Island of Secrets

by Patricia Wilson

  The decorating took longer than they’d planned, and Nick had taken another week’s leave in order to finish off before their trip to Crete. Although he was supposed to be on holiday, Nick seemed to get more phone calls than usual from work. Hardly a day passed by that he didn’t have to nip into the office for a couple of hours. He even took the trouble to shave and change into his best work suit. He was so conscientious, Angie thought. The publishers were taking advantage of his inability to say ‘no’.

  While she showered, she thought about her grandmother in Crete. Angie would be there in a few days, preparing for her wedding at the weekend. Suddenly, she appreciated how much she missed them all. Wrapped in a bath towel, she looked into the bathroom mirror and grinned.

  All her wishes were coming true.

  She would marry the man of her dreams, her mother and grandmother would be reunited, and now, she had just realised her period was two weeks late. Amazing. She would tell Nick tonight, and they would do the test together.

  Angie plugged Poppy’s hairdryer in, threw her long hair forward, and started drying the back.

  BANG!

  For a moment, she thought she’d been shot in the head. ‘Angelika! All the lights have gone out,’ Poppy shouted up the stairs.

  After sorting the electrics, Angie had bought a pregnancy testing kit on her way to the flat to pick up her own hairdryer. When she turned into the road and saw Nick’s blue Boxster parked outside the apartment block, and Judy standing on the step with a set of designer luggage, she drove past and pulled in down the street.

  What was going on? She adjusted her wing mirror so she could see the entrance doors. Nick stepped out, pleasure written all over his face. He took the largest suitcase and lifted it into the apartment lobby. Judy followed him with the two smaller ones. The door closed.

  Angie sat there for half an hour, deciding what to do. Neither of them came out of the building. This couldn’t be what it looked like. After she had put so much effort into convincing herself he wasn’t being unfaithful. Was there something going on? Feeling sick ad afraid, Angie returned home. On the way back, she bought the most expensive hairdryer she could find.

  Two hours later, Nick phoned. She could hear loud talking and an atmosphere of joviality in the background. ‘Hi sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Sorry I’m not back yet.’

  ‘I was starting to worry,’ Angie said. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Sure. I got a call from work and popped in, but they’d set me up. The guys had organised a mini stag drink near the office. I couldn’t avoid it.’

  ‘Ah, okay. That was kind of them. I guess you won’t be home anytime soon then?’ She struggled to keep her tone light. ‘Shall I pick you up?’ He was lying to her! She couldn’t believe it.

  ‘You’ve enough to do. If it goes on too long, I’ll sleep at the flat and call you in the morning. No point in spending a fortune on a taxi when we have accommodation just down the road. Sorry about the bad timing, sweetheart.’

  Numb with shock, Angie didn’t realise she was crying until Poppy said, ‘Angie, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. Nick’s on his stag do. The guys at work set him up.’

  ‘It had to happen. Never mind, I’ve a bottle of red and a bag of crisps. We’ll have a nice quiet evening in front of the telly.’

  *

  At five in the morning, after a lonely and sleepless night, Angie went down to the kitchen. She found Poppy at the table with her wedding plan folder, and two mugs of steaming tea.

  ‘You’ve done a brilliant job, Mam. Hasn’t the time flown?’ Angie said pleasantly, despite her stomach feeling like a bucket of frogs. She had been sick, actually hurled into the loo. Instead of excitement, though, she felt conflicted, confused, and dreadfully hurt.

  Poppy smiled. ‘Sign this will you?’

  Angie lifted the pen and scribbled her signature on the forms wherever her mother pointed. Heaven only knew what she was signing, but if she read them she might hesitate and Poppy would suspect something was wrong.

  ‘Don’t forget to organise the flowers for the church, and go over the reception plans with Agapi and Voula. Stavro took most of the wedding stuff back with him. Favours and things. That was handy,’ Poppy said.

  Stavro had their rings too, as he was going to be their Koumbaros – the best man. He’ll be so disappointed when he learns there’s to be no wedding.

  ‘Imagine having a party in the village square, just the same as my own wedding.’ Poppy patted her hair and blinked. ‘I’ll see all my friends again. What do they look like, now?’

