by Sara Alexi
‘I have given it some thought and I am still not decided if it is the best for Mama. As for you being a housekeeper for the place, if you are serious and having Mama here is not one of your conditions, let’s discuss it in more detail after the wedding. I cannot, for love nor money, find someone I feel comfortable leaving the place in the hands of, but if you have half the ability of Finn, I couldn’t wish for anyone better, so I feel very hopeful.’ Jim’s voice is soft but something in the confidence behind the words shows all the traits Sarah would imagine of a hardened businessman.
‘I had not thought of being here without Frona,’ Sarah begins. ‘But, well, I will give that some thought, too. After the wedding would be a good time to thrash things out.’ Maybe ‘thrash things out’ is a bit of an over-the-top turn of phrase; after all, it is only a housekeeping job, hardly ‘thrashing’ material, but the last time she discussed her employment was when she and Liz took the jobs in Douglas. It all feels very alien.
‘Ha!’ His laugh is light, as if he has taken her comment as a joke. He also audibly breathes out and it occurs to Sarah that maybe finding a housekeeper weighs more heavily on him than she has imagined it could. ‘Yes, let’s beat the terms and conditions into submission after the wedding.’ He laughs again. He will be an easy person to discuss the idea with. ‘But now, about tonight,’ he adds.
Grabbing her handbag from the chest of drawers, Sarah pulls out her diary and thumbs to today’s date. Nothing. No note, no scrawled reminder. ‘Tonight,’ Sarah half-asks and half-states, hoping Jim will fill in the rest.
‘I have found a gun for your husband and rice enough for everyone, so just come as you are.’
‘Ah!’ Sarah has no idea what he is talking about but if anyone is having a gun, it will be her.
‘So just to let you know to come when you are ready, really. There is enough food for the whole village.’ He chuckles as he speaks. ‘See you soon.’ And the line is dead.
Texting Helena seems the best idea. Happy to let the rice and guns reveal their purpose during the evening, she simply asks what time. She is rewarded by an instant response. ‘Whenever you are ready.’ So unhelpful.
In a second text to Joss, she asks what time he is going, and importantly, where he is going, and this time she gets a more concrete answer. ‘Helena’s about eight or whenever Pru wakes up.’ Eight seems about right to be eating and presumably they will be staying up late, too, enlivened in the cool of the night air. A sleep now would be a good idea, let her mind shut down for a bit, calm her thinking. Her stomach turns as she recalls Laurence’s words and with it come the images of Torin’s death.
Searching through pockets, she finds her four pebbles. She rolls them through her fingers, feeling each one in turn. One from the still warmth of the gully surrounded by thousands of humming bees, one from her late night chat with Finn by the pool under a million stars—such a special night. One that Nicolaos threw at her feet like she was a goat, cheeky man. She gives this one a squeeze. The fourth one from the picnic on the hillside with Frona and Nicolaos still has some traces of red earth on it. She rubs at it with her thumb.
Tucking them under the cool pillow with her hand on top, she calms her mind and tries to look forward. ‘I will have enough pebbles a year from now to fill a bucket.’ Her eyes close and she drifts into sleep.
The sky is still light when she wakes. She cannot have slept long, but she feels refreshed until the overheard conversation rushes back to her and the room loses some colour, but the memory of the conversation with Jim quickly follows. Twisting her wrist, she checks the time and relaxes. There is time to change and walk to Helena’s. She can still hear voices next door. What does she do about Laurence tonight? Does he even know they are due to go to Helena’s? It would be adult and responsible of her to tell him tonight’s arrangements, and Finn would want her to, but a part of her would enjoy leaving him out in the cold. Ignore him. He deserves nothing from her.
Taking her time to shower and dress, she hears Neville making all the noises that lets her know he is leaving. He and Laurence are now standing on the decking, their backs to the bedroom patio window. Laurence is complaining that she is missing, and something about her being irresponsible. Neville asks if she will have forgotten about the gathering tonight, to which Laurence replies, ‘Probably’.
‘Well, I’d better push off, get Liz in gear. Takes her an age to get ready,’ Laurence responds. Sarah sees an opportunity, and the two men jump as she pushes open the patio door. The outside heat has dropped, but it is still very warm.
