Island of Secrets

by Patricia Wilson

  Voula swallowed hard. ‘Somebody tried to ram them off the road.’

  ‘No, no . . .’ Angie shook her head. ‘It’s a mistake.’

  ‘That was the police,’ Voula said.

  ‘It must be a mistake! Why would anyone want to hurt my mother or Nick?’ Angie said.

  Demitri barged through the strip curtain, red-faced, sweat beading on his forehead. ‘You’ve heard?’ He gripped his mobile. ‘They think she’s not badly hurt . . . Poppy . . . don’t panic.’ He fell silent for a moment, eyes fixed on Angie, listening to his phone. ‘My policeman friend doesn’t know any more but he’s . . . wait . . .’ He stared at the floor, concentrating on the phone. ‘They’re about to get her out of the car. There’s a stretcher . . .’ He chewed his lip and nodded. His eyes came up to meet Maria’s stare. ‘The fire engine’s arrived.’

  ‘There’s a fire?’ Angie whispered.

  Demitri spoke into his phone before focusing on Angie. ‘No fire. They’re going to run a cable to the car to make sure it doesn’t slide into the gorge. Standard practice on the mountain roads.’

  ‘That damn ravine again,’ Papoú said.

  Yiayá covered her mouth.

  ‘What ravine?’ Angie managed.

  ‘She was rammed off the road. Hold on . . .’ Demitri said.

  ‘Mam . . .?’ Angie said. ‘But where’s Nick, is he all right?’ She seemed to be watching the entire scene in slow motion.

  Demitri spoke into the phone, then listened, nodding at the floor a few times before he spoke to Angie. ‘They don’t know. There’s no man, no driver. They’re starting a search.’

  Maria, Voula and Agapi crossed themselves.

  Angie grabbed Demitri’s arm. ‘Where could he be? He was with Mam.’

  Maria cried, small quivering noises, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. ‘I want to see Poppy . . . I’ve waited so long and now this. She shouldn’t have come back. How did they know?’ Voula gave her a glass of water.

  Angie stared at her grandmother. A sickening feeling rose from the pit of her stomach. Was this her fault?

  Maria pleaded with Demitri. ‘Take us to the hospital. They’ll take Poppy there.’

  Demitri listened to the phone again and then turned to Maria. ‘They’re bringing the dogs out from Viannos to search for him.’

  ‘Why, Demitri? I don’t understand. How could Nick go anywhere?’ Angie asked. She thumbed redial for Nick’s number.

  ‘Get Yiayá to the car while I call the station,’ Demitri said. ‘They might have more news.’

  ‘There’s no answer from Nick,’ Angie said, staring at her mobile. ‘It seems to be turned off.’

  ‘There’s no signal there,’ Voula said.

  ‘There must be a signal if the police can call Demitri,’ Angie said.

  Voula frowned and then started shoving things into a canvas bag.

  ‘Here, old woman.’ Papoú gave his stick to Maria. ‘Take this to help you to the car.’

  ‘You’re not coming to see your daughter, old man?’ Maria said.

  Papoú pulled himself from the chair, moved towards the bedroom, gripping furniture along the way. A minute later, he returned with the 3D Virgin Mary picture.

  ‘I said; you’re not coming to see your daughter, old man?’ Maria raised her voice.

  ‘Too busy,’ he replied, setting the picture on the mantle and lighting a small red oil lamp before it. He sat in his chair, crossed himself and prayer-locked his hands. Vassili met Maria’s eyes and spoke quietly. ‘I should have killed Lambrakis when I had the chance.’

  Angie’s head snapped around, hearing her surname. She saw Yiayá nod, her face bitter.

  ‘You don’t mean somebody from my father’s family tried to hurt my fiancé. Why? It doesn’t make sense,’ she said.

  Glances were exchanged, but nobody spoke.

  Angie’s frustration exploded. ‘Damn it! Don’t shut me out! I’ve a right to know what’s happening!’ she shouted, her arms stiffly at her sides, fists clenched.

  Agapi placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘Angelika. He wasn’t trying to hurt Nick. It was Poppy –’

  ‘Mam! But why? My God. I practically forced her to come here. Nagging and nagging. Now look at the danger she’s in. If anything happens . . . You should all be ashamed, knowing she was at risk but keeping quiet.’

