Demitri returned with the charger and they all relocated in the cottage. The headmaster arrived with Young Mattie and, when Demitri explained the situation, he decided to stay. Voula took a tray of coffees and glasses of raki and mezzés outside and the entire group returned to the cracked marble table in the garden.
Orpheus the electrician turned up with his younger brother. They set about rolling an extension wire from the house. Pavlo the phone technician arrived with his cousin and they moved the router to the bedroom windowsill, the nearest place to the marble table. Pavlo installed a booster so they would still have a signal in the living room, despite the thick walls.
Young Mattie took control of the tablet, his forefinger pecking at the screen like a hungry bird.
‘I don’t understand,’ Maria said. ‘Angelika got her boyfriend loud and clear.’
‘Somebody had turned the router off,’ Pavlo said.
‘Voula!’
‘I forgot,’ Voula said. ‘Anyway, it eats your electric, Mama. The lights flashed like crazy, all the time. I feared it would start a fire.’
‘You’ll be fine now. Don’t turn it off,’ Pavlo said.
Young Mattie fisted the air gleefully, informing his great-grandmother, ‘We have lift-off, Pro Yiayá!’
‘Talk sense, boy,’ Maria said, her mouth dry from the excitement.
‘Sorry . . . we’re online, Pro Yiayá. They can connect with us any time now.’
‘I need a wee,’ Maria said. ‘Somebody help me to my feet.’
*
Angie sat on the edge of the bed next to her mother and called Uncle Matthia’s new account.
Poppy whimpered.
‘You’ll be fine, take courage,’ Stavro said, taking her hand.
With the third ring, a row of four small dress buttons on faded blue fabric appeared on the screen. One had been sewn on badly with black cotton. Yiayá’s thin voice came through.
‘Calliope . . . is that you, Calliope? I can see her, everyone, look. Matthia, come and see.’ The blue buttons seemed to dance with the sound of Maria’s excitement.
‘It’s Yiayá,’ Angie whispered.
Poppy panted. Her eyes wide.
Angie worried about her mother’s heart. Was this all too much? Surely it was for the best.
Someone else in Crete spoke. ‘Pro Yiayá, you need to move the tablet so they can see us, here, let me hold it.’
‘That’s one of Yiayá’s great-grandchildren, Young Mattie,’ Angie said.
The picture shook, and then cleared. Yiayá’s face came on screen, wide-eyed, tears trickling, and in the background Demitri’s son grinned and Matthia scowled.
‘Mama . . .’ Poppy whispered. ‘Matthia . . .’
The door opened. ‘Time to go, people, thank you,’ the nurse said.
*
Later, Angie glanced at her watch, two o’clock. Her mother would be in theatre. She imagined the green gowns, scalpel, blood; an oxygen mask over her mother’s face, a glimpse of white roots below dark curly hair pulled back into a surgery cap. She slugged a mouthful of tomato juice, wishing there’d been vodka in it.
Frustrated and worried, she reminded herself that this operation was performed every day. The procedure hardly ever went wrong. Hardly ever . . .
*
Angie phoned the hospital again.
Stavro looked up from his newspaper when she ended the call. ‘Any news, Angelika?’
‘They won’t say. It’s against their policy to discuss patients over the phone.’
‘I’m sure she’s fine. Why don’t we drive over there?’
Angie noticed the bags under his eyes. He hadn’t slept well. ‘I’ll get the car,’ she said.
‘Where’s Nick? Will he come with us?’
‘He’ll probably work late, Uncle Stavro. He’s trying to secure his job after the takeover. I guess he’ll sleep at the flat again so he doesn’t disturb us tonight. Nick’s considerate like that.’
Her fiancé was spending another evening with Judy Peabody. Perhaps Judy had set her sights on Nick. Who wouldn’t? He was gorgeous. Judy had a certain charisma about her too. Angie would cancel her reservation at Chez Henri. They could do it next week, if he wasn’t too busy.
For a horrible moment, jealousy and anger swirled up inside her again. Were all these evening meetings necessary or was something going on between them? A last chance fling before his wedding? Cold feet? Angie felt the first throb of a headache, and the increased heart rate of fear. She picked up her car keys, tears pricking the backs of her eyes.
