Oh dear, arguments with James. Did I ever expect us to disagree as much as we did then? Certainly the news of my pregnancy wasn’t received with any of the delight I had so often fondly imagined. I think it was February when I realised what had happened and had to tell him.
‘You’re sure? Well, it’s bloody awful timing.’ Those were the first words with which my once so tactful, sensitive husband greeted my announcement. I had expected words of tender concern, a reassuring arm at my elbow helping me to a comfy seat, a peppermint tea and a cream cracker to ease my nausea, excited speculation about the baby’s sex, which one of us it would most resemble and intense but enjoyable discussions about suitable names. But no, the overriding concern was not for my health, or where I would give birth and how I would get there, but the sheer inconvenience of this development for the business.
Up until then, despite the challenges of my career and then the demands of moving away from London and establishing the restaurant in Corfu, my life had always proceeded according to plan, as if it had been mapped out on one of those gigantic wall planners with coloured pins and magic markers. I’d aimed for straight As in my A-levels, set my sights on Cambridge, picked up a pupillage in a reputable chambers, qualified, met my future husband, bought a flat, and so on. The next step was going to be a baby at the age of thirty-six, so although suddenly finding myself pregnant at thirty-four wasn’t quite in keeping with the grand plan, to my mind it was only a little premature and unexpected, and I felt sure we could cope. After all, the last couple of years had shown how flexible we could be. I certainly didn’t expect James to be as displeased with the situation as he obviously was.
‘When did you say it was expected again?’ His face had gone white.
‘They reckon my due date is August fifth, but it could happen any time a couple of weeks either side of that.’ I was nibbling a dry digestive biscuit, fighting another bout of nausea. ‘Babies aren’t always totally predictable, you know.’
‘August.’ He’d given a great sigh of exasperation. ‘Great. That means you’ll probably be out of action for most of July and the whole of August. And they’re the busiest months of the year.’ He was pacing the kitchen, running his hands over his hair.
‘I know it’s our busiest time. I didn’t suddenly think, ooh, I know, height of the season, that’s the best time for us to have our first baby, so let’s go for it.’
‘Of course not, I mean, I know you didn’t.’ He’d shaken his head. ‘But think back to how busy we were in our first year. It’s going to get even more hectic now we’re getting a name for ourselves.’
‘I should hope so,’ I’d said. ‘It’s what we’ve been working towards.’
‘But you’ve always been around to deal with the enquiries and the bookings and everything else. I’m totally relying on you. I can’t handle the calls and the questions as well as all the ordering and chefing.’
‘And I will still be around. I won’t be disabled or ill, you know. Pregnancy isn’t an illness.’ The nausea hadn’t subsided, so I drank sips of water, hoping it would pass.
‘But August,’ he’d moaned. ‘Why did it have to be August?’
I sighed. ‘Because we drank too much at New Year?’
James looked at me. ‘That night? How could it…? You’re on the pill.’ We’d celebrated rather enthusiastically, drinking far too much, and I’d been very sick in the early hours of the morning. If I hadn’t felt so fragile I would have remembered to take another pill, but I didn’t, and this was the somewhat inevitable result.
I’d hesitated to answer. I didn’t see why I should take the blame, it takes two after all, so I only said, ‘It’s not foolproof. Anyway, we’ve always said we’d have children one day. It’s just a bit earlier than we thought.’
‘A lot earlier.’ He was scowling. ‘I thought we’d have the place running smoothly by the time we had kids. Now you’re telling me that just one year after we’ve started, you’ll be changing nappies and smelling of baby sick instead of helping me. You couldn’t have chosen a worse time. Even out of season would have been better.’
‘It’s not deliberate,’ I’d said. ‘You’re talking as if I’ve chosen this date specially to annoy you. I know it’s not convenient, but it’s happened now and we have to think about how to cope. Hopefully, I’ll be fit and well all the way through and we’ll manage.’
