by Mandy Baggot
His anger about the situation had lessened after that email. He still hurt. He was still the owner of a business championing men in divorce proceedings, but the note had gone some way to helping him come to the realisation that there was absolutely nothing he could have done in that situation to stop the spontaneous combustion of his marriage.
‘Did you reply?’ Becky asked.
He took hold of one of her hands then. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘But I should have. Perhaps it is not too late.’ He toyed with her fingers. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I should speak to Megan,’ Becky said. ‘I know that. Because I also know that she isn’t going to make the first move. Megan, she sits on things. She festers. She would rather time went by and she was forced to act by circumstances. It’s…’
‘Exhausting,’ Elias filled in.
‘Exactly.’
‘Perhaps she will surprise you,’ Elias suggested, intertwining their hands again.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well,’ he started, ‘you will have been away. She will have had to manage her business without you. You will have been missed… no matter what she tells you.’
‘I don’t know,’ Becky said. ‘I’ve trained Hazel and Shelley well. She might not even notice I’m not there.’
‘How could anyone not notice your absence?’ Elias asked.
Becky sat bolt upright, leaning away from Elias’s embrace. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’ he asked.
‘It was whistling.’ She turned her head, looking over both their shoulders at the trees and the road. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Perhaps it is the flamingo,’ Elias suggested. ‘Come to ask for the keys to get back in.’
‘There it is again,’ Becky said, this time moving out of his arms and getting to her feet. ‘Can’t you hear that? It sounds like someone’s coming and they’re calling for something.’
Elias stood up too, trying to somehow hone in on the darkness. He stilled, focusing. Then he heard it. It was a whistle and then a name being called… Maverick?
‘It’s Petra,’ Becky said, rushing up the beach. ‘It’s definitely Petra.’
‘Becky, wait,’ Elias said, racing after her.
Forty-Nine
Villa Selino
‘You’re fussing like a nana,’ Petra said, shrugging off the blanket Becky was attempting to put on her shoulders. ‘It’s not Scotland. OK, the mozzy bites are on a par here but it’s still warm, so no blanket required.’
The women were in the vast kitchen of the villa and Becky was making a cup of tea. After all, when in doubt about how to solve a problem, tea was always the answer. With one eye on the boiling water and the other on the young girl sat at the kitchen island, her mind was on the rather inadequate kiss goodbye she had given Elias. After a few spins around the garden they had finally managed to get a sleepwalking Petra back into the house, onto the sofa and settled, until she promptly woke straight up. It had felt a little ‘three’s-a-crowd’ after that and Elias had suggested he leave, saying he would call her tomorrow. Their kiss had been infuriatingly brief, when what she really wanted to do was snog all the other parts of him she hadn’t seen yet…
‘I’m going to go back to bed now. If that’s OK, Nana.’ Petra slipped down from the island seat.
‘No, Petra, it’s not OK,’ Becky said, turning away from the kettle and facing her again. ‘We need to talk.’
‘About Elias?’ Petra asked, grinning. ‘Because don’t think I didn’t see that little lip contact before he left. Although it was a bit restrained. You don’t want to do restrained for too long.’
‘No, this isn’t about Elias,’ Becky said, torn between sitting down and finishing making the tea. ‘I want to talk about you.’
‘My favourite subject,’ Petra said, grinning as she re-took her seat. ‘I have so many stories. Do we have snacks to go with the tea? It’s hours since I had baklava. I told Eleni mine had a body of a bee in it. You should have seen her face! I had to tell her I was joking in the end. I thought she might stroke out!’
Becky made the tea as quickly as possible. She wasn’t going to let Petra skirt over anything this time. Bringing the cups over, she sat up at the island and pushed a cup closer to Petra.
‘Where shall I start?’ Petra asked. ‘Did I tell you about the floating market in China? Or when I once bartered with a bartender for fifty-year-old vodka?’
‘Petra,’ Becky said softly. ‘I want you to tell me who Maverick is.’
Suddenly it was like every colour particle had disappeared from Petra’s face. But then, almost as quickly, the girl smiled and laughed. ‘The guy from Top Gun? Mr Cruise when he wasn’t ancient?’