‘He loves you,’ Stavro said out of nowhere. ‘It’s written all over him. Don’t worry.’
Angie glanced up and caught her uncle’s sympathetic smile. She wondered if her entire family was psychic. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But sometimes I get a little scared. He’s my life.’
Chapter 28
AFTER LEARNING POPPY’S OPERATION had gone well, Angie and Stavro returned home. When Angie saw Nick’s blue Boxster parked in the drive, she squealed with delight. She rushed into the house to find he had dismantled Poppy’s bed and was in the process of transferring it down the stairs and into the front room. She threw herself at him, happy beyond words, hardly aware of Stavro’s grin.
‘What do you think you’re doing, Nick?’ she said, her hands on her hips and pretend anger on her face.
‘I think the technical term is: making an unholy mess,’ Nick said.
‘Can I assist in any way?’ Stavro asked.
‘All help appreciated, mate!’ Nick replied. ‘If you start re-assembling the bed as I bring it down, that would be great.’ He turned to Angie.
‘A couple of beers for the workers please, serving wench, and then get the shopping from the car boot will you? We should be almost ready for it by then.’
‘A bit bossy, aren’t we? Did you take a brave pill this morning or something?’
They all laughed.
Angie returned from the car, opened the Debenhams bags, and was moved by Nick’s thoughtfulness. He had bought a full set of very feminine, pink floral bedlinen for Poppy’s bed, a beautiful box of chocolates, and a range of women’s magazines.
*
‘How’s Poppy?’ Nick said as he came into the kitchen, hair-tussled from the shower, wearing nothing but a snug white T-shirt and boxers.
‘She’s a little tired, first day home and all,’ Angie said. ‘She’s settled down for the night with a ham sandwich and the latest Lynda La Plante novel.’
‘Who was that on the phone, just now?’
‘Judy Peabody. She wants to know when you’re available for a meeting.’ Angie drizzled Cretan olive oil over a Greek salad and used her fingers to mix it through. Determined not to succumb to another bout of jealousy, she decided to ‘woman-up’ and have faith in her future husband. ‘Ms Peabody asked if you’d call her back.’ She concentrated on the food. ‘Open a bottle of Chardonnay, will you?
Nick groaned. ‘What does she want this time?’ he asked. ‘I’ll tell you, Angie, this afterhours stuff is getting a bit much.’ His eyes narrowed.
‘Take it easy. She’s only doing her job. It’s a shaky time for everyone just now, even the publishers. She wanted to know if she could come over here. Something about a contract and some title papers.’
‘I hope you said no. I won’t have her in our home ever again. I know it upset you when she was in the flat.’
‘Nick, if you don’t know that I’m on your side, you shouldn’t be marrying me. I put her off, naturally.’ Angie stopped for a moment. What an idiot she’d been. Of course she trusted him, as much as he could have every faith in her, and that was the end of it.
She placed the Greek salad on the table, nudged him to sit, and slid onto his lap.
Angie remembered how she missed him while she was in Crete. ‘I wish you could meet Yiayá. She’s the most wonderful old lady I’ve ever known. You should have heard the stories she told me, Nick. How she saved the lives of her children
in the war. I’m so proud to belong to her family.’ She wanted to talk to Nick about her revised wedding ideas. ‘You know, Nick, I think –’
They both caught Stavro clearing his throat in the doorway behind them. ‘May I come in?’ he said.
Angie slid off Nick’s knee and blushed. ‘Sorry, Uncle. I hope you’re feeling hungry. I’m just waiting for Nick to get dressed for dinner.’ She pulled her fiancé up and shoved him towards the stairs. ‘Moussaka and Greek salad okay for you?’
‘My favourite meal,’ Stavro said. ‘I don’t have it very often, with living by myself.’
Angie opened the oven and lifted a deep dish of minced lamb, aubergines, and creamy egg sauce. Steam billowed up and infused the air with the delicious aroma of meat, cheese and cinnamon.
‘Mmm, that smells good, Angelika.’
A moment later, Nick re-appeared dressed in jeans and a crisp white shirt. ‘I’ve decided to take a few days off,’ he said. ‘I want to decorate Poppy’s bedroom while she’s out of it. It’s late night at the DIY store, so I’m going to nip out after dinner and get some paint and stuff.’
