‘There’s a long way to go yet, but it’s a start.’
‘And perhaps the beginning of a new era for Pandora?’ he ventured.
‘You don’t think Angus would mind, do you?’
‘I think a family is exactly what the house needs. It always did.’
‘I’d like to paint this room, soften it a little,’ she remarked, looking at the stark, whitewashed walls.
‘Why not? My sons could start tomorrow. They would have it done in no time at all,’ Alexis offered.
‘Oh Alexis, you are kind, but they have work, surely?’
‘You forget I am their boss. So,’ he said with a grin, ‘they will do as I say.’
‘The time is flying already,’ Helena exclaimed. ‘My husband arrives on Friday with Fred.’
‘Does he?’ Alexis paused, then continued. ‘So, you choose the colour and we will do the job.’
‘Well, in paltry return for all your help, I shall open the bottle of wine you brought us.’
‘Helena, you look pale. Are you tired?’ Alexis put his hands tentatively on her shoulders. ‘You are an English rose and cannot take the heat. You never could.’
‘I’m fine, Alexis, really.’ Helena broke free from his touch and hurried down the stairs.
Later, once Alexis and Georgios had left and Alex was setting up the DVD player with Immy dancing round him excitedly, Helena climbed guiltily into her new hammock, which Alexis had suspended between the beautiful old olive tree that stood proudly in the centre of the garden to the side of the terrace and another, younger upstart.
A delicious breeze rustled through the branches, gently blowing wisps of her hair across her forehead. The cicadas were practising for their sunset chorus and the sun had lost its midday glare, softening into a dappled, mellow light.
She thought about the imminent arrival of her unknown stepdaughter, Chloë. William had sounded decidedly nervous last night, and she knew he felt it was a lot to ask: both of her and of their children. She too was concerned. Alex was the resident cuckoo in the nest, after all. Was there really room for another? Helena wondered how he would react to Chloë’s arrival, let alone the two little ones, who had never even met their sister. But how could she deny William the chance to spend precious time with his daughter, even if there was a good chance Chloë’s presence would throw the family dynamic off-balance?
And Chloë herself: how would she feel about being thrown into a family she had been taught to loathe? Yet Helena knew that Chloë was the real victim of the situation: a child caught up in the maelstrom of an acrimonious divorce, used as a weapon by a woman scorned. Even though Cecile professed to protect her daughter from the apparently dangerous clutches of her father, the reality was that, through the lowest form of emotional blackmail, Chloë had almost certainly been scarred by not being allowed to have a normal relationship with her father as she grew up.
She was almost fifteen now – a difficult age for any girl, especially one who’d been forced to deny her love for her father, to satisfy a mother who would accept nothing less. Helena knew also that the heart beating inside her, which loved her husband and her children, had to extend yet further to include Chloë. The chambers were stretched already, providing the emotional support demanded of any wife and mother. Now, even more was needed from her, due to the complex ramifications of a second marriage.
She was the maypole around which her family danced. And tonight, Helena felt the ribbons very tight about her chest.
‘I’m sorry, Mum, but it’s a no. NO! NO! NO! Okay?’
‘For goodness’ sake, darling, it’s a big bedroom! There’s easily enough space for the two of you. You won’t be spending any time in it, anyway, apart from sleeping.’
Alex was sitting with his arms crossed and Helena could feel the metaphoric smoke coming out of his ears. ‘Mum, that is not the point. And you know it. You know it.’
‘Well, I really can’t see any alternative, Alex.’
‘I’ll sleep with Immy and Fred, or get bitten to death by mozzies in a sun-lounger on the terrace rather than sleep with him. He smells terrible.’
‘Yes, he does, Mummy. He farts all the time,’ Immy added unhelpfully.
‘For your information, so do you, Immy, but that isn’t the point,’ continued Alex. ‘Apart from the fact he smells, which he does, I hate him. He’s gay.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Alex! And so what if he was!’ Helena was exasperated.