‘I’ll come up with you, Neville. Give Liz a hand.’ Sarah walks around them both and climbs into the passenger seat of Neville’s car.
Laurence’s mouth is open, his eyes wide. He begins a sentence, ‘Where have you ...’ But seeing Neville’s smirk, twisting his keys between his fingers, he acts as if her behaviour is the most natural thing in the world.
‘See you later, then. Come up to ours and we’ll all go together,’ Neville says as he climbs in beside Sarah and gives a brief wave, then cranes his neck round to reverse down the lane. Laurence is coming out of the gate, his mouth shut now. He is waving but frowning. It won’t be long before he follows them up to Neville’s villa.
‘You look awfully pretty.’ Neville drives with one hand on the wheel, the other, nearest the passenger seat, remains on the gear stick. Sarah shifts her knees towards the door. She does not answer him. Does she tell Liz what she heard Laurence say? Would it help Liz if she knew, or would it just open old wounds? Really, everyone should know what an evil piece of dirt Laurence is, but to what end? To upset Finn and Joss? To renew Liz’s pain? After all, Neville is Laurence’s cousin. That’s not going to feel great to Liz, her own brother killed by a blood relation of her husband. But then, why should Sarah be on her own with this?
‘You’re very quiet. Everything okay?’ Neville takes his hand from the gear stick and reaches across towards Sarah’s knee.
‘I hear you are moving your ex-wife in with you. Was it not enough that Liz looked after your mother all these years?’ Neville’s hand hovers before he withdraws it to the steering wheel.
‘Well, I think that’s a bit strong.’ The colour has drained from his face. His eyes are glued on the road. Sarah’s hands are trembling. What is possessing her? She interlocks her fingers. Can she retract her words, shift the meaning, smooth out the harshness? She tries rephrasing the sentence in her head but before she has finished, she is speaking again.
‘Do you? Imagine how it is for Liz after all your talk of the things you were going to do together.’ But at that moment, Sarah cannot recall anything specific except the sailing, and she cannot remember which islands Liz said they dreamed of sailing around. She closes her mouth and stares out of the side window. Liz is going to kill her; she is way off the ‘not discussing each other’s husbands’ rule.
‘Well, things change,’ Neville defends himself as he puts his foot down on the accelerator, his knuckles white as he grips the wheel. They crest the hill and Liz and Neville’s villa becomes visible. Nicolaos’s villa, Sarah corrects herself. She manages to hold her tongue but as the tyres crunch to a standstill, she hears more words hissing from her own mouth, sharp but calm.
‘You owe her.’ She slides out and slams the car door hard before marching into the house. ‘Liz, you there?’ she calls loudly. She calls again once inside.
‘Out by the pool’ There’s a sound of splashing, ‘Bring the martini, oh, and some ice. Glasses are by the sink if you want one.’
The side door is open, but the back door that Nicolaos barged in by is closed. Sarah’s eyes are drawn to the floor, searching for tell-tale pills. It’s clean. Gathering the requested items, she makes her way outside. The cicadas are deafening.
‘Wow, you look nice,’ Liz greets Sarah as she walks round the poolside, bottle and a glass of ice in her hand. ‘I haven’t even thought about what to wear tonight. What is it exactly, sort a pre-wedding do? Where’s Laurence?’
‘Laurence wasn’t ready; I got a lift with Neville. I’m not really sure what tonight is about. Where’s your glass?’ Liz, floating on a rather deflated-looking lilo points to the far end of the pool. Sarah pours a generous measure and tops it with the warm lemonade that is sitting in the sun next to the empty glass.
‘You not having one?’ Liz asks.
‘I think it will be a long evening.’ The words sound brittle as they resonate through her. She does not know where she will go after the party, but she will not be going back with Laurence. A streak of black humour tells her there is always a worn board to lie on at Nike and Puma’s hut.
‘You okay? You don’t quite look yourself.’ Liz paddles towards Sarah and the refilled glass. Liz’s hat is so wide, she has to tilt her head back to meet Sarah’s gaze. If Sarah is going to tell Liz that Laurence killed Torin, now would be as good a time as any.
‘I need to tell you something.’ Sarah tries to hold Liz’s gaze. Her friend suddenly looks fragile as she breaks eye contact.
