She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun, hoping irrationally that this was a hallucination, because this could not be . . . it just couldn’t . . .
But there he was, exactly as she remembered him, standing in almost the same spot as when she’d first seen him twenty-four years ago.
‘Mummy, who’s that man? Why’s he staring at us? Is it ’cos we stole some grapes? Will we go to prison? Mummy?!’
Helena stood rooted to the spot, her brain trying to make sense of the nonsense her eyes were showing her. Immy tugged at her arm. ‘C’mon, Mummy, quickly, before he gets the policeman!’
Helena dragged her eyes away from his face and let herself be frog-marched back into the car by Immy, who took herself round to the passenger seat and sat expectantly next to her.
‘Come on, then. Drive,’ Immy ordered.
‘Yes, sorry.’ Helena automatically found the ignition, and turned the key to start the car.
‘Who was that man?’ Immy asked as they began to bump along the road. ‘Do you know him?’
‘No, I . . . don’t.’
‘Oh. You looked like you did. He was very tall and handsome, like a prince. The sun made a crown on his head.’
‘Yes.’ Helena concentrated on negotiating the track through the vines.
‘I wonder what his name was?’
Alexis . . .
‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.
‘Mummy?’
‘What?’
‘After all that, we left Alex’s grapes behind.’
The village had changed surprisingly little, compared to the ugly Lego-land below them that had sprung up higgledy-piggledy along the coast. The narrow high street was dusty and deserted, the inhabitants hidden away in their cool stone houses, avoiding the searing sun while it reigned at its most powerful high above them. The one shop had added a DVD library, which Helena knew would please Alex; but apart from a couple of new bars, everything else looked much the same.
Having stopped at the bank, then handed over some cash to the doctor’s receptionist next door, Helena took Immy for lunch in the pretty courtyard of Persephone’s Taverna. They sat under the shade of an olive tree, Immy enchanted by a family of skinny kittens that wound round her legs, mewing pitifully.
‘Oh Mummy, can we take one home with us? Please, please,’ Immy begged, feeding a kitten the last of her chips.
‘No, darling. They live here, with their own mummy,’ Helena replied firmly. Her hand shook slightly as she lifted a glass of young local wine to her mouth. It tasted exactly the same – slightly acrid, yet sweet – as she’d always remembered. She felt as if she had fallen through the looking-glass, back into the past . . .
‘Mummy! Can I have ice cream or not?’
‘Sorry, darling, I was daydreaming. Of course you can.’
‘Do you think they have Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food here?’
‘I doubt it. I should think it’s plain old vanilla, strawberry or chocolate, but let’s ask.’
The young waiter was summoned by Immy, the deal with the ice cream done, and a Cyprus coffee, medium sugar, ordered for Helena, to dilute the glass of wine.
Twenty minutes later, they left the taverna and wandered along the dusty street towards the car.
‘Look at the nuns, Mummy, sitting over there on the bench.’ Immy pointed in the direction of the church. ‘They must be very hot in those dresses.’
‘They’re not nuns, Immy, they are the old ladies of the village. They wear black because their husbands are dead and they are called widows,’ Helena explained.
‘They wear black?’
‘Yes.’
‘No pink? Ever?’
‘No.’
Immy looked horrified. ‘I don’t have to do that when my husband dies, do I?’
‘No, darling. It’s a tradition in Cyprus, that’s all.’
‘Well, then, I’m never moving here,’ Immy retorted, and skipped off towards the car.
The two of them arrived back at Pandora with the boot of the car loaded with provisions. Alex appeared at the back door.
‘Hi, Mum.’
‘Hi, darling, are you feeling better? Can you give me a hand with some of these shopping bags?’
Alex helped Helena unload the boot and took the bags into the kitchen.
‘Gosh, it’s hot.’ She wiped her forehead. ‘I need a glass of water.’
Alex found a glass, went to the fridge and poured out cold water from a jug. He handed it to her. ‘There.’
‘Thank you.’ Helena gulped it back gratefully.
