Looking for the Durrells

by Melanie Hewitt

  Green dominated the surroundings, and the sea reflected the azure heart of the sky. Despite the modern world and the demands of tourism, these untouched natural treasures stayed the same, even if the lives of the people here had changed. In her heart, Penny knew that progress involved gaining and losing. It was now possible to drive up north to Kalami from Corfu Town on established roads all year round, instead of navigating rough tracks that used to wash away in winter storms, making it easier to get there by boat.

  ‘It’s getting hot now. Are we ready to move on?’ Guy interrupted her thoughts.

  Penny nodded. She had seen enough and for the first time felt a little foolish in her quest. Was she chasing something that existed most potently and perfectly in the pages of a book? Lily and Rich looked distinctly underwhelmed. The connections meant nothing to them; the power of the place, she thought, prevailed in the words, in a book they hadn’t read. The world turned and changed, people arrived and left – only a book stayed the same.

  But even that wasn’t quite true, because every time she’d reread My Family and Other Animals over the previous twenty years, the text had yielded something different: comedy when she needed to be lifted; escape when she had a moment to relax; and the beauty of the world it encompassed when she needed to refocus on the things that mattered – the eternally important . . . family, love, nature, and the importance of small things.

  As they turned their backs on the villa, what remained of the ‘Chessboard Fields’ lay to the left, the old Venetian salt pans, intersected with tiny waterways, full of mini beasts, and explored so tenaciously by Gerry. Mouse Island loomed straight ahead, amid the blue, white-tipped waters of the sea fringed by the far outline of the Greek mainland on the horizon, like an image from a pop-up children’s book.

  Penny wandered a few steps down the hill and then, taking a long, deep breath in, she turned back to the car.

  Chapter 15

  ‘If we’re all up to it, I thought we’d walk across the causeway and have lunch in Kanoni, at a café there that has a great view of Mouse Island and the church,’ Guy suggested. ‘Then we can visit the monastery and the island when it’s a little cooler, later in the afternoon.’

  ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble thinking things through, Guy. I really appreciate it,’ Penny said.

  ‘No problem. It’s a pretty well-worn route these days, but much more fun when you’ve made up your own itinerary, can stop when you like, and choose some great places to eat.’

  The walkway across the sea linking Perama and Kanoni formed the boundary among the old salt flats and lagoons, the start of the airport runway, and the open sea. It was a spectacular place to watch the planes swoop in and out, before contemplating the surrounding view.

  At first Penny didn’t know which way to look. To her right, coming closer and revealing more of its beauty with every step, stood the Vlacherna Monastery and just behind it, looking deceptively close, Pontikonisi – Mouse Island.

  They walked slowly along, the heat and light drawing energy from their bodies, as thoughts of a shaded terrace and a cool drink urged them towards the far shore. A collection of small boats was moored near the pathway that veered off at right angles to the monastery islet. People in a boat headed to Mouse Island.

  Penny automatically began to deconstruct the scene into lines and light, horizons and shapes. The boats were a breeze-blown jumble of objects, all angles and discordant lines, crisscrossing in their movement and complexity. Her pencil would have laid down the first marks on the paper, as she worked out how to mix the colours in her head; colours that, spread so carefully, layer after opaque layer, recreated the light that brought the scene to life.

  With her phone she could capture the image in front of her, but her heart and mind filled in the emotional memory gaps as she stood and absorbed it for a moment: the salty, fishy smell of the sea; the uneven path beneath her feet; and the timpani of the boats as they bumped gently against their moorings. Already nostalgia for these things emerged, even before the moment passed.

  Hands in pockets as was her way, she watched the far shore as it came into focus. More distinct and animated, populated with chattering shoals of people.

  ‘Is that where we’re going?’ Penny asked Guy, as she shielded her eyes against the sun and pointed to a terraced café-restaurant with groups of people sitting at the tables.

  Lily and Rich looked up, relief in their faces as Guy nodded and said, ‘Yup. The view is amazing and the food even more so.’

