The Art of Becoming Homeless

by Sara Alexi

  Shivering, she shakes her head and lets go of the doorknob. She is getting carried away, and not in a suitable direction. It must be the wine and a mix of being tired and the heat.

  How long will Zoe remain sitting out there? Michelle watches the fan on the ceiling of her room, mixing the night’s heat to an even temperature, giving the illusion of cooling. The sheet is sticky against her legs. The heat, even in the night, is unrelenting. Thoughts of Dino sneaking to her room tease her. Maybe he is waiting for her, his door not completely shut, lying on his bed, hand behind his head. She could go and see if his fan works more efficiently than hers, perhaps the temperature in his room is more pleasant, he might have some water left cooling in his fridge …

  The cool of the morning and a chorus of birdsong wakes her. There is a delicious chill to the air which will be snatched away as soon as the sun gains any height.

  Kyria Zoe is no longer in her chair, and the chair itself has gone. Michelle giggles to herself. Fancy this Zoe woman seeing her as a child that needs to be watched. Or maybe it was Dino she was mostly watching, trying to protect her.

  She laughs out loud, but there is a feeling of relief too.

  ‘What’s funny?’ Ruffle-haired Dino pops his face around his door, a bare, smooth, hairless shoulder visible, just as tanned as his face. Her breath hangs in her lungs momentarily. She exhales to hiss: ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘She doesn’t want me to become Adonis.’

  ‘Is he really that bad?’

  ‘You can meet him.’

  ‘Not sure I would feel safe.’ She laughs again. Dino smiles, the skin around his eyes creasing, his dark eyes shining. He almost has a dimple on one side, but really it is a crease when he smiles. Everything about him speaks of his gentle nature, his controlled masculinity, almost as if he thinks he will harm people if he is not restrained. ‘Are you up and dressed?’

  He shakes his head and retreats into his room, closing the door behind him.

  Splashing his face, he tries to bring some life to his eyes, which just want to shut. Kyria Zoe’s vigilance last night was misguided. Sitting there, bolstered by her morals and ideals. Who is she to sit in judgement? Not all men are Adonis.

  On the other hand, it might well have saved him from an embarrassing situation.

  But Kyria Zoe sitting there was not so much a deterrent as a highlight to the possibilities. What else was he going to think of once shut in his cell with Kyria Zoe all but waving a flag outside his door?

  It had not occurred to him to go to Michelle’s room at night—until Zoe sat barring the way.

  He shakes some of the creases out of his t-shirt and sniffs before putting it on. The reality is that Michelle is not likely to be attracted to someone as young and as poor as him.

  Back in London she will be surrounded by expensively suited men with neatly cut hair and letters after their names. People who thrive in the rat race, who love to sit behind desks waiting for their bonuses, their promotions, who drive expensive cars to their big houses in the country at weekends. The truth is her life is sorted and he is just a kid in her eyes; the most she could see him as would be a toy, a distraction.

  Glimpses. That’s all he seems to ever get. Glimpses of a life that feels complete, warm, full. It may have been fourteen years of his life, but his time with Mama had also seemed like a glimpse, something special snatched away. The closeness he had had with his tutor at University was snatched away too. A sabbatical, she said.

  On the cliff-face another glimpse. So close to her, all he could do for her, all he could give to her, if she would let him.

  Maybe he is destined to be alone. Maybe that is his lot. Well, if so, that is his discomfort, but he will give her nothing but joy. He will give to her all he can so she will never know the emptiness of loneliness, at least not while she is with him.

  ‘It’s a hot one.’ She greets him and smiles as he shuts the door to his room behind him. The smile that makes the world seem brighter.

  ‘Breakfast?’ He smiles, as many fears fall away simply by not thinking about them.

  The shop has so many lovely things. The handmade dresses are beautiful in soft, flowing fabric, but she would never have the chance to wear them. England is too cold, and besides, she lives in her suit.

  There are wickerwork bowls of trinkets displayed on coffee tables in front of the clothes rails. A very large and extremely fluffy longhaired cat sprawls on the chair next to Dino’s.

