by Jo Bunt
“Merope,” I echoed. “I like it. It’s lovely. Efcharisto polo,” I mumbled, not at all confident of my accent and hoping my vocabulary didn’t disgrace me.
The large woman beamed at me.
“Parakalo. You’re welcome.”
She bustled away with a wave that was more like a salute, leaving the door open. I listened to her footsteps crunch into the distance until there was silence. The cottage felt completely and suddenly remote now that I was on my own. The room had more or less everything that I needed. Briefly I wished that Dom was here to share it me with but I shook the feeling off. This was something I had to do on my own without a crutch.
I couldn’t remember the last time I had done anything on my own but I had to stop relying on other people. They only let me down anyway. I was beginning to realise that the fewer people you let yourself get close, to the less you got hurt. If you give people the keys to your heart it’s only a matter of time before they take advantage, let themselves in and trash the place.
I sighed. Even in the privacy of my own mind that sounded pathetic. The truth of the matter was I’d been hurt by someone I loved. They’d lied to me all of my life and now I felt like a fool. I never wanted to feel this way again. Crushed. Abandoned. Useless.
I opened up my case at the same time as kicking off my shoes and sloughed my jeans. The sticky heat had caused them cling to my thighs uncomfortably and it was a relief to be free of them. I pulled on my pale blue linen trousers and noted that they hung loosely off my hips. Part of me was pleased; who didn’t want to lose a few pounds? However, they didn’t look as good as they used to and it was more evidence, if any were needed, that I hadn’t been eating much lately. Looking after myself wasn’t my priority at the moment. Days passed when my only sustenance was wine and crisps. Not exactly an athlete’s diet, and not what was expected of a self-declared ‘foodie’ either.
I hung my jeans over the wall that separated the bedroom from the toilet, poured myself a glass of water and lay down on the bed, planning to sit outside at any minute. Yes, any minute now. The bed was saggy in the middle and creaked as I melted into it. I could smell the soothing scent of lavender as it washed over me, even though there was no breeze to blow it through the open door. According to a story I heard when I was a child, the lavender was given its scent when Mary had hung Jesus’ baby clothes upon the bush for them to dry. The scent of the baby’s clothes imparted itself to the bush rather than the other way around. Some Christian houses in Greece still hung sprigs of lavender over the door for protection. Buoyed by the scent of the lavender I started to think that this was one superstition I could embrace as I let the aroma cradle me.
When I woke over an hour later, the sun was melting into the sea in a golden puddle. I eased myself off the bed and swam through the glow bare-footed to the open door. Before me on the little table, some food was laid out. It looked like I’d missed my cup of tea. I still hadn’t spoken to Antheia about how much the room cost or how long I would be staying. The fact that I’d already fallen asleep on the bed was probably a clear enough indication to the Greek woman that I had made myself at home.
Even though I wasn’t feeling hungry, I sat down and looked at the delights in front of me. There was a small carafe of white wine in the centre of the table by a larger jug of water. The water still had ice-cubes bobbing in it, suggesting that it had only recently been placed there. There was a bowl of green olives, a tomato salad, a basket of heavy-looking bread and a dish of sauce that was the same colour as hummus but thinner in consistency. I broke of a piece of the bread and dipped it in the sauce. The bitter, but moreish, taste woke up my mouth and I greedily reached for another chunk of bread. I searched my memory banks for the name of this sauce. Tahini, chickpeas and lemon juice. Tashi sauce! That was it.
I helped myself to a glass of dry white and felt the tension evaporating from my shoulders. I wouldn’t say it was the best wine that I had ever had but I welcomed it more for what it represented than for its taste. It was a perfect accompaniment to the sweet tomato salad made with mint and hair-width strands of red onion. There was still considerable warmth in the sun and I basked in it, savouring those last moments until the sun would lose its fight with the dusk. I felt content in a way that I hadn’t for weeks. Somewhere in the back of my mind the possibility grew that life would once more be manageable again and the task before me might not be an insurmountable hurdle.
