by Jane Shemilt
‘I’m in love with this place already,’ he’d said.
Her eyes were level with the pulse at his neck, neither took a breath.
‘Mum!’ Poppy’s voice tore into the room, as she came thumping up the stairs. ‘They need towels.’
‘They’re in the chest on the landing,’ she’d called without moving.
‘Show me!’
She’d drawn back, not quite daring to meet Martin’s eyes, and left the room. He’d clattered down the stairs a few minutes later, whistling.
Eve waves away a bee that has strayed from the sage, picks up the knife again and continues to slice the okra. Martin is their guest, on holiday with his kids. He is married as she is, of course nothing’s happened. They are playing, that’s all, he knows that too, a delicious little game, as brief and harmless as any the children play.
‘Eve!’ It’s Charley’s voice this time, she sounds breathless.
‘Here I am,’ Eve replies calmly. Grace is joining them in a few days; her children have been fine, playing with the others in the pool or crouching and running with them among the trees. Their voices thread through the day; she has hardly seen them since they arrived.
‘Ash has been stung.’ Charley bursts through the olive trees, she looks scared. ‘Eric said to find you, you have to bring something, his arm’s all puffy.’
Eve puts the knife down, hurries into the kitchen and burrows into the cupboard above the sink, pulling out a half-empty box of paracetamol, bandages, a sticky bottle of Calpol and a can of antihistamine spray. Eric is sitting on the stone wall by the pool, Ash hiccupping and whimpering in his arms. Sorrel stands next to him, sucking her thumb. Blake and Poppy are nearby, shivering. Izzy is floating in the centre of the pool, eyes closed and arms out, her face relaxed.
‘He’ll live,’ Eric says. The small upper arm is bulging, a punctum at its centre. Eve kisses the swollen flesh, tasting an echo of sweetness on the hot skin. She sprays antihistamine on the sting and Ash yells with surprise, then seeing a spoon of Calpol approach, clamps his mouth around it. She takes him from Eric, unbuttoning her shirt. Her breast spills out, white against the brown of her arm, the surface veins like blue-green tributaries flowing towards the dark nipple.
‘Ugh.’ Poppy screws up her nose in disgust. She swerves away and jumps neatly into the pool followed by Charley and Blake. Eric stands up, shaking his head.
‘It’s time he grew out of that, Eve.’ He slides into the pool after the children.
Sorrel lingers, her breath warm on Eve’s shoulder. ‘I thought he was going to die,’ she whispers, her eyes swimming with tears.
Eve puts an arm around Sorrel’s stocky little body and pulls her close, kissing her damp forehead. ‘Ash isn’t going to die, sweetheart, it’s just a bee sting.’
‘Joely couldn’t breathe when she was stung, she had to go to hospital in an ambulance.’
‘Joely is allergic to bee stings then; Ash isn’t. You mustn’t worry.’
Ash’s eyes are shut, his fingers starfish on her breast. A cool shadow falls on her skin and Martin smiles down at her, grasping a sheaf of papers in ink-stained fingers. He sits on the wall beside her, comforting and disconcerting at the same time.
‘Go and swim with the others, darling.’ She pats Sorrel on her bottom. ‘Ash is fine now.’
Sorrel walks slowly to the pool and hesitates at the edge, gazing at the others in the water, uncertain.
‘It’s the easiest way to make him better.’ Eve stares down at Ash, embarrassed to meet Martin’s eyes.
‘I’m in favour.’ He leans forward. ‘Grace stopped after six weeks; shame really. Actually …’ He studies a little marbled butterfly hovering at his feet. ‘She’s joining us in a couple of days, if that’s okay; a colleague’s holiday was postponed so she swapped her slot with Grace.’
‘I know, she emailed me,’ Eve replies. ‘I’m thrilled she can come.’
Martin rests his hand lightly on Ash’s head. ‘Has he said any more words?’
‘A few – Mum, tractor, dog; words like that, but he says them properly as though they’ve been in his head all the time, just waiting to emerge.’
‘This is just the beginning, the trickle before the flood; there’s everything to look forward to.’