  ‘Look at these.’ She admires a display of handmade ceramic doorknobs. They would look great on her bathroom cabinet. Then every morning she would remember this moment, in this low-ceilinged front room that has been converted into a very personal shop. Beautiful Dino lounging, waiting for her, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his sleepy eyes watching her every move. This self-indulgent mindset is very enjoyable, she smiles to herself.

  ‘OK, come on, long enough in here.’ Michelle pays for the knob.

  ‘No rush.’ Dino shows very little inclination to move, but once she is handed the small rope-handled bag with the ceramic ‘find’ wrapped in tissue inside, he is on his feet offering to carry it for her. Their fingers become intertwined in the passing and Michelle does not hurry her escape. Dino gives a nervous laugh.

  He leads the way through the maze of houses like it is a child’s game, up three steps, along, down two, back three, across the small square, third on the right.

  She can imagine him as a child, with the same haircut, perhaps a little shorter, his limbs a little more gangly, in shorts, not jeans. It is unbelievable he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Or maybe he does!

  ‘Dino, you have a girl?’ she blurts out, and immediately regrets her lack of subtlety.

  ‘Yes,’ he replies.

  Her stomach drops and her knees lose strength. She puts her hand out to steady herself around the corner. He turns and grins at her.

  ‘You.’ He winks.

  Michelle’s smile returns, and with it a ridiculous spasm of hope that he means it. She stops for a minute to catch her breath. Dino walks on a few steps, oblivious. As she watches his back, his easy, youthful stride, she considers how ridiculous she is in allowing herself to get so emotionally wrapped up in this boy. It can only lead to pain, and certainly not to anything long-term. And yet, she knows she is not likely to do anything to protect herself—or him.

  He leads up some wide steps that culminate in a double door, one leaf of which is open. The courtyard beyond is broad and is paved in large black and white marble slabs, worn around the entrance. He pauses at the door and turns to look back, motioning Michelle to do the same. The view is down towards the harbour, the panorama of houses, boats, and the sea curving away on each side, bright in the sun.

  Michelle wipes her forehead on the back of her arm. The heat is intense out of the shade of the alleys and in the glare of the sun.

  The town is a perfect ‘U’ around the port, like the pictures of the ancient Greek theatres, only this one is stepped with houses instead of stone seats. It is so perfect she tries to forcibly take in every detail, save the moment forever.

  When she turns around, Dino is nowhere to be seen. The mansion’s front doors stand open, and beside them is a notice. It’s in English, too, and it announces that the house was built by a wealthy sea captain, and that it is now open to the public. Michelle doesn’t stop to read the history or dates. Where’s Dino?

  Inside is cool, with no one at the entrance desk in the vestibule. The inner doors lead to a long hall, also tiled black and white, with heavy wooden furniture placed here and there between internal doors that lead off to rooms beyond. The first room on the right is labelled ‘The Admiral’s Office’, and it has a fine, high ceiling and windows overlooking the port. She steps in.

  ‘Ah, there you are. Quick, take this bag of gold and drop it down the well, I see pirates coming.’ Dino stands by the window with a brass telescope to his eye. She stifles the urge to tell him that he should not touch the artefacts.

&nb
sp; ‘Down the well?’

  ‘The pirates never looked down the well. They say the gold has plugged all the springs and that is why the island no longer has water. A punishment for greed.’

  They turn to leave the room, and Michelle jumps at the sight of a curator sitting passively behind the door. She looks back at the telescope, which Dino has replaced on the desk.

  They wander from room to room. Dino is the admiral, and Michelle tries to be a domestic servant of some sort. Game-playing was never her forte.

  In the kitchen the wellhead stands in the middle of the room, a carved stone ring, standing to knee height from the floor, and topped with a wooden cover. Dino lifts off the cover and they peer in, but there is nothing to see but blackness.

  ‘Did they really drop their gold down there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How did they get it out again?’

  Dino shrugs, lithe and supple.

  ‘Some say it hasn’t all been retrieved, that there is still treasure down some of the wells.’

  ‘Do you believe that?’