‘Not gay gay, Mum, but “gay”. In other words, a complete arseh—’
‘Enough, Alex! I’ve had enough! Whether you like it or not, there’s no alternative. I have to give Chloë her own room. She’s a teenage girl and she doesn’t know any of us except Dad and—’
‘Why doesn’t she sleep with him, then?’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Alex! Don’t be facetious.’ Helena stood up and began to pile the dirty supper plates together. ‘I’m trying to do my best for everybody here and I was hoping I might be able to count on you to help me. Thanks a lot.’ Carrying the plates into the kitchen, she clattered them into the sink, then thumped the drainer with her fist to release some tension.
‘Here you are, Mummy.’ Immy appeared behind her, brandishing a teaspoon. ‘I’m helping you clear up.’
‘Thanks, darling,’ Helena said wearily. ‘Can you ask Alex to bring in the rest?’
‘No, ’cos he’s gone.’
‘Gone where?’
‘Dunno. He didn’t say.’
An hour later, Helena put Immy to bed, then indulged in a long bath in Angus’ ancient but gloriously deep tub. Drying herself with one of the new fluffy towels she’d bought in Paphos, she put on her robe and padded back downstairs to sit on the terrace. She was just about to reach into her pocket and furtively light a cigarette when Alex appeared out of the gloom.
‘Hi. I just came to say sorry,’ he said as he slumped heavily into the chair. ‘Really, I’m not being difficult, but I will do anything to avoid sharing with Rupes. I just’ – Alex ran a hand through his hair – ‘can’t.’
‘Okay.’ Helena surrendered. ‘Let me think about it. I’m sure we can sort something out.’
‘Thanks, Mum. Well then, I think I’ll go and enjoy my personal space whilst I can. Get an early night.’
‘The pool should be filled by tomorrow afternoon. That’ll be good, won’t it?’
‘Suppose so.’ Alex nodded half-heartedly. ‘So, is Mr “I Can Sort Out Any Problem For You My Darling Helena Just Ask Me” back here again tomorrow?’
‘Alex, stop it!’ Helena blushed despite herself. ‘I am not his “darling” and besides, I really don’t know what I’d have done without him.’
‘You are his “darling”, Mum. He fancies you rotten and you know it,’ Alex said flatly. ‘It makes me feel sick to watch him watching you. He’d better look out when Dad comes. I don’t think he’s going to be too chuffed with Mr Fix-it hanging around all the time.’
‘Alex, enough! Alexis is just a very old friend.’
‘That’s all?’
‘Yes, that’s all.’
‘And you haven’t seen him since you were last here?’
‘No.’
‘Well, he told me he had seen you since, so one of you is lying.’
‘Right, that’s it! I refuse to sit here and be grilled by my thirteen-year-old son. Whatever was in the past stays in the past. This is the present, and I am happily married to your stepfather. Alexis is very kindly helping me help Pandora – a house he’s very fond of too, actually – come back to life. End. Okay?’
Alex shrugged. ‘Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. I don’t like him.’
‘I think you’ve made that perfectly obvious. I’m warning you, Alex, I will not tolerate rudeness to him from you any longer. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Mum. Night,’ Alex muttered. He turned in the direction of the house, then paused and looked at her in afterthought.
‘Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘What’s with this shared name thing?’
‘Sorry?’
‘What I mean is . . . it is just a coincidence that we share the same Christian name, isn’t it? Me and . . . Alexis?’
‘Of course it is, darling. I liked the name back when I knew him, I liked it when you were born and I still like it now.’
‘Nothing more in it than that?’ Alex probed.
‘Why on earth would there be? There are thousands of men called Alex.’
‘Yep, sure, it’s just . . . nothing. Night, Mum.’
‘Good night, darling.’
When she knew Alex had finally disappeared upstairs, Helena went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea, then returned to the terrace and studied the clear, starry sky in an effort to calm her jumbled emotions.
She knew it was getting closer by the day – the moment she had dreaded for the whole of her elder son’s life.
