Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘You forget where your civilisation came from, my friend. While you lived in caves and wore animal skins, we were building our great temples in Greece and wore robes of the finest silk. While your weapon was a lump of wood, we had the Olympic games.’

  ‘Is that what they tell you? Well, your teachers are off the mark!’

  I felt a surge of panic. Their irritation was close to exploding into something dangerous.

  ‘You insult my country and my people!’ Manno glared. ‘I should throw you out of my boat!’ He boomed so loudly I cowered. ‘Yes! Get out!’ Manno continued. ‘Into the sea with you! When you are crying to come back into my magnificent boat, this beautiful koukla here will see you for the big malaka you are!’ He held his hand towards me.

  Josephine and I exchanged an alarmed glance.

  ‘Manno, the Corporal doesn’t know what he’s saying, it’s the morphine,’ Josephine said. ‘Take no notice. He’s had a really bad time lately, and don’t forget, he came to your country to defend it. If he hadn’t been fighting for Greece’s territory, he wouldn’t have lost half his leg. He’s on your side, Manno – and he’s made a great sacrifice. You should be thanking him.’

  Manno’s father spoke quietly to his son in Greek.

  ‘Look, there are people on the quayside waving at us,’ Josephine said.

  To my relief, Manno’s tone softened. He studied the port and then explained his theory.

  ‘You see, sport? They are loading mules. So, you are going to Lemnos. This is for sure. They bring tired mules back from Lemnos – they take fresh ones to Lemnos – this is how you say; a fact. You understand now, my friend, your word: logic, it comes from the Greek word, logiki. You are leaving tonight, going to the island of Lemnos where the wounded of the world wait for nurses like this koukla and her friend.’

  Josephine rolled her eyes again, a trait to which she seemed prone in Manno’s presence.

  CHAPTER 29

  SHELLY

  Dover, present day.

  SINCE UNIVERSITY, AND SETTING UP the veterinary practice, Shelly had spent neither time nor money on herself, never feeling the inclination to make the most of her looks. She ignored glamorous Eve’s constant invitations to accompany her to the hairdresser’s or nail salon. What was the point? She was thirty-seven, why pretend to be younger?

  ‘What you’re not realising,’ Eve said, ‘is that you’re a very attractive woman, if you would only . . .’

  ‘Only what? Come on, spit it out.’

  ‘Well, take a little pride in your appearance. If you’re going to meet this Harry again, don’t you think you should at least get used to wearing a little mascara and lipstick; and get a professional haircut instead of hacking at it when it’s getting on your nerves?’

  ‘Why?’ Shelly said, shaking her head.

  ‘It’s just par for the course. At least give it a go, please? Humour me.’ She studied her nails and then polished them on her thigh. ‘You can come with me after work on Wednesday for a manicure.’

  Shelly huffed and squinted at Eve. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea. At least it would distract her from DJ’s letter. She planned to phone him again, but it never seemed to be the right moment.

  ‘Now if you’ll excuse me,’ Eve said with her bossy-triumphant look that always made Shelly laugh. ‘While it’s quiet, I’m slipping down to The Beauty Beyond to book us both in. What’s your budget?’

  Shelly thought she might as well push the boat out as this was a one-off occasion. She certainly wasn’t going to turn it into a regular occurrence. ‘Fifty quid?’

  ‘Right then, a hundred and fifty quid to knock you into shape. Wednesday straight after lunch as it’s your half day.’ She ripped off her surgical gloves and tossed them. ‘I’m off to book.’

  ‘What? I’m not paying out all that for a haircut and nail job. Are you mad?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it out of the petty cash. That’s how I usually pay for mine.’

  Shelly nearly choked. ‘What! You’re kidding me!’

  ‘Yes, I am.’ She laughed. ‘But I had you for one tincy, juicy second, didn’t I? Anyway, you’re worth it, Shelly. So no more nonsense.’ Shelly stood there stunned while Eve headed for the high street. ‘Back in thirty with Pot Noodles and doughnuts, all right?’ She was gone before Shelly could protest.