She meets his eyes and finds herself unable to look away; the moment stretches until Sorrel jumps in the pool, splashing water over Ash who jerks off the nipple and starts to cry. Martin spreads a towel under the trees a few feet back, he waits for her to settle with Ash, then sits down so closely that his shoulder brushes hers. She can smell tobacco and ink; the pages of his manuscript rustle as he reads. The peace is hypnotic. Her eyes close but snap open again as icy drops of water fall on her breast.
‘Swim?’ Eric is leaning over her, addressing Martin who scrambles to his feet.
‘Sure, great.’
‘You’ll find trunks in the shed.’ Eric tilts his head at the stone building.
‘Brilliant, thanks.’ Martin walks away, smiling brightly.
Eric sits on the towel and ruffles Ash’s hair, his tanned hand beaded with water. ‘How is he now?’
‘All better. Did I tell you that Grace is joining us in a couple of days’ time?’
Martin emerges from the shed; the shorts he is wearing are too small. His body is pale in the bright light, well built, surprisingly powerful. The broad chest is streaked with grey hair. Eric glances at her; she looks down at Ash.
‘I’m glad,’ Eric says. ‘She must need a break.’
‘I expect she’s revelling in the peace and quiet.’
‘Unlikely. She’s stuck at a shit job, below her capabilities so her family can have the things they think they need, including holidays.’ Eric’s voice becomes quieter when he’s angry.
She watches Martin dive into the pool and emerge, his face creased in a large grin. Sorrel squeals. Charley swims up, hugs her father and climbs on his back; he is laughing so much he struggles to swim. Izzy climbs out and walks away; Poppy gets out and runs after her and, after a moment, Blake gets out too and follows.
‘You know they have practically no money,’ Eric continues. ‘Martin hasn’t sold a book for years.’
‘Shh.’ She glances at the pool. ‘He was a bestseller, a prizewinner. He works hard—’
‘He’s living off his wife.’
‘Oh?’ Something new and hot wells up, burning her throat. She gestures at the pool, the house through the trees. ‘Where do you think all this comes from?’ The words are out before she can stop them; they leave a quivering echo in the air.
‘Your father,’ his voice is very quiet now. ‘I work hard, harder than you ever have.’
They haven’t talked like this before, new territory. She steps back, unsure of her ground.
‘I’m grateful, you know I am.’
‘Do I?’ He leans forward and kisses her on the lips, a brief kiss with no warmth. Over his shoulder she sees Martin looking at them from the pool.
‘You taste distinctly of honey.’ Eric wipes his lips.
‘That’s what it was, the taste on Ash’s arm; no wonder he was stung. The honey was out on the table earlier. He must have helped himself.’
‘Wicked child.’ Eric rumples his son’s hair.
‘I’m back,’ Melissa calls from the drive, her pink kaftan visible through the trees; she is weighed down with plastic bags either side.
‘Coming, Melly.’ Eve slips her finger into Ash’s mouth, disconnecting him from the nipple. He makes a small noise of protest but his eyes begin to close again. She hands him to Eric. ‘He’ll sleep now,’ she says.
Melissa has tipped a pile of scarlet tomatoes into a bowl on the kitchen table; she unpacks wine, lettuce, cucumber and pots of yoghurt. ‘Let me do lunch.’
The honey is still on the table. The lid has come loose; Eve screws it back on firmly. She wipes the pot and puts it back in the cupboard, high up out of harm’s way. Ash gets himself into far more scrapes than the girls ever did
, or perhaps she’s more distracted these days. She wipes her face. It’s especially hot in Greece this year; hotter than ever. So many insects everywhere: flies, bees, wasps. Outside the cicadas are at screaming pitch, the sound fills the air. They get louder at this time of day. If you listen, it’s like thousands of tiny violins making that see-saw noise they use in films to signal unseen danger, fast approaching.
Melissa
‘You forgot the wine,’ Eve tells Eric as she unpacks the picnic. ‘What a shame.’
Melissa glances at her; she wouldn’t dream of reproving Paul. It would be far too dangerous. She forgot that last week when she’d corrected him about some flight detail in front of Izzy.
‘I wish you hadn’t done that,’ he’d said later.
She had been brushing her hair in the mirror before bed when he came up close behind her. His voice had been quiet and very cold. ‘You made me look stupid in front of my daughter.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She had spoken quickly though her mouth had dried. ‘I didn’t mean to, I just thought—’
‘Stand up.’
She had pushed the chair back and stood up, her legs had been trembling.