  Angie hesitated, feeling the weight of her decision bear down. Poor Mam was in for a disappointment, her daughter wasn’t getting married. Poppy adored Nick. Angie gulped. She adored Nick too. Tears pricked her eyes. Also, all those kind village people that were cooking for the reception.

  Well . . . she thought, why shouldn’t that, at least, go ahead? A celebration that a mistake hadn’t been made. Festivities to mark the unification of the Kondulakis family. She would speak to the priest – still have a service in church and the party after. She could tell everyone how sorry she was that the marriage was off . . . how terribly sorry. Oh, Nick . . .

  ‘Angie?’ Poppy said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, just daydreaming. What do your friends look like now? Plump, noisy, mid to late sixties I guess. Lovely people but they’ll be jealous as hell when they see your new hairdo, Mam.’

  Poppy grinned. ‘I want you to be proud of me,’ she said.

  ‘Silly, of course I’m proud of you.’ She squeezed her mother’s hand.

  ‘Pity I can’t travel with you today,’ Poppy said, ‘but I daren’t miss my hospital check-up. Anyway, it will be good to go with Nick. Bonding they call it, don’t they?’

  Hell, Angie hadn’t thought about that part. She would have to work something out. Find someone else to fly with her mother. Were Shelly and Debs getting the same flight? Then she realised she hadn’t spoken to her friends for days. She should call them from the airport, tell them the bad news.

  ‘I wish I wasn’t going so early, Mam, but the nine o’clock flight is the most sensible one. I’d better get my suitcase. The taxi will be here any minute.’

  Upstairs, Angie glanced around her bedroom – she had thought the next time she saw it, she’d be a married woman. But no, not now. Her big bed was like an old friend and she remembered hugging her pillow while dreaming about the new boss at work. Three years later, she was on her way to Greece to cancel her marriage to the very same man.

  Tears spilled onto her cheeks as she zipped her suitcase. Her mind drifted back to the moment when they discovered they were both avid Doctor Who fans. Safely bubblewrapped, inside her luggage, was the perfect wedding cake topper: a groom pulling his bride into the Tardis. She had found it on the web, and although it didn’t go with the classic three tiers and columns, Nick would have loved it.

  Why did you fall for somebody else, Nick? I love you so much.

  Perhaps she should give the Tardis to him anyway. She swore she wouldn’t turn into one of those bitter and twisted jilted brides. But what about the children they’d planned together. Who would father them now, if not her darling Nick?

  The tears ran faster.

  I’ll always love you, Nick. Why did this happen to us? Was I just too selfish, for too long? I’ve been trying to change, honestly. I should hate you, but I can’t.

  ‘Angelika, the taxi’s here,’ her mother shouted up the stairs.

  *

  As the taxi pulled away from the kerb, Angie realised nothing could be gained by sulking. She was bigger than that. She had to face Nick, tell him she wasn’t going to marry him before she left for Crete. Return his ring and wish him well. Do the honourable thing. If he was happier with Judy . . . she could live – or at lease exist – with her smashed hopes and dreams.

  Her heart was already breaking.

  She gave the taxi driver the flat’s
address, and asked him to hurry. This was one of the hardest things she had ever done. On the doorstep with her keyring in her hand, she found the flat key was missing. At some point, he must have removed it. Technically, the flat was, after all, his. Locked out of his flat, his heart, and his life, she almost broke down on the doorstep. Oh, Nick! She rang the bell and looked into the camera over the door. Could she possibly be wrong? Had a terrible twist of circumstances resulted in her believing she had lost him? With all her heart, she hoped this was a ridiculous misunderstanding.

  After a long moment, she heard the click of the foyer door as the latch released.

  Breathless and trembling at the top of the stairs, she knocked on the flat door. She thought of Yiayá, how strong and selfless she was, even today. Didn’t she make the right choices, no matter how hard they were? Like leaving her baby on the ridge in order to save her other sons. Angie could be strong and selfless too; well, perhaps not to the extent of her grandmother, but she would do her best. Follow Maria’s example.

  Her thoughts were knocked out of her when the door opened and Judy Peabody stood before her. Blonde hair – sleep tousled, and her expensive, silver silk pyjamas – rumpled.