  Demitri looked up from the house phone. ‘They’ve found Nick,’ he said.

  ‘And . . .?’ Angie whispered, her outburst imploding.

  Demitri stared at the floor and listened. Finally, he nodded and said, ‘He’s okay, perhaps a broken leg, but that’s all. Difficult to be sure. The ambulance will take them to hospital.’

  ‘Oh, poor Nick! Come on, Yiayá, we’ve got to go,’ Angie said. ‘Let’s get your shoes.’

  Demitri stayed on the phone. ‘More news,’ he called out. The room stilled again. ‘The medics have treated Poppy in the car. She seems to be all right, badly shaken and perhaps whiplash.’

  Vassili closed his eyes and rocked in his chair. His lips moved in prayer.

  Chapter 35

  DEMITRI HELPED YIAYÁ INTO a wheelchair and Angie lugged the canvas bag Voula had packed. The gang of three passed through the hospital’s automatic doors together, ready to deal with whatever awaited them. A long queue snaked from a desk in the lobby. The cool air smelled of bleach and body odour and every sound echoed.

  ‘This way.’ Demitri pointed to a counter.

  A strip light flickered and buzzed over an enquiry sign and, below it, an exhausted-looking woman with greasy hair asked what they wanted. She directed them to a waiting room with worn-out seats, a barred window and an ancient vending machine.

  The building was as tired as its residents. Angie’s nerves were frazzled and, before she realised it, she had bitten the nail extension off her ring finger. A damn omen, there probably wouldn’t be a wedding now. It didn’t matter so long as Nick and her mother were okay. She was prepared to sacrifice anything and everything for that outcome.

  Demitri reached through the bars and opened the window. He lit a cigarette, held it through the grille and blew the smoke out.

  Angie tried to make Yiayá comfortable with the cushion at her back and the shawl around her. She eased the shoes off her grandmother’s feet, and replaced them with slippers, appreciating Voula’s forethought with the packed bag.

  An hour passed. They drank Fanta Orange straight from the cans. Maria fell asleep in the wheelchair. Demitri opened a fresh packet of Marlboro Lights and stood at the window.

  ‘I don’t suppose you can tell me what this is all about?’ Angie asked him.

  Dimitri’s eyes widened. He glanced at Maria, lit a cigarette, and shook his head. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he said.

  A nurse rushed into the waiting room. She sniffed the air and frowned. Demitri dropped his cigarette into an empty orangeade can. The nurse glanced at sleeping Maria and frowned again.

  ‘Sorry we’ve been so long,’ she said. ‘You may see your family for five minutes. They’ve had x-rays, tests, and they’ve made a statement to the police. We’ll keep them in overnight. Mrs Lambrakis will probably be discharged in the morning. Mr Kondos needs another x-ray. If all’s well, he’ll go home later tomorrow. I believe you’re getting married the next day?’

  Angie, unable to speak, placed her hand on her chest and nodded, hoping her face said all the gratitude she felt.

  The nurse smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘Relax, they’ll be fine. No damage that won’t mend. Your wedding’s quite safe.’

  At that moment, she couldn’t care less about her wedding.

  They were led to a small room with two beds. Both had faded rose-print curtains around them.

  ‘The doctor’s with Mr Kondos, you can see him in a minute,’ the nurse said while drawing back one set of drapes to reveal Poppy in the hospital bed. The rattle woke Maria, confusing her.

  Poppy made a mewling sound. ‘Mama . . . Angelika .
 . .’ She held her hands out towards her mother and daughter.

  Yiayá also reached out. ‘My child, oh, Poppy! Dear God. It’s been so long.’ They were both crying and the sight of those tears pushed Angie over the edge. She broke down too.

  Demitri lifted a chair away from the bedside so that Angie could push the wheelchair up close. Maria and Poppy, arms outstretched, reached for each other. Angie imagined their love arcing between outstretched fingertips.

  In the silence of the room, all that could be heard were the powerful sobs of the three women. It took several minutes for their emotions, bottled for too long, to dissipate.

  ‘I’ve hoped and prayed for the day I’d see you again,’ Maria said and then, shaking her head, ‘So many lost years. Ever since Angelika arrived to tell us of her approaching wedding, I’ve thought about yours, Poppy. So long ago.’

  ‘I never stopped thinking about you, Mama,’ Poppy said. ‘But, after Emmanouil and everything, I hoped you had forgotten me.’