  They are both leaning over looking down the well, heads close together. Dino puts his arm around her. She dare not move. He pushes her forward. She loses balance. Heels off, falling. His arms around her waist, pulling her back. Letting her free.

  ‘Saved you.’ He grins.

  ‘So childish,’ she blurts. She slaps her hand to her mouth and turns away, but he just laughs.

  As the day cools into the evening, Michelle feels a certain relief. Her skin continues to glow as they stroll to the taverna.

  Dino picks the table nearest to the path overlooking the harbour and pulls out a chair for Michelle.

  ‘This taverna has the best view in all of Greece,’ he announces.

  As well as the view, he wants her to experience the food he has grown up with, to taste the ‘moschari kokkinisto’—veal in a tomato sauce. Hopefully the dish is still as good as it always has been, as good as his own mother’s always was. He wants her to try the ‘briam’, the perfect mix of roast vegetables. He will order a selection of side dishes, too; she must try everything.

  A woman comes to the door of the taverna, wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Kokino krasi.’ He gently calls his order for red wine. His hope is Michelle will have the perfect dinner, which will be followed by the most perfect sunset, as it always is from here. The sky will turn orange, then deeper into red, and the islands dotted in the sea will hover before turning purple and then black, along with the water.

  The woman brings a jug of wine and two small glasses.

  ‘Hello,’ she says in English to Michelle. The “h” is guttural. Michelle smiles. The woman leaves them in order to go to one of the terracotta pots, where she picks a flower and returns to give it to Michelle, who gasps and smiles again.

  ‘How do I say thank you?’ she asks Dino. ‘Oh no, hang on. I remember.’ She turns back to the lady ‘Aferritstoes.’ She smiles, the woman tilts her head and smiles back.

  ‘Efharisto,’ Dino prompts.

  ‘Oh yes, Efharisto.’ She grins; the woman smiles and nods.

  Dino orders all the dishes he has missed whilst being in England: peppers stuffed with feta, pastichio, and ‘gigantes’—butter beans in a tomato sauce. He is aware he is ordering too much for two people and asks for each to be a half-portion. The woman dismisses him. She has seen it all before, she knows how it works, ‘All Greeks order too much,’ she says to him. ‘The tables groan under the weight of food and they sit there for hours after they have finished eating, picking over the remains. It’s good.’ And she bustles away.

  Dino pours more wine and sits back to gaze at the view.

  ‘What do you think of the island so far then?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s really quite odd there being no roads and no cars or bikes. I love the grandeur of the mansions next to the island houses.’

  ‘Nice feeling, isn’t it?’ Dino sips his wine, lounging on his chair, legs crossed at their ankles in front of him.

  ‘It’s amazing. Part of chasing the whole “Lawyer in London” bit for me was to get away from the places we lived in, such as Bradford, which I saw as being really old-fashioned. There are mills everywhere from the days when it was a centre for the wool trade, and tiny, terraced houses close to them for the mill workers.’ She pauses to admire the view.

  ‘It’s so quiet.’ She sips her wine. ‘There was one mill still working when I was a kid. If you walked past it you wouldn’t believe the noise of the machinery, shuttles slamming back and forth, the whole thing run on leather straps turning wheels, all powered by a waterwheel outside. You had to shout as loud as you could to be heard.’ She sighs. ‘It’s a museum now.’

  They sit in silence for a while.

  ‘That’s what made me hate all things old: the mills, our tiny mill house, Bradford. Richard had to talk me into that house in London, I wanted something modern. Old meant dead—or dying. But this …’ She waves her hand across the sea and the little harbour, the taverna, and the silence.

  Dino says nothing; he is thinking of what old means to him. Old was like his Baba, old in his head, old in his way of thinking, old in how rigid his beliefs are.

  One very good reason to not want to grow up was the possibility of turning out like him, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  He would never shout at a child as his Baba had done.

