Burning Island: Absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical fiction

by Suzanne Goldring

  ‘But he should have helped us, Papa. He is a Greek police officer. He should be on our side.’

  ‘I know. A hundred of us could have gotten away, but now no one dares.’

  Rebekka clings to her parents’ hands, fearful of what might happen next. Then, after standing for maybe another hour, she becomes aware that those on the farthest side of the square are beginning to move forwards. They are going somewhere at last. But where? There is only the harbour and the open sea ahead of them and then there is Albania, a wild country populated by a race all the Corfiots consider to be peasants and bandits. Papa squeezes her hand and says, ‘At least we are moving. And they won’t send us to Albania. The Italians are there now.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  October 2006

  Amber

  ‘That’s a really good decision,’ I said, when James told me that Dimitri had agreed to be our site manager. ‘He’s polite, he understands the problems and he’s available at just the right time. You don’t have any doubts about him, do you?’

  ‘No, not at all now. I’ve grown to like him. I’m just aware that it’s another cost, that’s all.’

  ‘But if in the long run he saves us money, what have we got to lose?’

  ‘You’re right. It’s a winner all round.’ James was grating courgettes to make fritters. He wanted to recreate the dish we’d had with Greg at Mama’s, but was working with some difficulty as he’d cut his finger rather badly the night before chopping butternut squash. ‘The knife wasn’t all that sharp,’ he said when I asked how he’d managed to do it. ‘But the squash was very hard and the board was wet and slippery.’

  ‘I see, so it was nothing to do with the amount you’d had to drink with Greg then?’ I’d come home late in the evening to find the kitchen in disarray with bloodied chopped squash and a bowl of beaten eggs left out on the worktop; James was slumped on our bed with his hand wrapped in a tea towel soaked in blood that had seeped over the duvet.

  ‘I should have asked for the recipe while we were there.’ James was sprinkling salt over the courgettes and holding the colander with his good hand. ‘I’m not quite sure whether to go for an eggy sort of batter or something with more of a tempura consistency. What do you think?’

  ‘No idea,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you do one version tonight and try it another way next time?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll do that,’ he replied distractedly, which meant he was composing the recipe in his head as we spoke and it didn’t matter a jot what I said.

  I left him alone for twenty minutes or so, then returned to the kitchen to open wine. ‘How’s it going? Can we talk now?’

  ‘Course we can talk. I’m not stopping you, am I?’ James was patting the courgettes with a clean tea towel to remove as much moisture as possible.

  ‘I was thinking it would be an idea to take Marian up to see the site. If we’re going to buy some of her furniture, it would be helpful for her to see where it’s going. And maybe we should take Inge too. They’ve both got a good eye and they might give us some ideas of how it could all work.’

  ‘If you really want to, I suppose that’d be okay.’ He went back to stirring his saucepan. ‘Maybe best to wait a while though, till there’s a bit more progress. It’s early days after all. Wait so we can show them more of the whole finished layout.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. That’s probably best.’ I finished patting the courgettes. ‘Do you think these are dry enough now?’

  He leant over me and put his arms through and under mine, nuzzled my neck, then dabbed at the vegetables. ‘They’re fine.’

  ‘What do you want me to do now?’ I wiped my hands on a dry tea towel and he returned to making his batter.

  ‘Just pour me a drink and wait there. This is the easy bit and I can talk and cook at the same time.’ He stirred the courgettes into the batter, then heated oil in a pan. Once it was hot he began ladling spoonfuls of the mixture into the frying pan. He let each fritter set before flipping it over, revealing a golden surface freckled with green herbs. As he cooked, he said, ‘I’ve been thinking some more about possible names for the restaurant.’

  ‘Good. We could do with making a decision soonish, if we’re to plan our advance publicity and the website. Can’t have the thing going live without the right name. So what have you come up with now?’

  He flipped another fritter and lifted the first one out onto kitchen paper to drain. Then he turned to me and smiled. ‘What do you think about calling it Mountain Thyme?’

