by Jo Thomas
But when the stones slow up and finally stop falling, the trio start climbing again, undeterred.
‘Boy! They must really want those jobs,’ I say to Angel, but I’m beginning to panic. What now? I’m out of ideas. I duck down, hiding behind a big rock just off the path. I’ve got to move further up or they’ll spot me.
And then I hear it . . . and tense up. The buzzing is getting louder and angrier. The landslide has upset the bees. I clutch Angel right into my tummy and hold my other hand over my head, listening as the buzzing gets closer and then, to my huge relief, passes me by. I poke my head up above the rock and take big gulps of air. The three orange-T-shirted reps are shouting and shrieking as they run from the bees. There is the sound of car doors slamming shut, then a reversing car spinning off on the stony ground.
‘We did it, Angel!’ I say as I rub her ears.
There’s a scrambling noise behind me, tiny rocks rattling down. I turn to see Georgios sliding down next to me, his leg outstretched. He sits beside me, shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the rock, then turns to me and smiles, and my insides suddenly feel like they’ve been melted by the hot Cretan sun.
‘We did it!’ I grin, my head tilted back in exhaustion.
‘You did it!’ he corrects, holding up his hand and smiling some more. I high-five him, and then Filos comes and joins us, sitting by his master, smiling and panting, his long pink tongue lolling out of the corner of his mouth.
I rest my head against the rock and close my eyes. We did it, but I’m not sure what I’ll be able to do if it happens again.
‘Look,’ Georgios says. ‘A kri-kri goat.’ I open my eyes to see him pointing up to a rocky outcrop, but the goat dips and turns and is gone before I have a chance to get a proper look at it.
We clamber to our feet and say our goodnights, Georgios smiling widely at me, taking hold of my hand. Slowly I let it slide from his as I turn and head back towards the cottage, using the torch on my phone to guide me.
Back at the little stone house, I shower, get into bed, and watch from the window as the moon rises, whispering goodnight to Demi, and then to Georgios, up in his cave. Then, with a trace of wild mountain herb honey still on my lips, I drift off into the deepest sleep I have had in a long time.
It’s early morning when I hear the signal from Georgios again, the goat’s bell followed by the whistle. My eyes ping open and my heart immediately starts racing, like I’ve drunk three strong coffees, one after the other. I lie there for a minute, then I hear it again. I’m not dreaming it. It’s the signal.
‘Oh God!’ As I roll out of bed, everything aches from putting off Harry’s holiday reps last night. I turn to the huge window and quickly drink in the valley and the mist curling through it. Then I pull on a checked shirt over my T-shirt to keep off the early chill, which will burn off by mid-morning. Despite September rolling in, there’s no let-up in the heat – if anything, it’s getting hotter. The kind of heat that burns the inside of your nostrils when you breathe it in.
Downstairs, I grab a thin scarf from the coat hooks by the door and hold it to my nose. It smells of . . . I pause just for a moment . . . woodsmoke and a hint of wild thyme. The smell of Georgios. He seems to be creeping into my dreams more and more. Where once all I dreamed about was the fire and Demi, now Georgios is popping up everywhere I look. I quickly wind the scarf round my neck, and then, with Angel at my feet, wriggling her body in excitement and giving my ankles a succession of little licks, I pull open the door and head up the mountain path to my vantage point.
I hear them before I see them; the clanking of the bell and the bleating. Goats! Kostas’s goats! Climbing this way and that, grazing their way up the mountain, spreading out wider and wider, like a river that’s burst its banks and is continuing its journey every which way. There’s no way Maria would have let them out on to the mountainside. Surely she wouldn’t have left their gate open after milking.
Then I spot him. Harry Henderson, back again. This time he’s getting into his car, parked at the vantage point at the end of the lane, and disappearing in a cloud of dust back down the hill. Looks like he wasn’t going to let himself be chased away from the mountain even if his reps were. He’s going for the natural approach this time, letting the goats out to seek out the dittany and eat it. This is all my fault. I should never have told him about the dittany, never!
I head up the mountainside as quickly as I can, stepping from rock to rock, waving my arms manically at the goats. But the more I wave and shout, the faster they run away from me.
Then I see him, Georgios, leaning heavily on a stick again. He’s obviously whittled it from a branch from the olive tree up by the cave. He’s moving slowly across the rocks, goat bell in his other hand. One by one the goats seem to hear it, and change direction to follow him, until they are all moving together as a herd. Georgios goes one way and I go the other, corralling the goats on to a wide flat ledge, with Filos doing his best to help round them up, jumping from rock to rock, barking for all he’s worth. Angel joins in too, yapping, tail wagging, like this is the best fun she’s had ever.
‘Thank you!’ I say, out of breath and sweating as I finally reach him. I peel off my shirt and tie it around my waist over my denim cut-offs.
He nods. ‘It’s me who should be thanking you. Here,’ and he hands me a bundle of dried dittany, tied into tiny bunches. ‘Are you sure you’re OK to deliver them today? You’re not too tired?’
