by Sophie Love
“We have to get through passport control first!” Daniel told her, laughing. “Then baggage reclaim!”
But Chantelle could barely contain herself. She tugged on his hand, trying to pull him through the crowds. She was like Mogsy straining against her leash to chase a squirrel.
As they passed a large window, Chantelle began to point and leap up and down. “I see Papa Roy!”
Emily peered across and realized Chantelle was right. The arrivals area of the airport could be seen far below them through the glass window, though how she’d picked Roy out of the crowds was beyond Emily. From here, he looked like just another stick figure.
Chantelle began banging on the glass.
“Stop that,” Daniel told her sternly. “He won’t be able to hear you.”
Chantelle did as she was told, but the fleeting glimpse of her adored Papa Roy seemed to make her even more eager to get through the crowds. She couldn’t stand still, constantly craning her head to see how long the queues were moving, complaining that they’d chosen the slowest one. Just listening to her was exasperating. Ten minutes in the queue was more tiring than eight hours on the plane, Emily thought.
Finally they made it through the gates and out to the luggage claim area. Here, Chantelle became more like a stick of dynamite waiting to explode. Finally, Daniel had had enough.
“Okay, you take Chantelle out to find Papa Roy,” he said to Emily in a huffy tone. “I’ll wait for the luggage.”
Emily knew it wasn’t fair to expect Daniel to carry all three of their cases but at the same time she could tell that a respite from Chantelle, even of five minutes, was needed. She took the child’s hand and nodded.
They went together out into the arrivals lounge. Once again, Chantelle seemed to possess X-ray vision, because she blurted out, “It’s-Papa-Roy,” in one hurried, slurred breath, let go of Emily’s hand, and disappeared.
Emily floundered momentarily, feeling a horrible sensation in her chest of having lost her daughter. But it abated within a second when the crowds shifted and revealed Chantelle ahead, running at full force into Papa Roy’s open arms.
Emily sighed, relieved to know Chantelle was safe, relieved also to be in the presence of her father one more time. But as she walked toward them, she noted how much sicker he looked now. He was even more frail looking than he had been in England, his knees and elbows looking big and knobby in his now baggy clothes. It hurt Emily to see her father withering away before her very eyes.
But his manner was jovial, she could tell as she approached. He was smiling broadly at Chantelle, speaking to her in a bright tone. His illness may be robbing him of his physical strength, but mentally he was sharper than ever.
Emily reached his side, a huge swell of emotion taking hold of her. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been bottling up Roy’s illness until she was confronting it in the flesh. Even during their video calls and numerous correspondences she hadn’t allowed herself to reach those raw places, those deeply buried pains. But with Roy standing in front of her, literally half the man he’d been before, she had no choice but to confront the reality of his impending death.
“Daddy,” she whispered, throwing her arms around his neck.
In her mind she felt as vulnerable as a child, but it was her father who felt fragile in her arms, small and kidlike. She knew she’d have to be strong for him, to take on the role of parent again just as she’d promised to do last time she’d seen him. She would not go to pieces, because it was so clear to her how much her father needed her right now.
“Where’s Daniel?” Roy asked as he released his arms from around Emily.
“Waiting for the luggage,” she told him. Then she ruffled Chantelle’s hair. “Someone was a bit too eager to see her Papa Roy to wait patiently.”
Roy smiled, pleased. He looped Chantelle’s arm through his and together they paraded across the concourse. Roy pointed out all the signs, explaining the Greek alphabet to Chantelle as he went. She listened eagerly, far more entertained by Roy’s knowledge than she had been by any of the toys, movies, or games that Emily and Daniel had bombarded her with on the flight.
Finally, Daniel joined them, dragging their wheeled cases along with his strong arms. When he reached Roy, they shook hands first, but it quickly turned into an embrace. Emily always loved to see the two of them together, knowing that without her father Daniel would have become a completely different man, perhaps a man she would never have chosen to marry and make a life with. Once again, she felt another crack in the stony facade she’d been wearing since yesterday’s misunderstanding. It really was amazing how much time was a healer.