  Angie sat up.

  ‘Never!’ Maria said. ‘When we get out of here, you must tell us what happened on the day you left.’

  Angie’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean you don’t know why my mother ran away from her homeland?’

  Maria cast her eyes to the floor. ‘There were lots of rumours and accusations, none of which I believed, but Poppy had fled Crete. How could I discover the truth?’

  ‘That’s the trouble, Mama,’ Poppy said. ‘Even I can’t remember. I’ve tried many times, but what really happened on that day to make me do that terrible thing, well, it’s simply locked out of my memory. A complete blank.’

  Carefully, Angie said. ‘Mam, will you tell us what you’re supposed to have done?’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘Not here, not now. Give me time to re-trace my footsteps. After the wedding, perhaps?’ Her eyes were begging. ‘Let’s forget all this strife for the moment and just be happy together.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Angie said. ‘How can something you’ve forgotten ruin the rest of your life, Mam?’

  ‘Yeorgo said it was to do with shock and stress, and he’d seen it happen to fellow soldiers.’ She absentmindedly scratched the back of her hand.

  Angie reached out and took Poppy’s hand in her own and exchanged a glance with Yiayá.

  Poppy continued, ‘When your father came to England, looking for me, he arrived at Aunty Heleny’s with an armful of flowers, and chocolates.’ She gave Angie a fleeting look and then stared at the wall. ‘Before you were born, Angelika.’

  Maria nodded and said, ‘Go on.’

  ‘He took me to a specialist who told me I had, urm, psychogenic amnesia, or something like that,’ Poppy said. ‘Apparently, it could clear up and my memory come back today, if the right trigger set it off, or it could just as easily stay blank for the rest of my life.’ She glanced from Angie to Maria. ‘The doctor claimed I didn’t want to remember what happened. The shock to my mind was so intense my memory’s simply blocked it.’

  Angie thought it sounded like post-traumatic stress disorder and couldn’t imagine what might have caused it. In future, Angie would be more sensitive about Poppy’s health, both physical and mental. But her priority right now was to make sure everyone was out of danger.

  She sat on the bed and took her mother’s and grandmother’s hands. The three women made a circle. ‘It’s awful that it happened like this, but to sit with my mother and grandmother for the first time in my life, well, it’s a dream come true.’ Their hands squeezed hers. ‘I’m sorry I caused all this trouble, Mam. I’ll cancel the wedding in the morning. Having a big family wedding isn’t worth risking lives for. You’re all far more valuable to me than that.’

  Nick’s voice came from behind the other drapes. ‘Cancel the wedding? After all this? No you bloody won’t!’

  Angie looked at the opposite bed drapes and grinned.

  Poppy pulled her chin in, indignant. ‘He’s right, you can’t cancel,’ she said. ‘I’m not wasting this damn haircut, it cost a fortune.’

  Yiayá perked up and crossed herself several times. ‘Virgin Mary, you’d all better watch your language in the church.’

  The nurse, wearing a broad smile, drew Nick’s curtain back and left with the doctor.

  Nick’s leg, plastered to the thigh, was supported in an over-bed sling.

  Angie winced, imagining her fiancé’s pain. ‘Poor you,’ she said, longing to be by his side but feeling the grip of her mother and grandmother.

  He jerked his head. ‘Coming over here?’

  She looked at Maria and Poppy, who simultaneously nodded and let go of her hands.

  She rushed to his bedside and kissed him. ‘You had me worried,’ she said, ‘being late for your wedding destination.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Traffic. Close the curtains.’ He threw a wink over Angie’s shoulder at the two older women. They laughed and dabbed at their tears.

  *

  In the car on the way home from the hospital, Maria thought about her daughter. Half a lifetime had passed, taking with it the youth and great beauty that Calliope had all those years ago. But despite being in her sixties now, she was still a very handsome woman. Maria felt herself grow, strengthened by pride.

  She recalled the awful day she last saw Poppy. The shocking events of that month hardly compared to those of the 1943 massacre but, just before Poppy ran away to London, things took a terrible downturn. One catastrophe after another, until Maria believed someone had put a curse on her family.

