The Summer of Secrets, page 23
‘My father wants to know if you’re going back to Castellorizo tomorrow? If so and if there’s no news, can he go back with you to search for his son?’
The captain scratched his forehead, then nodded. ‘I don’t see why not.’
*
María and Ayeleen took the next shift with the little ones, relieving Sofía and Rosa. Sofía ached to be alone, to cry her sorry heart out. She longed for Jamie and was reminded of him every time she saw a soldier’s uniform. After only a couple of hours together as man and wife, she had not seen him, had not felt his arms around her and had to be content with hugging herself. Now, the ship was taking her further away and she discovered her prayers had also gone unanswered. She was not pregnant.
Exhausted from the day’s events, she finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, only to be shaken awake again.
‘Go away,’ she muttered, imagining one of the children wanting a story, or a cuddle, or a drink of water.
‘Sofía, wake up,’ begged the voice of Megáli Yiayá. ‘Come quickly, Mikró Yiayá has gone. She’s gone and I don’t know what to do!’
Sofía opened her eyes and saw the pale face of her big grandmother. The distressed old woman had tears on her cheeks and a defeated look in her eye. There seemed to be an urgent situation, yet she didn’t want to disturb anyone.
‘Where’s she gone?’ Sofía whispered.
‘She’s in the chair. It looks like she’s asleep, but she’s gone. We must tell the captain before anyone realises that she’s died.’ The old woman was crossing herself and sobbing quietly.
‘Died . . . She’s dead? Mikró Yiayá? Dear God!’ Sofía knew she had to make a plan before grief hit her. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how much she loved the old lady; how she made her laugh when she was sad. How she had dabbed her grazed knees, removed splinters and brushed her long hair when she was a child. All the cuddles Mikró Yiayá gave her whenever María and her latest baby claimed everyone’s attention. They might not notice how hard you work for us all, but I do, my princess, she would whisper as she wrapped her bony arms around Sofía and kissed her cheeks.
Sofía felt even more emotional to see Megáli Yiayá weeping quietly for her lifelong friend and companion. She kept peering about, watching the shadows as if expecting Mikró Yiayá to step out and explain it was all a mistake.
She had to act before emotion got the better of her. ‘Come on, let’s make sure she’s doesn’t slip out of the chair, then we’ll find the captain. Depending on what he says, we’ll wake Mamá and Babá. They’ve had such a difficult time, it’s best to let them sleep for as long as possible. I’ve a feeling there’s a big day ahead without this happening.’
Megáli Yiayá dabbed at her tears and nodded. Together, they went to see the captain who informed them they would have a sea burial before they reached Cyprus. Two sailors came with a stretcher and took Mikró Yiayá away. Thankfully everyone was still sleeping. Sofía and Megáli Yiayá leaned against each other and slept for a few hours. As dawn broke, Sofía woke and decided it was time to tell her father and uncle that their mother had gone to God. This was the hardest things she had ever done. With an arm slung around Mamá, her father slept soundly. As Sofía looked down at them both, she felt the closeness of their relationship. She put her hand on her father’s cheek and whispered into his ear.
‘Babá, wake up. I need you.’
He stirred, chewed some invisible food and screwed his eyes open and closed. ‘Sofía, is that you . . . what now?’ he muttered.
‘I need you to wake up and come with me. It’s urgent, Babá.’
‘What? Have they found Georgikie?’ He squinted at her, then slipped his arm from around Mamá.
‘Please, don’t wake anybody,’ she whispered.
He shrugged out of Mamá’s embrace and got to his feet. ‘What is it, Sofía?’
‘Not here, come out on deck, Babá. Where’s Uncle Kuríllos? I need to tell him too.’
‘He’s sleeping on the floor behind the chairs. I’ll get him.’
‘I’ll wait for you outside.’
Out on the deck, daybreak bruised the sky into a dull dark red. Her mouth dried as she looked at her father and uncle, the men who always made her feel special. Could she live up to their expectations right now and ease the blow she was destined to deliver?
