by Sara Alexi
‘Er, yes, hello. Michelle Marsden, can I help you?’ Michelle tried to tame her hair, which was blowing either side of her face, her back to the wind.
‘I’m Cyril.’ He did not offer his hand, and Michelle retracted hers awkwardly.
‘Ah, Mr Buttershaw. I take it this is the offending paving slab?’
‘Yes it is; I fell over it last year and the council still hasn’t fixed it. France this year, I think. Last year was me first cruise in the Bahamas with me claim money, but it’s a long way; won’t do that again. Didn’t like the food, neither.’
He used both hands to hitch up his trousers. Michelle noticed they were a thick-weaved pair of suit trousers held up with coarse string tied in a bow, his shirt a dirty cream with a multitude of vertical thin coloured stripes and a large collar dating it back to the seventies, a typical charity shop bargain buy. The collar was pulled onto the outside of his jacket, a rough, shapeless tweed worn smooth around the inside of the neck with drooping baggy pockets. Nothing fitted—the trousers and shirt too big, the jacket too small.
His wire-rimmed glasses did nothing to improve his distinctly old-fashioned look. There was something very grubby about his general appearance. The name Septic Cyril seemed more than appropriate.
Michelle looked around her. There was a very bad smell coming from somewhere, but there were no bins to be seen.
‘Cup of tea,’ he announced cheerfully. ‘This way.’
The porch outside his house looked at once oddly familiar and rather out of place. It was made of an old wardrobe, a wooden one just like her Grandma had had, which had been pushed up against the front door, and the back taken out to allow access. Michelle’s mouth hung open.
As she stepped through and into the one downstairs room she heard the words, ‘Mind your step,’ and she refocused to see Cyril grinning back at her.
Passing through, she could see that one corner of the wardrobe housed a collection of Wellington boots. The remainder, apart from a central walkway, was piled high with plastic bags, the contents of which were not clear. This trend continued into the house, with all manner of jumble lining either side of the remaining walkway. Tables were stacked on tables, chairs on top of that. Beyond was a large, double-fronted fridge with a big dent in one door, the plug hanging lifelessly over the handle and the broken shelves stacked on top. Michelle wondered briefly how he had managed to get it in the house, it was so big. A dead plant in a plastic pot crowned the top, on the broken shelves. What looked like an Edwardian wind-organ with two rows of keys, many of which were missing, provided a shelf for a plastic suitcase bulging with grey-looking clothes. Objects piled in front of the windows shut out most of the light. There was a large bookshelf, a long-case clock, a tower of radios and televisions the likes of which Michelle had only seen in junk shops. A bare bulb hung in the centre of the ceiling, which too was grey, especially around the edges. The bulb was not lit and seemed to have something hanging from it, which swayed slightly in the otherwise still air.
Michelle cautiously stepped over the threshold to find the carpet raised by some four or five inches above floor level. Now out of the wind, the origin of the overpowering stench was apparent, not only from Cyril, but from his house in general.
The further she stepped inside, the more furniture she could make out, stacked in every corner, leaving nothing but a passageway through the front room to the lean-to kitchen at the back, the door of which was flattened against the wall by another large bookcase supporting endless plastic bags, swollen with unidentifiable contents. Michelle preferred not to speculate on what was in them. Instead she held her hand over her nose and mouth and tried not to breathe in, reminding herself that all smells are particulate. Very little light filtered in from anywhere. The smell was insufferable, and she stuck her nose into the crease of her elbow, hoping to mask the stench with the aroma of fresh laundry, but the lavender mixed with Cyril’s own smell and she gagged.
Moving forward but wishing to retreat, she pulled herself in tightly and tried not to touch anything. The kitchen was a little less cluttered, but filthy. Oddly, the carpet extended into this room, and the cooker leaned back at an unusable angle, its front feet lifted by the carpet’s unusual thickness. The smell in here made it almost impossible to breathe, and Michelle began to feel a slight panic.