I had been trying hard to keep my emotions on a short leash. I brought them to heel each time I felt pangs of guilt. Guilt for leaving Dom. Guilt for going against my mother’s wishes. Guilt for misleading my editor. It wasn’t like me to be so underhand but I was driven to do something proactive about this situation I found myself in. I told myself that, for once, I was going to be the one calling the shots.
I blinked and swallowed and tried to concentrate on the view of the sea in front of me but tears surged against the self-built damn and, with constant battering, broke down the edifice that had been protecting me. Tears bloomed at my eyes and flowed down my face.
The sheer beauty of my surroundings had rendered me vulnerable and I struggled to find a place for myself amongst all of this. I no longer knew where I belonged or exactly what my purpose was in life. The only thing that I was sure of right now was that I couldn’t make any decisions about my future until I understood my past. I only hoped that I would find the answers here on this island. I’m not sure what good they’d do me though, but that was another problem. Answers first, consequences later.
Was Dom relieved to have the house to himself now, without having to walk on the eggshells that I scattered around myself? Was he pleased not to be my verbal punch bag every day? None of this was his fault and yet I seemed incapable of saying that to him and instead I lashed out at the one person I wanted to hold onto most of all.
I didn’t know how I was meant to deal with the last few weeks. All I knew was that if I didn’t do something constructive now I would crumble away as surely as my foothold on the life I thought I knew had eroded beneath me. Ricocheting between self-pity and uncontrollable anger, I had been unable to make simple decisions or carry out mundane tasks. On more than one occasion I had walked out of the supermarket empty handed because I found myself overwhelmed by the thought of what to have for dinner.
On some days I would sit down in the armchair and, when I looked up at the clock, would find that hours had passed without making the slightest impact on my day. I was still breathing, my heart was still beating, but in every other way I had ceased to live. Dom and the doctor colluded to prescribe me anti-depressants “to help me function a bit better”. Naturally I thanked the doctor but really I wanted to scream in her face until my throat grew hoarse, “Of course I’m bloody depressed! Wouldn’t you be if all this had happened to you?”
Of course, it wasn’t just the bombshell that Mother had dropped on me about her not being my ‘real’ mother, it was the other thing as well. The other thing. The. Other. Thing. The baby.
I tightened my grip around the stem of the wineglass and with the back of my other hand I wiped my nose. I wanted to laugh out loud. What must they be thinking of me now? Dom, my mother, Dr Davidson. Shall we increase the dose of anti-depressants Mrs Jeffries? You seem to be showing signs of independent thought and that will just never do…
They would be tut-tutting about how I wasn’t in my right mind but I’d never been so determined in my life. I would not be swayed or manipulated by any of them anymore. It was time to do what I wanted to do. Everyone else could go to hell.
Chapter four
Cyprus, 1974
“What’s happening? Tell me what’s going on! Do you know we were nearly gunned down as we waited for you? We’re in the middle of a war zone here!” Pru shouted at the scrawny British soldier standing in front of her using his clip-board for protection. The young man looked at her warily but showed no sign of being about to answer the angry young lady in front of him.
“Tell me wh
ere you are taking us right now or I will refuse to take one more step. I demand to know what’s happening!”
The other people who had been standing with her at the side of the road filed quietly onto the waiting bus.
“Sorry to have kept you, Miss. We’re evacuating everybody before the Turkish invade the city.” He motioned to the waiting bus with his clip-board and put his hand on her back to guide her towards the open doors. Pru slapped his hand away.
“For God’s sake, I know that much. I want to know exactly where you’re taking me. And how close are the Turkish really? And what makes you think they would want to hurt me anyway?”
“Ummmm…” began the soldier.
“Well, come on! I haven’t got all day.”
Under Pru’s scrutiny, the young soldier began to stutter and sweat. He was immeasurably more comfortable facing an inscrutable enemy than dealing with beautiful, pampered women. At least he knew how an enemy soldier’s mind worked. He hadn’t a clue about women.