  I thought for a minute, then gave him the biggest smile. ‘James, it’s absolutely perfect. Yes, I can see it working. It’s great.’ I hugged him, nearly making him drop the next fritter as he lifted it out of the pan. ‘It’s relevant to its location and the environment. It’s about the natural surroundings and the scent of the herbs on the mountainside. And it’s about spending time relaxing in the mountains, enjoying all they have to offer. Well done. I think it’s simply wonderful.’ I threw my arms around him and hugged him again and kissed his cheek. ‘You clever old thing. I knew I could rely on you to think of something brilliant.’

  ‘I thought you’d like it,’ he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  January 2007

  James

  I was never all that keen on having the two Mill women visit the restaurant site, to be honest. Okay, I admit their shops were full of interesting pieces and I was happy to do business with them, but I didn’t like them the way Amber did. She always seemed to be making excuses to visit them, saying they had some new stock she wanted to see or Inge wasn’t well and needed company.

  So every time she brought the subject up, I’d say, oh no, not this week, the builders are doing the drains, or why don’t you leave it till the lighting’s done. But by January I couldn’t put her off any longer. Despite the heavy rains of December, work had progressed quickly and the building had reached the stage where we could begin to imagine exactly how each room should look. The fresh plaster still had to be painted and bare bulbs lit the restaurant, but it was beginning to look like a real living breathing house and business at last.

  ‘Bring them over on Thursday if you really want to,’ I’d said. ‘All the kitchen appliances are arriving on Friday, so it might be rather chaotic then.’ So all three of them turned up together. Amber was armed with a camera, notebook and tape measure, Marian was carrying a plastic folder of photographs of stock in their shops and Inge just coughed and kept fumbling for tissues in the canvas bag slung over her shoulder.

  ‘James, we’ve had a wonderful idea,’ Amber called to me, after she’d shown them around the whole site. ‘See these large pots,’ she tapped at a picture in the folder of some typical Greek pithoi. ‘We should have a really big one in the middle of the courtyard entrance. They can be adapted to make water features. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?’ Her face was glowing with excitement.

  ‘And over here’ – she dashed across the courtyard area to the main doorway – ‘we should have a similar pair of pots, planted with something blue and trailing that echoes the water.’ She stared down at the spot and then looked again at the photograph of the urns. ‘Not lobelia in this climate, something that will last.’ She frowned, then said, ‘Oh, I’ve got it. My mother used to have a wonderful cascading rosemary – Sea Waves or Blue Waves, I think she called it. That’s what we’ll have to plant here.’

  Marian was smiling at Amber’s infectious mood as she followed her round. ‘She’s really making this place come alive with her ideas, isn’t she?’

  Then Amber was walking through the main door, into the restaurant area and out onto the terrace, which we knew would have the most desirable tables in the summer, with its shady vine-draped beams and view of the whole valley. ‘And we’ve got to have thyme growing everywhere. We’ll plant it in troughs here’ – she marked the edge of the terrace with a wave of her hand – ‘and in window boxes’ – she turned, sweeping her hand towards the windows – ‘and we’ll have individual pots
of thyme on the tables.’ She stared at a corner where one of the tables would eventually sit, covered with a white cloth and sparkling glasses, then said with a shriek of excitement, ‘Ooh, I know, I know! Each pot will have an enamelled plant label standing in it and the label will have the table number on it, not the plant name. Isn’t that a good idea?’

  I loved her being this excited; seeing her happy mood I could forgive her for bringing the two women along. They were laughing too, enjoying her carefree enthusiasm. ‘That all sounds great,’ I said. ‘It’s all coming together, isn’t it? Now all we need to do is get the website going and pray for bookings.’

  ‘You will do well, I am sure,’ Inge croaked in her husky voice, before coughing again.

  ‘And we’ll send visitors across to you once you’re open,’ Marian added. ‘You must make sure we have a good stock of your business cards. If you decide to have the pithoi, I’d really like people to see them in situ and get an idea of how to make the most of them. See? We’re going to really be able to help each other.’