‘I’m going upstairs for a rest. Still feeling a bit dizzy,’ Alex announced.
‘Okay. Come down for supper later?’
‘Yes.’ He walked towards the door, then stopped and turned round. ‘By the way, there’s someone here to see you.’
‘Really? Why didn’t you tell me when I first arrived?’
‘He’s out on the terrace. I told him I didn’t know what time you’d be back, but he insisted on waiting anyway.’
Helena struggled to keep a neutral expression on her face. ‘Who is he?’
‘How should I know?’ Alex shrugged. ‘But he seems to know you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. I think he said his name was Alexis.’
ALEX’S DIARY
11th July (continued)
I‘m standing at the window of my bedroom, peering round the shutters so I can’t be seen from the terrace below.
I’m watching the man who has come to see my mother. He is currently pacing nervously, backwards and forwards, hands jammed into his pockets. He is tall and well built, his skin tanned a deep nut-brown. His thick black hair is slightly greying at the temples, but he definitely isn’t an old man. I’d guess he’s probably just a little older than my mum. And younger than my stepfather.
I noticed when he arrived and I saw him up close, that he has blue eyes, very blue, so perhaps he is not a Cypriot. Unless he is wearing coloured contact lenses of course, which I doubt. The upshot of all this man’s combined parts means that he is definitely very good-looking.
I watch as my mother glides onto the terrace. She walks so gracefully it’s almost as if her feet are not touching the ground, because the top half of her body doesn’t move, even though her legs do. She stops a few feet away from him, her hands hanging loosely by her sides. I cannot see her face, but I can see his. And watch as it creases into an expression of pure joy.
My heart is beating fast now and I know it’s no longer dehydration. Or malaria. It’s fear.
Neither of them speak. They stand where they are for what seems like hours, as if they are drinking each other in. He looks like he’d like to drink Mum, anyway. Then his arms stretch out and he moves towards her and stands in front of her. He takes hold of her small hands in his big ones and kisses them reverently, as though they are holy.
This is gross. I don’t want to see it, but I can’t help myself looking.
He finally stops the hand-lip thing, then takes my mother in his muscular arms and embraces her. She is so tiny and pale and blonde against his dark strength that she reminds me of a china doll being hugged to death by a large brown bear. Her head is thrown backwards at a funny angle against his huge pectorals as he squeezes her to him. His elbow seems to be round her neck and I only hope her head doesn’t snap off, like Immy’s china doll’s did once.
Finally, just as I am running out of breath from holding it so long, he lets her go and I gulp in some air. Thank God. No lip-to-lip kissing, because that would have been rank beyond belief.
But it’s not over yet.
He still doesn’t seem inclined not to be holding some part of her anatomy, so he takes her hand again. And leads her towards the vine-covered pergola and they disappear beneath it, out of my sight.
Damn! I walk slowly back to my bed and throw myself onto it.
Who is he? And who is he to her?
I knew, as soon as I saw him standing on the terrace, lookin
g like he owned the place, that he was something. Should I phone Dad? The dad that’s not my dad, but as much of one as I’ve ever known? I knew he’d eventually come in useful for something one day.
Surely he wouldn’t be happy about his wife being mauled on a terrace by a big brown Cypriot bear? I reach for my mobile phone and turn it on. What do I say?
‘Come NOW, Dad! Mum’s in mortal danger under the pergola!’
Christ. I just can’t. He thinks I’m a weirdo anyway. I’m fully aware he has no choice but to tolerate me because he loves Mum, and I came as part of the package. Unfortunately I’m rubbish at most ball games, even though I’m enthusiastic. When I was younger, he tried to teach me, but I always ended up feeling I’d let him down by not getting into the firsts for anything. And then turning in golden ducks in front of him when he came to watch me, ’cos I was so nervous. Me being good at that kind of thing would have helped our relationship a lot, but at least he loves Mum and protects her against all the others that seem to want her.
Like the one currently under the pergola.
Ironic, really. There was me looking forward to some time alone with her without Dad, who makes me feel I’m always in the way, yet here I am, not twenty-four hours on, wishing he was here.
