Chapter Four The Midas Touch

The Midas Touch

Demetrios dumped the tray of crockery and coffee cups he’d collected from around the emptying taverna onto the open window leading into the kitchen. It was the quiet hour. That time after lunch service where everyone went off for siestas or to hit the beach before sundown and dinner began. At this point in the day, Kallis Taverna picked up the odd customer popping in for an ice cream or a frappe or take out. But the larger hotels along the front did a better trade, so the dining room and terrace was devoid of people besides Jesse and his aunt.

Elbows resting on the pass, Demetrios peeked over his shoulder. Jesse and Diane were laughing at something or other, but it was a more cathartic release than genuine merriment. Like melancholy wrapped up in familiarity. They were likely sharing an anecdote about Freya. Demetrios could see it in Jesse’s eyes. He’d always been able to tell when Jesse was happy. When he was sad. Mad. Angry.

Even when he lied about it.

Right then, sadness filled Jesse Hough to the brim.

He sighed, turned away and leaned forward on the counter, scrubbing a hand down his face. Cristos came over to the window, having turned off the grill pans and whatnot knowing he wouldn’t be preparing any hot meals for a couple of hours.

“Taking my break,” he said in Greek to Demetrios. “Antonios can hold the fort while your babá isn’t around.”

Demetrio raised his head at that. “Where is he?”

As the main owner of the Kallis Taverna, Yiannis spent every waking moment there. As had Freya. It was the ultimate family business. The guests loved them both. Him, too. Yiannis and Freya put their heart and soul into the taverna and accommodation, racking up a huge list of recurring visitors to take advantage of their sweet spot next to the enclosed beach. But Yiannis was in mourning. And had they not had an influx of booked guests in the peak summer season, they would have shut the business altogether to allow for him to grieve in the traditional Greek Orthodox way. But Freya wasn’t Greek, so some traditions had been bent or loosened to allow for that. Which meant Demetrios and the rest of the staff had to step in for overtime to allow Yiannis the solitude he needed.

“Not seen him since the twink arrived.” Christos nodded to the occupied table on the terrace.

Demetrios glanced over his shoulder again. Jesse. He turned back. “He’s not a twink.”

“No?” Christos arched an eyebrow.

“He’s twenty-nine for a start.”

“You’re defensive.”

Busted. Any normal day or night, he and Christos would have stood here, he on one side of the kitchen window, Christos on the other and rated the guests and holidaymakers. Christos would put bets on who would make a beeline for Demetrios, or if there were any of them Demetrios couldn’t bed.

He couldn’t have that conversation about Jesse.

“He’s Freya’s son.” Demetrios averted his gaze from Christos’ interrogating one. It seemed so impersonal to call Jesse that. To say he was only that. When, once upon a time, he’d been so, so much more.

“The long lost Jesse, huh?” Christos whistled. “The one who broke his mother’s heart.” He cocked his head. “He’s…pretty.”

“He’s my stepbrother.” Demetrios had a hard time getting those words out, but at least it might put an end to Christos referring to Jesse as he would any other random customer.

“What? You can’t appreciate how your stepbrother has a certain attractive quality you’d normally jump on?”

“Fuck off, Christos.”

Christos flinched, then peered over Demetrios’ shoulder. “What’s the deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’s he only coming back now?”

“For Freya’s funeral.”

Christos shook his head. “I mean, why has he not visited before now?”

Demetrios swivelled around, resting his hip on the counter to watch Jesse sipping his coffee. Sensing Demetrios’ eyes on him, Jesse peeked at him, and that miniscule meeting of gazes had Demetrios’ heart leaping. He smiled. Jesse looked away.

Demetrios tapped the window surface in defeat. “Because he hates me.”

“You?” Christos scoffed. “No one hates you. You’re literally God’s gift to humankind. At least until after you’ve bedded them.”

Demetrios hung his head.