  A few minutes later they were seated, elevated above the causeway, watching the scene below and above, the boats, sea, fellow diners, and planes centre-stage. Lunch came in wave after wave of freshly prepared loveliness: fish; salad; crusty, warm bread; green and golden olive oil for dipping that smelt like a herb bed; creamy, garlicky tzatziki; and ridiculously pink taramasalata . . . all presented on white, rustically made dishes. The table resembled a still life with its rough-hewn surface of knotted olive wood, its colour rich and varied, decades of growth now polished and exposed to the sun. The food revealed smooth and inviting textures, all arranged without artifice, impacting the eyes, the nose, and then, in appreciative silence, the sense of taste.

  ‘Yamas!’ Guy raised his glass and they all toasted each other.

  ‘So,’ Guy said to Penny, ‘tell us why you’re here for more than the usual week or two, and why the Durrell thing.’

  The question caught Penny off-guard, as the answer – the truth – was not, she imagined, the usual traveller’s tale of needing a break, switching off from the office, or wanting to lie on a beach all day and party all night. Looking up at the faces now turned towards her, she took off her sunglasses, crossed her now browner legs, and turned the questioning back towards her newfound friends.

  ‘After you, if that’s okay. I know you’re all at university and just here for the summer, but where do you live in the UK? Why did you choose Corfu? What are you studying? Do you have brothers or sisters? What do you want to do when you leave uni? I’d really like to know.’

  They all looked a little surprised and then glanced at each other to see who would go first. Rich took the plunge.

  ‘Guy and I are at the same uni. We’re sharing a small flat for our final year from September. I’m studying film, but I’m not really sure what I want to do, although I’ve always wanted to know how things work. I suppose I’m more on the techy side than the arty stuff. I have a younger sister, Kate, and my home town is near Chelmsford, in Essex.’

  As Rich spoke, a plane coming into land fought for attention with his words, but Lily and Guy focused on their friend’s face. Neither of them remembered Rich saying so much in one go.

  ‘So, why here, Rich? Why Corfu?’

  ‘My dad’s friend worked for Greektime a few years ago and said it had been fun and a great summer job. So, I told Guy, we applied together, had an interview in London, and here we are.’

  Guy stretched back in his chair and smiled at two girls who had just taken a seat at the next table. ‘So, Guy, what about you?’

  ‘Well, I’m studying English, but sometimes it feels like I’m actually in suspended animation or Groundhog Day, doomed forever to listen to the droning on of lecturers who should have left the lectern long ago. Actually,’ Guy paused, ‘there is one who’s not too bad, but she has a fixation on Sylvia Plath, who she somehow manages to insert into every single writer we study. I think she even had a connection with Shakespeare – perhaps time travel was involved.’

  He diverted attention away from himself by telling Lily, ‘Your turn.’

  She put down her phone on the table. ‘Well, as the lads know, I’m from Devon. I have a baby brother – my mum has remarried – my dad lives in Scotland and I was studying . . .’

  ‘Was?’ Rich interrupted her.

  ‘I was studying music,’ she continued, ‘but I’m not going back. I’ve left. That’s one of the reasons I’m not leaving here until the end of October.’

  ‘We t
hought you were just going back a little later than us,’ Rich said, his confusion obvious. ‘It’s your final year.’

  Penny studied Lily from behind her glasses, noting her body language. She leaned forward, filled instinctively with the strange feeling that she might have to catch her.

  ‘I didn’t really want to be there any more,’ she said quietly and simply. ‘I lost a friend. That wasn’t the whole reason, but it was enough to make my mind up. I don’t think university life really suited me.’

  Lily stood and mumbled something about being back in a minute. Penny waited a few seconds then followed her. ‘I’m paying for lunch,’ she called back over her shoulder to Guy and Rich as she waved to the waitress, pointed at their table, and made the internationally recognized handwriting action to indicate she wanted to pay the bill.

  As Penny stood in the cool interior of the café, she watched the door that led to the Ladies, where Lily had disappeared. She wanted to catch her before she rejoined the boys.