There was movement in the corners, and two or three dogs slunk out of the open back door as she and Cyril entered. As Michelle’s eyes began to grow accustomed to the gloom, stains running down the walls became apparent, and the abstract pattern on the carpet revealed itself to be comprised mainly of dog mess.
‘Actually, Mr Buttershaw, perhaps I could stop by for tea another time,’ Michelle gasped, ‘only I’ve just remembered something very important, and I must return immediately.’ Cyril turned to face her, a rather grubby cracked teapot in one hand and a dish of used teabags in the other. Something that looked alarmingly like raw liver clung to the inside curve of his ear. She felt her stomach turn and retched involuntarily as she turned to run from the house.
William had laughed out loud. ‘What do you mean, it “looked like” liver in his ear? It almost certainly was liver. He works one day a week in an abattoir.’ He held his sides and rocked back on his chair. ‘You didn’t go in his house did you?’ Michelle could not help herself; even now, safely back at the office, she retched again.
‘Ha ha, you did! You know why the carpets are so thick? Six dogs he’s got, all shitting in the house, just lays another carpet on top. Tell, you didn’t drink the tea, did you?’
At this point Michelle threw the file at him.
‘I don’t want it. I’ve dealt with the last three claims. It’s your turn now, as the newbie. My wins have financed one trip to Spain, one to Disneyland, and last year a cruise in the Bahamas.’
‘Why the heck don’t the council just lay the paving stone back down!’ Michelle exploded.
‘They do, after every claim, but somehow it sticks back up, ready to trip poor Cyril again. It’s his living: one day a week in the slaughter house; Wednesdays down to claim his disability benefit, and once a year a claim so he can go on holiday.’
No, the system has many faults and a lot of people take advantage. It isn’t quite as bad as that now, but still, some of these big claims she is involved in are not providing compensation for any real suffering or hardship; they are just business, one business suing another. Yanni is right, it is most unsatisfactory work, and it is work that she no longer really agrees with. It makes no one happy, and there is no thrill in winning, as you know the next case will just be a variation of the last, a flow of money. It produces nothing. Society makes no progress because of it. It is just a game in which she is trapped. It’s what she knows, what she has been trained for, what she understands. Personal opinion plays no part.
‘Michelle, you are here!’ Dino bounces in front of her and grabs her into a hug from which she breaks free to take a breath.
‘Oh my God, I thought you were gone.’ Just half an hour before he had rushed to the port to see her ship pulling out of the harbour and turning towards Athens. His legs did not stop at the sight. He had kept running, faster even, up to the cannons, hoping to spot her on deck, running along the coastal path trying to see into the port holes, one more glimpse, a chance to … to do what? The most important person who had walked into his life was on a boat just a few yards away but completely unreachable and he had nothing, no phone number, no email address. He didn’t know the name of the firm she works for. He didn’t even know her surname.
He had stopped running and shouted at the top of his lungs, but her name ricocheted off the rocks behind him and became lost over the open sea. He stood forlornly, wondering how it could have happened, how she could have left him, how such a calamity had occurred, how he could right this life-shattering wrong.
His legs had moved before he was aware, stumbling back towards town until, with a flash that lightened the weight in his chest, the notion occurred that she
was a friend of Juliet’s. With that reality, returning to his home no longer brought the fear of facing his father, but rather the joy of being reunited with Michelle. In a single thought, a bounce returned to his step and a plan formed until this moment when he spotted her sitting here and the whirlwind of emotions evaporated, leaving only contentment that she was near.
‘Dino!’ She gasps once her breath returns.
‘You are not on the boat.’ He pulls a face. ‘So no Athens?’
‘I missed the boat, the fuss just to get discharged. You? How are you?’ Without thought she puts her hand on his chest where the stones and branches had cut and ripped. She can feel something soft, gauze probably.
Dino’s heart races under her touch. The unexpected relief that she is still here is immense. His chest releases, he can breathe again. His hand spontaneously covers hers.
‘I am better now. It is good you have not gone.’
