The Housekeeper (The Greek Island Series)

by Sara Alexi

  ‘Er, I thought – well, it’s just, you seem to manage them so well, that I didn’t think you’d mind … That is to say, I thought you’d be able to cope with them for two days. But of course …’

  'Oh, you are leaving Angeliki and Vasillis here?' The relief obviously showed in her voice, because Pantelis’s shoulders relaxed and he almost smiled.

  'Ah, so you don't object, that is good,' he said. 'Well, if you don't object, then we will almost certainly go.'

  He exhaled then as if a big weight had been taken from him. 'She will be pleased,' he muttered, more to himself than to Poppy, as he left the room.

  'So did they go?' Juliet asks as Poppy pauses in her narration.

  'Oh yes, they went, and the weekend turned into four days. Then they came back for a week and were off again. Monica had friends coming to Athens that she wanted to see, and Pantelis said there was the slimmest of possibilities that these friends might want to take them to Mykonos, and of course I knew that there was nothing slim about it, and that I would not see them for a week or more. I did not say so to Pantelis, but I was quite happy with this arrangement. It could not have been more perfect for me. I had the babies, who I loved dearly, and a beautiful house to live in, and someone else paid the bills. Unlike before, when I didn’t know if Pantelis cared for me or was just playing, I now knew my job was safe and my position was very clear, and I could go into town with my head held high. I could look people in the eye and show them my cherished charges and I could swoon over the cuteness of them along with the other women on the island. Of course, there were questions. Where were the parents, and how long were they gone this time? Sometimes Pantelis and Monica would go away for a month at a time, and of course the other mothers would show their disgust at this and would sympathise with me for the dreadful way in which I was being treated by my employers. And I’ll admit, I soaked it up, but of course the truth was that really I had everything I wanted.

  ‘Then the time came to have the little ones baptised and I was desperately hoping that Pantelis would stand up to Monica over the names. She had by this time got her tongue around Angeliki, after Pantelis explained that it meant Little Angel, but poor Vasillis was still Billy-Bob. I’ll give Pantelis his due, he did try to convince her a few days before the baptism, but Monica said there were too many esses in Vasillis and she would not consider it. Rightly or wrongly, I intervened on the way to the church, on the day of the baptism. She wanted Pantelis to confirm that he would support her, and he obviously didn’t know what to say, so I cut in.

  '”A Greek Orthodox priest would not baptise anyone Billy-Bob because it is not a saint’s name,” I said. Monica was furious, of course, and Pantelis looked very uncomfortable, but it seems she believed me because neither of them did anything and the children were baptised Angeliki and Vasillis.'

  'Well, I have to admit I prefer the Greek names!’ says Juliet, ‘but perhaps I am biased.'

  'But if you think about it, they were with me all day every day and all I spoke to them was Greek. And when I went down to the port, if I needed anything or to give them some fresh air and a change of scenery, all they heard was Greek, and I could never have persuaded the people we met, the people I knew, to call them Angelina and Billy-Bob. They would not be able to curl their tongues around such names and they certainly would never have been able to remember them. I did try once or twice, early on, and I remember I introduced little Angeliki as Angelina to a friend. She tried to say the name and then clapped her hands as if she had discovered a treasure and said, “Oh you mean Angeliki!”’

  'Ha, that sounds so typical,' Juliet says. 'So did Monica start calling Billy-Bob Vasilli?'

  'She did eventually, but as it turned out it was not what she called them that was the first serious stumbling block. It was what they called us!'

  'How do you mean?’ Juliet is intrigued. ‘They were babies, and couldn’t talk, surely?'

  'No, I mean later. The house had been adapted by this time – by me, of course – so that nothing was at grabbing height as first Angeliki and then Vasillis made attempts to walk. And of course, they began to make sounds too. Pantelis, to be fair to him, spent more time with them, talking to them, mostly in Greek, saying “Baba” over and over to them and pointing to himself. He said “Mama” too, but Monica was always on the terrace sunning herself, or in her bedroom preening. I was always there to support Pantelis’s efforts, of course …'

  'Oh my goodness!’ Juliet interrupts. ‘I think I can see where this is going.' Poppy nods her head.

