Sandra was smiling and laughing, eyes bright with unshed tears. She was talking, and Frank translated: ‘Thank you so much for coming. Petar has been asking about you all; he’s so worried that he won’t be able to drive the wedding car.’
Frank dismissed their concerns with a wave of his hand. ‘It’s not a problem. I’ve found someone else to step in – one of the other blokes we play cards with. I was worried about doing without you,’ he glanced meaningfully at Petar in his armchair, ‘but on the other hand – perhaps with someone else at the wheel we might actually get from hotel to house in one piece!’
Chuckles broke out all round.
‘The main thing is,’ said Anna, urgently, ‘that you’ll be able to come, the two of you. Will you be out of here by the weekend?’
‘I will come if I have to ask Sandra to wheel me there in that chair.’ Petar pointed towards a basic, unmechanized wheelchair that stood at the foot of the bed. ‘But in fact that might not be necessary because I am improving on my – what do you call this thing?’ With his good hand, he tapped the metal crutch that leant against the back of the chair.
‘A crutch!’ they all responded in unison and then fell about laughing. The relief of seeing Petar clearly already on the mend was making everyone delirious.
***
That evening, sitting at her desk and attempting to pull together some ideas for the lesson on persuasive writing techniques that she was to teach to a Year 9 class for her interview, Sophie thought back to the hospital. She had survived the visit and even enjoyed it. The pleasure of seeing Petar, his brown moustache as thick and lustrous as ever, incongruous alongside his much darker brown hair, had stopped her from dwelling too long on Matt.
Perhaps that was the greatest proof she could ever have that she was beginning to come out the other side. It was as if everything had crystallized during the visit, or perhaps more accurately as if something had been exorcised by setting foot in a place that symbolised her tragedy. Now, she understood, she no longer needed to live in fear. Not everybody died; people could recover, get well again, like Petar. Like herself.
And Ton – how he had helped her, supported her through it, known exactly what she needed. Just as Matt would have done, although in an entirely different way. He had done it in Ton’s way, and it had been perfect. Slowly, cautiously, Sophie examined that idea. The necessity of Ton had crept up on her, surreptitiously and stealthily, but now she saw it clearly for the first time, and marvelled at it.
***
In the event, Ton was right. The interview went well, the lesson was successful, and the grilling by the principal, his deputy, and the head of English – though tough and testing – didn’t throw up anything she couldn’t handle or hadn’t prepared for. Sophie left feeling relatively pleased; at least she hadn’t disgraced herself and, whether she got the job or not, she could comfort herself with the fact that she hadn’t forgotten absolutely everything about teaching that she’d spent ten years learning.
The principal promised that she’d get a call that evening to let her know the outcome; there were two other candidates, both younger than her. She’ll want someone youthful and dynamic, Sophie told herself, suddenly feeling that thirty-three meant she was truly over the hill. One of the other women had been particularly forceful and assertive, making Sophie feel like a wallflower in comparison. She’ll definitely want someone like that, Sophie thought as she got on the bus.
Looking out of the dusty window, she mused about how, if she got the job, she’d have to get a bicycle. What a beautiful journey to work I’ll have, cycling the bay road through Stoliv and Lepetane and round to Tivat and the school, she thought. A bit different from the dirty grey of Camden Road and York Way, with their drifts of discarded litter and their ugly, squat, outdated Corporation of London housing blocks.
Then she mentally slapped herself. Why was she thinking like this? She should be preparing for the fact that she wouldn’t get the job and putting it out of her mind, not fantasizing about a fairy-tale future.
Despite herself, she kept checking her phone all the way home. But there was no call.
Chapter 31
The day of the wedding dawned bright, clear, and cloudless. The pellucid water of the bay sparkled and the boats that serenely plied their way across its turquoise surface seemed to be playing their part in making everything picture-perfect. Though it was September, the cruise season was far from over and three huge ships lay at anchor, tenders shooting eagerly to the shore and back again.
The ceremony at the hotel was short but elegant, attended only by the inhabitants of the stone house, along with Darko, Katie, and Sue (back for the occasion) and Anna and Frank’s parents – all four of whom had mustered from various locations around the globe, neither couple being still married. Sophie always wondered at how people went on doing it, this tying the knot business, especially when they had so many examples around them of it not being successful. But she was sure that Anna and Frank would work it out.
Everyone looked so super-smart and stylish: Darko in a navy blue suit that emphasized his dashing good looks and sinuous limbs, Katie and Sue in chic skirt suits with Coco jackets that Anna had also, amazingly, run up on her sewing machine. Sophie was wearing a dress she’d bought in a shop in the old town; much of the stock in the local boutiques catered to rather more blingy tastes than were typically favoured by the British, but this was a stunning sky-blue pleated silk number with a midi-length skirt and tight bodice that showed off her small waist. Ton had managed to get hold of a grey suit that, though a little large, hung well on his muscular body and gave him a presence that turned heads as they walked from the hotel to the waiting fleet of vehicles.
But Anna quite rightly stole the show, resplendent in an iridescent silver wedding dress, handmade of course, flanked by her two men, Frank on one side and Tomasz on the other, both spectacular in their bespoke tailoring and the brocade waistcoats and silk ties she had fashioned for them. Neither she nor Frank could stop beaming. Her delight and happiness put the sunshine to shame, radiating out of her in the most enchanting way.
The little party arrived at the line-up of cars and there, standing to attention at the front of the line was Petar, leaning on his crutch, Sandra hovering anxiously beside him. The car beside them was the most perfect, fully restored, utterly genuine Trabant, banana yellow and polished to such a high sheen that the light bounced off it in every direction.