‘No, I’m not actually.’ I smile. ‘I’ll drop in at the crocheting circle later this afternoon and find out who needs them most.’ I put the dittany into my top pocket. ‘Agatha has arthritis in her hands again. And Nadim, who lives near the school, has stomach pains, but the ladies from the circle says he’s been finishing up last year’s vintage from his wine cellar to make room for the new one coming in. Oh, and Samir at the supermarket, I saw him drop a slab of cans on his foot when I was in there yesterday getting rice for Maria.’
‘Are you sure you don’t have too much on, what with your jobs at the farm and the restaurant as well as my place?’
‘I’m fine,’ I tell him, and I really am. I’m so busy I’ve hardly had time to sit and brood over missing Demi. Maybe it’s because she’s ringing me more. She must be settled. And as long as she stays in touch, I think I’m finally starting to come to terms with it. ‘I’m actually . . .’ like a wave slowly washing over me, I realise, ‘I’m actually really enjoying myself. I think I needed to feel needed again.’
‘How are Maria and Kostas?’ he asks. ‘Any more bee stings?’
I shake my head. ‘No more bee stings. And Kostas is loving crocheting again. Says it keeps him occupied while he waits for the bees to come.’ For a moment we both laugh, leaving behind the worries of the past and of the future, enjoying the thought of Kostas sitting crocheting by the fire in one of Maria’s aprons. ‘He’s started experimenting with a new stitch.’
‘And Mitera?’
I shake my head. ‘No better.’ I make a mental note to drop off some more dittany to her too. ‘I ought to get these goats back to their pen. I have to collect mountain greens before going to the restaurant. Stelios’s mother is going to see her sister, and I said I’d help out for a couple of hours at lunchtime.’
He nods. ‘You did good work again this morning, Nell. Thank you,’ he says while my back is turned, as if it is somehow easier to say what he wants to say when he’s not looking me in the eye. ‘Stelios would be very proud of you,’ he finishes, and I hear the catch in his voice. I lift my face to the breeze and let the compliment feed my soul, but this time there are no tears.
I turn and start to guide the goats down the mountain path, arms wide open. Stelios may be part of my past, but this place is about who I am now, and right now, I’m not going to let some developer and a flock of stray goats take the future from the people I have come to care about. I wonder,
just for a moment, if Georgios is becoming one of those people too but tell myself to stop being silly. Gorgeous George is never going to be interested in someone like me; besides, the last thing I want or need is another holiday romance. I’m not settling for second best any more. Not a holiday romance or a relationship built on convenience, like the one with Mike. If I ever get together with someone again it will be because I love them, like I loved Stelios, and because I want to be with them for the rest of my life.
As I walk down the mountain slope, my phone rings. It’s Demi, calling for a chat. It’s a welcome distraction from thinking about Georgios.
‘Hello, sweetheart, how lovely to hear from you. How’s things with you? . . . Nothing much going on here . . . No, not much longer until I’m home . . .’
But the buzzing bees in my belly flutter about madly anyway.
Another week has nearly passed. The weather is sweltering, and there’s been no sign of rain since the day I got caught up the mountain with Georgios. The ground is dusty and hard. Maria and I are watering the herbs in the meadow. Kostas is making bread in the kitchen and singing. We can hear him, the sound rising up through the window to the low slopes of the mountain.
‘He would have made a wonderful father,’ Maria says suddenly and wistfully. Then she looks at me and smiles. ‘How is Demi?’ she asks, as if she has known her all her life. And I suddenly get a pang, wondering how it’s going to feel when I have to leave this place and actually go home in a week’s time.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘In fact, she keeps texting me funny photos of herself, and then ringing, just to chat . . .’ I tail off, still surprised by this turn of events, and anxious, although I have no idea why. ‘I’m still worried, although I know I shouldn’t be.’
‘But that’s a great thing. She wants someone to talk to about her adventures and it’s you she wants to tell.’
I nod. She’s right that it’s me Demi rings when she wants to chat. And I’m delighted that she knows I’m there if she needs me. I feel a new sense of peace. It may not be the same as it used to be, but at least I’m still a part of her life.
‘It was never meant to be for us, sadly,’ says Maria. She is bending over the herbs, her big bosoms rising to meet under her chin, her apron tied between the two rolls of her waist. ‘There haven’t been children in the town for such a long time. It would have been wonderful. It would be lovely to have a school again, to hear the sound of children playing outside in the school yard. We need more young people to move here to bring up their children. Soon there will be no one left, no one to pass our way of life on to.’
‘Not until love comes back to the mountain,’ and we both turn to see Mitera walking slowly towards us, supporting herself with a stick.
‘Mitera!’ we both say, and straighten up and walk towards her, catching her by the elbows. ‘I thought you were in bed,’ Maria says, concerned but pleased to see her up and about. Mitera is wearing a headscarf and slippers, but she’s lost a lot of weight and her teeth shift and slide around in her mouth.
‘I thought I would walk the mountain path myself, show them we won’t be scared off it. Just like during the war, we won’t give up without a fight!’ she says, and then dips as her knees give way. ‘I want to see for myself who is keeping people off the mountain.’ She looks from Maria to me.