‘I know,’ Liz states but still looks away.
‘What?’ Sarah screws up her eyes, partly against the sun that is making its way to the horizon and partly from lack of understanding. Her legs stiffen, keeping her rigidly upright.
‘Neville made a pass at you, right? On the way here, in the car.’ Liz sounds tired, bored almost, rather than accusative.
‘Oh no! God no!’ Sarah loses her frown, exhales. Her shoulders drop and her legs become her own again. ‘No, no.’ Her words are emphatic. It helps the decision: she will not tell Liz about Laurence and Torin. Why add any more pain to Liz’s life?
‘What then?’ Liz demands. Sarah searches for something to fill the gap.
‘I’m afraid I got cross with Neville in the car, told him a few home truths.’ Sarah needs to tell her this anyway.
‘Such as?’ Liz takes a sip of her drink and pushes off the side with her foot.
‘I told him what a good wife you’ve been and that he owes you.’ Sarah is not sure how Liz will respond.
‘A double whammy!’ Liz chuckles. Sarah frowns but before she can ask for an explanation, Neville’s head appears round the side door.
‘Ah, Liz my dear, don’t you think it’s time to start getting ready? I think they are expecting us by eight.’ and then he disappears just as fast. Liz turns back to Sarah.
‘I told him I was leaving him when he took me out for lunch today.’
‘What!’ Sarah was about to sit down on a woven cane sunbed but now jerks up.
‘I told him that he can pay for a nurse for his ex-wife coz I’m off.’ She paddles her way around to face Sarah. ‘You remember that waiter with the lovely eyes?’
‘Oh, no Liz, what? What’s a waiter got to do with this?’
Liz puts out her free hand so Sarah can pull her to the poolside, where she struggles to replace the lilo with solid ground. Once by Sarah’s side, Liz takes a long drink of her martini and then reduces her tone to a whisper. ‘Nothing. I just made it clear if Neville wants a nurse, he should get a nurse and when he smirked—you know that horrible smirk he does—and said what would I do without him, I just happened to mention Costas.’
‘Costas. Is that the waiter’s name?’ Sarah can feel her temple in her pulse.
‘No idea. I’d had one too many, I saw this old dear on the table next to us dribbling her lunch down her chin, and I just thought there was no way I could go through all that again. So when Neville was looking, I winked at the waiter and made the rest up on the spot.’
‘You never?’ Sarah looks through the open side door to check Neville is not eavesdropping.
‘I was really a bit too far gone to know what I was doing, truth be told. But you know what?’
‘What?’ Sarah thinks the heat must be affecting them all.
‘We finished our lunch and Neville held my arm as he walked me back to the car. It seemed a lot further than the way we came and then he pulled me into a jeweller’s.’
Sarah checks Liz’s ears and neckline before pulling at her hands.
‘You won’t find anything.’ Liz tries to mount the stairs. ‘He wouldn’t even tell me. I had to look away.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Sarah guides her into the house but Liz just puts her fingers to her lips and Sarah gives up trying to make sense of what is being said. Liz leads the way into the main bedroom. Neville pokes his head out from the room next door.
‘Anyone want a coffee?’ he asks, his eyes on Liz but his head turned to Sarah.
‘Might be an idea.’ Sarah follows Liz, who shuts it behind her.
‘What are you wearing?’ Sarah opens her closet door.
‘The gold!’ Liz is slurring her words badly.
‘Not sure if it is a gold occasion.’ Sarah pulls out the shimmering gold skirt of a full-length dress.
‘It had better be.’ Liz looks to the closed door, beyond which Neville can be heard descending the stairs. ‘It better be something big and bulky and gold, preferably,’ she struggles with the word, repeating herself, ‘preferably with inset diamonds.’ The bed groans as she sits and Neville opens the door wide enough to pass through a full mug. ‘Hot,’ he says as Sarah takes it and he closes the door.
The coffee helps and after a few false starts, Liz decides on a white floor-length dress with a gold belt.
‘He will surprise me with whatever he bought tonight.’ She taps her nose and drinks her coffee, sipping it like a cocktail. Sarah tries to put on Liz’s makeup as she fidgets about. Sarah chastises her in an un-heartfelt way. Liz recalls an anecdotes from their school days, which brings laugher and they lose themselves in meaningless banter. Within minutes, they could be in their bedsit in Douglas, fresh off the boat from Ireland.
