Becky gazed out of the window. Through green-painted iron gates, she was looking at the most beautiful rustic stone property. It appeared to be everything Becky had hoped for. It seemed warm and cosy and traditional. There were cream-coloured urns spilling bright blooms in red and violet either side of a large wooden front door and pieces of driftwood art hanging from the eaves. She wanted to race out of the vehicle and dash in, dump her case in the hall – if there was a hall – and head out to explore the back garden and that promised pool.
There was a thumping on the window from outside the car. ‘Are you getting out?’
Petra, it seemed, had already left the vehicle. No money offered towards the cab fare. Becky got her purse out of her bag. ‘The fee we agreed?’ she asked, selecting a note.
‘Ne. Fisika,’ the driver replied.
‘What does that word mean? Fishy car,’ Becky repeated.
‘Fisika,’ he repeated. ‘It means “of course”.’
‘Fisika,’ Becky said again, trying to commit it to memory. She was determined to pick up a few words of Greek while she was here. It said in her guidebook that the Greeks really appreciated efforts to converse in their native tongue. She handed him the money. ‘Efharisto.’ That meant ‘thank you’.
‘Parakalo.’
And that meant ‘please’ or ‘you’re welcome’. That was a handful of words already. She felt ridiculously pleased with herself.
She got out and took her case. Petra had already popped the boot and hauled out her backpack and the girl was at the front of the building peering in through one of the windows.
‘It’s got a nice view!’ Petra yelled. ‘I can see bi-fold doors!’
No quiet discovery like Becky had imagined it. Softly padding into each room, waiting to see what came next. Petra was going to shout a description for her.
‘Have you got the keys?’ Petra called again.
‘No, they’re going to be left in a plant pot.’ She had remembered thinking that was pretty lax in the security department but maybe that’s what they did in Greece. And would it have been any safer if Ms O’Neill had posted them to her?
‘Which one?’ Petra asked, scurrying about. ‘There are at least three hundred pots.’
There weren’t, were there? She obviously was on watering duty like Hazel had suggested.
‘Shall I start picking them up and looking for the key?’ Petra asked, her hands either side of a very chunky-looking urn she surely had no chance of lifting. Or if she managed to get it up it was most likely going to drop down and break…
‘No!’ Becky said quickly. ‘It will be one of the ones by the door.’ She hoped so. She put both hands on the pot and rocked it back and forth until it did reveal a set of keys underneath. Bingo! She snatched them up and went to the lock. She was resolute she was going to be the first person over the threshold.
She put the key in the lock and turned. She could imagine it already. It was going to be all light linens and gauze curtains, sunshine streaming in and dappling cool tiled floors… Instead, the first thing that hit her when she opened the door was a foul stench. It was awful! It was sick-inducing. It was worse than bad eggs or bad prawns or a past its eat-by date egg and prawn panini. Becky coughed, almost choking. She put a hand over her nose and mouth and desperately tried not to inhale.
‘Fucking hell! What’s that stink?! Ugh! I’m gagging! I’m gagging! I’m going to puke!’ Petra yelled.
‘No, you’re not!’ Becky shouted back. Despite wanting to retreat back into the fragrant courtyard, she needed to find out what it was. Perhaps it was a blocked toilet or a leaking pipe. She took steps forward. There was wood flooring here, dark and distinguished, possibly reclaimed. The smell got worse as she moved past the door to the kitchen and into the main living area of the house. Natural stone walls, a few paintings, gaps on the wall where perhaps more paintings used to be, mirrors, a lot of mirrors…
Then she stopped dead in her tracks, hearing movement. There was someone in the house! Had Ms O’Neill’s warnings about people trying to get in not just been a case of being over cautious? Was there someone already in? Was she about to walk in on an attempted robbery? Maybe that’s why there were absent paintings. But a robbery didn’t explain the smell…
What did she do? What was the telephone number for the police here in Corfu? Why hadn’t Hazel or Shelley told her information like that?! That was much more vital intel than what someone who potentially carried a credit card reading device could look like.
‘Is there someone in here?’ Petra whispered really loudly. The noises coming from the next room stopped. There was no doubt whoever was in there had heard.
‘We should confront them,’ Petra said, slightly more quietly. ‘Look around for a weapon.’ She picked up an expensive-looking mantle clock. Petra couldn’t use that. It was probably an heirloom. The very last thing Becky wanted to do was break an antique in her first few minutes at housesitting.
‘I’m going in,’ Becky announced. ‘Put that clock down.’
Scared to death, but knowing she had to be the one in charge of the situation, Becky marched around the corner ready to give the intruder a piece of her mind, or her fists if needs be. But the sight that greeted her had her gasping in shock. She let out a scream and the cawing, growling and spitting of a menagerie of animals came back at her.
‘Becks! Are you OK… what the… holy shit! It’s a zoo.’ Petra was next to her now and, getting over the initial shock at animals being inside the property, Becky now started to take in exactly what they were.
‘Three cats,’ she counted, her voice shaking. ‘Are there three?’
‘Definitely three,’ Petra concurred.
‘And an owl.’ Becky screwed up her face. ‘Why haven’t the cats eaten the owl?’ And didn’t owls only come out at night?
‘I don’t know what that brown and white bear thing is, but I don’t like the way it’s looking at us,’ Petra said.
Becky then took in the carnage surrounding the animals. There were faeces all over the floor. The cats were licking themselves and each other on a whiter than white sofa that had tinges of absolutely not white all over it. The owl was spinning its head looking like it wanted to take flight and the evil bear thing was growling as if it would take great delight in murdering all of them!
Becky’s eyes went from the animals to the mess and back again, unable to compute any of it. And then she noticed the bi-fold doors, slightly open, paw marks distinctive in the bright sunlight. An azure sky was visible and the greenery of trees. She longed to forget this carnage ahead of her and seek the pool and those promised views…
‘Why are there pink feathers everywhere?’
Petra interrupted Becky’s thoughts of relaxation. And then there was shouting in Greek. Perhaps an intruder after all…
‘Oh! Kakos! Kakos! Skata! Skata pantou!’
Petra had put her hands up like she was about to attempt a karate move and in bustled a Greek woman who could have been anything between the ages of forty-five and sixty-five. She was of medium height, wearing a grey A-line dress, but with the widest bush of black curly hair on top of her head. Should Becky attempt a few words of Greek? Except ‘please’, ‘thank you’ and ‘of course’ probably wasn’t going to get her very far in this scenario.