Rose smiled. ‘Like we’d stepped out of a movie about three gorgeous young women on a mission to see the world.’
‘We didn’t know we were gorgeous …’ said Maggie.
Rose leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘We knew you were gorgeous, darling.’
Maggie shook her empty glass down for the last drop and sighed. ‘The time in Greece is what I remember most. Sleeping on the beach in Corfu, waking up at dawn and falling into that crystal-clear water.’
‘Maybe that experience predisposed you to becoming a faux Greek,’ suggested Rose.
Maggie gave a dry laugh. ‘I never thought of that.’
‘I still remember that bitter homemade yoghurt we’d have with a block of chocolate at the Blue Moon for breakfast,’ said Fran. ‘I’ve never tasted yoghurt like that since.’
‘I’d never tried yoghurt before then.’ Rose laughed. ‘I thought it was something to do with vegetarians.’
Maggie had disappeared for a moment and reappeared with another bottle of white wine. She poured herself a full glass and offered it to Rose, who agreed to a ‘tiny bit’.
‘We were so open to everything then. We had no sense of our limitations. I know we had our anxieties …’ Rose’s eyes glazed over as though searching for that earlier time. ‘But I think we were largely untroubled.’
‘I think you’re just forgetting the things we worried about,’ said Maggie.
‘We didn’t worry about our futures,’ argued Rose. ‘We knew, absolutely knew, they would be glorious.’
‘That’s true,’ said Fran. ‘Mine certainly hasn’t been. It’s like I got stuck in a cul-de-sac and couldn’t get out.’
‘You were waiting for the right person to rock up in a Mustang and drive you off into a movie-style sunset,’ said Rose.
Fran laughed. ‘Mercedes, please. It might still happen.’ She thought of Louis, who drove a twenty-year-old Lancia and, whenever they went somewhere together, would grumble about the cost of petrol until she offered to pay and then refuse to accept it. ‘I’m embarrassed to say that I still feel as though I’m waiting for my life to start.’
‘Oh, Fran.’ Maggie sounded both sad and slightly exasperated, which Fran could quite understand.
‘Remember the way the men used to look at us on that trip?’ said Rose wistfully. ‘Especially the Italians. As if we were God’s gift in triplicate.’
Maggie shook her head. ‘The last thing I want is men looking at me. That’s the best part about getting old. Becoming invisible is underrated, if you ask me.’
‘We should go somewhere together this year, just the three of us,’ said Rose. ‘Celebrate our sixty years gracing this earth.’
Fran waited hopefully for Maggie’s response – perhaps the villa in Lucca? How she would love that, especially if it was just the three of them.
Maggie turned to Rose. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘I don’t know. I just thought of it then.’
‘I haven’t the energy to organise anything right now, Rose.’
‘You don’t have to. I’ll do it all.’
Maggie hesitated. ‘Maybe. Let me think about it.’
Fran could see the excitement fizzing up in Rose. ‘Let’s do it again!’ said Rose.
‘What part of “it” are you referring to?’ asked Maggie. ‘Let’s be young again?’
‘If only. Let’s go back to the places we visited on that first trip.’
‘The objective being …?’ asked Maggie, frowning.
‘An experiment to see if we can catch a glimpse of … of who we were back then. Of our true selves. We need to open our minds to possibilities.’
‘So trekking all over Europe, looking for our lost hopes and dreams?’ asked Fran, only half joking.
‘It sounds a bit depressing to me,’ said Maggie. ‘But maybe that’s just my current state of mind.’
‘That first trip we did through Europe marked the end of the first quarter of our lives. This is the end of the third quarter. We have to do something. Reassess. Not just plod on until we die.’ Rose looked from Fran to Maggie and back again. ‘We could do it this northern summer.’
‘So, I would just buzz off and leave the business to run itself. And Anthea to sort out her marital problems … and Yia-yiá, and Kristo, and the house …’
Rose stared at her. ‘That’s got to sound appealing, right? Plus I’m sure they would prefer you going away to the ocean-swim option.’
‘How would Peter manage without you?’ asked Maggie.
