A Handful of Pebbles

by Sara Alexi

  ‘Liz? Where’s Neville?’

  ‘To hell with Neville,’ she slurs, her Irish accent strong.

  ‘Liz!’ Sarah looks at the waiter, whose eyes are glazed with boredom.

  ‘Come on. Come and sit down.’ Liz pulls a chair and it leans over backwards. The waiter leaps into action to save the chair from falling. He rights it and offers the seat to Sarah.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Sarah hisses, one eye on the dark green wine bottles, trying to work out how full or empty they are, how much Liz has drunk.

  ‘He called her.’

  ‘Who called who?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘He called his ex-wife.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sarah stops looking at the bottles and looks into Liz’s eyes. The agreement that they do not talk about each other’s husbands seems to have dissolved. Nevertheless, she is not sure she even wants to ask this next question but does anyway. ‘To say what?’ She puts her hand up to ask the waiter for a glass, but he has pre-empted her. A glass is brought and filled for her.

  ‘She’s to move in, take over his mother’s rooms.’

  ‘Oh Liz, I am so sorry. Is it really definite?’

  ‘Neville said he could not do it to his children. "To leave her unattended is to leave her to die alone."‘ Liz mimics Neville’s slow enunciation. ‘"What sort of man would that make me in my children’s eyes?"‘ She completes her quote.

  ‘What sort of man would expect his second wife to look after his first?’ Sarah asks. ‘What would he do if you threaten to leave him?’

  ‘Huh?’ Liz says and then hiccups and smiles at her own behaviour. ‘I have not had your luck Sarah. I was left no house. I get no monthly rent. If I left him, how would I make a living now?’

  ‘If you divorced him, you would get a settlement.’ Sarah is aware the meagre rent she gets from her mum’s house in Ireland would be nowhere near enough to pay the rent on a place on the Isle of Man or in the UK, let alone allow her to live to a civilised degree.

  ‘He wanted to—you know—make me sign a pre-natural.’ She makes hard work of the word. ‘Pre-nuptial thingy. But I wouldn’t. You remember that time we went to Egypt, went to the Valley of the Kings, that long drive to Luxor?’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’ Sarah recalls the air was so hot, the ceiling fan in the hotel made no difference at all. She lay on the bed looking up at it, unable to move with the heat.

  ‘That was when he took out the pre-neptune thing.’

  ‘What, on that holiday? He took it with him?’

  ‘Um hum.’ Liz nods. ‘But I said if he loved me and trusted me, why would he need it? He said it was to show I loved him. But I said no, all or nothing. Do you know,’ she raises a finger to emphasise her words but it sways around Sarah’s face to such a degree, Sarah worries for her eyes and puts her own hand over it, pulling it down to their laps. ‘That was why we didn’t get married in the same year as you and Laurence, why he waited two more years. He thought I would give in and sign it, but I didn’t.’ She taps her nose.

  What she is hearing does not altogether surprise Sarah. Neville is shrewd, always has been, a bit tight even, but what does amaze her is that Liz did not tell her this, that she kept the pain of it all to herself. How much else has she suffered in silence? She has never said much about nursing his mother; instead made it seem like it was a small but irritating job, but surely there was more to it than she let on. Sarah suddenly feels out of the loop of Liz’s emotions.

  ‘What are you going to do? Are you going to leave him?’ Sarah’s hand goes to her stomach, calming the knot, her other onto Liz’s knee, stroking, reassuring.

  ‘No.’ It is almost a wail. The waiter breaks from his stare and takes a step forward to see if everything is okay. Sarah waves him back.

  ‘Shh Liz, shh, it’s okay. Look, we can sort this out.’ But Sarah doesn’t feel half as confident as she sounds.

  Liz calms herself before she speaks again. ‘You remember back at the golf club, the day after the night club?’ Sarah nods. ‘I didn’t tell you this but halfway through lunch, when I got up to go to the loo, so did Laurence.’ Sarah watches Liz’s mouth as it moves. ‘He stopped me on the way there, did he ever tell you? Stopped me to say that Neville really liked me and that although he liked me too, he would never get in Neville’s way and that I should give him all my attention.’ It sounds sad the way she tells it, as if she is trying to build up her own ego. Laurence has told Sarah this, but the version she heard was that he found Liz too strong, with her low-cut tops and her red hair. Laurence’s version, told in bed one night before the honeymoon period waned, was that he didn’t fancy Liz, so he steered her to Neville to ‘clear the way’ as he put it, to her. Now she is not sure which version is the truth.