“Is everyone ready for some sunshine?” Roy asked the family.
“We’ve been having an Indian summer,” Emily told him, “so we’re not in fall mode quite yet.”
“Indian summer or not,” Roy replied, “the Greek heat is like no other!”
Chantelle seemed enthused at the thought. They followed Roy out of the airport and into the blistering sunshine.
“Okay, I see what you mean,” Emily said, instantly shielding her face with her hand.
As they strolled through the parking lot, Roy reached into the satchel slung around his shoulder.
“Good thing I bought everyone one of these,” he said, producing a baseball cap.
He handed it to Emily, then pulled out another for Daniel. Daniel turned it over in his hands, a little dubious, before finally getting into the spirit of things and placing it on his head. Chantelle took her cap eagerly and plopped it on at a wonky angle. Finally, Roy put his own cap on. They looked like a baseball team, and Emily couldn’t help but find the whole thing thoroughly amusing.
They climbed into Roy’s car and began the hour-long drive to Proastio, the cliffside village where Roy resided. The city of Kalamata seemed very beautiful itself, but it was when they drove out onto the main freeway that Emily really got a sense for why her father had fallen in love with this part of the world.
In an instant they’d gone from a bustling city with cars and cafes, shops and honking buses, to bumpy, single-track roads with no markings, lined with trees, and barely another soul in sight. There wasn’t much grass, and what was there was a scorched, faded color as though parched. The sight made her instantly thirsty.
They passed a property, a humble-looking stone cottage surrounded by a chain-link fence, then carried along the road another five minutes before they reached the next house. It seemed that the farther they traveled from the city, the farther apart the houses were. Five minutes from your closest neighbor, six minutes, seven, until the houses were few and far between.
There were many churches on the route, too, nestled into the cliffsides, made of the same kind of dusty stone as the old properties. The place was craggy and rustic, with overgrown bushes growing either side of the potholed roads. Emily noticed that there were no roads signs, street lamps, or road markings.
They climbed further and further up the cliffsides, zigzagging at strange angles, until the view of the ocean was breathtaking and magical. Finally, Papa Roy turned into the driveway of a stone cottage with a balcony.
“Is this your house, Papa Roy?” Chantelle asked excitedly.
“It is,” Roy said, parking.
There were baobab trees in the garden, which was also filled with flowers and lemon trees, with a brick-bordered pond to the side. As for the cottage, it had a beautiful arch over the front door, a balcony, a turreted roof, and wooden shutters over the windows. Just like his Cornwall house, his Greek one was completely suited to Roy’s personality.
“Shall I show everyone around?” Roy said.
They all went inside. The interior of the house was very much in keeping with the Greek style. It was small and cozy, the walls unplastered so that the same stone on the outside of the cottage was visible on the inside. They were painted crisp white and the long windows let in huge amounts of bright light. The whole living room sparkled with light, accentuated by the white ar
mchairs, the white-cushioned window bench, and the white wooden floorboards. The only splash of color came from the light shade and lamp, which were as blue as the ocean that could be seen through the windows.
“It’s gorgeous, Dad,” Emily said, breathing in the fresh, warm Greek air, picking up the scent of the lemons and ocean on the breeze.
He led them next into the kitchen, which was as cute, quaint, and rustic as the living room had been. It had the same white stone walls and white floorboards, though there was only one window so it wasn’t as bright. The appliances were old, in keeping with the property as well as Roy’s personal taste of retro kitchenware. Emily thought of the huge 1950s-style fridge she’d inherited with the house in Sunset Harbor, and the amazing oven. Neither would fit in such a small kitchen but Roy had found equally antique-looking items to deck this place out with as well.
On the small kitchen table there were bits of clocks and cogs and Chantelle exclaimed aloud at them, delighted.