  *

  With Eve out of the way, and the practice closed for lunch, Shelly saw an opportunity to speak to DJ with no interruptions. She had to deal with it. She snatched her handbag, hurried over to the phone, and before a minute had passed, she had punched in the numbers and heard the ringtone.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  Time and distance contracted. Her heart squeezed and she felt slightly spongy inside. She hesitated, took a breath, then lunged on. ‘Hello, it’s . . . erm, Shelly. I got your letter, DJ.’ She heard him exhale and a little spark of fear went off in her gut.

  ‘Good. So, will you come to the café? Or is there somewhere else you’d rather go?’ His voice was distant, not giving anything away. For the first time, she wondered if he was as nervous as her.

  ‘No, the café’s fine. Look, this is difficult for me. It’s been nineteen years, and, well . . .’

  ‘I see, I did wonder . . . I realise it’s been a long time since, you know, and I wondered if I’d been replaced,’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Not at all. Look, I don’t know how much you know . . . about what happened.’ She drew in a shaky breath and tried to hold it, to calm down as her past loomed up. ‘I understand you want to see me, but please, I don’t want any trouble. I was only seventeen when . . .’ She sighed. ‘If it’s some kind of revenge you want, then you’ll be pleased to know I’ve been through hell for the past twenty years.’ Her emotions rose and she realised she wouldn’t be able to talk for much longer. ‘I’ll meet you at that café at four o’clock on Wednesday. Goodbye.’ She ended the call abruptly, but didn’t seem to be able to terminate her emotions. Her heart was breaking and she simply couldn’t hold back the tears. Why was this happening now, after all this time?

  *

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re coming down with a cold,’ Eve said when she noticed her red eyes.

  Shelly tried to dismiss it. ‘No, they’re just protesting to the very idea of wearing mascara every day.’

  ‘You can do it. Come on, woman up.’

  Shelly forced a laugh.

  Eve came and sat on the corner of Shelly’s desk. ‘Listen, I can’t help but notice something’s been bothering you lately. If I can help in any way, you just have to say, you know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh God . . . Is it that obvious?’

  Eve nodded. ‘I don’t like to see you upset. It’s worrying, and although I’m not going to pry, just tell me if it involves money or health, please, because I can help with at least one of those things?’

  Shelly felt her heart swell. ‘You’re so kind, Eve, thank you, but you don’t have to worry. My finances and health are both under control. I’m meeting someone from my past on Wednesday, to sort out a few things, then I’ll be fine, promise.’

  ‘Don’t forget we’ve got our hair and nails at half one.’

  ‘No problem, I’m meeting him at four. I guess we’ll be finished at the salon by then.’

  ‘And you know what, there’s nothing like a pamper for giving a girl confidence. Not that you’re lacking . . . right?’

  Shelly smiled. ‘Eve, thank you.’

  *

  Finally, Wednesday arrived. With two cat neuters and a batch of paperwork for pet insurance claims, Shelly didn’t have time to think. Someone had left a box of puppies on the doorstep, and an Alsatian with an ear infection was a tricky customer. By one o’clock, both Shelly and Eve were looking forward to the salon. As the clock ticked towards one-thirty, Eve stared at the phone and muttered, ‘Don’t ring, don’t ring!’ On the dot, Shelly locked up and they scooted six doors down to the salon.


  Bella, hairdresser extraordinaire with impossible nails and plumped lips, ooh-ed and ahh-ed, pushing her hands firmly through Shelly’s lustrous brunette hair, scrunching, smoothing, stepping back and studying,

  ‘Don’t be nervous, darling, you won’t feel a thing.’ She pulled Shelly’s locks back into a ponytail and with one executioner’s swipe, chopped it off.

  Eve squealed. Bella said, ‘Oops, darling,’ and Shelly stared at the clump of hair that lay next to her chair like a dead cat in the road. She felt the urge to gather it gently into a posh shoe box and give it a decent burial.

  Two hours later, Shelly and Eve left the salon. ‘You look, a-maz-ing!’ Eve said. ‘At least ten years younger, and hot!’ She grinned. ‘I don’t know why you’ve never had a posh-bob before? It really suits you.’

  ‘Thanks. You look wonderful yourself,’ Shelly said. ‘I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to these nails though.’

  ‘Tell you something, he’s a lucky man, whoever he is.’

  Shelly shook her head in alarm. ‘No, it’s not like that at all.’

  ‘Yeah, right, whatever.’