‘We need whiskey,’ Liz suggests.
‘No you don’t. What is all this drinking about anyway, Liz? Has it just been since Neville’s mum died? Are you just kicking loose?’
Liz breathes in and out, long and hard through her nose. ‘Since the plans.’ Sarah tells her to hold still whilst she finishes her mascara. ‘When Miriam was on her last legs, we began to plan more and more what we would do. We would giggle like children at our plans, Neville would sit with his calculator doing the sums. We would share a bottle of wine together. It was nice.’ Liz slumps and Sarah gives up on the makeup and tries, instead, to pin up her hair.
‘You nearly ready, girls? You want more coffee?’ Neville shouts up the stairs. Both of them turn and look at Liz’s yellow silk kimono that hangs on the back of the door. Neither of them answer him.
‘But when she died, the cozy bottles of wine stopped, the planning stopped, and I knew it was all just dreams.’
Sarah thinks of Nicolaos’ wisdom. Some dreams are never to be realised—they are just to give us hope. Fat lot of good that did Liz.
‘So I continued the planning and drinking on my own. I wanted him back. I wanted the dreams, the closeness, the oneness. When I drink, he pays me more attention, he worries, he helps me if I overbalance when I walk. It forces him to be close.’
‘Girls, we should really go now.’ Neville taps on the door before opening it.
‘I don’t think I can stand.’ Liz hiccups. Neville is by her side, taking her arm, lifting her from the bed. She turns to look at Sarah and winks.
‘Oh is that Laurence’s car I can hear?’ Neville escorts Liz down the stairs.
Chapter 27
‘You know, I think I’m going to walk.’ Sarah beats them down the stairs and gives a half wave from the patio. Liz looks up, grins, and waves. Neville shouts he is ‘coming’, to a knock at the front door.
Sarah hears the tone of Laurence’s voice as she ducks into the olive grove but she cannot make out the words, nor does she care. She is no longer accountable to him.
The light is draining from the sky. The view is paling to pinks and blues, the olive trunks black in the fading light, and the evening whispers through the leaves. It is magical. A crack of dried twigs tu
rns her head but there are no goats, no sheep, no Nicolaos. It is probably late for grazing the herd. Something scuttles, unseen, through the dried grass. There is the smell of warm earth.
Would she tell Nicolaos about Laurence if he were here? Probably not, but she would tell him that she had spoken to Jim. If she does stay and become housekeeper, Nicolaos will be in the field next to the house every day. In a way, that’s a disconcerting thought. She has shared so much with him she cannot remember all she has said. But now there is a possibility that she might stay, it dawns on her that perhaps she only confided so much in him because she thought she would never see him again once the wedding was over and they had packed to return home. Hurrying out from under the trees and onto the track, she wraps her arms around herself. It is not cold but she feels suddenly exposed. How must Nicolaos see her? Probably as someone who is pretty foolish. Someone who chased after ease and riches and threw her life away in the process. Stumbling through life, allowing those around her to dictate how she lives and spilling her heart out to strangers.
Out on the road, she turns towards Helena’s. In the darkening sky, a halo of ambient light above the trees indicates the house. It will be too dark to go up through the gully and in at the side gate. Sticking to the road, she still wishes she had worn flat shoes. Her heels are low, elegant, but still not suitable for hiking. She takes them off, the tarmac warm even though the sun has set now.
A firework cracks above the house, a dog barks, another responds from across the village. Then the silence falls again, with just the rustling of branches by the roadside in the slight cooling wind. The sky so large, the stars go on forever. As Sarah stares into the expanse, smaller stars emerge between the brighter ones, and then dimmer ones again between those, layer after layer. So vast, the pettiness of her own life seems infinitesimally small. The universe does not care if she is joyful or miserable. Mankind will not alter its path by either her happiness or her sadness. In short, it makes no difference to anyone anywhere, so she might as well choose. She picks up a stone. She cannot see its colour in the fading light. If it is white, she will be happy to the point of selfishness from now on; if it is black, she will continue with her plans and if happiness comes, that will be a bonus, not a decision. She tucks it in her pocket, a secret stored for later.