‘I could get a sitter for him.’
Maggie smiled. ‘And what about Max?’
‘He’s over thirty now, he needs to sort himself out,’ said Rose. ‘Look, I’m not saying it’s any easier for me to get away. Dad’s in care, Mum hasn’t come to terms with his dementia, my sister thinks Mum’s trying to poison him, and she’s going through a bad time …’
‘I just can’t see that traipsing around Europe is going to provide any answers.’
‘Maggie, I’m worried you’ll drop dead in the harness and, if that happens, life will be so much worse for us. I may seem patient but it’s an act. Deep down, there is a boiling resentment. I don’t think about drowning myself but I do think about running away.’
‘Don’t you think we’re becoming a bit self-involved?’ asked Maggie. ‘Feeling sorry for ourselves? White middle-class women suffering affluenza?’
Rose poured herself more wine. ‘Are you serious? We’re not self-involved enough! We’re completely “other”’ centric.’
‘It’s a nice idea, Rose, for when I win the pools, but right now I have to go off to work,’ said Fran. ‘If I’m two minutes late opening the shop, Mr Elcombe gets cross. Even though no one ever comes in first thing in the morning.’
‘You still call him Mr Elcombe? After all these years?’ asked Rose.
Fran laughed. ‘It’s not like we’re friends. We virtually never discuss anything other than work. He’s not in the shop that often these days. He spends most of his time driving all over the country buying dead people’s books and going to jumble sales. I think it’s a ruse to get some distance between him and Mrs Elcombe. Wherever he is – Scotland, at the moment, I think – he always calls the shop first thing to check on me.’
‘Think about it, Fran,’ said Rose. ‘Let’s walk the Champs-Élysées arm in arm again. It’s not just about the places and memories. It’s about the three of us making that journey together again, rediscovering ourselves.’
‘I absolutely love the idea but, right now, a week in Torquay would be a stretch, let alone a European jaunt,’ said Fran. ‘Sorry, my darlings.’
‘And it might just puncture our fantasy of that first trip. We could end up disillusioned, without even those memories to hold on to,’ said Maggie.
‘It’s possible,’ conceded Rose. ‘But we’d also have some new experiences, some new connections with those gorgeous girls we once were.’
If Fran could afford it, she’d agree in flash, but it was out of the question. Maggie obviously couldn’t see the point and had nothing positive to say about it, and Fran realised that their normal pattern with each other had been interrupted by Maggie’s current state of mind. Rose had always been the one to come up with the crazy ideas. Fran went along for the ride but Maggie, right from the start, was in charge of the practical application. Without Maggie’s energy behind Rose’s idea, it was doubtful anything would happen.
After they said their goodbyes and terminated the call, Fran sat staring at the blank screen for a long minute with mixed feelings of longing and loneliness. The flat felt suddenly empty in the same way her mother’s place had felt after Oma died. She looked around at her nesting efforts – her plants and books, odd bits of furniture and bric-a-brac she had picked up at markets over the years – and it seemed like a stage set, something artificial she had created to look like a home. The truth was, she could walk out and leave it all without a second thought because all she had ever wanted wa
s a home for her heart.
Rose was right, something needed to change in each of their lives. Fran picked up the cracked mug and threw it in the bin.
Chapter Five
When Maggie left Rose’s place the next morning, the idea of going away on a trip was the last thing on her mind. On the drive home, her thoughts leapt from Anthea to Yia-yiá to the business and Mr Lau, then to Kristo and his brothers, and back again. Every scenario was painful, interconnected and unstop pable, like juggling daggers. As far as she could see, none of these problems was within her power to resolve. She realised with a pang how much she missed Pappoú, his calm counsel and his control over the family.
In the early days, Kristo’s father had been difficult to deal with. He was poorly educated and only learned to read as an adult, but he was intelligent and a commonsense business person. Eventually he came to have a grudging respect for Maggie’s abilities across the many aspects of the business; she could lobby him for support and the boys would fall into line. Kristo had respect for her recommendations, but his brothers didn’t understand the due diligence she put in behind the scenes. The truth was that, despite all the years she had put into the business, they still saw her as an outsider. One who could divorce Kristo and tear the business apart. They didn’t entirely trust her.