This was a shock, but one that pleased Angie. She was always planning to have her mother’s house decorated. Poppy had painted and wallpapered all the rooms herself, thirty years ago, when she bought the property, and it hadn’t been changed since.
Angie had planned to have a couple of rooms done for Poppy’s birthday, then two more for Christmas. But now with no job and her wedding coming up, she couldn’t afford the decorators. She thought they could do it themselves, and that would be fun. They never did anything together these days – always too busy.
After dinner, when Nick had left for the shops and Stavro was settled in front of the TV, Angie crept into the front room.
Poppy lay peacefully still, eyes closed. Angie crept over to the computer desk and slid a couple of sheets of paper from the printer.
‘Is everything all right, Angelika?’ her mother said without opening her eyes.
‘Yes, Mam, fine. Sorry, did we wake you?’
‘Don’t shut me out, love, I’m not dead yet.’
Angie sat on the edge of Poppy’s bed. Even in the dim light, her mother looked terrible, her skin dry and lifeless. Her dull hair, with the ever-growing white roots, fell back from her tired face. Angie took her mother’s hand and sat in silence, thinking about her wedding.
She should cancel everything. It seemed the sensible thing to do, and she wished she’d had a chance to talk to Nick about it. Then if Nick did lose his job, it wouldn’t be a catastrophe. Slightly shocked, she realised how much her values had changed over the past week. They didn’t need a huge and expensive affair to prove that they loved each other. Nothing could change that.
All their problems, her mother’s heart attack, and losing her job, seemed to be rooted in her wanting the big fancy wedding with all her relations and friends invited. Now, deciding to cancel, she was oddly relieved to see the back of it. But abandoning her plans wouldn’t undo the damage already done.
If only she had taken it more slowly and hadn’t tried to reunite Poppy’s family in time for her wedding, perhaps Poppy wouldn’t have had the heart attack.
If only she hadn’t slipped out of work to view a house she’d set her heart on. Bad luck about the emergency meeting, called while she measured windows. Angie guessed it labelled her as unreliable.
Poppy’s tired voice broke her thoughts. ‘Tell me your problems, Angelika, perhaps I can help.’
‘No, nothing, Mam. Everything’s fine. I’m thinking about cancelling the big wedding and having a simple registry and restaurant jobbie instead. A better plan, don’t you think?’ She tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She had so looked forward to having a huge family event, just for one special day in her life. ‘And the house, well, perhaps it’s not quite right for us at this moment.’
‘And the rest, spit it out.’ Poppy said.
Angie felt a knot in her throat and, despite her determination not to cry, tears gathered. Poppy squeezed her hand encouragingly. ‘There’s a merger. I’ve lost my job, Mam, and Nick might lose his. It couldn’t have come at a worse time for us.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Isn’t it enough?’
‘It’s not a catastrophe,’ Poppy said. ‘Any career that keeps you two apart, working all hours, is no good anyway. Is that why you’re going for a smaller wedding? I know you dreamt of the razzmatazz.’
Angie gave a little laugh. ‘I’m an idiot. I had my values arse end up, didn’t I? Trying to organise everyone to do what I wanted, so stupid.’
‘Angelika, part of your problem is you think you can make everything better for people you care about. Better in your eyes, that is. For all your good intentions, you must leave people to sort out their own problems. Just be there if they need you. Even Nick. You have to let him deal with this by himself. He’ll ask for your help, or your opinion, or your support if he needs it.’
‘Like you and Yiayá?’
Poppy smiled softly but didn’t answer.
They sat in silence, listening to rain rattle against the bay window. Angie couldn’t recall the last time they had been together at home without fighting, and then she remembered Crete.
She closed her eyes, imagined the warm sunshine on her face and the passion for life that seemed to infuse everyone – except Uncle Matthia. In an intense moment, she wanted to be at the cracked marble table with Poppy and Nick beside her, the stars above, and the music in her ears. The night when even Uncle Matthia found happiness. Angie craved these things for the two people she loved most in the world. She wished for them to feel uplifted, as she had.