“The er… base, the army base. That’s where you’re going. And er… the Turkish are still north of here but getting closer and um… What was the other question?”
“Idiots. I’m dealing with idiots,” Pru said, apparently to herself but obviously directed at the man in front of her. “I asked why the Turkish would possibly want to hurt me?” She walked past the soldier and onto the bus before the young man could mutter under his breath, “Oh, I dunno, I could think of a couple of reasons.”
The bus rumbled into life and then jerked onto the main road. Someone behind her was smoking, and she inhaled deeply. She looked around her and recognised some of the people who had already been picked up. She nodded to Marjorie who was sitting with her three children cramped across two seats. Marjorie smiled but looked weary. Pru didn’t have many friends amongst the army wives. She blamed Eddie for that.
Eddie was popular with the lads, particularly Marjorie’s husband, but he hadn’t really fitted in with the officers. Eddie was the type of character who was easy going to the point of infuriation and, while this was great at an army social event, these were not the qualities that an officer wanted to nurture in him and subsequently they tried to suppress that side of him. This all reflected badly on Pru, and she despaired at the thought that people felt she wasn’t doing a good job of controlling her husband.
Because it had been made clear that Eddie would never make any progress in the army, Pru was never at the top of anybody’s list of party invitees and was rarely entertained by the officers’ wives. Marjorie went to these soirees and told her she wasn’t missing much anyway. But Pru was jealous of the thought of Coronation chicken sandwiches with the crusts cut off and dainty mushroom vol-au-vents, light as a dandelion seed-heads. And oh, how sublime the sound of decadent puddings made with raspberries and cream and surrounded by sponge fingers.
She turned in her seat to look out of the dirty window and studied the landscape. The shops, the cafés, the houses – it all looked the same. If an invasion was imminent, it appeared no one had told the Greeks. Groups of men still sat under trees playing chess. Women were still sweeping their front door steps. She was sure she would be telling Eddie “I told you so” in a few days’ time when they were back on their balcony, sipping Keo and slapping at mosquitoes on their sun-warmed skin.
It had been good between them at first. It had never been that kind of earth-shattering love that some people talked of. It would never be the kind of romance that would inspire doe-eyed men to write songs or poems but Pru hardly cared. Marriage was never a fairy-tale dream for Pru. It was a practical and logical step towards self-advancement and independence.
Eddie was handsome, witty and strong, and Pru was pretty, slender and smart. Visually they were a perfect couple. Pru had fine, delicate features and shimmering golden hair that hung in gleaming sheets to her waist. Eddie had a strong square jaw with a dimple in his chin, looking every inch the film star. Everyone said they were made for each other. No one questioned why they didn’t wait for a summer wedding. The more naïve guests at the wedding assumed it was something to do with Eddie’s deployment to Cyprus. Others, who were more worldly, noticed that Pru’s waist wasn’t as trim as it once was.
Of course the reason for the rushed wedding was also the very reason that Mam and Dad weren’t there. Mam was disgusted at her only child’s “carrying on” and washed her hands of her. Instinctively Pru rubbed at her left wrist, where her watch would have been if she still wore one, remembering the last time she saw her parents.
On her eighteenth birthday, Pru had walked back slowly from the bus stop as usual, thoughts alternating between her English homework and what she could wear to go to see Cabaret at the cinema with Eddie on Friday. She’d heard that Liza Minnelli was amazing as Sally Bowles.
As she walked up the path she caught a glimpse of movement behind the drab net curtains but thought nothing of it. She made her way round through the clanging metal gate to the back door. As she reached for the door it was wrenched suddenly and sharply open.
“Don’t you step foot in this house, young lady!” Mam’s eyes were burning with fury.