Maybe I should text him . . . I check my mobile, then discover I only have eighteen pence credit left, so I can’t. And even if I did, what could he actually do?
There’s no one else here but me. And Immy, but she doesn’t count.
So . . . there’s only one thing for it: I shall have to go it alone.
I will go into battle to save my mother’s honour.
Ψ
Three
‘You look . . . just the same.’
‘No I don’t, Alexis, of course I don’t. I’m twenty-four years older.’
‘Helena, you are beautiful, just as you were then.’
Heat flew to Helena’s already flushed cheeks. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I’d heard a rumour in the village. Then Dimitrios called me at lunchtime and said he’d seen a golden-haired lady and a child on the track leading from Pandora, so I knew it must be you.’
‘Who is Dimitrios?’
‘He is my son.’
‘Of course! Of course!’ Helena laughed in relief. ‘Immy and I stopped on the way to pick some grapes and I saw him, staring at me. I thought it was you . . . how silly . . . he looks so like you.’
‘You mean he looks like I did.’
‘Yes. Yes.’
They lapsed into silence for a while.
‘So, how are you, Helena?’ he ventured. ‘How has your life been all these years?’
‘It’s been . . . good, yes, good.’
‘You are married?’
‘Yes.’
‘I know you have children, Helena, because I have already met your son and heard about your daughter.’
‘I have three, but my little boy, Fred, is at home in England with his father. They’re joining us here in a few days’ time. You?’
‘I was married, to Maria, the daughter of the old mayor here in Kathikas. She gave me two boys, but died in a car accident when Michel, my second son, was eight. So now, we three men live together and harvest our grapes and produce our wine, like my father and grandfather and great-grandfather before us.’
‘I’m so sorry, Alexis. How absolutely awful for you.’ Helena heard the triteness of her words, but couldn’t think what else to say.
‘God gives and he takes away, and at least my boys came out of it alive. And Dimitrios, whom you saw in the vines, is about to be married, so the generations continue.’
‘Yes. I . . . So little seems to have changed here.’
Alexis’ expressive face moulded into a frown. ‘No, much has changed in Cyprus, as it has everywhere. But this is progress. Some of it is good, and some not so good. A few becoming very rich, and greedy, as always, for more. Yet here in Kathikas – for the present at least – we are an oasis. But the developers’ greedy fingers will one day stretch into our fertile land. They have already started to try.’
‘I’m sure they have. It’s such a perfect spot.’
‘Yes. And don’t imagine that everyone in our village will resist the temptation, especially the young. They want their fast cars and their satellite dishes and the American way of life they see on their televisions. And why shouldn’t they? We too wanted more, Helena. So, let us move on and stop sounding like our parents,’ he chuckled.
‘We are our parents, Alexis.’
‘Then let us be the children we were, just for now.’ He reached for her hand, just as Alex emerged onto the terrace.
Helena drew her hand away, but knew her son had seen it.
‘Where’s Immy?’ he demanded rudely.
‘In the kitchen, I think. Alex, you’ve met Alexis already.’
‘We have the same name. It means “defender and protector of the people”,’ smiled Alexis congenially.
‘I know. Mum, I hope Immy hasn’t wandered off while you weren’t looking. You know what she’s like.’
‘I’m sure she hasn’t. Why don’t you go and find her, and bring her out to meet Alexis? And put the kettle on, please. I’m desperate for a cup of tea.’ Helena sank into a chair, feeling emotionally drained.
Alex eyed her defiantly, then turned to walk away inside.
‘He is a good-looking boy,’ remarked Alexis. ‘Well built.’
Helena sighed. ‘He is . . . unusual, that’s for sure. And brilliant, and exasperating, and difficult and . . . oh, I love him to bits,’ she said with a weary smile. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll tell you about him.’
‘Perhaps, one day, we will tell each other about many things,’ Alexis said quietly.
‘Here she is.’ Alex led a tear-stained Immy onto the terrace. ‘She was being chased around the kitchen by a large stripy hornet thing. With a killer sting, probably,’ he added.