  Probably neither.

  ‘Neville wanted me,’ Liz concludes, far too loudly.

  ‘Where is Neville?’ Sarah asks. Liz would be best off home in bed with a coffee.

  ‘I left him at home.’

  ‘Has he called you?’

  ‘I switched off my phone.’

  The waiters are moving about around them. Liz’s voice is carrying over the whole square.

  ‘Can I have the bill please?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘What, are you going?’ Liz murmurs.

  ‘No, we are going.’ Sarah stands and pulls Liz to her feet. Staggering a little, Liz upturns her bag onto the table and plucks out a handful of notes, which she thrusts at the waiter. He counts them out and lets a few drop back onto the pile of stuff Liz has released by her dramatic gesture. Sarah puts the mess back into Liz’s bag before pulling Liz out from under the umbrella shades.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Liz asks.

  ‘For a walk.’ Sarah keeps hold of Liz’s sleeve.

  The sun is beginning to set. The sea reflects the orange and pinks in the sky; the hills on the other side of the bay have turned an inky blue.

  Liz teeters near the harbour’s edge. Sarah pulls her back and links arms with her, putting her on the inside for safety.

  ‘When did you last eat?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘Neville made me some drop scones when I got up.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘About three.’

  Sarah does not want to know if that is the time she normally gets up, but she is getting the impression it is. How can she expect reasonable behaviour from Neville if she does not behave reasonably herself? Liz hiccups. But then, maybe Liz’s behaviour is a response to Neville’s misplaced concern, putting other people before his wife. However, with this stalemate before they got married over a prenuptial agreement, it seems the whole situation has been brewing for a very long time. Neville will not be quick to divorce her if it means he will lose half his wealth.

  ‘I think a walk to the end of the harbour and back and then we go and eat something, okay?’ It’s not really a question. Her phone beeps. Sarah drops Liz’s arm to retrieve it, but she is too late and it clicks off. She does not recognise the number. ‘You okay if I return this call? I have no idea who it is.’ Sarah asks. Liz nods and turns away to look over a makeshift table covered with a velvet cloth on which twisted silver wire jewellery is displayed. The girl minding the display eagerly watches as she plays with the ring through her lip with her tongue.

  ‘Hello, I missed a call just now from this number.’

  ‘Oh, hi Sarah, it’s Helena. I must have sat on my phone by mistake.’ Sarah breaks into a smile, delighted to be in contact even if it was a mistake.

  ‘Hi Helena, are you okay?’

  ‘Fine. A little surprised not to hear from Finn.’

  ‘Oh, no, he is desperate to call you, but he didn’t know if you would want to hear from him. He was so upset, and I have been trying to keep his mind off everything. He spent the day with Joss and tonight, he has gone sailing with Laurence.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not too upset then?’

  ‘No, that’s my point. He is so distraught I—we were trying to keep his mind from it all, give him a little breathin
g space, re-charge his batteries. How are you, Helena?’ Sarah fumbles, she can suddenly see how it must seem from Helena’s position. He has made no effort to fight for her at all.

  ‘Do you like this?’ Liz holds something up. Sarah puts her finger over her other ear and turns away.

  ‘Helena, Finn is heartbroken, he believes you will not marry him and the whole thing has been called off. He is distraught. He believes there is nothing he can do to make it better.’

  ‘He can try!’ Helena almost snaps.

  ‘Helena, he is a man. He has no idea what to try to do.’

  ‘He should do what he feels is right. In this case, he feels going fishing is right, which says it all.’

  ‘He’s not fishing, he’s ... never mind. Helena, he desperately wants you back. All he wants is for the wedding to go ahead. He is not happy about what happened with Pru, but he doesn’t want that to alter your lives; your future together is more important than anything Pru could say.’ Sarah is not sure what to say next, so she waits. When there is no answer, she adds ‘Ever.’

  ‘I’ve got to go now.’ And the phone purrs.

  ‘Who was it?’ Liz asks, putting her hands behind her new earrings to show them off.

  ‘Helena.’ She pauses, wondering whether to ring Finn, or Laurence or Joss, or maybe it would be better to leave it until they are back on land.