  I had to agree with that. With so many businesses competing for trade during the main season, it was vital that complementary enterprises were mutually supportive. Ben had promised to promote us as well, although most of his visitors wanted to stay near his restaurant for the beach and all its various watersports. But I couldn’t deny that Marian’s shop could be useful. ‘And we’ll make a point of supporting the Mill too,’ I said. ‘We could have some cards to hand out and maybe put a note about you in the menu and on the website.’

  Marian and Inge nodded at each other, then Marian said, ‘We’ll see what kind of deal we can offer you once you’ve finally decided which pieces you want from the shop. I’m sure we can come to some advantageous arrangement.’

  We shook hands and then I suggested we warm ourselves in the temporary kitchen with fresh coffee. Down on the coast the climate was temperate, but up here in the mountains the high altitude meant temperatures were low at this time of year; that morning there had been a frost, and some of the older villagers said there could even be a light covering of snow soon.

  The kitchen still wasn’t very warm, but we huddled around an old picnic table and sat on scratched white plastic garden chairs, which Ben was throwing out of one of his villas. I brewed coffee and apologised for the chipped mugs, which were all we had on the site. ‘It won’t be like this when we finally open,’ I joked. ‘I want everything to be clean and perfect by then.’

  ‘This is good enough for now,’ Marian said, blowing on her steaming mug. ‘And we have brought something for you here, to go with the coffee, haven’t we, darling?’ She turned to Inge, who bent down to retrieve a parcel of tin foil from her shoulder bag. As she unwrapped the package, Marian said, ‘It’s plum cake and it’s delicious at any time. I’m always begging Inge to make it for me and she hasn’t baked any for ages, so you’re in luck today.’

  Inge laid the opened foil on the table, revealing pieces of crumble-topped cake, scattered with toasted almonds. ‘It’s not quite how it should be made, but this is the way I do it now.’

  I took a bite. It was sweet, then there was the taste of sourer plums, a hint of cinnamon and the crunch of almonds. I held it out in front of me and examined the structure.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Inge looked concerned. ‘You don’t like it?’

  ‘No, it’s delicious. I was just trying to work out how you made it.’

  Her face relaxed and she smiled. ‘My mother used to make it for us all the time. It’s called pflaumenkuchen – which is really just German for plum cake.’

  I took another bite. ‘It’s really good.’

  ‘She makes a great apple cake too,’ Marian said, with a broad smile at her friend.

  ‘You’d better not start selling this in your shops,’ I joked. ‘I don’t want any more competition.’

  As we were laughing, there was a knock at the half-open door and Dimitri looked in. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, looking directly at me, ‘when you’re free, may we talk?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I’ll come right away.’ I slurped the last of my coffee and brushed the crumbs from my jacket. ‘Forgive me, ladies, I must get back to work.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  9 June 1944

  ‘I want Mama,’ cries Anna, curling up on the bed and turning away from Agata to face the wall.

  ‘And I want Rebekka,’ sniffles Matilde, chewing the hem of her dress, exposing her skinny bare legs.

  Neither child has a nightdress, they only have one clean dress apiece and neither has knickers. Maybe their mother had bartered cast-off clothes for food, or perhaps the town’s traders are no longer allowed to deal with the Jews. Agata resolves to raid her store of linens to see what can be adapted. And if the girls are to stay with her through the winter, then she will have to prepare warmer clothing. Even though the coast is milder than the mountains and never sees frost and snow, it can still be cold when the winter storms begin and rage until late into the spring.

  ‘There there, my dears,’ she says in what she hopes they will take to be a soothing tone of voice. ‘Try to settle down to sleep now. You will feel better in the morning.’ She had hoped they would be tired after their day of new experiences. They had watched her milk the goats and collect eggs, then helped Georgiou pick beans in the garden. They had eaten well and squinted in the bright sunshine. She had held their hands on the beach and shown them the rock pools they were allowed to splash in. Surely they should sleep well tonight.