“Nooo!” Christos waved a hand between them. “You and—”

“No!” Demetrios ducked through the window to slap Christos’ hand away. “No! Shhh! Stop.” He gave him a warning glare. “He hates this whole place. Babá broke up his family, so he hates me, too.” Demetrios could hear the sulkiness in his own voice. The regret. The injustice of having lost Jesse because of something that wasn’t his fault. Something he couldn’t control.

He was a long time over it.

He was.

“Sure, sure, man.” Christos chuckled and Demetrios held up his middle finger. “I’m going for a vape.” He then scurried away, out the fire doors, leaving Demetrios alone in the taverna.

He turned to face out. The tables needed sorting for the evening rush. He sighed. This was his to own now. He barely got to rest anymore. It had been a week since Freya had passed and, in that time, Yiannis had become more withdrawn. He could hardly blame him for that. When his birth mother had died, Yiannis had been impossible for over a year. But Demetrios had been a mere boy then and whilst he’d felt the hollow in his chest at not having a mother, he hadn’t known the added burden that would fall on him. His loyalty to Yiannis meant he’d never be able to leave. Couldn’t chase any other dreams. Find love beyond the Aegean Sea.

Certainly not now.

Because it was Yiannis’ turn to fall apart and Demetrios’ be his shoulder to cry on. His role in the business prior to Freya’s passing had been to make friends with the guests, to have fun with them, to play his guitar and sing to attract the footfall. Now it was to ensure they didn’t go bust.

Losing two mothers had cost him so much.

Not as much as what his father’s affair had cost him, though.

Wrestling away the wretched unfairness, he cleared up the tables inside, filling the condiments, wiping the surfaces and sweeping the floor. Movement from the veranda caught his eye. Jesse and his aunt stood, hugged, and off Diane went, rolling her suitcase on wheels to wherever she was staying. Jesse remained where he was for a beat, watching her go, then sat back down, head slumped forward. Demetrios held onto the top of the broom handle, resting his chin on the back of his hands, and contemplated whether to approach him. Jesse had made it clear. He wasn’t pleased about their reunion. Not like Demetrios was.

He knew why.

He hated why.

Jesse fished out his phone, scrolled, put it to his ear, and bit on his thumbnail, so Demetrios left him to it and swept the floor. When finished, he shoved the broom back in the store cupboard and peeped back out to the decking. Jesse had gone. As had every other customer. Chance to talk to Jesse well and truly lost, he meandered outside to readjust the tables on the veranda, bin the rubbish and wipe the surfaces, then cleared the small part of the beach they’d claimed as their own.

Shattered, he collapsed down on a chair and watched the waves crashing over the shore and where the holidaymakers who paid his wages were soaking up the last of the afternoon sun on rented loungers. Children played in the sand, and Georgios scouted the beach for customers, offering massages and whatever else he gave for a quick ten euros. The usual sight. Sun, sea and sex. All for a profit.

Demetrios fished his phone from his shorts, opening the Instagram app and hovering his thumb over the profile. He closed his eyes.

Stop torturing yourself.

A message pinged through on Messenger. Treacherous heart leaping, he smiled and opened the DMs. But before he could reply, a shadow loomed over him and his screen.

“Hey, Deme!” Kelly and Izzie, sarongs over their bikinis, clutching straw beach bags, sunglasses on, traipsed through the sand toward him.

“Hey.” Demetrios dropped his phone on the table. He’d have to reply to that message later. “Can’t have had enough of the sun worshipping already?”

Kelly hiccupped. “We had too many cocktails. Giorgios was offering beach service.”

Demetrios tutted. Giorgios knows how to suck the euros from the tourists. He’d done a degree in it. “You should stick to water on the beachside. It’s free. Safer too.”

Kelly scrunched up her nose in aww. Then, to Demetrios’ surprise, she collapsed into his lap, clasping her arms around his neck. “You do care.”

Demetrios smiled. She smelled sweet. Like pineapple and coconut, a hint of aniseed on her lips. If this had been any other time, any other situation, he would have put his arms around her too. He would have said the right things. Whispered something romantic in her ear. He’d done the groundwork. But he couldn’t. Jesse was here. No longer interested in giving her the holiday romance she wanted, Demetrios kept his hands to himself by dangling them down the back of the chair.

