He seems happy with this answer and I start to feel more confident. It would be a great start to my time here if I can get a job right away. It would certainly help with my money issues. But if I thought this was going well, I might have misread it.
“A lot of the customers we get here are German. I really need someone who can understand them.” He pauses. “You gonna pretend you speak German too?”
I don’t have an answer for this one.
“Um… probably not.”
He begins to shake his head, but before he can say anything he’s interrupted by a customer along the bar. He clears his throat loudly to get Hans’s attention, and I look too. It’s a large guy – huge even – with an enormous gut and shorts that reveal horribly white hairy legs. Hans gives me a “hold on” look, as he spins around to serve him. I take a dejected swig of my Mythos. Clearly I’m not getting a job, so I might as well enjoy the beer.
But then, as the fat man waits for Hans to fetch his drink, I feelhis eyes sliding over to me, not even bothering to hide it. I have a look I use on these occasions, every woman does, a “fuck-off stare”, and I’m just about to deploy it when I change my mind. Instead of giving the guy an evil look, I offer him a warm and friendly smile. His eyes widen in surprise.
“Hi there,” I say. There’s a few strands of hair falling over my face, and I brush them behind my ear, feeling the guy following my every move. “How’s your day going?”
“Hallo,” he says, when his brain realises I actually spoke to him. I smile again, then when it’s clear he doesn’t even have a response, I turn back to Hans, who’s watching the both of us, the litre of golden beer he’s just poured frozen in his hands. The fat guy pays, then finally he takes his drink back to a table, where he changes his seat, to give a better view of my rear sitting on my stool. Hans wanders back to me, a thoughtful expression on his face.
“OK,” he says. “No German. But most of the guys like to order in English. I guess I can give you a couple of shifts.”
And just like that, I have a job.
EIGHT
There’s still time to finish my Mythos though, and there’s still one obvious problem to solve: I only have one more night booked in the hotel, and even with a job I can’t afford to stay there much longer. So since I’m on a roll, I ask Hans again.
“You don’t happen to know of any rooms to rent do you? Here in Skalio?”
He fixes me a look, like somehow the fact I don’t even have somewhere to stay yet means I’ve tricked him.
“Not much about, this time of year.”
“OK.” I try not to feel disappointed. It had already occurred to me that I might need to find somewhere in Kastria, the island’s main town, and get a bus down here.
“I have a friend though. He lets out some apartments. In the back of town.”
I feel a surge of hope. “In Skalio?”
“Of course in Skalio, where else?” I don’t know what this means exactly, but I don’t get time to consider it.
“He’s a good guy. Klaus. He comes from Germany, like me.”
“OK.” I wait, again, while Hans seems to consider a little longer, like maybe he’s made a mistake.
“You have a handy? A mobile phone?” He pulls out his and reads out a number, then adds me to his contacts.
“I’ll give him a message, tell him you’re looking,” Hans says. We agree too that I’ll do my first shift the next afternoon, so I can get used to the bar before it gets too busy at the weekend.
I head back to the hotel feeling pretty pleased with how things have gone. I’m hungry though, so soon I head out again. All the restaurants are open now, some with waiters outside trying to draw the wandering tourists in. I feel a bit self-conscious, being here on my own, but the smells are incredible. In the end I pick the cheapest-looking place, and I order a moussaka, with a salad and a glass of wine. Sometimes, when Mum is in a good mood, she cooks moussaka at home, and I’ve always loved the richness and the soft aubergines, but this one is way better than anything I’ve tasted before. It’s a bit more expensive than I can really afford, but it’s been a good day, and I don’t care.
It is weird though, eating alone. I realise at one point that I’ve never done this before. And I do feel eyes on me. A couple sat a few tables away, a man and a woman. I sense her judging me, somehow disapproving, like it’s my fault her husband is glancing over at me when he thinks she’s not looking.
Klaus texts me at eight the next morning, just before I head down to breakfast again in the hotel. I arrange to meet him at eleven, in front of what turns out to be one of the less-than-attractive apartment blocks where the bus dropped me off. I had to check out of the hotel by ten-thirty, so I have my backpack with me, and already my T-shirt is wet with sweat.
At ten past eleven there’s still no sign of Klaus, and I check several times that I have the right place, but he sent a location on WhatsApp, so if it’s wrong, it’s not my fault. At twenty past eleven he finally turns up, a wiry, skinny guy who doesn’t stop sniffing. Like he’s got a cold. Or he’s half-fox. He doesn’t say anything about beinglate.
“You’re Ava,” he tells me, like I wasn’t sure. His eyes run me up and down, and he gives a visible shrug, like I’ve passed some test.
“Apartment’s just here.” He pulls a huge set of keys from the pockets of his camouflage combat trousers, still sniffing, while he tries to find the right one. I get the sense that, if Hans says he’s a good guy, that might mean my new employer isn’t the most reliable judge of character.
The apartment is on the ground floor. I hoped it might be higher, perhaps with a view of the sea, or at least a glimpse. But when we go inside, I see this apartment only faces the bins and scrubland at the back of town.