  ‘I’m getting hungry now. Shall we go and eat?’ Liz says, turning back to the jewellery display.

  ‘Hang on. I just need to text Finn.’

  ‘Call Helena, use any excuse, just make sure you ring her tonight, love Mum xxx.’ She presses send and then with an intake of breath types a second message. ‘Use any excuse except that I told you to do it. Mum xxx’

  ‘Do you prefer these?’ Liz asks, holding up a second pair in front of the pair already in her ears. Sarah tries to focus, but her thoughts are struggling with the mess everyone seems to be in—everyone including her. Something comes forward in her mind and she almost remembers it, something to do with Finn’s wedding and relief from her unhappiness. It’s so close to being words, to coming into focus, it just needs a nudge and her path to happiness would be hers for the taking, she feels sure. Just a nudge. It’s nearly there, nearly, nearly ...

  Liz staggers into Sarah slightly, pushing her off balance, and the memory is gone, like a snuffed candle, leaving a residue of smoke that bears no resemblance to the brightness of the thought that was nearly hers.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Liz asks.

  ‘No idea,’ Sarah says. ‘Come on, let’s get some food.’ Maybe the shepherd will be at the taverna, the one with the flower-giving chef.

  Chapter 16

  The restaurant is full, but the waiter encourages them to linger for five minutes and sure enough, a table becomes free. There is no sign of Nicolaos, inside or out.

  Once Sarah and Liz are seated, a second waiter glides to their table. ‘Ti thelete? Exoume ...’ The waiter recites what sounds like a Greek nursery rhyme; it has a rhythm and a flow that is hypnotic. At the end, he pauses for breath and Sarah interrupts.

  ‘Er, in English?’ Sarah requests.

  ‘Wine?’ Liz says.

  He doesn’t miss a beat, ‘Red, white, or rosé? To eat, we have melitzana salad, Greek salad, green salad, beetroot with garlic, tzatsiki, courgette balls ...’ The list goes on and Liz’s shoulders round and she starts to slump. Sarah keeps one eye on her and tries to think what they had last time. In the end, the waiter makes a suggestion and it is settled, and as he walks away, Liz comes to life.

  ‘You didn’t order wine.’

  ‘No. The idea is to sober you up.’

  ‘Why?’ Her cheeks rest on her hand, pushing creases of skin under her eye.

  Sarah answers with just a look. Liz lifts her face from her hands. ‘I can see no reason to stay sober.’

  ‘You are going to have to talk to him. He’s just not being reasonable.’ Sarah shakes her head. Neville’s thinking is beyond her comprehension.

  ‘Anyway, if it all gets too much I have my secret,’ Liz slurs.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Not knowing if Liz is joking or serious, Sarah flicks through a smile and back to serious.

  Liz fishes in her bag to bring out a foundation-smeared makeup bag which she opens and from which she takes out a couple of small bottles of pills.

  ‘What the ...’ Sarah is speechless.

  ‘You know. Just in case it is all too much.’ Liz gives a drunken snigger and pulls out another two bottles, both with prescription labels.

  ‘What are they? Where did you get them?’ Sarah tries to keep the harshness from her voice, but she is shocked and scared.

  ‘They are from Miriam’s final days. Those are strong enough to kill a horse if you take too many, and these take all your worries away.’ She drops the bottles that she has lifted just a fraction back onto the table and Sarah picks one of them up to inspect the label.

  The food arrives and Sarah closes her hand around the bottle and scoops the others back into Liz’s makeup bag, embarrassed that the waiter has seen. Liz sits up straight, animated by the sight of food, her fork in hand, ready to try all the dishes.

  The waiter puts the last dish down and turns to talk to potential new customers who are looking at a menu.

  ‘Is it really that bad?’ Sarah asks Liz in hushed tones, to which Liz just shrugs and stabs at a meatball. ‘I mean, would you, really?’ Sarah persists.

  ‘Oh I don’t know. It just feels kind of comforting to think I could shock him that much.’ Liz is beginning to sober up with the food, and Sarah feels a little relief that she recognises her old friend again, back from her drunken haven. But part of her wonders if she knows Liz at all anymore.

  ‘Just to shock him?’ Sarah picks up her fork but has not started eating yet. Liz shrugs and flashes a mischievous little grin.

  ‘You are too much sometimes, Liz,’ Sarah says and urges Liz to try the peppers stuffed with feta.