  Anna rolls back towards her, colliding with Matilde, ‘Want song. Rebekka sings at bedtime.’

  ‘Can you sing to us?’ her sister asks, taking her damp, chewed dress from her mouth and looking up at Agata with pleading eyes.

  Agata smiles and agrees, but she has not sung to any children for many years. A long time ago, when she was the older sister, she had little brothers and sisters who liked her singing to them, but she has never had children of her own to hush to sleep.

  She takes a deep breath and then begins to sing the only song she can remember from those times: ‘Kouvelaki…’ As the song about a little rabbit wiggling its ears and playing hide-and-seek among the cabbages continues, the children begin to giggle and look very wide awake and Agata realises this is too lively a song to settle the girls at night-time. So she lays them down again, covers them with the cool sheet and resumes her singing. But her words grow softer as she strokes their hair until she is sure they are finally asleep.

  She tiptoes from the room, hoping they will not wake till morning, and resolves to ask Georgiou if he can remember any songs from his childhood, ones more suited to a quiet, peaceful bedtime. But before she goes downstairs to prepare their evening meal, she lifts the heavy lid of the carved wooden chest, the chest that she and her mother filled with linens in preparation for her marriage. Scented with sandalwood and lavender lie folded white sheets, bedspreads and tablecloths, hardly used in this simple life just the two of them share. If their family had grown as they had hoped, all of this would have dressed their beds and their table, but it was not to be. She sighs and lifts out a large white cloth with bands of red and white embroidery. It will never cover her bed again, but she can put it to good use in clothing the little ones now in her care.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  January 2007

  Amber

  I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. The visit to the site went well, I thought, but there was an undercurrent that didn’t feel quite right. Whether it was because I was bubbling over with enthusiasm, which I can be sometimes, or because Inge clearly wasn’t, well, I could not be sure, but there was definitely an atmosphere in the car as I started driving us back down the mountain roads to the coast.

  Marian finally broke the silence, saying, ‘Who was that man who came in to talk to James?’

  ‘You mean Dimitri? He’s our project manager.’

  She was quiet for a moment then said, ‘How did you find him?’

  I cou
ldn’t be bothered to tell her the full story, about my injured foot back in the summer and the lunch in the autumn at Mama’s Kitchen, so I just said, ‘A friend introduced us. He’s been amazing. I don’t think we’d ever have got on with the development so quickly without his help.’

  ‘Really,’ Marian murmured.

  We drove on for a while without talking, then I said, ‘Why were you asking about Dimitri?’

  She took a moment to answer. ‘He looked rather familiar, that’s all.’

  I didn’t think any more of it and continued driving, dropping Inge off at the beachside shop first, then continuing the journey up to the Mill of the Mountains. Marian was still fairly quiet and I was doing my best to encourage normal conversation. ‘I’m so pleased you could come out to see the site today. It was really good of you to bring that file of photos. It helped so much. All these original touches are going to give Mountain Thyme such character and atmosphere.’

  Then, finally, she spoke. ‘I’ve never told you about the opposition we’ve faced, have I?’

  I was startled by these words and began driving more slowly. ‘No, what do you mean?’

  I heard her take a deep breath, then she said, ‘You mustn’t think that everyone in Corfu will want you to succeed, you know. They may seem very friendly, but they may have their reasons.’

  We had reached the mountain shop by now, so I parked. It was cold here too, but the morning frost had mostly gone, lingering only on corners of roofs untouched by the sun. I turned to her and said, ‘Marian, what are you trying to say?’

  ‘Let’s go inside. Can you stay for a while?’

  I followed her towards the barn and the almost fully grown kittens she cared for ran alongside us, mewing for food. ‘I must feed these little monkeys first,’ she said, walking to the outhouse they’d come from. She unlocked the padlock fastened to the door and went to a box of tins in the back. Soon the kittens were purring loudly and eating canned tuna.