‘It’s luck that the case is postponed.’ Colour rises in her cheeks and she breaks eye contact as she pulls her hand away.
‘I came to see you in the hospital but you were sleeping. I waited on a bench outside, just around the corner from the front door, in the shade. The nurse she promised to tell you I was there.’
‘Oh, well she didn’t, but never mind. We would have found each other again at the village after the meeting.’ Her face pales. ‘But actually, yes, you’re right, with this postponement I might actually not have made it to the village.’ The thought raises tension across her shoulders, but she looks at him as he smiles, and her muscles relax.
‘The postponement is until when?’ He is shifting his weight from foot to foot, unable to stay still in the excitement of seeing her again.
‘Next Friday.’
‘That’s great news. Stay here, let me show you my island.’ Does he imagine it, or is there hesitation? Perhaps there is a reason that she wasn’t looking for him, but then again, how could she? She doesn’t know the island, she lost her phone … but if she had really wanted to, wouldn’t she have found a way? He senses something slipping away. The sky seems to darken. ‘Or, well, maybe you are busy?’ As soon as these words come out he regrets them. What was it Adonis says? ‘Act as if it has already happened ….’ No, not that. ‘A woman is an empty vessel?’ No, definitely not that. Adonis would have told him to presume she is interested, take the lead, make it happen. But then, what are Adonis’ motives?
‘No, I would love that.’ The hesitation is gone, the sun a little brighter. It is a surprise to see Adonis is not always right. Dino stands a little taller, his shoulders back.
Memories of the warmth of her hand linger. He wants to feel her skin again. He grabs her arm to lead her toward the coast road. ‘No donkey this time.’ He grins. A wave of concern crosses her face but her smile soon returns.
The time on the cliff-face seems to have altered his perspective. He feels he has known Michelle all his life, that he knows her as well as he knows Adonis even. Her grace, her height, and, OK, her age, do remind him of his Mama, but these are not feelings he would ever have for a relative. There! When she turns her head, the jut of her chin, the way her hair swings.
‘What, is there a bug in my hair?’ Her slender fingers reach and gingerly touch the area he is looking at.
‘No, no bugs. Come on, I will show you something.’ He still has her hand and they walk around the harbour to the start of the coast road. The path is wide enough for a couple to pass side-by-side. She pulls her hand free. They have not gone far before he takes her elbow and guides her to the right, down a narrow rocky path that leads to the sea. Near the water, someone has tried to concrete steps into the rocks. The path flattens and they leave the face of the rock behind on a small natural jetty.
At the end of the jetty, Dino turns to look back, and Michelle follows suit. The sign is still there: ‘No jumping.’ The sign he and Adonis ignored as boys, and other boys are ignoring even now.
He watches her face as she takes in the sea cave with the hole in the roof that boys are leaping through into the shade below. The cave’s interior sparkles as crystals in the rock reflect the blue of the water in a magical display. It is one of the most beautiful sights he knows, filled with some of his best childhood memories. He wants to tell of the times he was here with Adonis, breaking free from the restraint of clothes on hot August days, the thrill of the cold water on his skin.
Her hand is in his again but she hasn’t noticed. He looks down at her cuticles, the ones he kissed on the rock face after he had slid to save her.
‘Amazing,’ she whispers, in awe of the cave. A young boy jumps through the hole in the roof, tucking his knees to his chest, the splash as he hits the water sending ripples to the rocks they are standing on. They watch as a few more boys jump.
Michelle puts her arm up to shade her eyes and begins to turn, taking in the whole view—the cave, the harbour, the yacht cruising out between the cannons, the sea opening up and the mainland beyond. Seagulls hover overhead calling out their song of freedom.
‘Perfect,’ she breathes.
Dino nods.
‘What?’ Michelle asks. Dino is looking out to sea with a frown.
‘I am not sure what to do about Yanni, the donkey man.’
‘Oh. Me too, I feel so bad, but he won’t let me do anything.’
‘You’ve spoken to him?’
‘Yes, just before you found me in the harbour. I offered to buy him a new donkey but ….’
