Page 14 of Deep Blue Lies
“You’re lucky Hans called me,” Klaus tells me, as we pause in the main room. It’s small, dingy, the walls stained yellow rather than painted. “Very little accommodation in Skalio this time of year. Apart from this, nothing.” There’s a smell too, old fried food. I try to look for the positives. It’s dark because the windows are small, but also because they’re covered with semi-translucent netting, I suppose to keep the heat of the summer out. I could always take it down.
“One bedroom, comes furnished,” Klaus shows me. “And you have your own toilet.” He says this like I ought to consider it a major perk. “Super good location too. Close to the bus station.”
“How much is it?” I ask, trying to see if I can stomach living here. It’s not exactly nice. But after three years in Sunderland student digs, I’ve definitely seen worse.
He sucks air through his teeth. “High season coming up…” This seems to pain him, and he shakes his head. “I could fill this place with tourists. Easy.”
“Really?” I seriously doubt this, but I back off as a look of annoyance crosses his face. “What’s the price?” I ask again instead.
He sniffs. “Because you come from Hans…” He seems to calculate in his mind. “Five hundred a month.”
I actually have no idea if this is a good deal or not. But I have my bag on my back, nowhere else to go, and no other leads to follow. Plus I have to work in the bar, starting almost now.
“Can you do it for four hundred?”
It’s the first time I’ve seen him smile.
“You’re kidding, right? For a place in Skalio? With a view of the mountains?” He lifts the net curtain, then has to rub at the pane of glass to see through the grime. Politely I move closer to see the view. Youcansee the mountains, if you look beyond the bins.
“Four fifty?”
“Uh huh. Five hundred, and I need an answer now. Got someone else coming to look this afternoon.”
Like hell he has.
Klaus looks at his watch, and sniffs again, and I have to make a decision. It’s a pretty shitty place, but I can always find somewhere better, once I get myself more established.
“Can I pay weekly? I only have enough to do that right now, but I have a job.” After a moment I add: “with Hans.”
He shrugs, like this isn’t an issue for him.
“No problem.”
“OK.” I nod, expecting to feel a buzz of success, but it doesn’t come. Instead I get a sense that this might be another mistake. But I push it back down, refusing to listen.
“Alright great. I’ll take it.”
NINE
I don’t have time to do much more than drop off my bag before I’m due for my first shift at the Bar Sunset. It’s a good thing it isn’t busy yet, though. I wasn’t entirely honest with Hans that I’ve worked in bars before. But I’vebeenin a lot of bars. It can’t be that hard.
Hans shows me around. We stock a couple of international beers, in bottles. There’s Heineken and Carlsberg, and then local beers, Mythos and Zeos. Then there’s two taps on the bar, which run to barrels in the storeroom at the back.
“You know how to change a line?” he asks, and when I hesitate he shakes his head. “Don’t worry. Just keep an eye on them, give me a shout when they’re low.” I’m not quite sure what this means, but I reason I’ll know it when I see it.
He runs quickly through the spirits. We have whisky, brandy, white and dark rum, and then local spirits Metaxa and ouzo.
“There’s Raki too, the locals sometimes ask for it.”
He watches as I serve the first customers, and it is easy enough. They both ask for beers from the fridge, and all I have to do is pop off the tops. I’m feeling pretty pleased with myself, until another German comes in and orders a Palisberg. At first I don’t know what this is, but he helps me by pointing to the tap right in front. The labels face the customers, not me – and I’ve already forgotten whatHans said was on which. I then make a right mess of pouring it. I watched Hans earlier, and it looked easy, but while his beer was mostly golden liquid, with a smooth head of foam, mine is more foam than beer.
“What the hell is that?” Hans mutters from beside me. “You pouring a beer or a bubble bath?”
He edges me out of the way with his shoulder.
“Hold the glass at an angle. Like this.” He shows me, and the beer is perfect. Just a dribble of foam running down the side. The customer raises his eyebrows at Hans, as he takes it from him.
“Try again,” Hans passes me another glass. I pour it, and it’s not great but better.