  ‘They’re amazing,’ Liz says, speaking with her mouth full. The mood lifts and they chat about the heat, their accommodations, and other easy subjects. Halfway through the main course, Liz decides she had better text Neville, who immediately rings back. Sarah can hear his slow enunciation even with the phone pressed against Liz’s ear.

  ‘I am in Saros looking for you. Where’s the car?’

  ‘It’s parked by the sea.’ Liz looks down at her nearly empty plate.

  ‘Well, do not drive it. Are you drunk? Where are you? I am coming to get you.’

  ‘No, I am fine. I am with Sarah.’

  To this, there is a moment’s silence.

  ‘You may be fine, but I have been worried sick. Where are you?’

  Liz looks up and Sarah can see the trace of a smile on her lips, as if it is a game. Liz pulls her napkin from her knee and reads the taverna’s name on it. ‘The Ormofo Tavernaki.’ Liz speaks slowly and quietly.

  ‘Don’t move.’ The phone peeps; the line is dead.

  Neville is there within ten minutes. He insists on paying the bill and asks Sarah if she wants a lift back.

  ‘I am fine, Neville. I am waiting for Laurence who ...’ But that is as much as he listens to.

  ‘Right.’ He takes Liz, with his hand around her waist, and propels her off towards the car-park by the sea. Liz is grinning.

  Sarah surveys the remains of their food. A hasty, tense meal. Sarah had so been looking forward to her time alone, but there was no joy in it finally. Not that she holds anything against Liz, poor Liz. Poor Liz, poor Finn, poor Helena, poor Joss. ‘And poor me,’ she whispers to herself as she leaves a tip and walks away from the joyless dinner.

  Everyone’s concerns seem so big and so complex and so life-changing that Sarah struggles to keep it all in her head. After walking a couple of minutes toward the main square, she makes a conscious decision to not think about anything at all and she is amazed at how easily all thoughts and concerns drift away and she becomes lost in the warm air, the
festoons of bougainvillaea that are slung from balcony to balcony, the red-tiled roofs, the urns of flowers on either side of deeply panelled doors, boys on mopeds, and women who pass by, leaving the scent of coconut oil and perfume.

  By the time she enters the main square, she has the illusion that she has lived here all her life. It feels real. It feels alive. In a silly way, it feels like home.

  She will go to a café and have a sweet. She selects the café under the plane tree which is lit from below, the lights turning the leaves silver green. From a distance, it could be a night painting by Van Gogh. A boy runs around her with a football, his friend chasing him. A couple saunter by, the man in a light suit, the woman in an evening dress and heels so high, Sarah fears for her ankles if she misses a step. The café under the tree is almost full. The waiter greets her in English and leads her to a table for two behind the tree’s hollow trunk and leaves her to peruse the menu. Either side of her, lovers sit, holding hands, kissing, laughing, and Sarah’s heart yearns, but she does not know for what. She has a husband who loves her, she has two successful boys, she has a beautiful home, she wants for nothing. Except her struggle for breath tells her there is something, something that would change her life from sleepwalking to living.

  A dark-skinned man is approaching each table in turn, a cheap flat attaché case open, full of watches. His progress is slow even though no one shows any interest. It is her turn. He begins with a smile.

  ‘Nice watch?’ he asks in English and then something in Greek. Sarah glances. Rolexes, Cartiers, Breitlings. They look like the real thing.

  ‘No thank you.’ Sarah smiles.

  ‘Pretty lady like you needs to know the time.’ He eyes her wrist.

  Sarah looks again. Amongst the watches are bracelets, silver snakes with enamel charm beads. ‘Ah, the bracelets.’ He hitches the case onto a raised knee and, balancing on one foot, tries to unhook the bracelet with the most charms. Sarah is about to say ‘No thank you’ but her eyes are still on the bracelet with no charms, plain, simple. His nimble fingers swiftly unhook the right one and, snapping the case shut and clamping it between his knees, he holds out the silver snake, offering to put it on Sarah’s wrist. It would feel rude to say no and she allows him. It does look nice. As she looks down at it, she notices his shoes, the toe coming away from the sole on one foot, the other with no laces. Embarrassed, she looks up at him and smiles. Now she notices his fraying shirt collar and that he has a missing tooth. His eyes search her face, eager, hopeful.