It seemed so far away, now. As if Angie had exited the cinema and walked home in the rain. She recalled shouting ‘Voo-laa!’ across the rooftops, hauling air into her lungs and then expelling it in the loudest sound possible. At that moment, she realised how much she underestimated her own capabilities.
‘What?’ Poppy said.
‘Ah, nothing, just thinking . . .’
‘About Crete?’
Angie hesitated. ‘I loved it, Mam. Yiayá was incredible.’
Lightning flashed through the curtains and a moment later, a roll of thunder seemed to hammer its fists on the window.
They were both quiet with their thoughts again.
Poppy broke the silence. ‘Why don’t you and Nick live here? That posh London flat will rent for a tidy income,’ she said. ‘I told you the house is in your name and with three floors, it’s big enough. When you’re not here, the place is too empty. I’ll have the top floor. The garden’s mine, too; so keep your mitts off. You can get me one of those small greenhouses for my tomatoes.’
Poppy gazed wistfully at Angie. ‘I’ve always wanted a greenhouse, with shelves and a garden chair and a socket so I can make a brew. A heater to keep the winter chill off my plants would be useful too.’ She closed her eyes and smiled.
‘Good grief, Mam, you’ve planned it all.’
‘Where do you think you get your organisational skills from, Angelika? I’ll grow annuals for the front garden and plant up the most amazing hanging baskets. You’ll be the envy of the neighbourhood.’
‘I’d no idea you wanted to take up gardening on a more serious level.’
‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Angelika.’
She had heard that before.
‘I joined the local Potters & Planters Club six months ago,’ Poppy said. ‘We swap seeds and gossip in a park hut on Wednesday afternoons.’
‘I had no idea. To be honest, Mam, I thought you hardly ever went out and I was starting to worry that you had agoraphobia.’
‘Ha! No. Bob, the club secretary, came to visit me in hospital and brought flowers from everyone.’
‘Ah, the flowers, but your hay fever?’
‘Hay fever?’ Poppy looked puzzled.
Angie shook her head. ‘Lately, I’ve come to realise how easy it is to misjudge people.’ Sh
e squeezed Poppy’s hand. ‘I’m incredibly lucky to have you. Sorry I’ve been so self-centred lately.’
Poppy patted her hand. ‘You’re in love, planning your wedding . . . and with what’s going on at work, it’s understandable. Talk to Nick about the house, see what he says.’ She closed her eyes for a moment and squeezed Angie’s hand once more. ‘And when I’m a little stronger, I want to you to tell me all about Crete. Seeing Stavro has brought me happy memories. Did you take lots of photos?’
‘I did. Everywhere I went, I imagined you were with me, Mam. Do you remember the big tree in the centre of Viannos?’
‘Oh, I do! It’s still standing then? I kissed your father for the first time in the hollow of that very tree. I was fourteen years old.’ Poppy’s smile grew wider.
‘Fourteen . . . Mam, you’re shameless.’ They both laughed. ‘I felt there was something special about that tree. I had my coffee there every morning.’
‘I’d like to speak to Mama again. How is she? Really?’
‘Considering her age, she’s in very good health and her mind is as sharp as a pin. She told me you had your reasons for not wanting me to know things. I respect that, now. I won’t torment you again. She told me to tell you she loves you. Never doubt it.’
Poppy nodded. ‘She said so in her letter. It’s made me think . . .’ She was silent for a minute. ‘Next time you go . . .’ She hesitated, ‘I may go with you. No promises, but I will consider it. The doctor said I can fly in a month.’
Angie’s jaw dropped, then her hand flew over her mouth. Her mother’s words were so unexpected. ‘Mam, wow, fantastic! Do you know what I’d really like?’ she said through her fingers.
‘I guess I do, but don’t get carried away now.’
‘If the three of us could nip over there, have a quiet little wedding in the village church – where you got married – no fuss.’ It all tumbled out and then Angie feared she’d said too much, too soon. In the dim light, she grinned at her mother, excited by possibilities.
Poppy nodded slowly, chewing her lip. After a few moments, she said, ‘I’m bored to tears, Angelika. Will you let me take care of the documents, flights, and licences for you?’
Island of Secrets Page 25