‘Oh darling, why didn’t you call me?’ Helena opened her arms and Immy ran to her.
‘I did, but you didn’t come. Alex saved me. A bit.’
‘She is so like you, Helena. She is, how do you say . . . your double,’ Alexis smiled.
‘I call her MiniMum. Get it, Alexis?’ Alex barked. ‘No, probably not. Never mind.’
‘Would you like some tea, Alexis? I’ll go and make it,’ Helena butted in to defuse the situation.
‘Yes, please. Why not share the English passion for a hot drink in hot weather?’ he smiled.
‘It’s a well-known fact that a hot cup of tea cools you down. That’s why they drink it in India,’ remarked Alex.
‘Nothing to do with the fact they all lived on tea plantations, then,’ murmured Helena, with a grimace at her son. ‘Come on, Immy, you can help me. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Alex sat down in his mother’s vacant chair, folded his arms across his chest and glared at Alexis. ‘So, how do you know my mother?’
‘We met, many years ago, when she was last here, staying with Colonel McCladden.’
‘You mean Angus, her godfather? And you haven’t seen her since?’
‘Oh yes, I have, actually,’ he said with a smile, ‘but that is another story. So Alex, you like Cyprus?’
‘I don’t know yet. It was dark when we got here and I’ve been in bed all day due to possible malaria. It’s very hot, with mosquitoes and stripy hornets everywhere. And I don’t like those.’
‘And the house?’
‘It’s cool. I mean, it’s not at all cool, it’s boiling, but I love history and this place has got lots,’ Alex conceded.
‘This is a very historical area. If you like history, you may know of the Greek myths. According to them, Aphrodite was born in Paphos, and spent her life with Adonis on the island. You can go and see his bath, only a few miles from here.’
‘Let’s hope he’s taken the plug out or the water will be very stale by now,’ Alex muttered under his breath.
‘It is a beautiful waterfall in the mid
dle of the mountains,’ Alexis continued. ‘You can jump from the high rocks into the water, which is clear and pure and very refreshing in the heat. I will take you there if you wish.’
‘Thanks, but extreme sports aren’t really my thing. So’ – Alex eyed him – ‘what do you do around here?’
‘My family has run the local vineyard for hundreds of years. We make wine. It provides a good living for our family. And we are starting to export more and more abroad. Ah, here is your mother.’
Helena emerged onto the terrace and put the tray down on the table. ‘I’ve settled Immy upstairs for a rest. She’s exhausted from the heat and the hornet. Alex, do you want some tea?’
‘Yes.’ He stood up. ‘You sit down, Mum, I’ll pour. I’ve just been hearing about Adonis’ Bidet.’
‘You mean the waterfall? Oh, it’s so beautiful, isn’t it, Alexis?’ Helena smiled at him as they both shared a memory.
‘Perhaps Dad will take us all when he arrives,’ Alex announced loudly. ‘When is Dad arriving, by the way?’
‘Friday, as you know perfectly well, Alex. Milk, Alexis?’
‘No, thank you.’
‘But it might be sooner, mightn’t it, Mum? I mean, Dad might surprise us and just turn up here any time.’
‘I doubt it, Alex, he’s got work to do.’
‘But look how he misses you. He’s always calling you on the mobile. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did arrive earlier, you know.’
Helena raised an eyebrow as she passed Alexis his tea. ‘Well, I hope he doesn’t. I’d like to get the house looking a little more welcoming before he does.’
‘Do you need any help with it, Helena?’ questioned Alexis. ‘It has been empty for a long time.’
‘Actually, I’d love it if you knew someone who could sort out the pool. It needs cleaning and filling.’
‘What pool?’ asked Alex, suddenly animated.
‘There’s a gorgeous swimming pool just through that gate and down the steps,’ Helena indicated the location with her hand. ‘Unfortunately, most of the olives seem to have fallen into it and there are a few broken tiles that probably need replacing.’
The Olive Tree Page 4