I stared at it for a long time; a timeless time. This scrap of silver had caused so much pain to three people in my life. I had no notion if my dreams were pure fantasy, or really a vision of the past. If they were some kind of historical disclosure, then Thira’s heart had shattered when she held this very necklace after Oia’s death.
The thought bestowed such honour, that somehow the fates had chosen me as a vehicle by which Thira’s story would come to light. The overwhelming idea made me whisper: ‘Thank you’. Although the concept was nothing of my own religion, it seemed holy . . . sacred.
I heard the woman leave. After several more minutes of self-indulgent nostalgia, I covered the necklace, replaced the jug, and then put the box back in my tote. Suddenly hungry and realising I hadn’t eaten since the day before, I made a plan.
In the gift shop, I bought a notebook, pen, a packet of envelopes, and a book of stamps. Then I returned to the café deck, bought a tuna-mayo baguette, and found a quiet corner. I placed the tote behind my legs and slipped my foot through the handles for safety.
By the time I had finished writing, we were pulling into the caldera. I hurried to the gift shop, knowing it closed before docking, and popped my letter into the mailbox. I wished I’d had time to write another one.
*
Spiro waited on the quayside, but the edgy feeling that I was being watched stayed with me.
‘Bridget, who you look for?’ Spiro asked. ‘Why you break your neck all the way up from the port?’
‘I’m feeling spooked, Spiro. I thought someone was following me.’
‘You want to come eat at my house?’
‘You’re too kind, but I’m very tired. I had a busy day in Crete and it’s getting late.’
He dropped me at the top of the steps and I hurried down onto the patio. Every nerve tingled, every sense heightened by anxiety. I quickly hid the box before anyone could catch up to me and watch from one of the many rooftops that overlooked our house. Once I had carefully concealed the box, I turned all the lights on, inside and out, and wrote a couple of cryptic clues as to the artefacts’ hiding place, just in case.
Was I being melodramatic? With the box worth several million dollars on the black market, I didn’t think so.
At eight o’clock in the morning, I planned to share the news with Aaron. To see the necklace first-hand would be one of the greatest moments of his archaeological life, and I could not deny him that thrill. Besides, I wanted him with me until I had handed it over. Then, at a more reasonable hour, remembering Ireland was two hours behind Greece, I would Skype Tommy and show him the necklace that he had only seen for a few minutes, twenty-nine years ago.
Once Tommy had received the good news and seen the necklace for himself, I planned to call the local newspaper to witness the moment I handed the artefacts to the director of the museum.
Had I forgotten anything? I didn’t think so.
At five-thirty in the morning I made a coffee. For a second, I wondered if his dreams were as belligerent as his waking hours, and for no reason, the thought made me smile.
The house lights had blazed all night. Outside, everywhere was still, nobody about. I turned all the lights out and took my drink onto the patio. Dawn was breaking. I thought about Queen Thira. When I closed my eyes, I saw her wearing the dragonfly necklace and I felt her pleasure for me, how she was proud of my actions. I realised that in all my dreams, since the death of Oia, I had not seen the necklace.
A blade of silver separated the sea and sky on the horizon. Again, I was reminded of one of my dreams. Dawn over Atlantis. As light gathered around me, so did the joy in my heart. I heard the town stir and gradually wake. Soon, the world would know the relevance of this day. I had retrieved the dragonfly necklace!
I went over my plan.
I dared not take the artefacts to the site. I couldn’t help worrying about the dealer that the widow was so afraid of. I wondered if he had followed me onto the ship. Or, if he saw me go aboard, he might have taken a flight to Santorini. He could be waiting for me anywhere. He could be watching me right now, though I doubted it. Even villains had to sleep. I was so close to putting everything right, I could not afford to take chances. Irini had said she would come to Santorini. And if anything happened to me she would have to come, so I left her a cryptic note to tell her where the necklace was hidden. I hoped she never needed to figure it out.
But it was better to play safe. Artefact dealers could be every bit as dangerous as drug dealers.