‘No,’ Becky said firmly. ‘I don’t think so.’ She held her mug in both hands. ‘You were sleepwalking, out of your room, outside, down the path, to the beach, calling “Maverick” like he/she/it was someone you know.’
‘Really?’ Petra said, dismissive. ‘How strange. I mean, I did sleepwalk one-time near Mount Midoriyama, but I put that down to altitude sickness and…’
‘Petra!’ Becky exclaimed, now a little annoyed. ‘Mount Midoriyama isn’t real. It’s from Ninja Warrior.’
‘I meant… Kilimanjaro.’ She sniffed, looking into her cup. ‘It’s late. I’m tired. I should—’
‘Tell me who Maverick is or I’ll… I’ll make you find somewhere else to stay. Which I should have done anyway. Days ago!’
Becky hadn’t meant to sound quite so harsh, but she was worried about Petra. It seemed, as time went by, just as she thought she was getting to know her, the girl was still holding back. There was still something else going on under the surface.
‘You really want me to leave?’ Petra asked. Her bottom lip was quivering and Becky had never felt so heartless. She didn’t want Petra to leave. Despite basically forcing herself on her from the outset, Becky couldn’t imagine ending this housesitting break without Petra with her. They had shared so much together. It had been a little like her relationship with Tara before the whole astro-dating, Jonathan and couples’ dinner parties situation…
‘I want you to tell me more about you, Petra… and your family. Not tales from your world travels, something about where you’re from. You know almost everything about me. The sandwich-making, my annoying sister, how I’m not exactly confident like you. I want to know a little bit more about your family. This Maverick sounded important to you.’ Becky took a breath. ‘Important enough to go sleepwalking through the garden for. Was that your dad’s name?’
And, at the mention of her father, just like that, it happened. Petra burst into tears. Becky jolted on her chair with the sheer ferocity of it. It was like Niagara Falls and Victoria Falls had had a baby and Petra Falls was suddenly the new sight to see. Quickly, amid the heart-rendering sobbing, Becky slipped down from her seat and headed towards the kitchen towel. She reeled off ample amounts then returned, standing next to her friend and putting a hand on a shoulder, passing her the tissue paper.
‘I’m sorry, Petra, I didn’t mean for you to—’
‘Burst the mains drainage?’ Petra said, voice thick with upset.
‘Yes, I mean, I wanted you to talk but I didn’t want you to cry.’
Petra blew her nose. ‘Well, they kind of come together now.’
‘Tell me,’ Becky begged. ‘I’m your friend, aren’t I? Friends tell each other things they’re worried about and we’ve shared so many moments since we met on the plane, haven’t we? Platters of great meat and… that awful movie called Lost Love at Sea and… vintage cars and…’
‘Vintage men,’ Petra added with half a smile.
‘Who’s Maverick?’ Becky asked again, pulling her seat closer to Petra’s. ‘Tell me.’
Petra nodded, the ball of kitchen roll now all scrunched up in her fist. ‘Maverick is… was my cat.’
‘Oh.’ Becky hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Did he pass away too?’
She nodded then, fresh tears arriving
in her eyes. ‘Yep. 2018. March 22nd.’
‘I know how much pets can mean. One of my customers, Milo, has a canary who likes to go in the shower with him. You must have loved him ever so much,’ Becky said.
‘I did,’ Petra agreed. ‘I loved him so so much. He was as much a part of the family as anyone else.’
‘I can understand that. People do say that losing a pet is exactly the same as losing a family member.’ She gave Petra’s shoulder another heartening rub of reassurance. ‘And you lost your dad too. Was that around the same time?’
‘It was,’ Petra said, taking a big breath. ‘I… lost my dad, Maverick and my mum at the very same time. On the very same day. In the very same accident.’
The tears began to flow again and this time Becky was there to catch her. Sobbing hard, Petra fell into her arms and Becky held on tight. ‘Sshh, it’s OK, Petra. It’s going to be OK.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Petra wailed. ‘I shouldn’t be talking about it. Talking about it makes me panic again and I don’t want to panic again.’
‘It’s OK,’ Becky reassured. ‘I’m right here.’
