‘You’ve got yourself into an awkward situation. I hope it turns out agreeable to all concerned. Do you think she’ll tell her husband?’
‘I don’t know. Shit, we haven’t even kissed; you can’t break up a marriage on as little as that.’
‘No, probably not.’
‘Hopefully she’ll phone soon.’
‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you want or need.’
‘I’ve overstayed my welcome, you’re too kind. Look as a thank you, let me buy you dinner tonight.’
‘You don’t have to do that. I’ve hardly seen you as it is.’
‘You’ve put yourself out and you didn’t have to. It’s my way of saying thank you. I promise I’ll only drink water. I don’t know what I was up to. I think I was trying to anaesthetise myself with drink. I’m not going back to that place again.’
Chapter 40
A Peculiar Mix of Relief and Uncertainty
She has never been intimidated by Stephen but there is something different about him now; he is like an elastic band that has been pulled so tight he may snap at any moment. It is a threat that accompanies their conversations and the long silences.
She has explained Adam’s absence as visiting an old friend in the capital. Stephen does not question this; he seems uninterested, disengaged almost. Georgia has asked him if he is taking on too much work, with the commuting from Majorca to Athens and Corfu. He dismisses her concern with a casual nonchalance that has only increased her worry. He moves through the house as if distracted. At other times he stares into space, a distant expression suffusing his face, like someone who is carrying a great secret. She has asked about this and each time he either dismisses her concern with an off-the-cuff remark, ‘I’m fine,’ or, more seriously, he clams up, folds within himself to a place she cannot reach. Georgia feels he is contained in his own world.
They have spent time together as a family, driving through the countryside, stopping for impromptu lunches at tavernas and swimming in the sea, when they discover a little cove or stretch of beach. On these outings, Stephen is more himself, the husband and father roles instinctively played. His phone rings constantly and, jokingly, Georgia has threatened to throw it into the sea. There is an edge to him; she senses a change in him, an unbalanced spark that could easily ignite a fire. When she looks at his face, it expresses a permanent strain and irritated frown.
She dreads the evenings. A glass of wine before dinner, the bottled drained, and another uncorked during their meal. He becomes less tolerant of Dylan. It loosens his tongue and he does not hold back, his eyes unfocused, glazed over, his voice less coherent.
She wonders if Stephen still loves her. He does, she thinks, in his own way, but it is a love of convenience and of habit. They are not in love, not anymore, there has been no intimacy for a long time.
Georgia has gone to bed early, avoiding Stephen’s gradual decline into a stupor. He comes to bed late. She is awoken by a clatter in the bathroom and Stephen cursing. A shiver runs through her, as she turns onto her side, away from his side of the bed. He fumbles his way to the bed; Georgia can smell the alcohol still lingering under the toothpaste on his breath. She feels his hand upon her, moving from her thigh, over her stomach and eventually holding her breast. He kisses her shoulder and moves onto his elbow, taking his weight.
‘You’re drunk Stephen, go to sleep.’
‘I’m not drunk, I’m horny. I want to feel myself inside you, it has been too long Georgia.’ He leans towards her and kisses her cheek.
‘No, not tonight, please Stephen, just go to sleep,’ she says, more insistently this time.
‘For fuck's sake Georgia, you must be getting enough of it from teacher boy. Now I’m not good enough anymore,’ he snaps incredulously.
‘What!’ she turns to face him, ‘How can you say that? What a stupid thing to say.’
At that moment, Stephen’s face clouds, she doesn’t recognise it as the man she married, the father of her son. This is a stranger.
He grabs her face and pushes it away from him.
Georgia gives out a cry, more in surprise than pain.
Stephen crawls over her, and stands up, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her from the bed.
‘Stephen stop, you’re hurting me.’