  'You got it! It was one evening and it was nearly their bedtime. Pantelis had been playing with both of them and Monica had also tried but hadn't really understood how simple the actions had to be to entertain them and so she had resorted to watching. Well, I came in and quietly said it was bedtime, and Pantelis said, “Oh Poppy, watch this! Vasilli – where's Baba, where’s Baba?” in Greek, and Monica replied, “Oh for goodness’ sake, Pantelis, talk to them in English!” So he said “Where's Baba?” in English, and Angeliki turned her little head and held her arms out towards me, and called me Mama.'

  'Oh my goodness!' Juliet gasps.

  'Indeed! Well, if you had asked beforehand whether I would have wanted these children to call me Mama, I suspect I would have said yes, but interestingly I was as taken aback as everyone else when it happened, and I felt guilt, as if I had done something wrong. Which of course I hadn't.

  The memory of the next few minutes are burnt into Poppy's memory and she can see every detail as she relates the story to Juliet.

  Monica looked from Angeliki to Poppy and then expectantly at Pantelis, who looked back at her like a terrified animal. Little Angeliki still had her arms stretched out towards Poppy, and then Monica barked, 'Get out!'

  Poppy was so stunned by this reaction that she just stood and stared.

  'Out!' Monica repeated, and Poppy backed out of the room, terrified of what might happen next, reminded in that moment that Monica and Pantelis held all the strings that controlled her life and that with one twist or one snip they could devastate her world permanently.

  Chapter 24

  Poppy lay on her bed and stuffed tissue in her ears to try to block out the sounds of little Angeliki and Vasillis crying as Monica and Pantelis put them to bed. The babies needed their bath and a fresh nappy and a bottle each, and they needed Poppy to sing gently to them – ‘A Beba Blom’ – as her mama had sung to her as a child. Her singing was what soothed them the best, and she could almost guarantee that by the third rendition they would be asleep, a smile on Angeliki’s mouth, and Vasillis’s tiny lips pulsing as he slept. But the taps were not turned on for a bath, and no one heated water for a bottle, and the babies cried and would not go to sleep. Pantelis did not come to her for advice and the crying continued, and Poppy listened to her babies sounding so distressed. But the last few months had been taxing and finally she did manage to fall asleep.

  The next morning, Poppy found Pantelis with a baby in each arm and dark rings under his eyes. He did not wish her a good morning or speak to her at all as she served his breakfast in the dining room. Monica appeared later, relatively fresh-faced and grimly silent. When she did finally speak, she did not make eye contact, but stood in the doorway to the kitchen adjusting her bracelets.

  'Poppy, your services are no longer required in this house,' she announced. 'And since there is no formal contract we owe you nothing. Collect your things up now and go.'

  Then she too went through to the dining room, and Poppy stood frozen in the kitchen, listening to the rattle of cutlery and the whisper of voices.

  'Please tell me you did not go through with it,’ Pantelis pleaded. ‘I didn’t sleep a wink all night! How will we cope with the children? Who will look after the house?’

  Poppy had expected Pantelis to be stronger and to at least make some reference to her years at the house. She hoped he might put forward some argument in her favour, even if it was purely from selfish motives, but as she waited h
er hopes faded in the bristling silence.

  With a heavy heart, she realised that the strength she hoped Pantelis had deep inside of him was all of her own invention. She had idealised him and his abilities and that had been foolish. But this was not the time to think about that; she was about to be made homeless and unemployed – but more importantly even than that, she would have to say goodbye to the babies, and this squeezed any thoughts for herself to one side.

  For a mad moment she wished she had been friendlier to Monica, even if it was just for the children’s sake, but her thinking was interrupted.