‘But you’re going to be gone soon,’ Petra said with another cry. ‘When your holiday is finished you get to go back to your sister and your friends and I’ll be moving on to a new location meeting new people I’ll never tell any of this to because it’s too hard to share.’ Almost like she was doing it subconsciously she began to unpin her hair until it started to fall loose around her shoulders. Then she began to work her fingers around it, turning it into braids. ‘I want to pretend,’ Petra stated. ‘That’s what I spend my time doing while I’m travelling. I pretend.’
‘It’s OK,’ Becky whispered, the girl’s grief pulling at her heart. ‘We’re all guilty of doing a bit of that every now and then to protect ourselves.’
‘Who am I on my own, Becks?’ Petra asked Becky, eyes wide and startled.
‘Oh, Petra, you don’t lose who your loved ones were to you when they pass away,’ Becky assured her. ‘They might not be here in person, but I believe they are here in spirit. I mean… if it wasn’t for your dad you wouldn’t have known what kind of cars we had sitting in the garage here.’ She rubbed the girl’s shoulder. ‘His knowledge has helped you and, you said yourself, about the moon.’
‘I don’t know what to do next,’ Petra admitted, leaning on Becky for support. ‘What do I do next?’
Becky put a hand to Petra’s head and drew her closer. ‘We’re both going to take it one step at a time,’ Becky told her. ‘You just keep breathing.’
Fifty
Liakada Village
Elias shook the frying pan in his mother’s kitchen and looked pleased at the contents. He had bacon griddling to perfection on one ring, sausages under the grill, and now he was making fried eggs to sit upon the toast when that was ready. The baked beans were gently warming in a pan.
‘What are you doing in my kitchen? It is six o’clock in the morning.’
He had wondered how long it was going to be before his mother sensed there was someone working in her domain and came to investigate.
‘I am sorry, Mama. I was trying to be quiet, but I woke up Areti’s rooster and then it woke up Areti and I made her coffee. She is sitting in the cafeneon folding laundry.’
Eleni put her hands in her hair and screeched a little like a rooster herself. ‘I do not know how many times I have told that woman not to bring laundry into my cafeneon. It is not a good look, Elias.’
He turned away from the hob for a moment and observed his mother, still in her dressing gown. ‘If we do not want anyone to see, perhaps we could pull down all the blinds and get out night vision goggles for us. Give service like last night.’
‘You are mocking me. I do not like it. And I am unhappy with your behaviour at Dark Dating. You left with the English girl. That meant a change to my Circle of Couples later on. I had to try to pair Panos with someone more age-appropriate than Maria from the supermarket. The English girl was supposed to be with Spiros Boatyard.’
‘Spiros Boatyard!’ Elias exclaimed. ‘He is forty-five.’
‘He looks young for his age.’
‘You sat her with Manilos. He is even older, and his sound of the donkey was a little obvious, don’t you think?’
His mother was now just looking at him, an all-knowing expression on her face. The eggs! He had forgotten the eggs. He turned back to the hob, fish slice in hand, delicately trying to lift them off the bottom of the pan without disturbing the yokes.
‘I see what is going on,’ Eleni told him.
‘Yes,’ Elias agreed. ‘If you keep talking to me and do not go to see Areti she will be arranging to bring over her washing machines.’
‘You and the English girl. This is not the first time you have met. They ask about you. The one and the not the one.’ Eleni sniffed as if she was using her nose to find out secrets.
‘The English girl has a name,’ Elias said.
‘And you know it,’ Eleni continued. ‘You have known it for a while. That is why you are back here.’
‘No, Mama,’ Elias insisted. ‘I am here for work.’
‘What is going on at Villa Selino? I know someone has had my keys. I am guessing that is you,’ Eleni continued.
Yes, Elias had felt bad about taking them without asking. It had been a mad few hours of deliberating with himself about the legality of it all, but he had made the right choice. And he was now more confident of that than ever. The keys had gone straight back and he was doing what he told Becky he was doing. The right thing. No more underhand or under the carpet, everything strictly by the book.