  His Baba had raised his voice on several occasions after Mama was gone, shouted that Dino had to grow up, screamed that he couldn’t sit and cry, that he had to face life like a man. But all Dino could think of was losing his Mama. His Baba trying to force him to ‘man up’ was just another way of saying ‘let go’, and he could never do that. His schoolwork had suffered; there seemed little point. Planning for the future was just a false sense of assurance that life could be controlled, when it can’t. He only worked after that to keep his Baba off his back; the joy, the interest in learning was gone.

  He looks down at the table. Michelle’s hand rests there. He wants to pick it up, feel the soft flesh, the bones beneath, the life it represents.

  He puts his hand on top of hers.

  ‘I am very happy it makes you happy,’ he says. Michelle looks down at her hand.

  ‘Ena stifado.’ The woman pushes between them and all but drops the hot dish on the table. ‘Mia gigantes.’ She jostles back inside. Dino cannot look at Michelle, but he can feel she is looking at him. He wills her not to say anything. Whatever she says, he cannot answer. If she asks why his hand was on hers, he cannot answer. If she asks what they are doing here this evening, at a taverna together, he cannot answer. He concentrates hard on looking out to sea, but she has not taken her attention from his face. He takes the knives and forks from the basket of bread that the woman had placed on the table, and passes Michelle her cutlery.

  ‘Here you go. Stuffed peppers, bread, tatziki, and I bring you some olives from our trees.’ She places a dish of olives by Michelle and smiles as she speaks, the words bubbling in her chest.

  The table is laden, and Dino is relieved that the focus is elsewhere.

  Michelle helps herself to a little bit of everything, piling it onto her plate. Dino picks up the empty wine jug and holds it out to the woman, who is resting on a very fragile-looking wooden chair by the door of her taverna. She scrambles to get up; a cat at her feet runs behind one of the plant pots. The woman loses one of her slippers as she stands, and she huffs as she tries to push her toes back in, the slipper sliding away. She corners it against the pot, and once it is firmly back on, she strides over to take the jug.

  ‘The other thing that made me become a lawyer was safety.’ She looks out to sea, the feelings rather than the memories so fresh.

  ‘Tell me,’ Dino prompts.

  ‘I was just remembering how wild Juliet became.’ And she tells him how she and Juliet skipped off school one day, and how that one day turned into two.

  ‘Come on, let’s be bunking off school, it’s b
oring. You tell your Mam you’re at mine, and I’ll tell mine I’m at yours.’

  Michelle was horrified, said she couldn’t do it. It didn’t faze Juliet one bit.

  ‘OK, tomorrow, I’ll sort your Mam,’ and they went in to tea.

  ‘Hello, Mr Marsden.’

  ‘Hello, Juliet, Michelle. How was school?’

  ‘Good, thanks. Sausage rolls, brilliant. Hey Mr Marsden, is it alright if Mich stays at mine tomorrow night?’

  ‘You mean a sleep-over?’

  Juliet was always braver than Michelle.

  The next morning Michelle found herself reluctantly on a train to London.

  ‘I can’t wait. They’re right good, come all the way from Sweden.’ They didn’t have tickets, but Juliet felt sure she could wangle them at the gate.

  ‘Wembley stadium, bloody huge. Did you see them on Top of Pops last Thursday?’ and they began to sing: ‘Take a chance on me…’ into imaginary mikes.

  King’s Cross was positively overwhelming, busier and more full of people than anything Michelle had ever seen, and she hung onto Juliet’s coat so they wouldn’t be separated. They spent ages trying to make sense of the underground map until Juliet gave in and asked a stranger to explain it. He was very patient and took his time but finished by saying, ‘Ought you two not be at school?’ and then his eyebrows had risen in the same way that Mr Eldridge the geography teacher’s did. Quick as a flash Juliet retorted, ‘It’s alright Mister, it’s orienteering day,’ and squeezed Michelle’s hand so as not to laugh.

  They spent a good few hours getting lost on the tube, and when they finally found Wembley Stadium it was closed. ‘It’s next week,’ said a man sweeping leaves, and he pointed to a poster. Juliet had argued, as she always did, but he just shrugged and carried on sweeping.

  The milkshake they bought in a little café nearby had been like nectar. They were so hungry, but there wasn’t enough money for food too.