  'I said I would and I did!’ Monica exploded, hissing out her words like a serpent. ‘What else could I do? She is corrupting the children. No mother would stand by and let that happen.'

  The sound of knife on plate told Poppy that Monica was eating her usual scrambled eggs on toast, the eggs plucked fresh from under the hens that very morning. A wave of bitterness washed over Poppy and it all felt more than she could bear or rationalise. What she needed was some normality, if only to engage her whilst the severity of her situation sank in. The washing needed doing, and force of habit took her to the pump, where she worked the handle up and down until the water came, but with the first splash she let go. If she was dismissed then she was dismissed, and Monica might as well do it herself. Heavy feet took her to her room and there she looked at what little she owned – the few things she had taken from her childhood home when her mama died. Not even the sheets on the bed were hers, and she had no money, no dowry, no skills. In a bubbling rage she collected what there was, including the framed photos of her mama's mama and baba, whom she never knew. Of her mama's dowry there was very little left – a tablecloth so fancy her mama had kept it for best and never used it, two pillowcases with intricate embroidery down one edge, never used either but eaten by moths at some point. There seemed little point in keeping them, but Poppy folded them neatly and put them on top of the tablecloth. There was Mama's wedding ring, which she had hung onto even after he walked out, whilst she was pregnant. Mama had kept the gold ring, not out of any sentimental feelings for the man, but because she could sell it in case of an emergency. The emergency had never come, and the ring was passed on to Poppy.

  'Maybe the emergency has come now, Mama,' Poppy whispered to herself, and her tears wet the pillowcases. She took her mama's icon off the wall, along with another one her mama had bought her on the day she left her alone on the island. Then she stood back and looked at the little pile on the bed. She added to this her Sunday dress and her spare underdress. Her shawl she put to one side; she would need to wear that. Then she worried about how she would carry the items. Maybe she could wrap them all in the good tablecloth? With care, she laid out the unused linen and placed her few things on top. Corner to corner she folded the beautiful embroidered item, her world inside, and then, dreading the creases it would make but feeling she had no alternative, she tied the corners together – the first knot loosely, and then the second, which would also serve as a handle, more tightly. But as she did so, to her dismay the decades-old fine linen tore in a single straight line, unzipping all her belongings. As she stared in disbelief at the ruined, never-used heirloom, there was a tap at the door, and Pantelis stood in the doorway, and for a moment she hoped he had come to retract Monica’s dismissal.

  'Er, Poppy,' he said. 'Slightly short notice, perhaps … Yes, I realise that, but, well, there it is, what can we do? So here are a few drachmas. You know, so you can stay somewhere tonight.'

  Then he reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of change, which he set on the chair by the door. Poppy opened her mouth to implore him not to do this, for the children’s sake if not her own, but he turned and was gone.

  The drachmas by the door screamed the insult of her sudden dismissal, and the rip in her mama’s prized possession reminded her how life seemed to conspire to take every last thing from her: her innocence, her dignity, her pride, her position in life and everything she loved. Life would, so it seemed at the time, take every last thing that she gave value to and leave her with nothing.

  ‘So I sat there,’ Poppy tells Juliet, ‘for some time, I seem to remember, trying to decide what to do next. You might have thought that I would have made some kind of a backup plan, been prepared for the possibility that I could lose my position, but I hadn’t. I think that, until that moment when Pantelis came to the door, I held out some sort of hope that he would override Monica’s decision and come to tell me that I could keep my job after all. I believe that, somewhere in my mind, there was even a fantasy in which she was gone, magically disappeared, and there was just me and him and the babies in the house. But now he had confirmed that they wanted me gone, and I had to face that fact. I didn’t know where to go, or what to do. I had no family, and no close friends – no one I felt I could turn to, and so I set out for the only other place I knew: Saros town across on the mainland. I gathered all my things together and wrapped them in my Sunday dress, and I gathered up the coins he had dropped on the chair. What could I do? I had very little money, and I set out for the port.’