“How are you?” Kelly asked, tilting her neck. “We’ve been worried about you. I can’t believe your stepmum died and you’re still working!”

“What would we do with all of you? Kick you out?”

“I know, but it must suck.”

Demetrios shrugged. “That’s life.”

Kelly squeezed her arms tighter around his neck, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

Demetrios had now discovered another surefire way to romance the tourists—with the sympathy vote. But he didn’t have time to add anything more, as his name was called from the side.

“Demetrios?”

Demetrios peered over his shoulder. Jesse stood behind him, and the way he’d said his full name, aloof and clipped, had his chest squeezing. He staggered from the seat, urging Kelly off him, and she tripped from unsteady flip flops on uneven sand, falling into her friend.

“Hey, Jesse.” Demetrios scraped back his hair, an involuntary reaction to present himself better.

Jesse looked past him to the two girls.

“Uh, this is Kelly.” Demetrios waved a hand at the girl. “And…uh…”

Skatá, skatá, skatá.

“Izzy,” the girl answered for him, smiling brightly and slipping off her sunglasses to present wide blue eyes at Jesse. She took him in, sizing him up, and decided that, yeah, okay, she could take him since Kelly had bagged Demetrios for herself.

Jesse offered the meekest of smiles. An instinctive English formality at best.

“This is Jesse.” Demetrios flapped a hand at him. “My…um…” Oh, God. What was he going to say? How could he introduce Jesse and the whole complexity of their weird, fucked up relationship spanning decades?

“Stepbrother.” Jesse spoke for him.

Stepbrother. “Yeah,” Demetrios breathed out. “My stepbrother.”

That summed that up.

Kelly gasped, holding a hand up to her mouth. “Oh, my, God. Was it your mum who…?”

“Yeah.” Jesse ripped his glasses off, wiping the lenses on his T-shirt, then glided them back on. “So, sorry, if you don’t mind, I’m going to have to steal Dem away for a minute.”

“Oh, of course!” Kelly waved them off. “We’re going in for a quick shower, then we’ll be hitting the clubs. You should come.” She addressed Demetrios, until Izzy nudged her, angling her head at Jesse. “Both of you. I mean, I know it’s the funeral tomorrow, Deme told me.”

Demetrios fluttered his eyes closed, then turned them back on Jesse. Stiff as a pole, he glared at Kelly.

“But it might be good for you,” Kelly continued, two-for-one cocktails aiding her insensitivity. “Have a dance.” She wriggled her hips, one of her flip-flops coming loose, and she fell into Izzie.

Jesse gave no words.

“Thanks for the offer, Kels.” Demetrios grabbed his phone and dug it into his pocket. “But we’ll be busy tonight.”

“Sure. Okay. Well, you have my number if you change your mind.” Kelly waved as Izzy steered her away and through the alley toward the entrance of the apartments.

Demetrios rubbed his forehead.

“Your dad needs help,” Jesse said, then turned and walked back toward the taverna.

Demetrios rushed up behind him. “Help, how?”

“You’ll see.”

Passing through the stone arch for the second time that day, Demetrios had to force himself not to reach for Jesse, shake his shoulders and scream at him to ask if he remembered. But they emerged onto the roadside and Jesse stepped into the open front door of the house, scooting to the side to allow Demetrios entrance, losing his chance to find out. Because there, on his knees, wailing into the air, hunched over a broken photo frame in the middle of the living space was Yiannis.

“Babá!” Demetrios ran in, crouching beside him, and spoke in his native Greek. “Babá, what are you doing?”

“Oh, Deme. I broke it. I broke her!” Yiannis handed Demetrios a photo, shattered glass within the wooden frame defacing a picture of Freya.

“Babá.” Demetrios dropped the frame on the floor among shards of broken glass and squeezed his father’s shoulder.

Yiannis bawled into his hands. “I can’t go on, Deme. How can I go on?”