Roy next showed them up the rickety stairs, where there were two small rooms. The family would all be sleeping in one room this time, as Roy wasn’t well enough to give up his bed for the couch.
“Let me make us some dinner,” he said. “The weather will remain clear so we can eat in the garden under the stars.”
Chantelle was incredibly excited by the prospect of eating under the stars. Despite the warm weather at home, it was still cold at night so their days of porch picnics were now behind them for another year.
“What are we having?” Chantelle asked.
“Greek tapas,” Roy said. “Ever had it before?”
Chantelle shook her head.
“Grilled aubergine,” Roy told her, “Fried halloumi. Chickpeas in lemon. Homemade red pepper hummus. Olives. Pita. Goat cheese. Fresh fish.”
Emily’s mouth watered as Roy reeled off all the delightful-sounding dishes.
“Do you want some help with it all, Dad?” she asked.
“Yes, but not from my very pregnant daughter,” he said. “Daniel can help me in the kitchen.”
Emily wasn’t about to argue with that! She settled in the living room with Chantelle, recuperating from the flight while the house filled with the smells of food and the sizzling sounds of a frying pan. When it was all ready they carried all the little dishes out to the table on the lawns. Chantelle’s eyes bulged with excitement.
“Tuck in,” Roy said.
“This looks amazing,” Emily told him. “Daniel, I hope you know that you’ll be cooking this regularly once we get home.”
Everyone laughed. The looked of relief in Daniel’s face was not lost on Emily. He could probably sense that she was getting over their spat in her own time.
They settled down into the meal. Emily managed to keep her spirits up, not focusing on the skinniness of her father, the slow way he was eating, or the smallness of his appetite, but instead listening to the words he spoke, reveling in the aliveness and presence of him in this exact moment. It was one of those picture postcard moments that Emily wished would never end, with the sky turning blood orange behind them, sinking down beneath the horizon of the ocean.
Chantelle yawned deeply.
“Maybe we should put this little one to bed,” Emily suggested.
“I want to stay up with Papa Roy,” Chantelle said.
But her eyes were rimmed with darkness. She was clearly exhausted.
“Better to get some rest and be ready for a full day tomorrow rather than fight it and end up grouchy for the rest of the trip,” Emily told her.
Chantelle frowned, but even she knew that Emily was speaking wise words. Finally, she relented, standing from her seat. She hugged Papa Roy tightly, then headed inside and up the stairs to bed.
“She takes herself to bed now?” Roy asked.
“Sometimes,” Emily told him. “She wants to be mature for when Charlotte comes.”
Roy chuckled. “How sweet.”
“Has she changed much since you last saw her?” Emily asked.
Roy nodded and Emily noticed the sparkle of tears in his eyes.
“She’s growing fast,” he said, choking back emotion.
Emily reached for her father, gripping his arm. “Dad?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing well,” he finally admitted. He looked at Daniel, his expression somewhat panic-stricken.
“I know, Roy,” Daniel said softly. “Emily told me.”
Roy seemed to crumple forward then, as if the fact that Daniel knew meant he no longer had to keep up any kind of charade. Emily felt her throat tighten with emotion. Daniel stood from his chair and went over to Roy’s, practically scooping the frail man to his feet. He embraced him for a long time, and Emily watched on as they both wept. Then she stood and joined them. They all held each other for a long time, letting the fears and anguish they’d all been harboring for the last few months go in one cathartic moment of shared grief, while the bright stars twinkled above them.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
When she woke the next morning, in a dazzling burst of sunshine, Emily felt dazed. She could still feel the echo of tears on her cheeks from last night. It was only through sheer exhaustion that she’d even been able to sleep—grief like the type she’d felt that night had in the past induced a state of insomnia in her that could last for days.
She turned to see Chantelle beside her, sleeping as though in a coma. Jet lag always knocked the child out, but she recovered from its effects much more quickly than Emily was ever able.
