Girl Gone Greek by Rebecca Hall Read Free Book Online

open mind and not judge me, since you’ve just met me. I had a man spend last Friday night at my flat in Athens. Then on Saturday, my other male friend came to stay. Was it impolite for me not to change the bed sheets after the first man?”
    Spluttering on my drink, I wondered if the question was once again a rhetorical one, or if it actually required an answer. The dilemma seemed to resolve itself as Kaliopi continued, “I think in future I must change the sheets when this happens. I cannot have them smelling of different men; it is not the proper way for a young lady to conduct herself.” I glanced at her; she was in a world of her own, quite content to be open and frank with me, despite the fact we’d only known each other for an hour. I was rapidly discovering Kaliopi’s boundaries were vastly different from mine, yet I found this refreshing…
I wonder if this is a Greek thing or a Kaliopi thing?

    My second day at school went surprisingly well. Maybe my spirits had been lifted by my chance encounter with Kaliopi that morning. I hadn’t seen Konstantinos or his entourage again, but a new group of kids in their early teens had been decidedly quieter than yesterday’s classes, yet still keen to ask questions.
    “You have seen the Big Ben,
Kyria
?” asked one boy.
    “We don’t use the definite article in front of ‘Big…’” I started to explain, and then stopped and smiled…plenty of time for teaching verbs, and it was my first day with this particular class.
    “Yes, I have. Big Ben is in which city?”
    “The London in the England” a young girl proudly stated.
I’m going to have my work cut out for me
, I thought, but at least they weren’t chewing gum and their geography’s good.
    “That’s right,” I said, and I gave them homework to write a small paragraph about what they knew about London and the UK.
    I also seemed to develop a better rapport with the teachers today; “I live just around the corner from you,” Manos said after a discussion in the staffroom. It turned out he was Greek Australian and had moved back to the motherland to be with his elderly parents. “I’ll give you a lift back in the evening, save you waiting for a bus.” He also introduced me to
spanakopita
—feta cheese and spinach pie.
    “Just wait here, I won’t be long.” School had finished and we were on our way home. Manos gestured for me to stay sitting in his car as he stopped at a little roadside place at the edge of a cotton field, conversed with the owner for a few minutes and purchased something in a brown paper bag.
Is this some sort of inner Greek town mafia-style drug deal?
No, it’s my imagination running riot again. It was merely a spinach pie. For some reason, I felt a little let down.
    “Get that down you,” Manos said in his slight Australian twang, tossing the paper bag onto my lap as he climbed back into the car. “It’s the best around here.”
    He was right—I savoured the softness of the cheese, the slightly bitter tang of the spinach and what tasted like spring onions and yes, I certainly
did
get it down me: mostly the front of my shirt as the filo pastry crumbled everywhere.
    Later, in bed, I rolled over and eyed the clock—midnight. I’d been home for two hours and made the mistake of making my first Greek coffee about an hour ago. Kaliopi’s comments made me feel that I needed to prove her wrong, that I was ready for Greek coffee. Judging by the slight tremors in my hands, I didn’t think it was a sign that I was going crazy (yet), nor that the
spanakopita
contained some sort of drug—rather that Greek coffee shouldn’t be drunk so late at night.
    Lying flat on my back with one arm bent over my eyes, I stared up at the ceiling and contemplated my day; delicious food and interesting characters. Bring it on.

I’d finished work around seven that evening. “I’ll take the bus tonight,” Manos wasn’t due to finish until nine.
    “Have fun,” he’d responded, grinning as he