Page 88 of Hot Greek Summer

‘I’m going home.’

‘Stell, no,’ Winnie said, her head jerking up as she buttered the toast the next morning.

Frankie looked stricken. ‘You can’t give up just like that,’ she said. ‘I know it looks bleak now, but if we all stay and pull together …’ She trailed off at Stella’s set expression.

Finding out that not only had they lost all but seven of their own bottles of gin but all of their precious berries too had been the final straw for them all yesterday. They’d sat outside and watched the sun sink below the horizon, wondering how their adventure had gone so quickly from sand-between-your-toes paradise to hell in a handcart.

‘I’m not a quitter,’ Stella said, offended by Frankie’s choice of words. ‘I just know when enough is enough. I had a job offer a while back from a rival marketing company back at home. It’s not great, but I’ve emailed them and accepted it. I’m booked on the morning ferry back to Skiathos.’

Winnie sat down hard on the nearest stool, utterly dejected. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

Stella swiped the back of her hand over her eyes, and Frankie crossed the kitchen and hugged her hard.

‘Please don’t go, Stell. We need you.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Stella pulled in a deep shuddery breath. ‘This place … this life, it isn’t for me. I thought it was, for a while, but I don’t belong here in the way you two do.’

‘You do,’ Winnie said, fierce despite her trembling lip. ‘You, me and Frank. We did this together.’

Stella shook her head, downcast but determined. ‘My bags are packed and my flights booked. This time tomorrow, I’ll be back in England.’

‘Is there nothing we can say to change your mind?’ Winnie held on to the handle of Stella’s suitcase, as if she imagined that not letting go would be enough to make her friend stay.

Stella already looked different. She’d dressed as if she meant business, in dark jeans and a white shirt, glamorous gold jewellery at her throat and wrists, her makeup dinner-date perfect. It was all for show, of course; carefully chosen armour to deflect the fact that she was going home with her heart in her boots and her tail between her legs.

‘No,’ she said, swallowing the ball of tears in her throat. She gripped Winnie’s and Frankie’s hands tightly. ‘Make this easy on me, OK? Smile, say we’ll talk later, and then walk away without looking back.’

A tear escaped from the corner of Frankie’s eye.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, swiping it with her fingertips. She hugged Stella quickly, then pushed a brown paper parcel into her friend’s shaking hands as she stepped back. ‘I made you some food. For the trip.’

Winnie couldn’t bear it. Her heart ached with unshed tears, but she held them all in for Stella’s sake as she hugged her goodbye.

‘Text me when you get to the airport, let us know you’re safe,’ she whispered, clinging to her.

The ship’s horn sounded, and Winnie reluctantly stepped back.

‘That’s your cue to leave,’ Stella said, blowing them each a kiss.

For a moment none of them moved, and then Frankie and Winnie both straightened their shoulders, turned their backs and walked away from the port without looking back.

At the cargo end of the ferry, a battered red flatbed truck rolled onto the dock. The driver jumped out to check that his goods were still all intact, and then hopped back into the cab and set off across the island.

Villa Valentina was too quiet without Stella. The place didn’t ring with the clatter of her heels or give off the exotic scent of her perfume, and both Winnie and Frank felt as if a wheel had fallen off their tricycle. It wasn’t so much a workload issue; the arrival of the band had changed the shape of their summer anyway. It was much, much more personal than that. The fact that Stella had gone home to England without them meant that she’d be there without them. They wouldn’t be there to turn to if she needed them, and she wasn’t going to have the security of a familiar job or home to ease herself back into her chilly old life. They were as worried about her being in England alone as they were about being in Skelidos without her.

‘We can’t even drink gin,’ Winnie said sadly, trailing behind Frankie into the kitchen, checking her phone in case Stella had texted to say she’d changed her mind and jumped off the boat at the last minute. She dumped the phone on the side when she saw the stubbornly plain screen. The tiny supply of gin they had left was too precious to touch.

‘I don’t fancy a drink anyway,’ Frankie said, tying her apron around her middle. ‘It’s not the same without Stell.’

‘What are you making?’

Frankie reached the flour down out of the cupboard. ‘Cheese and rosemary scones.’

‘Stella’s favourites,’ Winnie sighed.

Frankie sniffed and glanced at the clock. ‘She should be at the airport now.’

It had been three hours since they’d deposited Stella at the port, and in four more she was due to catch her flight home.

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