“Freya would want you to.”

Jesse hovered closer, maybe having overheard his mother’s name spoken through the foreign tongue. “What’s he saying about Mum?”

Demetrios nodded to the picture. “That was the photo he wanted for the funeral.”

Jesse picked it up, inspecting the image of his mother. Of a time when she’d been happy. Content. Beautiful. Stood outside the taverna, against the backdrop of the glorious sun, with golden sand and blue sea at her feet, curls mid flow in the breeze, she radiated a smile that spoke of how she’d found herself here.

Unforgivably so.

Despite his father breaking down in his arms, his focus would always be on Jesse when he was in the room. Often, even when he wasn’t. Jesse stole his air. Consumed his focus. Engulfed him in his light.

Sometimes, he hated it.

Sometimes, he wanted nothing more than to be immersed in it.

“You okay?” he asked him in English.

“Yeah.” Jesse composed himself and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Yeah. Fine. Why don’t you take him upstairs? I’ll clear up down here.”

“You sure?”

“Course.”

Demetrios gave him a grateful smile, then addressed his father in Greek. “Babá, come on, babá. Let’s get you upstairs.”

Yiannis allowed himself to be hauled up and Demetrios held him, steering him toward the stairs, howls of sorrow echoing off the concrete walls and into the street. He guided him to the first floor and into the bedroom he’d used to share with Freya, her presence lingering in all the products scattering the dressing table and all the clothes still hanging in the wardrobe. Her bedside table held a picture of Jesse when he’d been a small boy, and her book was still open at the page she’d been reading. An unbearable lump formed in Demetrios’ throat, and he tumbled Yiannis onto the bed where he crawled over to her side, dragging her pillow to him and curled into the foetal position to hug it as if it were her.

There, he cried.

Demetrios watched, helpless. This was his father. His hero. The man who’d raised him from a boy, by himself mostly, and been a pillar of strength when he’d needed it, a ball of energy when the business required it and open arms wide enough for every visitor to the island to fall into. Yiannis Kallis was a loyal and tender man who loved hard. Too hard sometimes. And he’d loved Freya. But he was broken. Like the frame downstairs, Yiannis had shattered into pieces and Demetrios didn’t know how to glue him back together.

So he left, giving him the privacy for his mourning. When he emerged back downstairs into the living room, Jesse had cleared up most of the mess and stood staring at the picture of his mother.

He peered up as Demetrios hovered closer, sniffed and clutched the photo to his chest. “Where do you want this?”

“Leave it on the table. We’ll find a frame for it for tomorrow.”

“There’s one in my room that could fit.”

Demetrios nodded. He knew exactly which picture Jesse was referring to, and it stung. It shouldn’t. But it did. Because Demetrios was selfish.

Jesse laid the photo on the coffee table.

“Thanks for clearing up.”

“No problem.”

Silence. Jesse wasn’t looking at him and if he’d been crying while collecting the broken pieces of glass as if they were the damaged fragments of his heart, he wasn’t planning on telling Demetrios about it. He’d tell someone else. He confided in someone else. Severed a long time ago, Demetrios didn’t know how to regain their connection either. Demetrios didn’t know how to do a lot of things.

“Will he be okay?” Jesse winced as yet another howl ricocheted down from the first floor.

“He’s been like that all week. I’m hoping tomorrow will…give him a chance to say goodbye. Put everything to rest.”

“Huh.” Jesse furrowed his brow as if in thought. “Yeah. Maybe it will.”

Demetrios hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “I should get back. With two staff members down, I’m sort of running the place single-handed.” He made his way to the door when Jesse’s timid question hit him like a stray arrow.

“Do you need any help?”

“Are you offering?”

Jesse shrugged. “What else am I gonna do?”

“You could go clubbing with the girls?” Demetrios raised an eyebrow. “Izzy was checking you out.”

“Izzy is barking up the wrong tree.”

Demetrios breathed out a laugh. “Fair enough. You ever waited tables before?”

“No. Nor do I speak Greek.”