He swings his arm and slaps her across the face. She falls backwards onto the bed. Shocked, in disbelief, her face stinging, she leans forward. He slams his knee into her chest and straddles her, pinning her to the bed. His weight crushes her, she struggled to breathe. Her eyes peer in horror, through the dim light, at the demented figure towering over her. She struggles, thrashing from side to side but he has a hold of both arms now, his hands vice like on her wrists. She screams then and the pain that follows is excruciating, his knuckles smashing into her eye socket.
‘Shut the fuck up, you whore, you fucking bitch,’ he hisses in a controlled low voice, which stuns her more than his fist.
For a second, she can feel he is off balance, as he tries to position himself over her. With all the energy she can muster, Georgia flings herself onto her side, sending Stephen tumbling over the bed and colliding with the bedside cabinet, sending a lamp tumbling to the floor. She gets to her feet, escape her only thought. To her horror, she feels the cold clasp of his fingers around her ankle; he forcefully yanks on it, sending Georgia crashing to the bedroom floor. The tiles are not kind to her hip bone and her fall is painful, her nightgown riding above her thigh. She screams again, he is standing over her now, and she doubles up in pain, as his foot thuds into her abdomen. She muffles her pain this time, fearing Dylan will hear. He strikes her again, and she thinks she will die and then it stops.
Stephen sits down on the bed, he falls onto his back and within seconds his breathing is deep; he does not move. Georgia spends the night in the guest bedroom. She does not sleep.
During the night, it occurs to her if Stephen were to be sick; he could choke on his own vomit. At that moment, she does not care whether he lives or dies.
The sun is blinding as she steps outside. She slides her sunglasses from her head covering her eyes. Her sunglasses shade her from the glare of the sun, but they serve a dual purpose. She has told Theresa she walked into an opened cupboard door, but the look of concern on Theresa’s face questions this.
The sky is a deep blue, her favourite colour; she can spend hours just watching it. She walks over to the pool and slowly bends; she winces and then trails her hand through the water. When she was a child, there was only the sea to play in; the pool has been a later addition.
Georgia loved visiting the beach with her mother, building sand castles and swimming in the warm Ionian. She would often read and occasionally join Georgia in the water. These memories cloak her with a warm sensation but also sadness. Georgia turns and looks at the house, it is well proportioned, not much has changed and her mother would still know the place. It was here that Emily was at her happiest. When she died, Georgia brought her mother’s ashes back to Corfu, back to her home and buried the casket in the garden as was her mother’s wish. They planted a tree in memory of her, in Emily’s favourite part of the garden. As the tree has grown and matured each year, it has been a constant reminder of the years that have passed.
Georgia misses her mother dreadfully; her ache is sharp, especially when she reads the diary it only compounds her loss. She would give anything to be wrapped in her mother’s arms once more, inhale her familiar scent and hear her voice bring clarity to Georgia’s questions. She feels a tightness, a coiling inside her.
Georgia lowers herself tentatively into the wicker chair, her abdomen is tender, the bruising fresh. She tries to settle into the seat and winces as she reaches over to get a glass of lemonade. Stephen has gone, back to Majorca or Athens, she doesn’t know, she doesn’t care. The following morning after the attack, Stephen was like a child overcome with grief. He didn’t know what got into him, it wasn’t him, he didn’t recognise that person, he would change, he told her he would
stop drinking. He pleaded with her and when she told him it was over, he blamed her, accused her of teasing Adam, of having an affair, it was her fault this had
happened, she was responsible for his rage.
There was no more violence, to her insurmountable relief, he packed, said his normal goodbye to Dylan as if nothing had happened, and left for the airport.
She is glad for the shade of the umbrella which hovers above her. She rarely sits by the pool, preferring the terrace or the patio at the far end of the garden with its unrestricted views of the Ionian, but she promised Dylan she would watch him swim the ten lengths of the pool he has gradually built up to. The pool is only fifteen metres, but for a child that spends most days in the solitude of his room when he is at home in Edinburgh, it is an achievement she wants to celebrate with him.