*
I got off my bicycle at the site entrance. My muscles ached, my mouth was dry, and every nerve was tense. I glanced over my shoulder at the sparse landscape that rolled down to the sea. I couldn’t see or hear anyone. The gate was locked. Where could Aaron be? I let myself in and locked the gate behind me. Feeling light-headed due to lack of sleep, I stared around the site and listened hard. In the distance, church bells rang eight o’clock. Aaron should have arrived by now. I phoned him.
‘Hi, Bridget! I’m on my way to get diesel for the generator. Do you need anything? I’ll bring a couple of baguettes for lunch, if you like—’
I cut him off. ‘I need to talk to you, Aaron. It’s urgent. Please come back, soon as you can.’
If Aaron was surprised by my tone of voice, he didn’t show it. He said he’d be there as soon as possible and hung up.
Calliope, who sold entrance tickets and ran the shop, arrived.
‘Morning, Poppy!’ I called, feeling a sense of security at the sound of my own voice.
‘Good morning, Bridget!’ She beamed and her statement lifted me further. This was a good morning, one of the best mornings of my life. So much would be put right on this day.
Nathan slouched in after Poppy, as he so often did, arriving on the local bus. His hoody was pulled down low, giving him the appearance of a monk.
‘You all right, Nathan?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘Crap! Toothache – it’s driving me nuts! Haven’t slept a wink.’ He slumped into a chair in the tea corner, then stood and paced. ‘Aaargh! I want to pull it out myself!’ He punched himself in the cheek.
‘Shall I run him up to Grigoris? I can’t see him getting much done as he is,’ Poppy asked.
A couple of elderly Chinese tourists with professional cameras had followed Nathan into the site. I felt easier with the tourists about. ‘Yes, take him. Try and get the next bus back, will you, Nathan? They’re every hour.’
Another tourist arrived. Poppy sold them all tickets and then Nathan followed her to the car park.
‘I’ll be as quick as I can!’ she called over her shoulder.
‘Excuse me, miss,’ the Chinese guy said politely. ‘Where can we see the fresco of the River Festival?’ He had Aaron’s book in his hand.
My face flushed with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry, they’re in the National Archaeological Museum in Athens.’
He spoke to his wife in Chinese, clipped, breathy words of frustration, then he turned back to me. ‘Ah, so. We went to Athens and saw a few of the Santorini frescoes there, but they said the rest were here. We came all the way from China specially to see the frescoes of the town and the River Festival. We bought this from the internet.’ He lifted the book.
‘I’m so sorry. Some of the frescoes are in our prehistoric museum here. It’s near the bus station in town.’ They both looked utterly disappointed. ‘I can show you where they were found, and if you come back tomorrow morning, the author will be happy to sign the book for you.’
Their faces lifted. ‘Thank you!’
I led them down from the viewing gantry. ‘Please don’t touch anything. Some of the walls are still very unstable. We don’t usually allow tourists down here.’
The other tourist, a dark-haired man, easily as big as Aaron, was dressed in jeans and an immaculate white T-shirt. He came to their side. Although simply dressed, he had an air of wealth about him, intensified by the heavy gold watch on his wrist, perhaps a Rolex. Black Ray-Bans hid
his eyes. He nodded, but didn’t speak.
We walked through the site. I pointed out the various areas described in Aaron’s book and the Chinese couple were clearly excited. When we arrived at the triangular square, where Irini was born, I pointed to the wall.
‘This is where the goddess fresco covered the wall. It seems that she ruled the island before the volcano erupted.’
The Chinese couple held the book open at that page and chatted excitedly to each other.
I took a pinch of crushed plaster dust from between the stones and sprinkled it between the pages of their book. ‘Four-thousand-year-old stucco from the back of the fresco. A special souvenir for you.’ I pointed at the necklace around the queen’s neck. ‘And talking of souvenirs, in the shop you can buy an exact copy of that dragonfly in the centre of the necklace. The archaeologist who wrote this book had copies made.’
‘Thank you!’ the man said, conversing with his wife excitedly, then he looked at his watch.
