Page 33 of The Greek Villa

‘Where are the others?’

‘Maybe they come soon,’ he says, whistling as he hammers some nails into a wooden beam.

Maybe? I think to myself. I thought Sunday was the day of rest, not Monday, and wonder what on earth is going on. I busy myself sweeping dust from floors and pulling up weeds in the rear garden and more than an hour later Dimitri arrives.

‘Having a late start today?’ I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice as he did work yesterday, but time is money on this project. Dimitri seems unfazed by my comment and just shrugs.

‘I was down at the harbour, to check out the boat. You are aware the tourist season starts fully in a couple of weeks.’ He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head.

‘Yes. What do you mean about looking at the boat?’

‘I have a boat. I take the tourists out on trips in the summer season across the water.’ He takes a swig from a bottle of water before scrunching it up and tossing it in the skip.

‘I’m aware the season will soon be in full swing, but I didn’t realise you had another job,’ I tell him, disappointed that he will not be giving my villa refurb his undivided attention.

‘Most of the islanders are involved in tourism. My work on the house will maybe slow down a little. This is why I will always work Sundays in the meantime,’ he explains.

‘So, you’re saying work on the house will stop when the tourist season is in full swing?’ I ask, horrified.

‘It will not stop completely. Yiannis will still be here.’

Much as I am grateful for the hard work Yiannis puts in, he is an older man who works more slowly than the others. I might need to go and talk to Eric from the bar last night, who during our conversation mentioned that he was a retired builder.

‘What about the casual labourers?’ I enquire about the young workers with a feeling of rising panic. I had hoped that the renovation work would be continuing steadily when I head home, but now it would seem that the builders have summer jobs.

‘They work in their family restaurants down at the beach,’ he tells me, looking at the floor, unable to quite meet my eyes. ‘Maybe I should have been clearer about all of this.’

‘Yes, maybe you should.’

Like when you agreed to take on the work, I think, realising that this could drag on forever.

‘Don’t worry. Most of the work will be done soon, I promise. If not, we will continue properly at the end of September, it goes a little quieter then and by the end of October no one comes here at all, apart from a few people who fly over from Athens.’

‘End of September?’

This is not good news, and I’m now considering asking my dad over, maybe even my brother.

‘I hope I do not give the wrong impression. I will still work here after the day is over on the boats, but not as many hours.’

‘But you will be completely exhausted.’

I don’t want to have to employ new builders, but then again where would I find any, as it appears everyone takes on their summer jobs? I realise I am feeling desperate even thinking of asking Dad over here. He’s a little too old for any sort of heavy labouring, although he would never admit to that. I wish Dimitri would have mentioned this when he signed up for the job, although perhaps I should have asked more questions. Maybe I really can coax the guy I met at the bar out of retirement.

‘How long for the roof to be finished?’ I ask, thinking at least the house will be protected from the elements.

‘A few more days. It is not a large roof, it will be finished before you head home,’ he tells me, and I feel a sense of relief that at least one of the major jobs on the villa will be completed.

I can’t believe I have been so stupid. Why didn’t I do my research? Perhaps it would have been easier to have bought a place on the Costa del Sol.

‘Maybe you had better crack on then,’ I say, returning to the rear garden, taking out my frustration on the weeds growing between the cracks that I attack with such force the trowel bends. It seems my anger has been productive though as two hours later, before the sun reaches its height, I have filled a wheelbarrow with grasses, and a tidy crazy paved yard is revealed, with the olive tree at its centre neatly cut back. I’ve brushed and hosed it all down, revealing the white between the grey concrete flags. I am sitting on a bench taking a break, when Phoebe pushes the rear gate open.

‘Kalimera. You would like some?’

She is brandishing a huge jug of home-made lemonade with ice and glasses, for all of us to enjoy.

‘Thank you, that will go down really well,’ I say, wiping my perspiring face with a tissue.

‘You have been busy, very nice.’ She glances around the tidy yard and nods approvingly.

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