  Suddenly Lily was there, holding open the door for an older woman. She spotted Penny by the bar and walked over slowly.

  ‘Sorry, I had to stop for a minute. I still find it hard to say out loud what happened to Sophie.’ She paused, looked around, as if to check if anyone else was listening.

  ‘Sophie killed herself, took an overdose. I found her in our bathroom, in the flat we all shared. I haven’t told anyone here. I don’t want people – the boys – to know. Even Tess doesn’t know.’

  Penny took a step towards her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I won’t say a word. If you change your mind and want to share, that’s fine, but you can always come and talk to me in the meantime. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been, Lily.’

  ‘We didn’t know she was depressed. She was quiet sometimes, but then she’d suggest we all went out, or sang along to a film, or just did something a little bit daft.’

  Lily stared at the floor and Penny felt her begin to tremble. She walked her gently out of the bar, to the far end of the terrace, away from the diners. ‘Do you want to go back?’ she asked. ‘We can come back here another time. Guy and Rich won’t mind and they don’t have to know why.’

  Lily shook her head and rested her hands on the stone wall that held back the sea. The cool sensation on her palms calmed and settled her. ‘I think Guy is looking forward to showing off in a boat and you’ve only two or three weeks left here. Anyway, I want to visit the island too. I’m all right, really. But thanks.’

  Lily turned to Penny, hugged her, then stood back as though surprised by her own response and walked back towards the terrace, where Guy and Rich were enjoying the last of their drinks.

  Chapter 16

  The atmosphere surrounding the quartet was quite different as they walked down the steps of the café and strolled towards the monastery islet.

  Lily walked alongside Penny and the lads trailed behind, as if there had been an unspoken promise to be quiet for a moment; a sense that something significant had happened, but it wasn’t the moment to ask more, particularly the what or the why.

  Rich noticed that Lily’s usual bounciness had been quashed, which bothered him. He knew he shouldn’t and wouldn’t pry, but he wanted to be a quiet presence close by, just in case.

  ‘Guy,’ Penny looked back, ‘are we walking to the monastery? Is that where we’ll pick up a boat?’

  ‘Yes, just keep walking. They’re every few minutes.’

  Some places in the world were so well known, their outline or location, height or design made them instantly recognizable: an architectural or geographic ambassador for whichever country they happened to grace. The Eiffel Tower, the Taj Mahal, Sydney Opera House were potent and often-reproduced symbols of their countries – a whole culture packaged into one landmark; a short cut that sidestepped the real complexities of place and people.

  The Vlacherna Monastery was one such place. Featured on everything from mouse mats to tea towels, it could be folded or carefully wedged into a suitcase and transported home.

  A white-walled monastic world greeted them, complete with open bell tower and sun-bleached, red-tiled roof, enhanced by the vibrant green of a tree that hugged its landward side.

  Penny and Lily entered the small chapel. After Lily’s revelation and distress just twenty minutes earlier, the cool and calm descended on them both. Penny knew that having no one to share the fears and joys of everyday life with – let alone an extraordinary, shocking event – was hard enough at 33, but at 20, so far from home, it must have felt overwhelming at times.

  They sat in the chapel, as the boys stayed outside checking on the time of the next boat to the island. The stillness exuded vulnerability as well as sanctuary; a baring and acknowledgement of pain. Lily closed her eyes and after a few moments the images that tormented her – Sophie, panic, the tears, and horror – were pushed away by the silence, as it made itself more present than anything else. They both lit a candle before they left.

  The hot, sea-scented air hit them as the door released them into the waiting world. Lily took refuge on her phone again, a convenient barrier against any questions she didn’t want to answer.

  Rich called them over to a boat that was filling up, ready to set off for Mouse Island.

  ‘This is us,’ said Guy, helping Penny into the boat.