To her great relief, Dylan heard nothing of the night before. He has seen the purple and orange colouring that stains her eye, commented on it, as a matter of fact, and accepted Georgia’s explanation of the rogue cupboard door. Her makeup can hide the physical remains of Stephen’s hate but not the scarring inside her.
Dylan has asked when his lessons will begin again; he hasn’t shown concern that Adam has been absent. He is eager to continue with his Mozart project.
She thinks of phoning Adam. Is she ready to tell him? She feels ashamed, she doesn’t know why; after all, she is the victim in all of this.
Once Dylan swims his ten lengths and receives Georgia’s praise, he takes himself off to his room to listen to Mozart.
She shifts slightly in the chair, attempting to calm the pain in her stomach. She wonders if she has ruptured an organ, and thinks of internal bleeding but then tells herself she is being over dramatic, she is bruised, nothing more.
Once again Adam enters her thoughts and, even after all she has been through, there is a flutter in her stomach.
She remembers the day of the interview, opening the front door to Adam; he looked apprehensive and unsure, with Stockbridge behind him. She felt something move inside her as she welcomed him into her house and, unknowing, into her life.
Even then, her marriage to Stephen had developed the habit of just going through the motions, just existing. They had both withdrawn from one another and filled the void with other interests.
She reaches for her mobile, scrolls down to Adam’s name and presses ‘call.’ She takes a deep breath and composes herself.
After the call, she feels a peculiar mix of relief and uncertainty. Georgia watches swallows gracefully arc and glide over the garden, the rainbow infused butterflies fluttering from flower to flower and, in the grove, one of Elena’s goats is stretching its neck nibbling on an olive. Georgia is overcome with a sudden need to be near to her mother.
Chapter 41
An Outing on a Boat
1972
Sunday 2nd July 1972
Stelios has invited me to go out on his boat and see Corfu from the sea. We will travel around its coast and find an ideal spot for lunch. He said he has a few places in mind, but will leave the decision to me. He is looking forward to showing me how beautiful the island is from the sea. I must admit, I’m quite looking forward to it.
Paul has been asked to do an extended book tour around a few American states. He said he wouldn’t do it if I was against the idea and wanted him back in Corfu. I told him not to worry about me; he needs to ride the crest of the wave with this new book for as long as he can, so to speak. I think he was relieved. In all honesty, I’m enjoying my time alone at the house. I see Theresa most days and Kyriakos has been working in the garden for the last few days. It has been nice to see Theresa and Kyriakos together; I normally just see one or the other.
Theresa has been curious about my friendship with Stelios. She wants to know all the details and she is quite taken aback that Paul doesn’t mind. She said that no Greek man would put up with such a thing. I haven’t told Paul. I let Theresa think I had; it is better that way I think. It made me feel better, but now I feel a mixture of guilt and dread.
When I’m with Stelios, I feel reassured; I feel a confidence in me I have not felt in years. He makes me, dare I say it, feel like a woman again. When we are together he is not distracted with mundane things, he is focused on me and me alone. It is as if he is owned exclusively by me. I find myself craving his attention. How strange it is. It is not infatuation. It sounds like an adolescence crush, but it is graceful and pure, “bewildering” comes to mind. I have tried to extrapolate what it means, what does it accomplish? I have come to the conclusion it bathes me in a sexual excitement that I have not felt in years.
He is not patronising in his compliments; he is considerate and genuine and I like that about him. I have also registered that I am more inclined to accept his invitations without hesitating which, in itself, says something about me. I think I might be falling in love…..
Stelios’ boat is a 1969 Islander 37/SL; it sits in the cove looking every inch the perfect specimen of its kind. Stelios has rowed to the shore in what can only be described as a dinghy that gets towed at the rear of his boat. He jumps into the shallow water and pulls the dinghy towards Emily who is standing with an amused expression.
‘Your taxi awaits.’
‘When you said you’d pick me up, I wasn’t expecting this.’
‘It’s only the baby. What do you think of the mother?’
