds over and attempts to steal the cushion from my hands, as if we’re competing in a wrestling match. ‘Hey! That’s not for you!’ We battle in a tug-of-war, where he wins, the varmint. He does victorious circles around me, as if parading his prize.
‘It’s not a game, Zeus!’ I give up and stroke his fluffy ears, unable to be stern with him for one single minute. Out of all six pooches, he and Sir Spud are the most affectionate. Zeus doesn’t think twice about jumping into your lap, even though he must weigh a good forty kilos. The big dog is of no determinate breed, like the rest of them. They’re a bit of this and that, as most stray island dogs seem to be. I do feel for him with all his fluff in this heat, but he doesn’t seem to mind it.
‘Now,’ I say bending to his level, gently prying the cushion from his slobbery mouth. ‘I’m going to place this cushion on here for customers, and you’re not to touch it! Understand? Then I’m going to unpack these books and you’re not to pee on them!’ We’ve learned the hard way that if the dogs are outside, the rules don’t seem to apply, so I try to protect the book babies from the fur babies.
He gives me the puppy dog eyes, and it’s all I can do not to throw him the cushion and be done with it. But Gran has forked out a lot for the red and white striped linen covers, which are a little too fancy for a dog toy.
Mere moments after I’ve I placed the cushion on the sun lounger, Zeus snatches it and dashes off to the cool of the bookshop, looking behind once to see if I’m chasing him.
‘Darling, you ever think that he might not understand because he’s a Greek dog?’
‘And …?’
‘He can’t translate your English words!’
‘Ooh!’ I laugh at the thought the Greek fuzzball has no idea what I’m saying. I hadn’t even considered such a notion. ‘I’ll have to learn Greek commands.’ Sir Spud understands just fine but maybe that’s because we use a charade system, although I’ve promised myself not to do that anymore, at least not in the bookshop.
Lily soon sprints out with the cushion, giving Zeus a run for his money, even though she’s a half the size of Zeus. I snatch her up with the cushion. ‘Hurrah!’ She wiggles against my chest and yaps to be put down. I throw the cushion to Gran and give Lily a soft kiss on the head. I’m not sure where’s she’s been but she’s still skittish around humans, so we’re doing our best to shower her with love in small doses.
I place Lily down and she runs to safety underneath the sun lounger, barking at Zeus.
Gran gives me a sweet smile and leans against the wall that separates us from the long drop of the rocky cliff face. ‘I had an idea for the pups.’
‘This motley crew?’ They’re clearly not pedigree. You can see the scars and scrapes they’ve had living on the streets and in shelters. It’s those imperfections that make them so loveable. Wherever they’ve been and whatever they’ve endured is over now. They’re safe, and well fed; some are medicated. They’re clean and happy, albeit Lily is still wary and rightfully so. Trust takes time.
‘Yes this ragtag bunch. What about if we Rent-A-Dog to readers?’
‘You’d let strangers take them home?’ My heart lurches at the thought.
‘No, no way! I mean here. This outdoor area. Customers can pay a small fee, nominal really, and that money can go to the other rescue dogs. There are new pooches at the shelter every single week. We could use the funds to help with their vet bills because sadly we can’t adopt them all, as much as I’d love to. The Rent-A-Dog initiative may encourage customers to come and visit the bookshop, but more importantly, it gives the fur babies someone to cuddle with. Show them that humans are kind and loving. Customers can walk them and stop and take in the spectacular views. These fur babies have been starved of affection. This way, they’ll have it in droves. We’ll be here supervising, so it’s not as if it’s any different to them wandering around.’
Whenever Gran has settled into a new place, she always has a sense of community and finds a way in which to help out. In Nairobi it was clean drinking water for remote villages. In Timor, she sourced school supplies and uniforms for children. Her impact might be considered small but she leaves an indelible mark, wherever she goes. ‘It’s a great idea! Shall I take some portraits of our superstars and share them on your social media accounts, highlighting the Rent-A-Dog initiative?’
‘My … social media?’
I tilt my head. ‘Don’t you have that all set up for the biz?’
‘Well, no. I had that run-in with the Zuckerberg guy and since then …’ She peters off.
Does she mean the CEO of Facebook? ‘What run-in?’
‘Oh a small misunderstanding about a data breach. A teeny-tiny little hacking incident. This was way back when his company was in its infancy.’
I double blink. ‘A data breach by whom?’
‘By whom? Have a listen to yourself. By me – who else?’
I suppose I’ve always lumped Gran in the over-eighties group who didn’t grow up with technology at their fingertips, and thus aren’t all that familiar with it. But a data breach, a teeny-tiny little hacking incident? ‘Do I even want to know?’
‘Probably not. They have fancy lawyers. Luckily so do I. Your mother has come in handy too many times to count, but don’t tell her I said that. All’s I’m saying is, if you’d like to set up social media that’s great. Just don’t use my name.’