Maggie walked back into her house half expecting to find Anthea and Elena still crying, Nico and Kristo still shouting at each other and Yia-yiá still distraught at the contents of the video. But all was quiet.
She walked through the house to the back deck. Down on the lower level of the garden, Anthea and Elena lay on the sun beds beside the pool, both wearing orange bikinis, their attention focused on their phones. Beyond the pool, the blue bay was a serene reflection of the sky, clear and bright all the way to the horizon. Maggie took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment, ingesting the calmness. Within seconds, there were footsteps behind her and the sense of a hovering presence. She opened her eyes to find Kristo standing beside her, his face creased with worry.
‘Maggie, come into the bedroom with me.’
‘What? Kris, I’ve just walked in the door.’ She tapped her non-existent watch. ‘It’s not even lunchtime.’
‘No, no … not that. I want to talk to you, alone.’ He wore the beseeching expression that always irritated her. Kristo was the pick of the Dimitratos boys. He was still the most handsome of the four and had the kindest heart. Though he had thickened and weathered with age and his hair – once loose black curls – was now like a cap of grey twist-pile carpet, his emotions still showed in his eyes, and they were now bright with tears.
‘Can’t you be alone with me here? We’re alone now.’
‘Maggie, I just want to talk. I promise. Am I such a monster that you are afraid to be in the bedroom with me?’ He looked pale and worried.
‘What’s it about? Those two, I suppose?’ She nodded in the direction of the pool.
‘They’re fine. Anthea has talked to Aaron and he’s taken the video down.’
‘He’s an idiot. What was he thinking?’ She and Kristo watched as their daughters took shots of each other, pouting and smiling. They were too beautiful and Anthea in particular had an appetite for attention. ‘And what did you decide about the pour on Monday?’ Maggie asked.
‘The concrete is postponed for twenty-four hours.’
‘Well, you know my opinion on that. It’s not long enough. You’re just going to have to —’
‘It’s not about that,’ he interrupted.
‘So what else is there to discuss?’ Maggie could hear how bad-tempered she sounded.
‘Rose called me,’ said Kristo. ‘I want to talk about you.’
She felt a prickling of anger at Rose’s interference. Maggie had to be very careful what she told Rose when it came to family business. Rose had a habit of interfering, thinking she was being helpful, but was oblivious to the possible repercussions. More worrying was that since revealing her true state of mind last night, Maggie had the sense of something inside her starting to unravel, exposing her nerve-endings. Her ability to pretend was slipping and now she risked putting herself in the – mostly incompetent – hands of those around her. It was a terrifying thought and she felt herself withdraw from Kristo, resenting him for involving himself, but at the same time knowing how unreasonable that was.
Kristo put his arm around her shoulders. It was a caring and gentle embrace, not like the way he would sometimes urge her to come to the bedroom as if sex were the medication for all that ailed him. Despite her resistance, she allowed him to lead her into their room and he closed the door and locked it. ‘No interruptions,’ he said. ‘Just you and me.’
Maggie sat on the bed and he sat down beside her. He entwined his fingers in hers and kissed her on the neck. She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Okay, so what do you want to talk about? What did Rose say?’ She levered him away with her elbow. ‘Kristo, you don’t have to sit right on top of me. Just give me some space.’
He raised his hands in mock surrender, got up and pulled over the armchair to sit opposite her. ‘Rose said you were suicidal. Is that true?’
‘I’m not going to do it. I just find it comforting to plan it. To know there is a way out. Can’t I be allowed that one indulgence, at least?’
He looked as though he’d been slapped and she was surprised to realise that she didn’t care. She felt like slapping him. Even though he’d done nothing, apart from take her for granted. She was afraid to plumb the depths of her anger. Fearful of unleashing it and tearing everything apart. ‘Anything else? Or can I go and make lunch now?’
‘Darling, why didn’t you talk to me?’ His face crumpled as the tears welled.