  ‘Where’s Nick?!’ Angie said through her teeth, trying to think what Maria might have done in a similar situation, while she clenched her fists around pure hatred.

  Judy lifted her shoulders and turned her palms up. ‘Sleeping?’

  Angie almost choked with rage. She tugged her engagement ring off and thrust it at Judy, resisting the urge to throw it down the hall with all her strength, or ram it down Judy’s pretty, white throat. ‘Give him this, will you? The wedding’s off!’ She glanced over Judy’s shoulder, desperate to catch a glimpse of Nick. He didn’t appear. Angie swung around and marched down the stairs, unable to see for the pain in her head and the tears in her eyes.

  *

  Heathrow security staff treated Angie like a suspected terrorist. They confiscated her expensive hair mousse and nail polish. When they ordered her to drop it in the bin for ‘illegal items’, she spitefully sprayed the mousse over the other gleaned toiletries. Then, punished by a three hour delay, she fretted about Nick. Sick of waiting for his call, she turned off her phone.

  Throughout the flight, the white noise of rejection hissed painfully in her ears. She couldn’t help wondering; what was he doing now . . . and now . . . and now? Until she was so sick of herself she hid in the aeroplane toilet and cried.

  Things didn’t improve when she arrived at Crete. The airport, dusty and even more chaotic than a month ago, shimmered in the heat. While queuing at passport control, she thought about Maria. How would she take the news that there wasn’t going to be a wedding? Angie was loath to disappoint her.

  The hour seemed dedicated to flights from the UK and an East Midlands flight landed after hers. The monitor had the wrong luggage carousels listed and, once the tourists realised, they pushed and shoved in the frantic search for suitcases.

  Then she had a wonky trolley, hell-bent on travelling sideways and catching other harassed travellers’ heels. The car hire people claimed to have no knowledge of her advance booking. An argument ensued while the family behind her grumbled and huffed.

  Thankfully, her mother had printed the Visa payment and, as all the small cars had gone, she got a free upgrade – but no apology.

  Angie raced out of the city, hunched over the steering wheel, jumping amber lights and cursing drivers who seemed incapable of using their mirrors or indicators. On the national highway, she sped to the first garage and found a tanker filling the pumps.

  ‘Twenty minutes,’ the attendant said when she lowered her window and caught the pungent whiff of diesel fumes.

  ‘Never mind!’ She pulled off the forecourt with a wheel spin. What a rubbish beginning to her trip.

  The sun slipped towards the mountaintops, giving the light a peachy warmth. By the time Angie reached the second petrol station, a gangrenous mix of deep red, black and purple slathered the firmament. While she rummaged for euros, a tap on the window made her jump. A man grinned through the glass.

  ‘Manoli, what are you doing here?’ she said, relieved to see a friendly face.

  ‘Ah, welcome back, lady! My car is being serviced. You can give me a lift to Viannos?’

  ‘Sure, get in.’ She turned the headlights full on and headed for civilisation.

  ‘Why you return so soon? You like it here, yes?’

  ‘I’m supposed to be getting married, Manoli, in Amiras.’ Angie took her eyes off the road to see his reaction.

  ‘Congratulations, I will come.’

  Taken aback, she looked at him again. ‘It might not happen . . . I don’t know yet.’

  ‘Be careful!’ Manoli stared ahead. ‘The edge is dangerous. Many people died here. You see the small churches? Drivers have gone over, into the ravine.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I noticed they’re usually on a bend.’

  ‘It is a long drop.’

  Manoli didn’t speak again until they entered Viannos, which bustled with life. A scattering of locals promenaded proudly down the main street.

  ‘It’s good to be back,’ Angie said, trying to relax under the big tree with a beer. Nick and Judy, Nick and Judy, Nick and Judy. She couldn’t even hold a conversation with Manoli, who organised her accommodation once again.

  Her scant room – a peaceful haven the first time around – became a torture box of memories. She phoned Poppy, told her about the confiscating security staff at Heathrow, and gave her a list of things to bring to Crete. For the second night in a row, sleep was sparse and interrupted by misery.