‘What is it, Sofía? You look upset. Has somebody behaved badly? If they have, I’ll break both his legs,’ Babá muttered.
Sofía thought of Kuríllos and the woman he had loved and what that woman’s brothers had done to her uncle. She wanted to hold her father while she told him, but then poor Uncle Kuríllos would be alone, so she took both of their hands and tried to be strong and brave it out.
‘No, Babá, it’s your Mamá. Mikró Yiayá . . .’ She struggled to keep her voice even, but a sob broke through. ‘Oh, Babá, she died. Mikró Yiayá died in her sleep a few hours ago . . .’
Her father and uncle stared at her in stunned silence. ‘Are you sure, Sofía? Where is she?’
‘The commanding officer has her taken away. I didn’t want to wake anyone, so I went straight to him on the bridge. He said once the ship’s doctor has written the death certificate, she’ll be lain to rest in the cabin they use as a chapel. They’ll bury her at sea this morning, before we reach Cyprus.’
‘It’s all taken care of then? I must go and see her,’ Babá said.
‘Me too,’ said Kuríllos.
‘It’s almost time to feed the children,’ Sofía said. ‘I must console Megáli Yiayá, she’s very upset. They were closer than sisters, you know?’ The two men nodded. ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked. They both nodded again, then hung their heads.
‘I’ll go and see the captain and remind him to send the message home,’ Sofía said. ‘Perhaps someone saw Georgikie get off the ship before we sailed. They could search for him. He can’t be in the house, or you would have seen him when you were fixing the broken pipe, wouldn’t you?’
*
At 10 o’clock, the ship’s engines stopped. Sadness hung in the air. The captain called, ‘All hands to bury the dead!’ The ship’s flags were lowered to half-mast and the crew, in uniform, assembled and stood with their feet apart and hands behind their backs. As everyone stilled – the silence broken only by the slop of waves against the side of the ship – a bugler played a few mournful notes. Four bearers brought Mikró Yiayá on deck, wrapped in a sailcloth shroud and covered by a white sheet. She lay on a narrow board which they lowered to the deck with her feet overhanging the side of the ship. She looked so tiny, Sofía thought, remembering the woman’s big heart and sense of humour that lifted feelings even in the worst situations. What would she say now? Sofía wondered, remembering her naughty smile and how her bony shoulders would jig up and down with her childish giggles.
‘I love you, Little Grandma,’ Sofía whispered as her tears broke free at last. She reached for her father’s hand and squeezed it as hard as she could. Mamá and Megáli Yiayá were crying noisily, as was fitting. The commanding officer read the start of the 23rd Psalm.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
Everyone stared at the sea for a moment, then the officer called, ‘Firing party present arms!’ They fired three times into the sky, which made most people look up. At that moment, the board tilted and the shroud containing Mikró Yiayá slipped smoothly into the Mediterranean.
*
Babá and Uncle Kuríllos went to the rear deck and stared out over the sea. Sofía felt her own sadness, so squeezed between them and held both their hands. At last, she felt able to cry for the fun-loving old lady.
‘Do you think she knew how much we all loved her?’ she sobbed, looking down at the water. Just at that moment, the flat sea boiled and heaved startling Sofía so much she slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.
Babá sniffed hard. ‘Don’t worry, it’s just the engines starting.’
‘How stupid of me. For a horrible moment I thought . . . well, it was Mikró Yiayá coming back to us.’
Uncle Kuríllos made a sad smile. ‘She’ll be chuckling her little head off at that one,’ he murmured, glancing up at the sky. ‘Always liked to have the last laugh, didn’t she? We’re going to miss her. Did you bring that bottle of raki, brother?’ Babá nodded sadly. ‘Then fetch it and bring my baglama too.’
The ship’s engines built up to a vibrating rumble. The three mourners at the stern rail stared at the agitated sea that foamed powerfully before the ship set off again. Mikró Yiayá, Sofía imagined, would be resting on the seabed by now. At peace and, as her son said, probably smiling.