Beside Chantelle, Daniel was sleeping with a frown on his face. It made Emily’s heart ache to see that his worry for Roy had carried through into his sleep. Sleep was supposed to be a time for peace, but it looked as though Daniel hadn’t found any at all. Although of course it could be a work-induced frown, in which case her sympathy only stretched so far!
The clock read 5 a.m. and Emily knew she was only awake because of her body clock being messed up from the flight. But she also knew her father would most likely already be up. There was a garden to tend to, after all, flowers that needed watering, koi that needed to be fed.
She got out of bed, careful not to wake Daniel or Chantelle, and strode to the window. Sure enough, there was Roy, hose in hand watering the grass. Emily watched him silently, sorrow growing in her breast. He was thin, frail looking. He looked closer to ninety years old than seventy.
“What are you doing, Mommy?” Chantelle’s sleepy voice came from behind.
Emily rearranged her features into a smile before turning around and taking in the beautiful sight of Chantelle. “Looking at the ocean,” she said. “It looks very pretty today.”
“Does Papa Roy have a boat in Greece as well as England?” Chantelle asked.
“I don’t know,” Emily said. “We’ll have to ask him. Why? Would you like to go sailing?”
Chantelle nodded eagerly. Like father like daughter, Emily thought, and she smiled in spite of herself. She’d have to accept it soon enough; her heart had forgiven Daniel even if her mind thought she should still be mad. But how could she stay mad at a husband who wept in the arms of her father? She couldn’t. It was time to bury the hatchet.
She came back to the bed and sat beside the girl, stroking her sunshine-warmed hair.
“We’ll have to ask Papa Roy if we can go out boating,” she said. “If not, perhaps he can take us to a beach for swimming.”
Chantelle seemed satisfied by the suggestions. She rested her head against Emily’s bump—a habit she’d developed over the last month.
Just then, Daniel stirred, clearly disturbed by their talking. He looked extremely tired, worn out from emotion and from working so hard for so many months.
“How are my girls?” he asked, reaching for them both.
“Sleepy,” Chantelle said. “And excited for the day.”
“Sleepy and excited,” Daniel said with a laugh. “Only you.”
He caught Emily’s eyes and a silent communication passed between them; an acknow
ledgment of the emotional evening they’d shared, of the weight of their fight still pressing on their shoulders.
“Does anyone think they’re going to get back to sleep?” Emily asked. “Or shall we just get up and have breakfast now? If we want to go boating, we ought to get an early start anyway.”
She needn’t have asked. Chantelle was up like a rocket, and Daniel wasn’t far behind. The mention of boating was probably the only thing that could help clear his mind of worry, after all.
Emily slung her legs out of bed and used the post to help herself to her feet.
“What do they have for breakfast in Greece?” Chantelle asked as they left the room as a group.
“Let’s find out,” Emily said, ruffling her hair.
They headed down the stairs and entered the kitchen just as Roy was coming in through the back door.
“Good morning, everyone!” he said jovially, placing a watering can on the side.
Emily knew better now though. His happiness was put on, faked for Chantelle’s benefit. All those months she’d forced herself not to get sad about his illness because he himself was not had been an embellishment of the truth. Roy had been sad and hurting that whole time and she’d been none the wiser. She felt like a fool now for not having seen through it.
Chantelle hurried over and hugged Roy tightly. “We’re here for our breakfast,” she said in a jokey tone, looking up at him with adoring eyes.
Roy clapped his hands. “Well, I have a wonderful selection for you to choose from. Here in Greece we like to start the day with a pastry, so I bought some freshly baked spinach ones from the store this morning.” He opened the fridge and peered inside. “There’s also buffalo milk yogurt, mountain cheese, bread with either tahini and honey or sliced salami. Then of course there’s vine-picked tomatoes for the side, and freshly squeeze lemon juice. And how could I forget.” He opened the kitchen cupboard to reveal a row of jars. “Homemade jam!”