He looked even more worried after I’d said that. ‘What do you mean, “hopefully”? What on earth am I going to do if you’re not well?’
‘We’ll have to think about getting some more help in. It wouldn’t be forever, after all.’ I’d turned on my heels and stomped upstairs. This wasn’t how it was meant to be. We should both have been thrilled at the prospect of our first child, he should have been protective and I should have been calm. Instead, I was shaking with anger and felt sick.
We didn’t have that conversation again. It was almost as if he chose to forget that I was even pregnant. Later, I told him I planned to have the baby at the hospital in town and warned him that he might have to drive me there, but we didn’t speculate on our baby’s future or discuss names. I carried on with my duties as normal through the spring and early summer, but by July, as the days grew hotter, I grew slower and larger. We brought in extra help to lay tables and make beds, James already had assistance in the kitchen, and whenever it was quiet enough in the afternoon, I retreated to our room to lie down and imagined I was floating in a pool of cool water.
Chapter Fifty-Two
July 2008
James
I knew we needed the overnight guests for the extra income, but I wasn’t half glad we had spare rooms some nights and I could have a bed to myself. Those were the times when I slept well and wasn’t disturbed by Amber shifting around in bed, or her frequent visits to the bathroom. She usually switched on the air con and overhead fan once I’d left our room. I couldn’t bear the noise, so I preferred sleeping alone in one of the empty bedrooms. If we’d had more guests staying it would have been a problem and I’d have had to put up with her shuffling about all night long and tossing the sheets to one side. She wasn’t at all sympathetic when I said I needed a good night’s sleep, even though I was the one who had to be up early to prep all the dishes for the day and check the deliveries. Luckily, we had a local girl to take and serve the breakfast orders when we had guests, and another to cook them, otherwise I’d have been even more stretched.
Greg was on my side though. ‘You’ve got to keep your eye on the ball,’ he announced on one of the days he dropped by. ‘Lose your grip now, just when you’re building up the business, and you’ll set yourself back at least two years. I know it’s tough, but you’ve got to keep at it.’
‘I wish Amber could see it that way.’
‘Hormones,’ he said. ‘Stops them getting things in perspective at these times. But she’ll thank you for staying focused in the end. It’s her future too, you know.’
‘And I can’t even sleep in the same bedroom as her any more. What I’ll do when we’re fully booked, I don’t know. There’s nowhere else to go for a quiet night. I’ll be on my knees before long.’
‘Then come over to me. Finish up here, zoom down to our place, get a good night’s kip, pop back in the morning. You’ll start the day fresh as a daisy.’
‘Thanks, mate. I might just take you up on that.’ The thought of escaping was a revelation.
‘Any time,’ Greg said, slapping me on the back. ‘Can’t have you falling asleep over your souvlaki, can we now? Might have a nasty accident.’ He wandered round the kitchen, picking up utensils, and halted in front of my block of professional knives, sliding one from its slot. He ran his index finger along the sharp blade then looked at me. ‘Don’t want a dozy chef chopping his fingers off, do we? Tools of the trade, they are.’
I laughed at his attempts to cheer me up. ‘All right, I’ll remember that. I think we’re fully booked for the second half of July, so I could be taking you up on your offer quite s
oon.’
A few days later, when every room was occupied, I slipped away at midnight, having texted Greg earlier in the evening to say I was coming. I found him alone, sitting on the terrace, chilled wine on the table. He turned his head when he heard my steps. ‘Pull up a seat and have a glass,’ he said.
I was relieved to sit down after such a long day in the kitchen. I stretched my legs and held the cold glass to my forehead before downing it in one. The outside temperature had soared to 38°C during the afternoon, but it must have been even higher in the kitchen while I was cooking.
Greg poured us both another glass, then said, ‘Cool off down in the pool, then we’ll go and take a look at the enemy.’
I knew exactly what he meant. The neighbouring hotel was quiet by this time of night, but he’d told me there was still loud music most evenings. ‘How bad was it tonight?’