  *

  The next morning, just before turning into the village of Amiras, Angie pulled off the highway. She stopped for a moment to compose herself, her nerves were frayed. Nick would have the ring back by now, relieved, no doubt. He must have dreaded telling her because Angie was absolutely positive that he did care for her, in some way. Would she ever be able to speak to him again?

  So much had happened since the first time she had driven down this road. She had found her family – but on top of that, she had lost her fiancé, her mother had had a heart attack, and now, Angie suspected she was pregnant. Loath to do a test, Angie was afraid the result would change her direction.

  Two mornings in a row she had up-chucked into the toilet at dawn. She recalled her joy, only a couple of days ago, when she realised she might be pregnant. All her dreams had come true. Only hours later, the dream turned into a nightmare. Now, she had lost her ability to think straight. What to do? She had the pregnancy test, but chose to wait until she got to Crete before using it. Delaying tactics, because she hadn’t decided on a course of action if the result was positive.

  She stared at the war memorial on the corner of the village road. The enormity of the tragedy hit her. Maria’s terrible misery, still raw and painful after all this time, multiplied by the suffering of all the other families who had lost their menfolk. Innocent people, their lives turned inside out, for what? She shook her head sadly.

  Angie recalled the afternoon when Yiayá had relived the horror of the massacre. They had cried together and those tears watered the seed of a bond between them, which Angie was sure would never be broken. She had come to love her grandmother deeply – and she also felt the warmth of her grandmother’s deep affection in return.

  On this trip, Angie had time to investigate the epitaph, to look for baby Petro and her great-great-grandfather, Matthia, her grumpy uncle’s namesake. She stared out at the horizon and felt at home. When Poppy and Maria were finally reunited, would she feel slightly compensated for the loss of the man she loved so much?

  She peered up into the deep blue sky and thought about her father. ‘I suppose you’ll be watching over us, Dad, and I know you’d have approved of the man I was about to marry. I love Nick so much – and for a long time he loved me too. He was wonderful beyond words. I think I’m pregnant by him, so I’m not sure what will happen ne
xt. I don’t want to use a baby to try and get him back. We both wanted children so badly. What shall I do?

  ‘I wish you could have come to our wedding, Dad. That’s impossible, but I hoped you’d be there in spirit. Now there isn’t going to be a marriage, of course. My dreams are shattered, like Mam’s. She’s been wonderful. She still loves you very much. When she arrives in Amiras, I know she’ll be remembering your wedding day, when she walked down the aisle by your side. I don’t know if you can give her a ‘spiritual hug’, is that possible? I’m sure you understand what I mean. I love you, Dad. Always have and always will.’

  Suddenly, Angie wanted to be with Maria more than anything in the world. She rushed into the village, parked, and raced up the steps.

  ‘Yiayá!’ she called into the cottage, ripping through the plastic strip curtain until she was standing before the old lady, grinning like a fool.

  ‘Angelika!’ Maria cried, her eyes sparkling.

  Angie hugged her grandmother tightly, realising, once more, the noble matriarch was little more than fragile skin and bone. ‘Yiayá, it’s so lovely to see you again.’ She kissed Maria’s soft cheeks and resisted hugging her as tightly as she wanted.

  ‘Welcome back, koritsie.’ Yiayá sat in her usual place on the sofa. Papoú grinned from his chair, smiling and clacking his worry beads over the back of his hand. For Angie, it was as if she had never been away. ‘Sit next to me, Angelika,’ Maria said quietly.

  ‘I’m so glad to be back, Yiayá.’

  Maria nodded and then rested her hand on Angie’s cheek. ‘So, you persuaded Poppy to return to Amiras. I’ve lived in hope for decades, Angelika. My lights went out when she left and, after forty years of darkness, you fetch a beacon of joy. Will I hold my daughter again?’ She took Angie’s hands in hers. ‘I can hardly believe it. The family is going to be almost complete on your wedding day. If only . . . but no, we cannot bring back the dead, only in our hearts. Those who can’t be with us for the marriage are sure to be here in spirit, koritsie.’

  Papoú nodded and crossed himself.

  ‘Do you mean my father?’