‘Impressive, but it’s the baby I’m worried about.’ She gives an edgy smile and looks uncertain.
‘You’ll be fine. Here, take my hand.’ He presents her with his hand and then swiftly withdraws it. ‘You can always swim?’
‘The baby it is then.’
Emily is surprised at the buoyancy of the ‘baby’ as she sits with her knees together. Emily is wearing a red sleeveless dress, which falls to her knees, white flip flop sandals, with a jewelled slip and a wide-brimmed sun hat. She places her plaited bag on her lap. The bay is calm and translucent in turquoise and blue. Emily can see little crops of seaweed and rock, elsewhere on the seabed is sand.
As they move closer to the boat, Emily is surprised at its size. She can make out the writing on the side, ‘Ionian Queen’
‘You didn’t tell me she was royalty.’
‘You’ll have to be on your best behaviour then.’
‘I’ll try but I can’t promise,’ Emily says, smiling.
Emily feels the warmth of the sun on her face as she scans the landscape. It is the first time she has viewed Corfu’s coastline from a boat, and she lets her eyes wander along dark and green foliage that covers the land, like skin. Along cliffs and rocks, the sea is a magnificent blue that melts into turquoise, crystal clear, transparent and glasslike. Emily has perched herself on a cream leather seat and feels happy. From this position, she can see the sun’s light dancing on the surface of the Ionian, like sparkling stars.
‘I’ve never seen the island from the sea like this before. It seems to magnify how lush and green it is. Look at the colour of the sea, it’s like the Caribbean.’
‘You mean the Caribbean is like Corfu.’ Stelios smiles.
‘Yes, precisely.’
Stelios is sitting in front of Emily, steering the boat.
‘Would you like to try and hold the wheel?’
‘Oh no, I don’t think so.’
‘It’s easy, come on, it won’t bite.’
Tentatively Emily holds the wheel.
‘Not too tight, nice and gentle, just like you’re driving a car.’
Stelios stands behind Emily and places his hands upon hers. ‘There, I told you it was easy.’
Emily can feel her heart race. She can feel his breath on her neck and his stomach against her back. She forces herself to concentrate on the front of the boat.
‘Look, Emily, over there; dolphins.’
To their left, three dolphins glide alongside them, slicing through the sea effortlessly.
‘Let me take the wheel.’
Emily moves to the side of the boat and watc
hes in disbelief as the dolphins arch in and out of the water beside the boat.
‘Wow, they’re really quick, but look how graceful they are.’
‘Sometimes there are twenty, even more, all racing alongside the boat, It’s a pity there is only three.’
‘They are spectacular.’
She reaches into her bag and retrieves a camera.
‘I need to take photographs of this.’
Emily takes photographs and, as soon as the dolphins appeared they are gone.
‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘It was marvellous. I hope the photographs do it justice.’
Stelios turns and smiles. ‘I’m sure they’ll turn out fine.’
‘Can I take your picture?’
‘Sure.’
Emily raises the camera to her eye and runs off a series of photographs.
‘I thought this would be a good spot to have lunch.’ Stelios says.
He glides the boat into a small inlet; it is narrow and has a small sandy beach.
‘This place is beautiful.’
‘It’s perfect, I love this spot.’
The engine dies and the pulse of the crickets is constant as Stelios throws the anchor overboard.
‘I’ve got sandwiches in the galley. We can eat lunch here or on the beach.’
‘We’ve got it to ourselves; it would seem a shame not use the beach.’
Stelios takes two towels, and what is essentially a picnic basket onto the dinghy and once Emily has sat down rows the small dinghy towards the beach.
The basket has several compartments, holding plates, forks, knives, sandwiches, biscuits, cheese, and olives. He opens another compartment and produces a bottle of wine with two glasses.
‘You’ve been busy.’ Emily grins.
‘Not exactly, my housekeeper made it up for me.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Stelios pours two glasses of wine and hands one to Emily.
The Boy Who Hugs Trees Page 22