  Sitting on a bench on the quayside, Poppy watched the grey water splash against the stone sides as the wind whistled and the clouds gathered. A storm was coming, and people hurried past, hands thrust in pockets, heads down. She sat there for what seemed like a long time, waiting for the boat and worrying about her babies. It seemed easier to direct her energies towards them than to be concerned with her own plight. Pantelis had been battling with his first nappy change when she left the house, and Monica had been trying to calm a screaming Vasillis, who was clearly very hungry.

  'For God's sake, feed him,' she had spat at the American woman, and then she slammed the door behind her and left the house for ever.

  The skies darkened, and the first spots of rain began to fall, and Poppy heard the word apagoreftico, which meant that the weather was too bad and the boats would not be sailing that day.

  With nowhere to go, and no money to spare for a hotel room, Poppy continued to sit on the bench, letting the rain run down her face, until it started to penetrate her clothes, and finally she stood and moved under the awning of one of the harbour front cafes.

  ‘I could have stayed at Maria’s house, I suppose, or with one of the other mothers on the island, but I was too embarrassed, and so I spent some of the money he had given me on a room for the night,’ Poppy tells Juliet. ‘Silly, I know, when I had so little money. I suppose I was proud … Anyway, the next day was brighter, and I went first to the bank and drew out my salary, and I felt a bit more in control with some money in my pocket. I was standing in the queue at the ticket office when I saw him, and I can tell you I was shocked!’

  A haggard-looking man in creased clothes approached her. She hardly recognised him at first, with the dark rings around his eyes and his hair uncombed.

  'Poppy, we – I have treated you very unjustly. I – we beg of you to return,’ Pantelis stammered.

  Poppy looked at him, but before she had a chance to reply he continued.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘please, I realise your instinct is to say no, and maybe even not acknowledge my begging, but please – not for me, for Vasillis and little Angeliki.'

  Poppy felt a cold hardness develop inside her once he started speaking, and she could not believe that this was the man she had once loved – this proud, almost arrogant man, who was now reduced to a spineless begging wretch who could not even take care of his own offspring. Or maybe he had always been that way and, as Kithoni had said, she had flattered herself, and in that flattery she had blinded herself to the truth of who he really was …

  'No,' she said firmly, and she shook her arm free of Pantelis's grasp.

  'Please,' he begged and then, taking hold of her arm again, he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. 'I fear for them with Monica. She is not gentle or kind. The babies need you.'

  Whether this was the truth or a ploy to get her back she would never know for sure, but it pu
lled on all the emotions she had left, every ounce of love she felt for her charges, and her resolve evaporated. She would go back – how could she not? But she would dictate the terms this time.

  'If I return,’ she said, her voice as hard as she could manage, ‘then no more telling me what to cook. You will eat what I make and you will eat when I say, after I have dealt with the babies.'

  Her own reaction surprised her. It seemed that the last couple of days had released a strength in her that she had not been aware of before, or perhaps that had never been there until now. But suddenly she was not afraid of anything Pantelis could threaten, and there was no going back to the old, timid Poppy who could be bullied and pushed around.

  He nodded his head vigorously and the look of relief on his face told her that she had asked very little.

  'Also, you will increase my pay,' she added, looking him straight in the eye, and the fear she anticipated feeling at her boldness did not materialise. 'You will double my wage.'

  The money did not really interest her; when she was in the house she had food and a roof over her head, but with more money she would be able to save some so that she had something to fall back on if she was given the sack again. She also pushed the point because she knew he had an interest in money and she wanted to hurt him, to make him pay in one way or another. She looked him in the eye, adult to adult, equal to equal, and stood her ground.

  With a curt nod the deal was done, and she strode up the path to the house ahead of him, as if he was a dog in tow. The babies could be heard screaming halfway up from the port, and as she entered the house the noise was deafening. Within a few minutes of her return, however, peace had returned and Monica had retreated to the terrace without a word.