‘Bloody awful. If I hear “(Is This the Way to) Amarillo” one more time, I’ll be showing them the way to get off.’
I did a couple of lengths then heaved myself out. Greg was sauntering down the lit path. ‘Take me to the action,’ I said, as I slid my feet back into my espadrilles.
We crept in silence along the track we’d walked down two years before, on my first visit to the house, and Greg showed me a rickety platform he’d hammered together from rough timber. It was dark, but the moon was bright overhead. Putting a finger to his lips, he turned and climbed the ladder. I followed, and realised that from this vantage point, we had a clear view of the hotel swimming pool. Like Greg’s, it was illuminated, and we could see the whole expanse glistening in the artificial light.
‘Isn’t there ever anyone here at night?’ I whispered.
‘Not allowed,’ Greg whispered back. ‘Health and safety. Management are too scared drunken guests will fall in and sue them.’ He sniggered. ‘I’m all for health and safety.’ He picked up two pairs of thin rubber gloves and handed me a set. ‘Better wear these. Health and safety,’ he whispered. Then he passed me a catapult and offered me what he called ‘ammunition’. It stank. I picked out a piece of hard, dry cat shit with my gloved fingers and fired it off. My first shot missed the water and landed on the pool’s tiled edge, then rolled underneath a sun bed.
Greg took aim after me. He was bang on target and it bobbed on the water. We both had about five shots each, then he hissed, ‘Don’t want to overdo it. They might get suspicious.’ We crept back to the terrace, stifling snorts of laughter, and he poured more wine.
‘Don’t they suspect anything yet, after all this time?’ I asked him, when we were sat in the rattan chairs, looking down the garden.
‘Apparently not. My mole tells me the hotel management is in two minds about who’s to blame. Is it cats or kids crapping in the water?’ His cackling laugh rolled out into the night. ‘Kids or cats?’ He shook his head as he laughed. ‘Serves them right for not attracting a better class of clientele is what I say.’
‘Surely they can tell though, can’t they?’
‘Who knows? Maybe all turds look the same after a night swim.’ He roared again, thumping the table, and I began to laugh with him.
‘What do you think they prefer,’ I said, ‘crawl or butterfly?’
‘Doggy paddle,’ he shrieked, bending over with laughter.
I suppose we must have both been quite loud, as I suddenly heard Pam’s voice behind us, saying, ‘Keep the noise down, you two. And Greg, you’ve had quite enough drink for one night.’
Greg put a finger to his lips again and I nodded at him in agreement. ‘My personal health and safety,’ he hissed, tapping his nose. ‘Looking out for me.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
16 June 1944
Rebekka’s heart jolts again when she hears the splash. Not the splash of oars or an anchor, but the sound of another body being thrown overboard. After five days in the Old Fort without extra provisions, they left Corfu in the open, creaking barges, towed slowly due south by a motorboat, towards the mainland. All day they sit, huddled in the leaking boats, the relentless sun baking their salt-crusted clothes and roasting their skin.
Surely they must be nearing their destination now. She sucks the orange she had hidden in her bundle, holding it under her shawl so she can’t be seen. Papa has told her never to give in to temptation and lick the salty droplets of seawater, however thirsty she becomes.
And then a cry goes up and she feels both her parents stir. ‘Land at last,’ Mama croaks. ‘They will surely give us water now, for pity’s sake.’
‘This is far from the end of our journey,’ Papa says. ‘We have only reached the island of Lefkas. I am afraid we are still far from the mainland.’
But when the barges are hauled alongside the dock, guards appear with guns and order everyone to climb out onto dry land. They are impatient and brutal – everyone is so slow and stiff from the time they have spent packed into the cramped boats. And as Rebekka and her parents stumble forwards, still clutching their bundles and sacks, damp from the salt spray of the sea, they hear the people of the island shouting in Greek and throwing loaves, dried sausage and fruit across to them. Everyone tries to grab what they can and some succeed in concealing a small portion of food in their pockets, but then they hear gunshots and see guards beating off the kind well-wishers with the butts of their rifles, kicking anyone who falls with their heavy boots. Rebekka manages to grab a bruised peach and Papa snatches a sesame seed loaf from the dusty concrete path, but others are not so lucky, as guards kick the good food into the waters of the harbour. Soldiers keep pushing the tired hungry people forward and herd them into a barren hot square, with no shade from the burning sun.