It was a miracle Alex had never asked her directly before now, once he had understood that a father had a biological input in the creation of a child as well as its mother. William had filled that role since they had married when Alex was three. They’d both encouraged Alex to call him ‘Dad’, and her son had seemed to accept the status quo without questioning it.
Perhaps, thought Helena, there was a part of Alex that didn’t want to know, in case the answer was too dreadful. Which, in truth, it was. Of course, she mused as she sipped her tea, she could lie, say his father was dead. Make up a name, a past . . . a moment in time when she had been in love with a wonderful man and they had conceived Alex because they had wanted him so very much . . .
Helena put her head into her hands and sighed deeply. The selfish parts of her only wished he was dead, but in reality, he was very much alive . . . and present.
She knew her son might be intellectually sophisticated enough to rationalise, but the emotional part of him would surely find the truth impossible to cope with. Especially at his tricky age, as he traversed the rocky road from boy to man.
Dealing with Alex in general had always been so difficult. Helena had known almost from the beginning that he was an unusual child; so bright, so very adult in the way he processed information. He could reason and manipulate like a seasoned politician and then, on the turn of a sixpence, slip back into his chronological age and become a child again. She remembered when he’d become obsessed by the dawning idea of death and had cried himself to sleep at the age of four as he came to terms with the thought of not being ‘here’ forever.
‘But none of us are here forever,’ Helena whispered sadly to the night sky, ablaze tonight with its millions of stars. They had seen everything, she thought, yet kept their wisdom to themselves.
William told her she indulged Alex, pandered to his whims, and perhaps she did. She alone read his vulnerability, knowing he had to cope with the isolation of feeling he was ‘different’. His junior school had suggested Alex should be assessed when he was eight, as he was outstripping all his classmates academically. She’d done so reluctantly, not wanting to label him while he was still so young. He’d come out of the assessment as a ‘gifted’ child, with an IQ off the scale.
Helena had kept him at the local primary school, wanting to make sure his childhood was as normal as possible. Then, a year after starting at the local secondary school, the headmaster had called her in and suggested Alex should go for an academic scholarship to attend the most prestigious boarding school in England.
‘Really, Mrs Cooke, I think we would both be doing Alex a disservice if he wasn’t at least given the opportunity to try. We do our best here, but he needs to be stretched and there’s no doubt he’d be better off with other boys of a similar intellect.’
She had discussed it with William, who had agreed with the headmaster, but Helena – having been sent off to boarding school so young herself – was reluctant.
‘There’s no guarantee Alex will get the scholarship, and with the best will in the world, we can’t afford to send him if he doesn’t,’ William had argued. ‘So why don’t we let him at least try? We can always say no if he doesn’t want to go.’
And then, Alex had won it, and everyone had been so excited that she felt she was being churlish not to seem excited too. After all, it was a huge achievement. And a wonderful opportunity for him.
When she’d asked Alex himself if he was pleased, he’d shrugged and averted his eyes so she couldn’t read his expression.
‘If you are, Mum – then so am I. Dad seems happy, anyway.’
Which had told her nothing.
William had been thrilled and proud, but Helena couldn’t help wondering – however unfairly – if her husband’s positivity was partly based on the fact Alex would be boarding.
She was very aware that William had taken Alex on because he had fallen in love with her, and her son came as part of the package. Whether he had actually wanted Alex or not, he’d had no choice but to accept that he would live under their roof. Those were the facts, however one wanted to dress them up. And Alex – being Alex – would not have missed the underlying semantics.
Her son read her, too . . . perhaps better than anyone else. It was as if he saw through her skin to the nub of her, no matter how tightly she wrapped the thick veil that shrouded her innermost thoughts around her.
Helena pulled the cigarette out of her pocket and lit it.
Alex knew her protestations about Alexis’ motives were lies.
He knew there was far more to it than she was telling.
And the truth was, he was right.
By the following sunset, the master bedroom had been painted a soft dove-grey by Dimitrios and Michel, Alexis’ sons.
