Mel was mopping up the flooded floor of the taverna. Water had rampaged through the kitchen and dining room. It was full of rubbish and mud, and Irini was having a fit of rage at the gods for ruining her business. Spiro was away again, stranded at the ferry port by the storm. It was just the two of them against the damage. Irini was crying in frustration. ‘Look at this mess. How can we cook after this?’
‘It’s not touched the cooker , the water will drain off and we can mop out. There’s still the old bread oven. We can use that while the power’s out. Besides, no one will be wanting to leave their house. It’ll pass, you’ll see, just a flash in the pan.’ Not strictly true, of course. This was a storm and a half.
‘I don’t understand. What flashes in the pan?’
‘Just saying, Yiayia.’
‘I’m not your yiayia.’
Mel bit her tongue in frustration. Here she was trying to help and Irini was criticising her effort. If only Spiro was here, but as usual he was finding work on Crete. She missed him. The school was closed and the boys had no TV, only board games and Lego to play with. Now she could hear them squabbling. Any minute now one would appear, crying, telling tales on the other. How could she be in two places at once? Two days of this storm and no sign of it lifting. She dared not let the boys outside. It was time to find something for them to do.
Mel found paper and drew the shape of an angel with wings. They had colouring pens and she showed them how to copy the shape, cut it out and colour it in. ‘We can make an angel tree,’ she said.
‘Where do the angels live?’ Stefan asked.
‘In our hearts, or anywhere people are kind, but they like to come out at Christmas time to brighten things.’
‘Have you seen an angel, Mama?’
‘I don’t think so but they can come in disguise, can’t they, Yiayia?’ Mel gave Irini a look that said, Please don’t let me down.
Irini lifted her head from her cleaning. ‘Ah, yes, angels are all around us but sometimes we miss them. The holy saints see them and give them errands, like putting presents in little boys’ stockings if they are good. They are God’s messengers. One of them told Maria she was going to have a baby boy, who is our Christos.’
‘That’s right.’ Mel smiled. ‘They are all around us, so you make as many as you like. Colour them in neatly and I’ll help you cut them out.’
That would keep them quiet for a bit, but there was so much to do. She sang the chorus from ‘Sweet Chiming Christmas Bells’ to cheer herself up and then a Greek kalanda, learnt from YouTube to please Irini.
‘You have a good voice, Melodia. Not a Greek voice, like Melina Mercouri, of course, but a pleasant sound.’
Praise indeed from her mother-in-law. She smiled.
‘Do you believe in angels, Melodia?’
‘I’m not sure, but we could do with a few of them to help us clean up.’
‘Have faith. They will come, if we pray hard enough.’ Irini crossed herself fervently and looked to the grey sky for an answer.
Natalie, Della and even Sammia turned up to help with the mopping out. Not quite the angelic hordes Irini was expecting, but mere humans who had their uses, even if one perfumed the air with the scent of an ouzeria. Della had hit the bottle again. Who could blame her after this depressing storm? If it didn’t stop soon, they would need Noah’s Ark to rescue them.