‘Turn around.’
He bent her forward over the dressing table, the glass edge cutting into her abdomen. He’d held her neck very tightly.
‘Please,’ she’d managed to gasp out. ‘I can’t breathe properly—’
If he heard he didn’t loosen his hold; he’d pushed up her nightgown, entered her and taken his time. She had blacked out, coming to on the floor later. The bruises were worse than usual the next day; she still needs a scarf. Eve is lucky, far luckier than she knows.
‘It’s down the side of the basket,’ Eric tells his wife, calmly, settling a cotton hat on Ash’s head and smearing cream on the tender little arms and shoulders. The red mark left by the bee sting has almost disappeared. ‘Ash and I are going for a swim. Coming, Blake?’ He swings Ash up on his shoulders, Blake scrambles to his feet and they run across the hot sand to the edge of the sea. Melissa watches them race each other, Blake shouting and Ash screaming with laughter. Paul would have done the same if he was here; no, he would have done even more. He would have found the wine and poured it out. He would have built an elaborate sandcastle for the boys and taken the girls for a swim, made flattering comments about how pretty they were in their swimsuits and the beautiful colour their skin was turning in the sun. He’s charming with children, utterly charming. They fall in love with him, as women do, as she did. When they were first married he used to carry her into the sea. He taught her back crawl and how to fish from a boat; moments which shine in her memory, like jewels in the darkness.
Eve places the contents of the picnic basket on to the stripy rug: bread, glistening black olives, a cheese-and-spinach pie, cucumber and lettuce, flat yellow peaches, a lemon cake. ‘The children will be starving,’ she says, catching Melissa’s stare. ‘They always are, by the sea.’
‘Where have they gone?’ Melissa asks, tearing her gaze from the pie. The pastry looks crisp and shiny; she can imagine how it would taste in her mouth. She has hardly exercised since she arrived apart from a few early morning lengths in the pool before anyone else is up. She can’t afford to eat anything for lunch.
‘Swimming.’ Eve unearths the plates and glasses. Eric and Blake are sitting in the shallows with Ash but no one else is in the water.
‘There’s no sign of them out there.’
‘Behind us, then. Damn, the wine isn’t here, it’s the only thing I asked Eric to pack.’
‘He’s protecting my health.’ Martin is lying on his back beside Eve, his voice muffled by the book on his face. ‘He knows I drink too much.’
There’s an imprint of four bodies on the sand behind them. The girls’ heads had been close together, their bodies fanning out. Izzy made the largest shape, then Poppy, Charley and Sorrel, eleven, nine and six, smaller imprints, ghost petals of a flower. Behind the beach is an impenetrable line of bamboo, stretching for miles.
‘Where can they be?’ Melissa tries to keep the panic from her voice.
‘Gone for ice creams?’ Martin suggests from under his book.
‘It’s not that sort of beach.’ Eve empties a bag of crimson cherries into a bowl. ‘We’re miles from any shops. Don’t worry, Melly, they’ll be fine. Poppy knows this strand like the back of her hand.’
No child knows the back of her hand, young hands are identical. The blood flows invisibly beneath the smooth skin. There are no twisting blue veins like hers; no scars from hospital drips. ‘I’m going to look for them.’ Melissa sets off at a jog, her flip-flops twisting on the sand, her cotton beach dress flapping round her legs. She passes a family sitting down at a table set back from the sea in the shade of an awning; two little boys, a man at one end, a woman at the other serving food, an old lady in between. Melissa watches the man get up, take a plate from the woman and touch her face before he returns to his seat. The woman catches her glance and gives a cheerful little wave; an ordinary woman having lunch with her family; there must be thousands like her, millions. On the way home in the car, she will rest her head on the man’s shoulder, her eyes will close and he will drive very carefully so as not to disturb her. Melissa jogs faster, it must be the sweat running into her eyes causing them to sting; her face is soaked with tears. After ten minutes she reaches a stretch of concrete at the far end of the beach; two cars bake in the sun, a rubbish bin stuffed with cans is buzzing with flies. A motorbike lies on its side. There is silence apart from the noise of cicadas. Could the girls have come this far? She looks at the sandy path winding through the trees, the tracks of a car visible in the grit. The girls would know better than to get in a car with a stranger, but all the same, panic begins to beat with her pounding heart. She may need help. She runs back sweating, the Greek family are all eating, no one looks up this time.