As they’d arrived earlier that morning in Alexis’ van, Helena had walked outside to greet them, unable to help noticing how genes made themselves evident in different ways. Both young men were blessed with dark wavy hair, tawny skin and athletic physiques, but while Dimitrios had Alexis’ kind eyes and gentle manner, Michel, the younger son, reminded her of nothing less than a Greek god. His looks were subtly amplified to make him even more handsome than his father.
As the brothers got to work with paintbrushes and rollers, Helena had continued to spread her purchases through the house, blunting the male edges of Pandora with femininity. Immy had helped her cut flowers and branches of olive from the gardens, and they had improvised by using large stoneware jugs in which to arrange them. The windows in all the rooms had been thrown open and, as the sun blazed in, the musty smell of emptiness began to burn away into the past. Pandora began to come alive.
Earlier that morning an arresting, ebony-haired young woman had appeared in the kitchen and Helena had been surprised to discover she was Angelina, Angus’ old housekeeper. Her image of a dour, Cypriot version of Mrs Danvers proved wide of the mark as Angelina scrubbed floors and hoovered energetically, her dark eyes full of laughter as she bantered playfully in Greek with Alexis’ sons.
‘Mum, the pool will be ready for swimming in about an hour,’ Alex announced as he found Helena in the drawing room, beating the dust out of the cushions of the damask sofas. ‘Georgios is filling it now.’
‘Fantastic! We’ll all go for an inaugural swim then.’
‘It’ll be very cold, as the sun won’t have had time to warm the water, but I think it’ll be refreshing,’ Alex added hopefully.
‘Just what I need to cool down after all this hard work.’
‘Yeah, not much of a holiday so far, is it? I feel as though we’ve just moved in somewhere.’
‘We have, I suppose,’ agreed Helena. ‘But it’ll be worth it, don’t you think? I so want Dad to like it here.’
‘I’m sure he will.’ Alex came towards her and hugged her spontaneously. ‘I’m so excited about the pool.’
‘Good,’ said Helena, relieved that Alex’s dark mood of last night had vanished and the sun had come out, lightening up him too.
‘I’m going to swim every morning before breakfast and get fit,�
� he added. ‘See you later.’
‘Okay, darling.’
‘Cup of tea, Madame?’ Angelina was carrying a heavy tea tray through the drawing room towards the terrace, with Immy following in her wake like a handmaiden.
‘Oh, yes please. And do call me Helena, Angelina.’
‘Hokay, Helena, I try,’ she replied in her broken English.
‘Mummy, we baked biscuits in the new oven to try it out.’ Immy was clasping a plate carefully in her small hands. ‘Everyone must try one, ’cos they are yummy.’
‘I’m sure they are.’ Helena was glad to see Immy had taken to Angelina. With the hordes descending on her in the next few days, she would need all the help she could get. She followed them onto the terrace and flopped into a chair under the pergola. ‘Thanks, Immy.’ She took a biscuit and bit into it. ‘Mmm, they are very good.’
‘Well, Angelina helped me, but I actually made them, didn’t I?’
‘You deed, Immy,’ Angelina agreed, as she chucked her cheek affectionately.
An hour later, they gathered at the pool for an inaugural swim. There was a unified screeching as Helena, Immy and Alex joined hands to jump in.
Leaving the children to splash around, Helena climbed out ten minutes later and lay on the side of the pool, warming her goosebumps in the late afternoon sun.
‘Hello, Helena.’
She looked up as a shadow crossed her body.
‘Hello, Alexis.’
‘I see all is well here?’ He squatted down on his haunches next to her and Helena felt suddenly exposed in her skimpy bikini. She sat up and curled her knees to her chest protectively.
‘All thanks to you and your family. I’m so grateful, Alexis, really.’
‘It is no more than my duty. After all, Pandora was owned by my family for over two hundred years, until your godfather persuaded my father to part with it.’
‘Well, it’s most kind of you to help me.’
‘Atcch! Do not be so formal and English with me! You speak as if we hardly know each other.’
The Olive Tree Page 6