The large man, who had been listening to our conversation, lowered his glasses and stared into my eyes. A chill ran down my spine and the hairs on my arms rose.
‘Where’s the dragonfly necklace now?’
My blood turned to ice. He had found me. What the hell was delaying Aaron?
The Chinese couple bowed again, oblivious to the danger I sensed. ‘Thank you, thank you. We will come back tomorrow.’ They turned to head for the bus returning to town.
‘Wait!’ I didn’t want to be left alone with the man. ‘Wouldn’t you like to see more? Let me accompany you to the shop.’
‘We have a tight schedule. Now we will go to the museum in the town.’ They hurried towards the exit, small, fast steps, the man cradling his book.
‘The dragonfly necklace,’ the large man said again, his voice deep and menacing. ‘Where is it?’
I stood tall, calling on Thira to guide me as I tried to mask the nerves in my voice. ‘I believe it’s in a private collection, in Crete.’
‘I believe you have it.’
‘Me?’ I blinked at him, feigning surprise.
Where the hell was Aaron?!
The stranger pushed his glasses up again, hiding his eyes. ‘Don’t play games with me, Bridget McGuire. I’ll pay a fair price and take it off your hands.’
‘You seem to be at an advantage, sir, knowing my name. What do they call you?’ I was playing for time, hoping someone would return to the site – and soon!
‘They call me Delta,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure you know that.’
My skin seemed to shrink over my body, fear thumping at my ribcage. I swallowed hard and stared boldly into his face. ‘What would you call a fair price, Delta?’
‘I need to see it first.’
‘If I had the dragonfly necklace and handed it over to you, what would you do with it?’
‘The necklace would be safe in another private collection, enjoyed by the owner rather than hidden away in some museum basement like so many of your frescoes.’ He nodded towards the exit. ‘You know very well those people who travelled halfway around the world are never going to see all the frescoes, don’t you?’ He huffed angrily. ‘It’s criminal that so many of the world’s greatest treasures are taken away, never seen by the public again. Now don’t mess with me. I know you’re dealing, so you can stop the pretence and name your price.’
‘How do you know? And how did you find me?’ My heart hammered against my ribs.
‘I saw you, yesterday.’ He looked around again. ‘A year ago, I came over to see if we could come to an arrangement, but you weren’t here. How much do you want for the necklace?’
‘I don’t want money.’
‘Then what do you want? Tell me.’ The threatening tone left his voice and I relaxed a little.
‘I might consider an exchange. What do you have from the Minoan era?’ Aaron, where are you?!
‘Bronze artefacts? Jewellery? Weapons? What’s your speciality?’ He folded his arms across his wide chest, his stance less aggressive.
Dare I try and gain something from this? ‘Do you have anything from the Istron site?’
His brow furrowed and the slight twitch of his jaw told me I had hit a nerve.
‘What do you know about the Istron site?’ He glanced around, confirming we were still alone.
‘I know enough. Take me there, I want to see it, then I’ll consider selling you the necklace.’ I spoke to my reflection in his sunglasses, glad he’d replaced them. I would not have had the nerve to bluff him out if I had to look into his eyes.
‘You’re lying. Nobody knows about the Sacred City; it’s just a rumour between archaeologists.’ He dropped his arms to his sides and bunched his fists. ‘Now stop trying to fuck me over and get the necklace!’
Aaron’s pick-up screeched to a halt outside. At last! Relief surged through my body. The stranger stepped behind a wall. I stuck my hand in the air and drew a breath to shout, but in that same moment I saw the man’s shadow come alongside me, and pain spliced my head.
CHAPTER 35
IRINI
Crete, present day.
IT’S OVER. I didn’t want to leave the hospital, to leave my mother. It seemed disloyal. As if the whole event of her death was reversible so long as I stayed close, in the vicinity of her spirit. I wanted to catch her life and throw it back at her so hard it fixed itself to her body and she could not let it go. The raising of Lazarus. They say ‘life goes on’, but no, it does not go on, not in the same way. Everything is changed, off-kilter, out of sync.