‘Why are you crying? I thought this was about me. Nothing is ever really about me, it can only ever be about how my misery makes someone else unhappy.’
‘Maggie, you are my life, my soul … you are the kindest, most loving person I know …’ He was really crying now, as though she were already dead.
‘I used to be, not any more. I’m hard and cynical – and mean. You’re only crying because if I died, you’d have no one to run the business, organise the house, manage your mother, manage your children – and shag.’
He flinched. ‘Maggie, that’s not fair. It’s nasty. I’m trying to make things easier for you. I thought Mum could help you. Do some of the cooking and help take care of the place.’
‘Kristo, can you see that’s like getting an extra staff member onboard? Someone has to manage that person. She’s eighty-two, she needs looking after herself. She’s lonely and bored … and interfering. I don’t think you have any idea how much responsibility rests on my shoulders and the stress I’m under every single bloody day.’
‘It’s a stressful business. We’re all under intense pressure. Out on site —’
‘Are we still talking about me?’ Maggie interrupted. ‘Or are we back to talking about the family now?’
‘You need to see a doctor,’ said Kristo. ‘I’ll make an appointment on Monday.’
‘I’m quite capable of making my own appointment, thank you.’
He leaned towards her and rested his hand awkwardly on her thigh. She knew that he wanted to make love to her, find his way back to her, to comfort her – and himself. But she wasn’t having it. ‘Sometimes I see an ambulance go past and long to be inside it, being whisked away to a place where I can rest and be looked after. Where no one wants anything from me.’
Kristo withdrew his hand and leaned back in the chair. ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘That’s because it’s my job to know what to do about everything,’ Maggie said bitterly. After a moment she felt sorry for him. ‘Look, I don’t know what to do with myself. Right now it’s like everything has the same level of stress for me. There is a pulse of electricity running through my body day and night. I’m on constant red alert, like a one-woman response team. My nervous system is worn out.’
‘And you do a wonderful job. That’
s why we love you,’ said Kristo, cradling her hands in his own and gazing into her eyes like an adoring puppy.
‘And if I wasn’t doing a wonderful job, what then?’
‘What are you saying? What do you think? I’ll fire you – or divorce you? I want to help you. It’s not like you to be so nasty. I don’t know what’s changed.’
They both turned at the sound of the door handle being twisted back and forth. This was followed a moment later by Yia-yiá shouting, ‘Maggie! You sick? Kristaki mou! Why’s you hide? Open this door!’ She broke into rapid Greek and Maggie quickly lost the thread, but judging by Kristo’s expression and his mother’s hectoring tone, it seemed some new drama was being set in motion.
‘She thinks we’re in here plotting to get rid of her,’ said Kristo. ‘I better go and calm her down.’
He kissed Maggie on the forehead and left, closing the door behind him. She was alone, and nothing had changed. She went downstairs and made a couple of ham-and-salad sandwiches and took them down to the pool for the girls.
‘We’re into Paleo,’ said Elena. ‘We’ve talked about this before, Mum.’
Maggie began to eat one of the sandwiches. ‘That’s fine but you’ll have to do your own hunting and gathering. I can’t cater for everyone on different diets. Look, Elena, I really think you need to stay out of this business with Aaron. There’s obviously been a misunderstanding somewhere along the line. Anthea, I know it’s old-school, but perhaps you could consider not filming yourself, or taking nude shots —’
‘Hashtag victim blaming,’ interrupted Elena.
‘Elena, could I please have a moment to speak to your sister alone? There are things we need to discuss. Things that don’t require hashtags, or even your opinion.’
Elena picked up the other sandwich, poked through the contents distastefully with her fingernail, and began to eat it as she walked slowly up the steps towards the house.
‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ said Anthea. ‘I am really, really embarrassed.’
‘I know, darling. But right now, we have to be practical. You’re not going to like what I’m about to say, but it has to be said. Your father and I gave you the deposit for the flat, so you have some responsibility to us for that. You can’t just walk out. You need to stay there and try to resolve things, or ask Aaron to move out.’
Sixty Summers Page 7