*
Two hours later, the ship berthed at the wide, deep harbour of Famagusta which buzzed with military activity. Jeeps rushed in and out of the security zone. Cranes loaded ships with the paraphernalia of war, while others were unloading supplies for the army bases. Whistles blew, horns honked and orders shouted above the din and the dust. A squadron marched mechanically back and forth, put through their paces on the quayside by their drill sergeant.
While María breastfed the baby Evdokia and Mamá bottle fed the one-year-old Mikali, Sofía found a length of red twine and tied loops into it.
‘Gather round children!’ she called. ‘Now, I’m going to give each of you a loop to keep hold of. Do you understand?’ She held up the twine. ‘Nobody goes anywhere without holding on to their loop unless I give them permission, all right? We are going to stay together at all times.’
Fevzi stuck his hand in the air. ‘What if I need to do a big stinky pooh, Aunty? Will they all have to come with me?’ He grinned, displaying a chipped tooth gained from falling out of the big tree outside their house. A house, Sofía feared for a second, they might never see again.
Everyone voiced childish noises of disgust, holding their noses, blowing raspberries and nudging each other. Their giggling reminded Sofía that the children had all inherited some of Mikró Yiayá’s mischief. She smiled despite the tears that sprang to her eyes. ‘Then you’ll come and tell me that you need the toilet, OK, Fevzi?’
‘Aunty, please don’t make us go with him when he makes a big yucky smell!’ one of the little ones begged, while Fevzi and Zafiro nudged each other, making grunting noises and grinning with delight.
‘Settle down now! Everyone take hold of a loop and let’s have a practice around the deck.’
‘Aunty, there’s one empty loop at the end,’ Zafiro said.
‘That’s for George when he comes back – and that’s why you must all keep hold of your loop and if you see an empty one, you should tell me right away. We don’t want anyone else getting lost, do we?’
‘What if he never comes back, Aunty?’ Zafiro asked, staring at the floor. ‘What if he’s been eaten by wolves?’ A deep frown creased his young face while the rest of the children looked horrified.
‘I don’t want to be eaten by wolves,’ Bebe cried, her lips trembling as she hid her eyes behind her hands, believing nobody could see her if she couldn’t see them.
*
Babá accompanied his family to a line of Cypriot buses that waited to transport 400 Castellorizo residents and their chattels to Dhekelia military and refugee camp. Soldiers threw the bundles of belongings onto the roof, then a stout net held everything down securely. The rest of their things would arrive in a truck the next day. Sofía noted how wise the island’s women had been to sew all their belongings into pillowcases and embroider the family name on the outside. She could imagine the chaos of bundles coming untied and squabbles over belongings if such sensible action hadn’t been taken.
Everyone watched sadly as Babá kissed Mamá goodbye, not something usually done in public. Sofía noticed him glance at the sky and she suspected he was asking Mikró Yiayá to watch over them all. Her heart ached and, before she could do anything about it, she found herself running towards him with her arms outstretched.
‘Babá, stay safe! Bring little George back to us on the next ship and please, can you bring my jewellery box back with you? All Jamie’s letters are in there and I miss him so much.’ She took a deep breath, hoping it would blow the tears away. ‘And could you post this? It’s a letter to him and there might be one to collect for me.’
‘Of course. You look after everyone and I’ll be back on the next ship with your little brother and your letters.’
‘And could you bring Rosa’s ballet books, please, so she can practise? It will help to take her mind off things.’
Babá smiled. ‘You’re always thinking of others, my lovely girl. Now, I’m leaving before you think of anything else,’ he teased. ‘I love you all very much. Keep them safe for me, Sofía.’ He turned sharply and walked back to the ship. Sofía watched him go on board. He turned just before disappearing inside and gave one final wave. She waved back, then turned to face her family and saw they had all waved too. A fitting goodbye, she thought. He would be back in a few days and find out where they were and they would all be so pleased to see little George again.
CHAPTER 31
OLIVIA
Castellorizo, Greece, present day
‘ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?’ I ask Uncle across the table. ‘You seem very deep in thought.’