  Constantina had died. She hadn’t been well for years, her mind still tortured by the atrocities that happened twenty-five years before. However, recent revelations had sapped what little sanity she had left. Tragically, she had escaped all the pain and heartbreak by killing herself. Poppy, not without her own personal sorrow, was devastated. She had loved her mother-in-law dearly and took her death hard.

  Everything deteriorated into a downward spiral, one horror after another, and Maria could see no end to their suffering. Then Poppy left, ending their strife in an instant. Peace settled over Amiras once again.

  Nobody mentioned Poppy’s name. There was no: How’s your daughter? called across the supermarket. Maria and Vassili removed photographs of Poppy and Yeorgo from their walls and placed them in the bedroom drawers, face down, and everyone else did the same.

  In the comfort of the car, Maria closed her eyes. She drifted back to that terrible month of conflict, confrontation, and loss, the outcome of which led her to now.

  *

  Crete, 1968.

  THE SIROCCO BLEW IN from the south bearing thick yellow dust from the Sahara. This malevolent warm wind hit the coast of Crete each year. Locals called it The Sick Wind. Cursing and spitting, men washed the cloying dirt from their car windows twice a day. The women, if they had to go outside, wrapped their heads in muslin scarves that covered the lower half of their faces. Washing lines hung empty, and the landscape paled. Everyone hated the Sirocco wind.

  To make matters worse, a terrible outbreak of measles had already claimed the lives of two Viannos children and one child from Amiras. The schools were closed for three weeks, to try and stop the spread to other villages.

  Staying inside the cottage, to escape the stifling atmosphere in the garden, Maria sat opposite her future daughter-in-law, Agapi Lambrakis, and a small mountain of garden peas. She popped a pod and thumbed the contents into a bowl. ‘That was good,’ she said. ‘Six big ones.’

  Agapi, also shelling peas, smiled. A quiet girl; slim, nervous, and frail-looking, but with the most amazing thick, dark hair that fell almost to her knees. Maria had noticed her narrow hips, and worried about her childbearing qualities. She foresaw problems, but Matthia was smitten. Maria understood if she tried to turn Matthia away from the young woman, he would become even more determined.

  ‘Yánna, and Voula have agreed to be my bridesmaids,’ Agapi said, talking about her wedding plans. ‘Poppy was going to be a bridesmaid too, but with the b
aby and everything, well . . .’

  ‘I understand, Agapi.’ Maria nodded, pushing down her own emotions and not wanting to discuss Poppy.

  ‘Emmanouil didn’t want Yánna to be a bridesmaid, but for once she stood up to her husband and said we were all best friends, so why shouldn’t she?’ Agapi paused. ‘Did you know Yánna’s pregnant again?’

  Maria looked up from the peas and nodded.

  ‘She would have had the baby by the time we got married.’ After a moment’s glum contemplation, Agapi continued. ‘But now, with Mama’s death . . .’ at this point they both crossed themselves, ‘we have to postpone for the year of mourning.’ Her eyes reflected misery. ‘I feel as though I’ll never get married, Kiriea Maria.’

  Maria reached across the table and patted the back of her hand. ‘The year will fly by, trust me,’ she said. ‘Anyway, it gives you time to finish your university studies. I never approved of you abandoning your schooling to marry my Matthia. Education is a precious thing, Agapi, and I can see the day when women will work after they’re wed. Real jobs with wages.’

  The cottage door flew open and Emmanouil, dressed in his junta military uniform, grabbed Agapi by her long hair and dragged her, screaming, out of the house.

  ‘You ever go near a damned commi Kondulakis again, Agapi and I’ll kill them myself! Every last one of them. I swear!’

  Maria jumped to her feet, grabbed the broom, and set about Emmanouil with all her strength. Madman, she thought.

  He let go of Agapi and turned to Maria. ‘Tell Matthia to stay away from my sister, or I’ll kill him and Stavro. The engagement’s off!’ Emmanouil blasted at Maria who took another swipe at him.

  Emmanouil snatched the broom from her hands, snapped it over his knee and threw it to the ground. ‘I mean it!’

  The following day, Maria remembered, events took place that changed everyone’s lives. Naturally, Matthia and Agapi had met in secret, or so they thought. Maria had known, but it was only when Agapi came crying hysterically that she realised Emmanouil had known too, and intended to keep his word.

  ‘Kiriea Maria!’ Agapi wailed. ‘Where’s Matthia? My brothers have made a plan to kill him! They’ve done something terrible!’