Eve’s call reaches her before she arrives. ‘They’re here, Melly.’
She sees Izzy first. Her daughter stands out most clearly; even her back view is defiant, the turn of her head, the hunched shoulder. Eric and Blake have returned from their dip and are chatting on the rug; Izzy is tickling Ash’s stomach with a length of dried seaweed, dragging it backwards and forwards across his soft little belly as he screams and squirms, the laughter turning desperate.
‘Oh, poor you.’ Eve comes forward to greet her, hands outstretched. ‘They’d burrowed into the bamboo plantation, bad girls.’
‘Come and sit down.’ Martin pats the rug. ‘You’re all out of breath.’
They are treating her as if she were a child, an ill child. Poppy and Charley are giggling together; there is a smothered hiccup then more laughter in small explosive bursts. Izzy is watching them with a smile. Sorrel is asleep, her mouth wide open, her cheeks a warm red. Eve passes round slices of spinach pie on plates; she is smiling at Martin and seems focused on the food. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t realize that the girls are clearly drunk.
‘Orange squash anyone? Nothing else, sadly.’ She glances at Eric as she pours out sticky orange liquid into plastic cups. Poppy shakes her head, spluttering with laughter.
Martin helps himself to a large slice of pie, Eric distributes salad to the children.
‘Eat this.’ Eve gives her a slice of pie and salad; she touches Melly’s arm. ‘And enjoy, forget about calories for once.’
Melissa takes a mouthful of lettuce, her molars crunch together, tiny grains of sand must have got into the leaves. She puts her plate down. She won’t mention the wine. Why get the girls into trouble? They wouldn’t have drunk it all, a couple of swigs each would have been enough; they must have hidden the bottle in the bamboo. Izzy is safe, the girls are safe; that’s all that matters, she should be thankful. She takes five black grapes and settles in the shade of the umbrella. She bought a postcard in the village today; a painted one with a view of the mountains. She takes a pen from her bag: Dear Lina, I expect you’re enjoying the peace. She puts her pen down a
nd stares at the sea. She could have brought Lina with them if only she’d thought of it. She would have relaxed in the sun, maybe swum in the sea. Eve would have been fine with her staying. Lina’s face was tired on the morning they left, she doesn’t hum her little tunes any more but she still listens, better than anyone. I miss you, she writes.
‘I’m going for a swim.’ Eve stands up, stripping off her dress. She is wearing a red bikini bottom, nothing else.
‘You can’t,’ Melissa whispers. ‘The children.’
‘It’s fine, Melly.’ Eve looks down at her, amused. ‘The kids are unconscious. It’s a holiday. No one cares.’
She’s wrong, the children will care. Children don’t like adult bodies, especially their parents’, but Eve turns and strides over the pebbles. Melissa glances along the beach. The old lady has left the table and is holding hands with the little boys, one at each side, by the edge of the sea. Eve walks into the water and turns on her back. Her white breasts float as though separate from her body. The cicadas from the plantation screech at high volume, the heat beats down from the white sky, rivulets of sweat collect at Melissa’s waist. She longs for the cool water, but she’d have to take off her scarf and the bruises are still faintly visible round her neck.
Martin gets to his feet, stretching. ‘I need to swim off all that food,’ he murmurs as he sets off trotting towards the sea.
‘If he can do it, Melly, I’m you sure can,’ Eric murmurs, face down on the rug. ‘Take my goggles.’
The girls and Blake are asleep. Ash is heaping pebbles on Eric’s back in little piles. She walks to the edge of the sea wrapped in a towel to her neck, the goggles in her hand. Martin and Eve are separate dots in the sea, far out. She puts on the goggles and discards the towel and then the scarf. The cold water is shocking then quickly delicious. A red fishing boat is moored on a buoy at least four pool lengths away. She swims as fast as she can, touches the splintery sides and then dives, glimpsing a jellyfish moving slowly through the water. The pebbles at the bottom are very clear. She surfaces, swimming towards Eve and Martin who have now moved close together and are floating on their backs. She dives down again. As she swims nearer she sees that they are joined together under the surface by a knot of fingers that look as if strange sea animals have become tangled together by accident.