‘Sorry, lost in the past for a moment – and I’m almost nodding off. The warmth, the full belly, the wine, the pleasant company. Goodness, that was terrific food, don’t you think? I’m in need of a nap, Olivia. Would you forgive me if I abandon you for an hour?’
‘Suits me. I’d like to work on my cookery book. That meal was definitely a show-stopper.’
He smiles wearily. ‘Then we agree. I’ll meet you here at four thirty?’ I stand to accompany him to his room. ‘Stay here,’ he says. ‘I can manage perfectly well.’
I watch him walk towards his ground-floor room facing the harbour, reminding myself he’s recently had heart surgery. I wonder if he flew against the doctor’s advice. Still, I find myself smiling as he disappears behind a blue-painted door. Stubborn old sweetheart. I hope I’ll be as independent at his age.
I order iced coffee, then get my notepad out and start work on the cookbook. I’m struggling to find a subtitle I like. Fascinating Flavours of Greece: Traditional Greek Food from the Islands. With tips on presentation that bring centuries-old village recipes to five-star presentation standards. Most importantly, there’ll be astonishing flavours and unbelievable colour. From the most delicate deep yellow courgette flowers, stuffed with rice and aromatic herbs, to the mind-blowing taste of charred aubergines with sweet, sun-ripened tomatoes and salty feta cheese.
I sit back in my chair, imagine prepping food for the photos and smile to myself. Lost in a little bubble of pleasure, I find myself gazing over the harbour when Eleni comes to my table.
‘Everything all right?’ she asks, pulling out a chair and sitting next to me.
Reluctantly, I drag my eyes away from the water and glance her way, only to see her transfixed by the turquoise millpond harbour too.
‘I’m working on my cookery book.’
‘I see,’ she says and we both smile.
‘The pasta was amazing today. Did you use a machine?’
‘Machine? Machine? No machine!’ She sounds insulted, yet I know she’s play-acting. ‘No, I roll it out myself. Why a woman has hands if not to cook, to feed those she loves? Machine . . . bah! The machine is cold, steel. Real pasta, it needs cool hands and a warm heart. It needs to be kneaded by strong but gentle hands that care for others. The only ingredients are the flour, the fresh eggs and the love; nothing more.’
Eleni uplifts me. She has a way with words. ‘I might have to quote you, Eleni. Anyway, you and Dino are certainly going to be in the acknowledgements.’
She grins. ‘I have a booking this evening – fifteen peoples – so I must help Dino now. You want anything, you come get me, OK?’ She returns to the kitchen with a definite shimmy in her shoulders and swing to her hips.
I glance around the harbour and wonder why I haven’t seen Rob yet. He’s bound to show up soon and I feel sure there will be trouble. Nevertheless, I have an ally in Uncle and look forward to returning to the house this evening. Perhaps Greg will have some news for me later. Tomorrow, I hope we will move forward with the lawyer, too, now that I have my great-uncle on board.
*
I write about the macaroni, about the salad and about the ice cream. Two hours have flown by and I still can’t think of a suitable subtitle for the book. I should walk, but not far because I want to be here when Uncle returns.
‘I’m just going for a stroll around the harbour and perhaps over to Mandraki, Eleni. I’ll be back when my uncle returns, OK?’
‘Is no problem, I put a reserve sign on your table.’
‘Thank you. You spoil me.’
Something in the light changes as the sun passes its peak. The pale turquoise water turns a shade or two darker, yet it becomes more transparent without the glare. I can see small flitting fish nibbling at green algae on the underside of fishing boats. Someone has thrown a whole pitta bread into the water and so many fish are frantically pecking at the edges, it spins like a discus on the water’s surface. Suddenly, a grey torpedo shape dashes up from the depths and dozens of tiny fish leap a foot into the air in a great flashing silver arc. They splosh back into the water with no sign of their marauder. Such drama pulls me to a halt. Within seconds, the scene repeats itself. The pitta bread spins, a hundred little sprats nibble and I suspect their predator waits in the depths for his chance to grab another mouthful of the little guys.