  Rich held his hand out to Lily, who looked bemused momentarily but took it anyway to steady herself as she stepped into the swaying vessel.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. Her hand trembled slightly. A thoughtful Rich watched as she seated herself on the wooden benches that followed the line of the boat and listened to her music.

  The hop across to Mouse Island took a few minutes, but was a perfect opportunity to enjoy the breeze and the brilliance of the view from the water. Other boats passed them, smudges of rising and falling colour, with their happy holiday passengers. Music drifted from somewhere, and the pilot of their boat sang the last word of every line and hummed along to the rest of an old song. Penny saw where they’d been earlier, up in the hills at the Strawberry Villa. The sea, sky, and land that ran down and through the villas and hotels all met at the now-distant causeway.

  Suddenly Guy stood up and waved, attracting more attention than the scenery or the fast-approaching island.

  ‘It’s Dimitris, in his boat. He must have taken a group cruising down the coast.’

  Penny looked across to where Guy was pointing, but didn’t see the familiar blue-and-white boat. ‘Where? I can’t see the boat,’ she said, before realizing that Guy was looking at a beautiful, perfectly proportioned, elegant yacht in full sail that resembled both a child’s drawing brought to life and a glossy photo from a lifestyle magazine.

  ‘It’s the Antiopi. What a great day to be out. I expect he picked people up in Messonghi and they’re on their way to Corfu Town.’

  Guy sat down in the boat. Penny found she couldn’t break her gaze from the gliding craft as it moved away, soon passing Kanoni to be hidden from view.

  ‘What a beautiful boat. I’m definitely going to ask Dimitris if he can sail up to Kalami, during the last week I’m here.’

  Penny looked across at Guy, who was staring at her, as were Lily and Rich, and she realized with a tinge of embarrassment and surprise that she sounded overexcited, breathless, and juvenile.

  Then she saw Guy smile and laughed at herself, at the joy of being on the water, and the unrelenting heat of the day. For a few seconds, she’d felt the touch of real life, a possibility and promise beyond the darkness that still crept up on her some days.

  The vision she’d experienced when she’d spoken so briefly to Dimitris, the frisson of imagining herself on such a boat as the Antiopi, now cemented itself into potential reality. How could something so dreamlike lift and sustain? In the past months she’d tried so hard, so many times, to go somewhere else in her head, but so often her imagination and heart had failed her.

  The little boat swayed as it stopped and they stepped onto Mouse Island.
Guy led the way once more and Rich, ever hopeful but now also concerned, hung back to see if Lily needed his hand to steady her exit from the boat.

  The boats returned every twenty minutes to ferry visitors back to the monastery islet, and Lily sloped off towards the gift shop. Rich followed.

  ‘I’m just going to wander over to this side where I can look back at Perama,’ Penny said.

  Guy raised his hand and with a casual ‘fine’ sat down on the nearest wall and began to look at his phone.

  Penny walked towards the water and looked back at the monastery, the beginning of the runway, Kanoni beyond, and then Perama on the mainland to her left. She retraced where they’d walked from the car, then across the causeway, and on to the café with the miraculous view and the fabulous food. This, Penny was suddenly acutely aware, was one of those long-awaited and anticipated moments she had hoped for before arriving in Corfu.

  Mouse Island had been a beacon in the Durrells’ universe. In legend, the island itself had been created from Odysseus’s boat, turned to stone by an angry Poseidon. In Penny’s memory, it was the place where the young Gerry and his sister Margo, in the heady and ever-shortening days before the clouds of war gathered, had waded ashore after swimming across from Perama. Gerry had later described the island church as the size of a matchbox, with a monk of questionable sartorial habits. Larry mentioned it too in his love letter to Corfu, Prospero’s Cell – a place that impacted the heart and was difficult to capture by conventional means, whether in paint or words.

  Mouse Island was also where some of Gerry’s ashes had been scattered.

  It was strange to think of the boy he had been, here for just a few short years, but drawn back time and again. She imagined him never losing the sense of the joy that being here had brought him, wishing in later years that if he’d had one gift to give the children of the world, he would have given them his childhood.