‘I’ll bring the bags,’ Stuart said, hefting Niamh’s rucksack onto his back and picking up Nate’s suitcase.
‘You remember where the rooms are?’ Melanie asked him.
‘I’m sure I’ll find them. And mate,’ he said to Bill. ‘Make sure my beer’s primed and ready for when I get back.’
We watched the three of them disappear along the marble-tiled hallway towards the back of the villa. Niamh’s eyes were on stalks as she took in the Grecian sculptures on stone plinths and the vibrant abstract artwork on the walls.
‘She’s not exactly Astrid, is she?’ Bill remarked.
I laughed. ‘Stuart made me promise not to hire another alpha female. He said having one in the house was quite enough.’
‘She seems very sweet,’ Melanie said. ‘But she’s barely more than a child herself. Or am I getting old?’ She glared at her husband. ‘And before you say anything, it was a rhetorical question.’
‘She’s eighteen. She left school this summer. I was worried about having someone so young,’ I said, pushing my empty glass towards Bill. ‘I thought she might be homesick, but she’s settling in well. She’s very amenable, and Nate adores her.’
‘I sense a but,’ Bill said, unscrewing the lid of the Bombay Sapphire.
‘She seems to have developed a bit of a crush on Stuart.’
Bill bellowed with laughter. ‘Fuck a duck. That red-haired siren has the hots for old Stu? Bloody hell, I’ve heard it all now. He’s old enough to be her dad.’
I shrugged. ‘Maybe I’ve read it wrong. But she hangs onto his every word. And you know what he’s like.’
‘Too nice to say anything,’ Melanie said.
‘Exactly.’ I took my refilled glass from Bill and swirled the ice around in it. ‘I hope it doesn’t become an issue because I don’t want to go through the whole bloody rigmarole of finding someone new.’
‘Perhaps you should have a word with her?’ Melanie said.
‘What if I’ve read it wrong? Imagine how embarrassing that would be.’ I took another sip of my drink, then waved the glass at them both. ‘You watch her with him. See what you think.’
The rest of the day passed in an alcohol-blurred haze. I lay on a sunbed and dozed as Nate splashed about in the pool with Niamh. When Stuart peeled off his T-shirt and shorts to join them, Melanie put down her book and watched as Niamh cavorted in the water in her barely there cobalt-blue bikini. Bill was right. With her thick red hair and curves in all the right places, she was a siren, even if she wasn’t yet aware of it. One day she’d break hearts. I glanced over at Melanie and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, ‘See what I mean?’ but she was too busy gazing at Niamh and Stuart to notice. Even so, I knew what she was thinking. An enormous pair of sunglasses may have hidden her eyes, but her mouth was turned down at the corners, making her disapproval all too apparent.
I hauled myself to my feet, plucked a T-shirt from Niamh’s sunbed and walked over to the side of the pool, wincing as the searing stone burnt my bare feet.
‘Your shoulders are turning pink. You should put this on,’ I said, waving the T-shirt at her.
‘Thanks, Mrs…. sorry, Cleo.’ Niamh took the T-shirt and stretched her arms above her head, giving us all an eyeful of nubile flesh as she pulled the T-shirt on. Stuart was too busy diving under Nate and making him giggle to notice, but on the other side of the pool Melanie’s lips thinned and Bill watched with a lascivious smile.
I sat back on my sunbed and wondered if bringing Niamh hadn’t been such a great idea after all.
As the week marched on, our days fell into a routine. Breakfast on the terrace overlooking Albania and the Straits of Corfu, as busy as any highway with cruise ships, fishing boats and pleasure craft gliding by. We feasted on crusty local bread and honey from the abandoned hilltop village of Old Perithia, washed down with strong Greek coffee. After breakfast we drove to one of the nearby beaches and swam, snorkelled and sunbathed until it was time for Greek salads and beer in one of the local tavernas. We whiled away the afternoons by the pool back at the villa. Languid, indolent afternoons spent sipping gin and tonics and sleeping while Niamh kept an eye on Nate, and Stuart and Bill kept an eye on Niamh.
I found their furtive glances as she applied suntan lotion or untied her bikini so she didn’t get a tan line amusing, but I could tell it riled Melanie. Which amused me even more.
Once Nate was in bed with Niamh on babysitting duties, Stuart, Bill, Melanie and I would stroll down the hill to Agios Stefanos to have dinner in one of the beachside tavernas. There, to the soundtrack of crickets and the soft lapping of the sea, we would eat spicy bourdeto, rich pastitsada, or garlicky sofrito, drink glass after glass of the delicate Corfiot white wine and reminisce about the old days before we took a taxi back to the villa, replete and content.
After a nightcap by the pool, I would tiptoe into Nate’s room and watch him sleep for a while, drinking in the softness of his cheeks and the sweep of his eyelashes. I’d kiss him on the forehead and wonder how it was possible to love someone so much.
One night I found Niamh in Nate’s bed, her slender arm flung over him. They were both sound asleep, like the Babes in the Wood in the fairy tale. Niamh was still in the shorts and T-shirt she’d been wearing all day. A picture book was on the floor by the side of the bed. I gave Niamh’s shoulder a gentle shake and said, ‘Hey.’
Her eyes shot open, and her hand flew to her