“You don’t need to speak Greek. There are more English out there than Greeks.”

“So I just need to know how to spell souvlaki? Halloumi? Hummus and taramasalata?”

“That helps. But most order the souvlaki and chips, anyway.” Demetrios angled his head and Jesse bounded up beside him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.

“One phrase to try out when the mood arises, ‘eísai ómorfi’.” Demetrios held his gaze, heart thumping with the hope Jesse would recall. Would remember how once, long ago, Demetrios had uttered those words ‘you’re beautiful’ over and over into Jesse’s ear.

And he’d meant it.

Jesse furrowed his brow. “Is that the chef’s special?”

“Sometimes.” Demetrios stepped out into the street, allowing Jesse to follow, and he closed the door to their house, taking Jesse around to the taverna where Christos was back from his break.

“Where you been?” he hollered in Greek from the kitchen window.

“Babá,” was all the explanation it needed.

Christos nodded, waving him off. “We have customers!”

A couple sat outside on the veranda, so Demetrios rummaged in his pocket for his notepad and unhooked the pencil from behind his ear. “Why don’t you be on clear up?” he said to Jesse. “I’ll take the orders.”

“Okay.” He scanned the pristine restaurant that Demetrios had sorted earlier.

“It’ll get busy later.”

“What should I do until then?”

“You could do what you used to do.”

Jesse swallowed.

Demetrios smiled at him, then rushed out to the veranda. “Hey, welcome back Janice. Graham. What can I get you?”

The couple were regular visitors to the island, always taking in a meal at Kallis’.

“We heard about your mum.” Janice rubbed along Demetrios’ arm.

“Step mum.” Demetrios held his pencil poised on the pad. The pencil shook. Janice squeezed his arm and off they went, back to how it should be.

It turned out to be one of their busiest nights. Or maybe it felt busy because he didn’t have Freya or Yiannis running most of it or because guests asked after Yiannis and gave their condolences to him, which felt undeserved with Jesse in the vicinity. No one knew he was the one who’d lost his mother. He now understood why it would make more sense to close up for the week leading to the funeral. Trying to carry on as normal when it was anything but was harder than he’d thought. Whether it was first hand grief or pain for his father and Jesse, he couldn’t be sure. What he knew was that everything had…changed.

As the sun dipped down on the horizon and the last stragglers downed their free ouzos before wandering off to one of the later night bars, Christos and the kitchen staff left to go home, leaving Demetrios alone with Jesse. They cleared up together, then Demetrios closed up inside while Jesse brought in the tables from the beach. Demetrios watched him from the bar, collecting the cash from the till to stuff in the safe deposit box, then when all was done, he grabbed two beers from the chiller and leapt down to the sand with him.

“Leave those,” he said, handing Jesse a beer. “We need this, yes?”

Jesse took the bottle, smiled gratefully, then put the chairs he was carrying back onto the sand. Demetrios sat beside him, all tables now stacked up inside the restaurant, and they drank in silence, moon streaking silvery reflections in the sea, distant sounds of laughter and heels on concrete as the seafront died down to make way for the nightlife a short walk away.

After a moment of reflection, Jesse’s voice carried on the gentle breeze. “Was she happy here?”

Demetrios wasn’t sure if he was asking him or the beach. He answered for them both. “Yes. Very.”

Jesse bowed his head, lost in his thoughts for a while. When he reemerged from wherever he’d been, he flapped the bottom of his T-shirt. “I forgot how hot it is here.” He downed a hefty amount of the beer. “Even when the sun’s gone in.”

Part of Jesse’s stomach became exposed as he attempted to air his sweaty body. But he flattened down his T-shirt, and Demetrios averted his gaze, sipping from his bottle.

“Don’t get the heat in England, no?”

Jesse snorted. “No. Although, last year we had a heatwave. Got up to the thirties.”

“Oooo,” Demetrios mocked, lips curling around the spout of his beer.

“Had a deadline that week, so I was, fortunately, holed up in my bedroom for the most part.”

“Where do you live now?”

“West London.”