  ‘No really. Anyway, I don’t want to be late. Thanks for organising all this, Eve. I’d never have done it alone.’

  ‘You have a nice night,’ Eve called turning away. ‘I’ll expect a full report tomorrow, OK?’

  Shelly laughed. ‘Sure. Bye for now, and thanks again!’

  She strode through town, her copper-streaked, chestnut hair bouncing with each step. Catching her reflection in a shop window, she saw a new woman. Feeling empowered, invigorated, she admitted to herself, she wanted DJ to . . . what? Forgive her? Love her? OK, she would settle for like, if it was the best she could get. She turned into the next street and saw the café ahead. She stopped and stared, owning the moment in her mind. Building herself up, convincing herself, she was in control and could walk away at any time; but where would that leave her heart?

  The door of the Honeypot Café seemed to grow as she approached. An Alice moment. She was ten minutes early, took a window seat, ordered tea – milk, no sugar. There was nobody about. The day seemed to darken, like a storm was rolling in. Her hair would be ruined by the time she got back to her car. A waste of money. God! She was turning into her father.

  The tea came. ‘Looks like rain,’ the woman said as she placed it on the table.

  Shelly nodded, smiled weakly, she didn’t want a conversation. She got DJ’s letter out of her bag and studied the writing again. There was nothing sharp or jagged about it, not that she knew anything about analysing a person’s handwriting. Not many people actually wrote letters these days, did they? She couldn’t believe he’d found her after all these years.

  Four o’clock, he’d written, then confirmed when she’d phoned him. Shelly glanced at the fly-speckled clock: three fifty-five. Would she recognise him after so long? She was holding her breath. ‘Breathe!’ she told herself. Nice and steady. Calm thoughts.

  She stared out at the street. A sudden spatter of rain, then the storm clouds parted and shafts of sunlight speared through the trees and glinted off the wet pavement. Her eyes darted up the empty street, then at the clock. Two minutes to four – yes, she would leave! She jumped to her feet. Her thigh caught the table, her teacup rocked, then toppled. Tea splashed over DJ’s letter. His handwriting blurred. In a desperate effort to rescue it, she pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed the paper.

  The waitress rushed over. ‘Aye, don’t worry, love. I’ll see to it.’

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s from someone important, very important . . . all I have are his letters!’ She heard hysteria in her own voice, and with those final words her tears raced for release and the clarity she’d sought smacked her hard in the heart.

  Of course she had to see him!

  In a time-stopping moment that would stay with her forever, DJ was at her side.

  Recognising those wide blue eyes immediately, a knot in her throat became so painful she couldn’t speak. Her pulse raced and tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She shoved the damp letter into her pocket. DJ cupped her elbow and led her to a clean table. He sat opposite her and reached for her hand.

  She stared at the big fist that covered hers and remembered the baby that had gripped her little finger, before they took him away.

  From under his mop of sandy hair, DJ peered at her and hesitated. She recognised the tension in his eyes, and perhaps anger. She hoped not. Then, finally, she saw tenderness.

  He leaned slightly towards her, squeezing her hand gently, his voice little more than a whisper.

  ‘Hello, Mum.’

  Shelly gasped. ‘Oh, DJ.’ She placed her hand over her mouth for a moment. ‘You’re the absolute double of your father. If only David could be here too.’

  CHAPTER 30

  GERTIE

  Syros, Greece, 1916.

  AS WE ENTERED THE PORT of Syros, bobbing about in our little wooden caïque, several dull grey warships loomed over us like ominous ghosts. The water flattened and the engine calmed as we slid towards the quayside, where our ship awaited. Yianni and Manno seemed to be arguing, arms in motion and voices raised. Noticing the alarmed look on my face, Manno explained.

  ‘Do not look so afraid, little one. We must decide if we should drop an anchor or not. We are afraid the big ship will catch it and drag us away in the night. This will kill us both and destroy our boat . . . Now, we think it is best to not use the anchor.’ He turned off the engine and drifted toward the quayside. People stood by to catch a rope that Manno threw. With no anchor to act as a brake, Yianni fell to his knees in the bow and stuck his arms out to prevent the boat crashing into the concrete quayside. I watched the process with great attention, feeling the correct procedure may come in useful one day. Eventually we moored up.