‘I should buy him the donkey, really. I can already feel peoples’ eyes on me in town.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Unless I make things right with him, I will be known as the man who drowned his donkey. It is a small island. The people get bored, gossip is their entertainment. And I suppose it is the right thing to do.’ Dino’s hand goes to his mouth and he chews on the outside edge of his thumb.
‘Do you have the money to buy him a donkey?’
‘No.’ Dino chews harder.
‘Fine, so let me buy the donkey. You would do the same for me if it was the other way round wouldn’t you?’
Dino smiles with a look that says, ‘How can you doubt it?’
‘As long as he has a new one from us, I don’t suppose the gossip will last long. But I am not sure how we can get him to accept. He was adamant he wouldn’t take my offer.’ Michelle takes Dino’s hand from his mouth and holds it for a while, patting it gently.
‘He’s a bit of a loner, has lived up on the ridge all his life, has his own way of seeing life. Oh, by the way, where are you staying tonight?’ Dino’s face brightens at the change of topic.
‘Do you know, I hadn’t actually thought about it? Mostly I need to get online.’ Some of the muscles in her face tighten and her voice drops.
‘You don’t sound happy about that.’
‘Work.’ But she is more interested in the view.
‘I know about that.’ Memories come, but he pushes them away.
‘You know, being here, looking at all this makes work seem very unimportant.’
‘Adds perspective,’ Dino agrees.
‘If I could snap my fingers, I would make everything in England disappear.’ She turns wide-eyed to look at Dino, her hand to her mouth, shocked by her own words.
‘Really?’ He pauses. She stays with her hand over her mouth searching his eyes. ‘Do it,’ he adds quietly.
Another boy jumps, there is a roar of laughter from his friends.
Michelle’s hand uncovers her mouth.
‘Unfortunately, I live in the real world. Come, let’s go find me a place to stay. You are staying with Adonis, right?’ She leads back the way they came.
‘No, his place is too small.’
‘So where are you staying?’
‘Same place as you?’ He grins.
Chapter 9
Is it wrong?
As they climb back to the coastal path she glances behind. He sweeps his fringe from his eyes and smiles at her. His skin has tanned an e
ven deeper brown in just a day. He has on a new t-shirt, not quite as orange as the last, with ‘Greece, the Experience’ written in small letters across the front. The colour accentuates his skin tones. Every step is a bounce, so much energy. She lets him pass, and he holds out a hand to help her up. Bitten nails.
The last few steps seem steeper than they appeared going down. A lizard runs across the path, she jumps and lets go of Dino’s hand. The lizard stops on a rock, flicks out its tongue, motionless, sunbathing.
Dino keeps going, but then he’ll have seen lizards a hundred times before. He looks so Greek, so foreign to her eyes and yet so familiar. His kissing of her fingers on the cliff face seemed so natural. But then how can these things be judged? It was a very unnatural situation. Does the situation make such a difference? Would someone else in the same situation have done the same thing? Is it a cultural difference? After all, Greek people kiss even passing acquaintances on both cheeks when they meet. Perhaps it didn’t mean anything. Clearly there is no logical conclusion to this argument, but the questions continue to invade her thoughts.
Dolly’s last moments flicker through her mind’s eye again. One minute so alive, the next . . . It could have been her.
There is bound to be a well-known psychological response that explains these feelings she has for her rescuer. Some syndrome or other. Yes, she has read about it somewhere, White Knight Syndrome. Everything is a syndrome these days. It doesn’t mean that her feelings are reciprocated, or appropriate. He is the same age as Juliet’s boys, for goodness’ sake!
Blinking, she shakes her head at how embarrassed he would be if she were to act on her feelings, only to find she had misjudged his. Her cheeks grow hot at the thought.
He reaches behind him and offers his hand for the last few steps. The dark hairs lie flat on his forearm, his fingers explore her palm as he takes her hand. Little actions like that make her feel almost certain she is not misreading the signs.
But his age. There is a word for people like her in England.