Demetrios whistled. “Fancy.”

“Ha. Not quite. Ealing. It’s where you live if you want to say you live in west London but can’t afford the price tag.”

“Drawing cartoons not paying the big bucks?”

“It pays enough. I’m hoping that this new series of books, which I’ve been promised to illustrate, might get picked up. They’re good. Young adult fantasy. Dragons and stuff.”

Demetrios nodded, sipping from his beer, mulling over what to say. “I’d love to see London.”

“You’ve never been?”

“If I’d been, you’d have known about it.”

Jesse parted his lips, chest rising.

Demetrios pointed the spout of his bottle at him. “Because I would have gone there for you.”

Jesse said nothing but his eyes behind the lenses of his damaged glasses held so many thoughts Demetrios wanted to shake free. Wanted him to spill them. Talk to him. Say it all. Bad and good. Get everything out in the open.

But Jesse glanced away.

“I nearly did once,” Demetrios mused to the sea.

“Did what?”

“Go to England.” Demetrios settled back in his chair. “Applied for a place on a Travel and Tourism course at university a few years back.”

“Yeah?” Jesse’s face lit up. “Where?”

“London Metropolitan. Sounded fancy. Thought I’d learn some stuff to bring home and use to better this place.” He gestured to the taverna and apartments behind him.

“What happened?”

“Didn’t go.”

“Why not?”

Demetrios shrugged, knocking back the rest of his beer and dumped the bottle by his feet, twisting it to dig into the sand. “Many reasons. Didn’t have the qualifications. Babá needed me here.” He waited a beat before uttering the real reason, “Fear.”

“Fear? Of what?”

“You.”

Jesse drew in a breath. “Me?”

“That I’d see you. That I wouldn’t see you. That you wouldn’t want to see me.”

It went quiet again, only the sound of waves crashing against the shoreline sheltering the silence.

Then, “You should go,” Jesse said with some sort of finality. As if that was the answer. “Now. You should enrol.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Jesse nodded. “It’d be good for you.”

“Would it?”

“Be brave.” Jesse shoved his arm playfully. “Get away. Be somewhere different. Might be good for you to go it on your own.”

“You want me in London?”

“It doesn’t have to be London. You could go anywhere.”

“I think you grossly overestimate how much money I have. It’s all tied in here. With babá. And we don’t all have rich daddies.” Demetrios hadn’t meant to say the last part, especially not for it to come across as a dig. They’d just started talking.

“Perhaps you could get yourself a sugar mummy? Aren’t they in abundance around here?”

Okay, that stung. But at least it hadn’t haltered their conversation.

“Or maybe if I knew someone in London?”

“Dem…”

Demetrios twisted in his seat, knees ghosting Jesse’s exposed thighs. “I’ve missed you, Jess.” Before he could talk himself out of it, he took Jesse’s hand in his, stroking a thumb along the delicate skin. He traced the veins, glided his fingertip along to his long, slender fingers that could create such beautiful drawings.

Demetrios had been in awe of Jesse Hough for most of his life.

And, right then, he burned with the need to tell him.

Jesse closed his eyes. “Please don’t,” he breathed out, moisture gathering beneath his eyelids.

“Oh, God, Jess.” He let go of Jesse’s hand to swipe a thumb along the escaped tear drop, wiping it down his soft, pale cheek.

Jesse stood, chair falling back to crash into the sand. “Not now, Dem. Please. I can’t do this. Not now. My mum just fucking died.”

Demetrios didn’t say anything. He didn’t move either. He was too hurt. Too pained by the blow. If anything, he’d thought they now shared something. The agony of losing a mother. Him, twice. But he shouldn’t have pushed. He should have realised that Jesse wouldn’t talk to him. Wouldn’t want to bond over a kindred loss. And he certainly wouldn’t ever want him. Not now. Not anymore.

“I’ll see you at the funeral.” Jesse then turned and Demetrios had to watch him walk away.

Again.

He was always watching him walk away.

And it was so much easier to forget him when he wasn’t here.