‘The Germans are worse than I feared,’ mutters Papa, squatting on his damp bundle. ‘They will not even allow good honest people to share what little they have with us.’
Rebekka doesn’t want to look, but she sees men and women running away, some falling to the ground, their clothes soaked in blood. ‘They are only trying to help us,’ she whispers. ‘Where is the harm in that?’
She feels her mother’s arm around her shoulders. ‘Thank God I packed well. If there is water we shall survive,’ Mama murmurs.
And Papa says, ‘They are keeping us here for a day before the boats are towed to Patras and then on to Athens. When we reach the mainland, they will surely transfer us to trains for the rest of our journey. That has to be better than these old barges, I am sure.’
‘We will travel in comfort,’ Mama says, putting her arm around her daughter. ‘No more seasickness, and plenty of space for us all to sit down.’
Rebekka has never even seen a train, let alone travelled on one. But she knows from her schooling that trains travel faster than slow old barges, so their journey will surely soon be over. She bites into her bruised peach, taking care not to waste a single drop of sweet juice.
Chapter Fifty-Four
July 2008
Amber
I knew James didn’t always spend the night at Mountain Thyme and I realised I simply didn’t care. I used to think I would miss the comfort of his presence in bed, but during the hot stifling nights of that scorching July all I cared about was having a few hours of proper sleep if I could. He had told me a couple of weeks before that he might sometimes stay the night with Greg and Pam, when we were fully booked. I said as long as he didn’t expect me to be up early, making breakfast, it didn’t matter to me one bit. But after a while I began to realise that he left Mountain Thyme even when we didn’t have any overnight guests occupying the other rooms. He left when he’d finished cooking for the day, because he wanted to relax and unwind with wine and amusing conversation. I was not good company for him, I was a tired swollen lump, so he left me alone and went to have fun with Greg.
The first time he left he came and said goodnight first. He kissed my cheek and stroked my hair, almost like he used to, before I expanded into a gigantic balloon. But there finally came a night when I was sure he’d gone even though he hadn’t come to our room to say
goodbye. There were empty beds in our house that night, but I knew he would rather seek Greg’s company than drink alone.
At least it meant we didn’t have to change the sheets in one of the guest rooms again. If he slept in a spare room and we had bookings the next day, it made for more work. When we first opened for business, I used to do all the housekeeping myself, but once I became so bulky and clumsy I could no longer bend down to tuck the sheet tightly around the mattress, Adrianna did all the bedrooms after she’d finished the breakfasts.
Those nights in July were particularly hot and still and although I knew I shouldn’t open the windows, because of the mosquitoes, I told myself there weren’t so many around that year and I could allow myself just a brief breath of fresh of air before I lay down on the bed each night. I often stood by the open shutters, smelling the cloying scent of the last of the white jasmine winding its tendrils around the balcony. It was utterly quiet apart from the whirring cicadas and a distant scops owl, its cry chiming in the night.
One night, in the lemon groves below, I heard the faint sounds of night creatures rustling, cats or more probably rats, scavenging the rotting fruit. There was no moon that night and all was dark, apart from what looked like a flickering light on the far hillside. I hoped it wasn’t another fire. There had only been a couple so far that summer and luckily, they hadn’t caused much damage, but the scrub vegetation was so dry a single spark could set a blaze roaring in an instant. Open fires are banned from May to October, but a careless cigarette stub or a piece of broken glass is all it takes to set hectares of dry brush alight.
Burning Island: Absolutely heartbreaking World War 2 historical fiction Page 19