Pru stepped backwards in shock. Her eyes widened as her mother, angrier than she had ever seen her before, confronted her. She was wearing a severe bruise-coloured dress. Even though it was a cold day, Mam still wore a sleeveless dress as usual. The yellow skin on her arms sagged like a deflated balloon at her sides. A bulge by her collar-bone alerted Pru to the fact that she’d been crying. She always stuffed her handkerchief under her bra strap when she had a cold or was upset. Pru tried to read her mother’s face to see what had upset her so much. Colour was high in her cheeks and her mouth was clenched to the point where her lips had all but disappeared.
“You heard me, young lady. I don’t expect a daughter of mine to carry on like THIS.” Mam held a white leather diary in her hand and Pru felt her stomach drop away.
“Mam... I…”
“No!” Mam held up her hand. “No more. I told you about that boy. There will be no carrying on in this house!”
“But Mam, you don’t understand. You’d like Eddie. He loves me, Mam.”
“You? Hah! Who’d love a selfish little madam like you?”
“Mam!”
They had never had a close relationship. Pru was horrified at Mam’s lack of attention to her appearance and wondered what Dad had ever seen in her. Mam never cracked jokes, sang around the house or used makeup. Pru had heard other women say that on a sunny day all you noticed about Alice Merton was her shadow. You could never smell the subtle scent of the rose garden over the aroma of fried fish that hung to her clothes, even when it wasn’t a Friday. Pru used to think that birds didn’t sing when Alice was around. But it was just that she couldn’t hear them over her constant wheezing and the clacking of her false teeth that she’d been treated to as a twenty-first birthday present. Happiness seemed to know that it wasn’t a welcome house guest in Alice’s home.
Pru felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her mother. She wondered whether Mam was simply a desperately unhappy woman going through the motions in life. She reached out to her.
“Mam, I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m in love and I’m happy. You remember when you first met Dad? How exciting it all was? Well, that’s how it is with Eddie and me. We want to get married.”
For a moment Pru thought that Mam was going to spit on her. “What has love got to do with marriage?” She shook the diary in Pru’s face. “If you don’t stop seeing that boy you will leave my house today and never come back!” Mam shouted.
“It’s not that easy, Mam. You’d like him if you gave him a chance,” Pru whispered holding back the tears.
They both stood staring at each other in silence. Mam, standing on the doorstep, looked down on Pru with disgust written all over her face. But there was something else behind those eyes. What was that? Smugness? Satisfaction?
Pru blinked away the tears in her eyes and felt the fear and nausea start to be rep
laced with something stronger in the fire-pit of her belly.
“I will do exactly what I want to do when I want to do it.”
“Then you can leave right now!” Mam screamed.
“Where’s Dad?” Pru asked without any emotion in her voice that might betray her fear.
“He can’t stand to look at you. You’ve let us down Prudence. I always knew you would, it was just a matter of time. Now get away from me before I do something I regret.”
“No.”
“Ibeg your pardon?” spat the older woman, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.
“I said ‘no’. Why don’t you get out of my way before I do somethingIregret.”
Pru pushed past her through the kitchen and went quickly upstairs two at a time to her room where she pulled open each of the three drawers and emptied their contents onto the bed. She stuffed as much as she could into her travelling bag and stuffed her Post Office account book into the side pocket.
“Dad? Dad?” she shouted as she emerged from the bedroom. Mam was blocking her path, her arms folded over her narrow rake of a chest, her sallow cheeks starting to flush with rage.
“Give me your arm.”
“What?”
“Give. Me. Your. Arm!”
Tentatively, into the silence, Pru started to glide her left arm to her mother. With lightening quickness her talons gripped at Pru’s arm and clamped down tightly.
“Hey!” shrieked Pru, trying to wriggle free from her grasp.
“And you are NOT leaving this house with that watch!” Her mother’s scrawny fingers with their bulbous knuckles fought with the clasp.
“No! It’s my birthday present. Dad got it for me. Where is he? Dad? Dad!”
“I’ve told you, he can’t stand to look at you. He’s gone out.”