  Amid back-slapping and hand-shaking, Yianni and Manno were treated like long-lost heroes. ‘Ela! Come and eat, my friends!’ and ‘We play backgammon this afternoon!’ and ‘I wait you in the kafenio, sport,’ showing off their English for the sake of those aboard. Women sashayed past, swinging their hips and batting their long dark lashes at both father and son. A bystander could suppose the fishermen were heroes returning after many years – not days.

  Two soldiers and a Red Cross nurse transferred Perkins onto a stretcher and hefted him along the wharf towards the warship. I carried his crutches while Josephine and Manno brought the bags.

  People lined the quayside selling their wares; live hens, cockerels, and rabbits in bamboo crates. Josephine and I bought oranges, stuffed them in our pillow-bags, then we stood on the harbour edge and ate one between us. We stood there in the late-afternoon sunshine, our eyes narrow with pleasure as we enjoyed that fruit, and even now, when I think about it, my mouth waters. That orange was so sweet, juicy, and fresh, and our fingers were shiny and delicately perfumed from the oil in its thick skin.

  The air buzzed with clatter and chatter. Excited locals had an opinion on everything and voiced it loudly. I guessed it was a big thing for the Syros people to have warships in port and so many strangers on the quayside. A stall holder shouted to Josephine and I. ‘Ela! Ela, koukla! ’

  We went over to his table of produce, at the edge of the bustle. Odd-looking fruit and vegetables were on display. Among them were giant pumpkins, all kinds of dried beans, herbs of every description, mounds of lemons, buckets of what I thought were damsons but I learned later were olives, and many things that were new to us. He gave us a handful of the biggest brown dates I’d ever seen, something neither of us had tasted before. They were wonderful, sticky and so sweet, like gigantic caramel raisins. Some medical staff had left the ship to buy cigarettes from pedlars that gathered at the end of the gangway.

  The crowd parted for a youth wearing a red tarboosh with a long black tassel on his head. He also wore baggy striped trousers that gathered around his ankles. The boy had a tambourine hanging from his back and pulled a brown bear on a chain. He tied the chain
onto one of the mooring rings, then started playing the tambourine and singing. The bear immediately stood on its hind legs and started dancing, nimbly hopping from one foot to the other.

  I was thrilled to see such a thing and knew I would be telling my father all about it when I got home. ‘Look, Josephine, the bear’s dancing so nicely! I’m going to give the boy a little money.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ she cried vehemently. ‘They burned the bottoms of that poor bear’s feet when she was only a cub, a baby, in order to make her do that. Look at her face, she’s terrified, poor girl!’

  ‘They burned her?’ I looked into the bear’s eyes and yes, clearly, she was in torment.

  ‘When she was very young, every time the boy beat the tambourine, they would stand her on hot charcoal, giving her terrible burns under her feet. Now, with every beat of the instrument, she expects that same pain again, so in pure terror she hops onto the other foot. Sometimes, a bear will go mad from the dreadful horror, so they tie her down and rip out her teeth and claws so she can’t hurt anyone. It’s obscene.’

  ‘That’s made me feel quite sick,’ I said. ‘Shall we go on board?’ She nodded and we moved towards the gangway.

  ‘Wait, koukla mou. Come back!’ Manno cried as I started up the runway.

  My heart skipped at the sound of his voice and I realised I didn’t want to be parted from him. I turned and saw him striding towards me. Oh! I wanted him to whisk me up into his arms and carry me away. Confused by my foolishness, which unsettled my quest to become a nurse, a great feeling of happiness raced through me. I rushed towards him.

  He grabbed my hand, his words almost tumbling over each other. ‘When will I see you again? I don’t want you to go. We are never alone together and there’s so much I want to say, and more than that. I like you a lot. A lot!’ He leaned forward, slid his cheek against mine until his mouth was over my ear. ‘I want you,’ he growled. The words were so unexpected, they overwhelmed me. I stared at him like an idiot as he withdrew to a respectable distance and continued. ‘You must come and see my house. When will you return?’ Then he got so excited he was speaking to me in Greek but didn’t seem to realise. His eyes narrowed as he spoke, and there was such passion in his tone that I thought perhaps it was just as well that I did not understand him.