‘The owners of Villa Selino are getting a divorce,’ he admitted. ‘But you cannot tell anyone about that. And I mean anyone. Not even Areti.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Especially not Areti.’
‘Are they selling the villa? Will they not want me to clean? Is the English girl a relative?’
‘I cannot tell you any more than that,’ Elias said to her, lifting the pan from the ring, turning the gas off then setting it down again. ‘Except the English girl… she is called Becky.’
‘What sort of a name is “Becky”? It is not good. Not like “Maria” or “Pelagia” or—’
‘Hestia?’ Elias offered.
‘No,’ Eleni said quickly. ‘That is not a good name. You know it means “by the fire”. A warning we should have taken notice of before it was too late.’
‘Mama,’ Elias began. ‘I do not want my life to be about what Hestia did anymore.’ He took a breath. ‘It has been too long.’
‘You are forgiving her?’ Eleni asked, eyes on stalks like it was an impossibility.
‘I am… moving on. I am making what comes next be about what I want, not about what someone else did.’ He took a breath. ‘I want you to have the house back.’
‘What?’
‘The house you gave us as a wedding gift. I want you to have it back. You can… rent it out or you can sell it for air miles. It should not be left empty as a statuesque reminder of something that died long ago.’ He swallowed. He couldn’t even bear to go and look at the house.
‘Elia…’
‘No, Mama, I mean it. It is time for… fresh starts and second chances.’
‘You have gone soft,’ Eleni immediately responded. ‘You do not sound Greek.’
‘Because forgiveness isn’t in our nature? Mama, that is exactly where you and Papa are going wrong.’
‘Very clever, Elia the Lawyer. Making this now about me and not you.’ Eleni clapped her hands together. ‘Bravo!’
Elias turned off the rings on the hob then, letting the eggs and bacon stay warm from the heat of the pans alone. He put his hands on his mother’s shoulders and looked directly at her. ‘Please go and sit at the table I have prepared for you. If Areti has put washing on top of the placemats and knocked over the flower arrangement I will be disappointed.’
A confused expression arrived on Eleni’s face. ‘What are you talking about? I hav
e work to do. I have to prepare for the post and clean the bar and find all the things my guests left behind in the dark last night. I—’
‘You are having breakfast with your husband,’ Elias told her, strengthening his grip on her so she was unable to run away.
‘Your father is coming here!’ she gasped. ‘You have invited him here! For the breakfast of the English? Are you trying to kill him? Because it was the food high in bad fats that gave him the heart attack!’
‘Mama,’ Elias said softly. ‘Relax. I am making him soft boiled eggs with horta.’ In a throwback to his childhood spent in Liakada, he had seen the wild greens flourishing at the edge of the olive grove he had run through earlier when sleep had decided he only needed three hours of it. Pan-fried in a little olive oil and mixed with garlic, lemon and a little black pepper, it was keeping warm in the oven.
‘You picked ingredients for horta this morning?’ Eleni exclaimed.
‘I did,’ Elias replied.
Her eyes glistened a little then as she looked back at him, seeming briefly at a loss as to what to say next. ‘Well…’ Eleni began.
‘Well?’
‘You will have to hide the pot of salt or your father will be putting too much over those eggs.’ She sniffed, fingers preening her hair as she used the stainless-steel splashback over the hob as a mirror.
‘Mama, promise me you will listen to him.’
‘I always listen to him,’ Eleni insisted. ‘It is simply he never says anything that I want to hear.’
‘Give him a chance,’ Elias begged. ‘Please.’
‘I will listen,’ Eleni promised.
‘And not argue?’
‘You ask a great deal, Elia.’
‘Mama,’ he said, smiling. ‘I have picked horta for you and made you an English breakfast that will change your mind about the delicious nature of it.’ He rubbed her shoulder again. ‘Maybe you will change your mind about my father too.’
Eleni made a tut that seemed to indicate this was unlikely, but she was still checking out her appearance in the metal, tweaking at her hair. ‘Your father’s nature is not delicious,’ she said. ‘His nature is old and wrinkled like toes that have been in the bath water for too long.’ She turned to Elias then. ‘But, if I make promises to you about sharing a breakfast, then you must make a promise to me.’