‘Let’s get you back inside, Mitera,’ Maria says, putting down her hosepipe.
‘I just want to see them!’ Mitera shouts at the mountain, and shakes her fist.
It’s then that I hear it. The bell and the whistle, and then the whistle again and the bell ringing like billy-o. Maria looks up and frowns.
‘I have to check on Georgios’s sheep. Sounds like there’s a ruckus going on,’ I say by way of explanation.
‘Yes, of course, go, go!’ Maria waves her hands at me, the tea towel tucked into her apron swishing to and fro. ‘But stay away from any signs of trouble,’ she calls, ‘and come and get me if you need help.’
‘And me!’ adds Mitera, shaking her walking stick and clinging on to Maria with the other hand. She has aged so much in the short time I’ve been here.
I run towards the path, grabbing the handrail and leaping on to the first stone step, worn in the middle from hundreds of years of local people taking this same route. Then out on to the dusty road, past Georgios’s house and towards the back route up the mountain.
By the time I reach Georgios, I am panting and out of breath. He’s standing on top of the grassy roof of the cave.
‘Look!’ He points without bothering with greetings. I follow his finger down the mountain to a lay-by. There are two cars there. ‘I spotted them coming up the mountain road. See? One is a hire car, the one with the dents in the passenger door. The other, the truck, is from out of town.’ He takes a pair of binoculars from his eyes and passes them to me. As our fingers brush, my body gives a surprising jolt, as if I’ve touched an electric cable. Must be static, I tell myself firmly.
‘More tourists?’ I ask, recognising Harry’s car straight away and wondering if the cows will be enough to put him off.
Georgios reaches out and takes back the binoculars. I look down at his dark arm, covered in black hairs, the same colour as the stubble around his chin, apart from where the scar cuts through it.
‘Not tourists,’ he says. ‘Looks like they mean business . . .’ and the muscles in his arm tense and ripple.
‘What? What is it?’ I reach up for the binoculars.
‘It’s worse, much worse. See for yourself.’
‘What? How can it be worse?’ I frown. ‘How do you know?’
‘Look at the men in the truck.’
I watch as four men climb out of the blue truck covered in beige dust. They are wearing an assortment of joggers, checked shirts, worn open with the sleeves cut out, baggy T-shirts and baseball caps. Two have dark moustaches running along their top lips and down the sides of their mouths. They’re looking around, pulling up the backs of their sagging joggers and turning this way and that, talking intently amongst themselves.
‘Do you know them?’ I frown, and he shakes his head. They lift the boot of the car and start unloading pieces of equipment.
‘What’s that? What are they doing? Georgios, who are they?’ My heart starts pounding.
‘Poachers, professional poachers,’ and by the look on Georgios’s face, things have just got a whole lot more serious.
‘What’s all that equipment?’
‘Traps,’ he says coldly.
‘Traps?’ I repeat in disbelief. ‘What do they need traps for?
He shrugs. ‘Times are hard on the island. They’re trying to make a living, look after their families. They’ll strip the mountain of dittany and take it to the shops in the bigger towns and cities to sell to tourists.’
‘And the traps?’
‘They won’t want animals getting to the herbs before them. Every plant is money to them.’ He looks down at Filos, who lies down and whimpers.
‘We have to stop them, Georgios!’
‘These guys aren’t messing around. You must be careful. They won’t let anything or anyone stand in their way. This is big business.’ He looks at me and my mouth goes dry. ‘These are the men this town has been terrified of, believing them to be already here. And now they have come. They could be armed,’ he says, taking hold of both my hands.
‘What are we going to do? More landslides?’
He tips his head to and fro whilst thinking.
‘What about the bees?’ I ask desperately. ‘What will happen to them?’
He shrugs. ‘If these men get what they’ve come here for, it’s over for all of us.’
‘Maybe the bees will guard their hives, like they did last time,’ I say hopefully.
‘I reckon they will have been tipped off about the bees after the la
st time he was here.’ He nods towards Harry, who has got out of his car, dark glasses on, and is walking over to the group of men. ‘I don’t think bees will stop them.’
‘Filos? He could do his protective-dad routine again.’
Georgios shakes his head, almost as if he’s beaten. ‘These guys are not going to be scared off by a three-legged dog.’
We fall into silence, both racking our brains.
‘They might not find the valley,’ I try hopefully.
‘With any luck not. But still, if they do find it, there will be nothing more we can do.’ He looks at me, and I can see he feels he has let everyone down.
‘Georgios, we have to keep going, for Stelios! We have to fight for what we believe in.’
He is silent again for a moment, his eyes staring straight into mine, as if we are sealing a pact. ‘You’re right. Men stood their ground and fought to defend these mountains during the war. I can’t walk away now. I have to stand and fight too. It’s the right thing to do, but we don’t have a chance of winning, you and me against them.’ He manages a smile that sets my insides alight. ‘Though actually, I do have one other idea. It’s risky, but if we’re careful and manage it properly, it might just do the job. Scare them off and convince them there’s nothing worth coming back for. We’ll need to collect lots of wood . . .’
When Georgios has finished explaining his plan, I look at him incredulously. Have I heard him right?