I stood in the hospital corridor, feeling cheated and empty, yet full of the deepest despair. My mother had gone and I sensed the greatest part of me had left the building too. I needed to catch myself and put myself back together. Yet at the same time, I felt she was near, with me. My mother. Oh, Mam!
Her last words came back to me. What did she mean: secret, game, remember?
Was her spirit watching as I walked towards the car park in the cool night air? Or perhaps she had already entered heaven. Perhaps there was no heaven and I clung to a fairy-tale. Misled by a lifetime of teachings from the church. Could it be that I am all that remains of my mother? I gained a little strength from that thought. I am part of Bridget McGuire, her flesh and blood. The deepest sadness dragged at the corners of my mouth and, much as I wanted to comfort my father, I could not speak.
I thought about her last words again. They didn’t make sense.
Quinlan drove us back to the hotel that Angelo had arranged. We sat in the lounge, silent and miserable, each with a brandy that we didn’t really want, alone apart from a smartly dressed man at the bar.
‘Bridget wanted to be buried in Santorini,’ Dad said. ‘I know she made all the arrangements with the priest years ago. She bought a plot for us both. We’ll sort out the funeral business tomorrow and she’ll be buried the day after.’
How could he talk about her like that? I couldn’t quite accept that she had died. I knew the facts, of course I did, but they didn’t feel real.
‘So soon?’ I wanted to slow everything down. ‘Can’t we wait a few days?’
‘It’s about the only thing that’s done on time in this country,’ my father said gloomily.
‘What do you think she meant: “secret, game, remember”? I can’t stop thinking about it. When I was little, did we have a secret game?’
He was not listening.
‘Dad, do you remember a secret game at all?’
He shook his head. ‘Can’t think . . .’
‘Perhaps it wasn’t a secret game,’ Quinlan said. ‘Could it be: keep it a secret. Remember the game. What was your favourite game when you were little, Irini?’
‘Nothing special. Snakes and ladders, noughts and crosses. I used to play hide and seek too.’
We sat in silence until Dad spoke. ‘There was a snake at the site once. Fell in a trench and couldn’t get out. There are ladders there too. Can’t think of anything relevant though.’
Quinlan went to the b
ar to pay for the drinks and returned with a puzzled look. ‘Drinks were on the house, with the condolences of the hotel,’ he said. ‘Apparently that was the owner sitting at the bar.’
I blinked at the empty barstool. The owner. That was Angelo’s brother, Damian? How did he know my mother had died? We hadn’t had a chance to tell anyone yet.
*
The next morning, we had papers to sign at the hospital. Tired and defeated, I went to see my mother’s specialist. Dad and Quinlan dealt with the hospital formalities. I feared this was the only chance I would get to talk to Mr Mavro.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Mr Mavro stood as I entered his consulting room, then indicated the chair opposite his desk.
‘I wanted to thank you for the way you looked after my mother.’
He smiled sadly. ‘It’s my job. I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for Mrs McGuire.’
‘Also, there’s something I wanted to ask you. I know this sound crazy, but I’ve searched the internet and I can’t find the answer. You did say I could speak to you at any time.’
‘I appreciate you looking it up, Irini. I wish all my patients did that. But you have me intrigued. What’s your question?’
‘I want to know if you can inherit a memory from, say, your mother, grandmother, or even further back. I mean, I’ve read about people who have said they were somewhere in a past life and describe it perfectly. Is it possible to inherit the memory of a place or an event in that way? Like I inherited my grandmother’s red hair, or some people inherit a great artistic talent, or a singing voice, and so on?’
His head dropped to one side. ‘Interesting question. One that’s been discussed and argued over since the earliest medical writings. Pliny the Elder, Hippocrates, Darwin, and Sigmund Freud all discussed similar hypotheses. There are many theories, but in truth we don’t really know. Why do you ask?’
‘I wondered if my mother could have inherited the memory of an event from antiquity. It sounds crazy, I know, but she wrote things she could not have known, and with intense feeling too, as if she actually experienced them. I sensed these events were very real to her.’
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