It was the very one that Sophie remembered seeing chocked up on blocks on the waterfront when she and Anna had first come to the bay on that fateful holiday that had resulted in the purchase of the stone house. Sophie was absolutely stunned and could see from the expression on her face that Anna was too; this had been entirely Frank’s doing, a plan presumably concocted over plentiful doses of rakija with Petar and now brought to such wonderful fruition.
Anna’s height and Frank’s breadth made Sophie hold her breath as she watched them climb inside the tiny car; would they even fit? Miraculously they did and, accompanied by many urgent last-minute admonitions, the co-opted driver also got in and the small procession began its stately and ceremonious journey to Prcanj.
Zipping out of the taxi that had transported her and Ton, Irene and Sue, Sophie flew into frantic action as soon as her feet hit the ground. They had already set up the tables for the food and drink in the garden before leaving and now she had to fill the ice buckets for the champagne, uncover the canapés, and take them outside. Anna had hired Petar and Sandra’s twenty-year-old daughter and a few of her friends to do the catering, and a full buffet meal would be served later, but for now it was Sophie and Irene’s responsibility to make sure that everyone was fed and watered with snacks and alcohol.
They had put up signs directing all the other guests to access the garden via the right-of-way path that led behind the row of houses and directly to the terraces. It was easier as it didn’t involve coming through the house, up the stairs to the garden door, do
wn to the sunken courtyard, and up again to the first of the terraces.
Frank and Anna had invited everyone they could think of, Anna being firmly of the opinion that, when it came to a party, more was definitely merrier, and they were expecting over fifty guests. Sophie couldn’t believe that they had managed to muster so many friends and acquaintances; she herself knew a fraction of them. But Frank had spent many a long winter evening socializing all around the bay and was now practically a native, with a huge extended circle, none of whom was of the mindset to turn down an invitation to a shindig.
Amidst all the revellers who Sophie didn’t know was one she most certainly did. Her fisherman arrived, complete in full naval uniform, his beard immaculately trimmed and combed. He looked completely different from the shabby, eccentric figure who fished from the pier day in, day out, like Mr Benn transformed by a change of outfit.
Petar – propped on his crutch whilst Sandra fussed around sorting out a comfy chair for him – saw Sophie’s open-mouthed amazement.
‘He was Admiral of the Yugoslav navy,’ he told her. ‘In the days when we had such a thing.’ Petar’s sigh of regret indicated his feelings towards the break-up of the union. Along with many Montenegrins of his generation, he had nothing but admiration and respect for Tito, and like most of them regretted his passing and the events it had unleashed.
‘They’ve all lived through turbulent times,’ Ton had reminded Sophie after their visit to Jelena and her outpouring of regret about the wars of the 1990s. ‘It’s no wonder so many hark back to the old days as times of security and relative prosperity. It’s hard to make a go of it as a nation when there are less than 650,000 of you.’
There was no time to dwell on the revelation as the party was by now in full swing. The admiral had brought as a wedding present to Frank and Anna a litre bottle of his homemade plum rakija, plus plenty to be drunk during the party. His retirement pursuits took on a new angle now that Sophie knew what he had been occupied with during his working years. No wonder he was happy to devote himself to the serene task of fishing after all he must have seen and done.
There were other ex-naval people at the party; many had been based in Kotor during the Tito years and had opted to stay after the republic’s collapse. All of them greeted the admiral with salutes and it was clear the respect in which he was held. He toasted every salute with a shot of rakija. Sophie giggled to herself as she wondered if there was any chance of him making it home tonight.
Irene – unrecognisable from the frail lady stricken by malaria of just a few weeks before – bounded up and down the garden path like a mountain goat, carrying drinks and trays of food and buckets of ice.
Now it was September, dusk came on earlier and when the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and darkness began its descent, the fairy lights that Sophie and Ton had spent hours draping around the garden, up and down the fences on each side, through the branches of the pomegranate, lemon, and orange trees, came on. It was an enchanted garden and in its centre, silver Anna shone like a star.
‘Anna said she wanted moonbeams and stardust for her wedding day,’ said Frank in his speech, his sonorous voice rebounding around the terraces, his London accent tamed for the occasion and to aid local understanding. ‘I couldn’t run to the second of those but I know that what she values more than anything is having all of you here today.’
Cries of encouragement rang out into the moonlit evening.
‘For those of you who don’t already know – this is a double celebration. We’re expecting a baby.’
A huge cheer burst forth, accompanied by a wild crescendo of clapping.
‘We look forward to sharing many future special occasions with you. But for now – eat, drink, and make merry. Thank you for coming.’
The clapping became regular and rhythmic and heralded the beginning of the dancing, Frank taking Anna in his arms and whirling her around the newly laid decking on the third terrace. Sandra hauled Petar out of his chair and they stood beneath the stars, cheek to cheek, swaying to the slow music, until Petar’s legs gave out and he had to sit down again, though he continued to sound out the beat by banging the tip of his crutch against the floor.
There was a pause in the dancing whilst the food was served and then, as the heat of the day receded, the energy levels rose and all sorts of music was played, from local to international, from fast to slow, always accompanied by shrieks and shouts and variously successful attempts to sing along.
It was early morning before the last of the guests had drifted away and those who were staying in the stone house had made their way to bed. Just before turning in herself, Sophie wandered up to the very top terrace to survey the scene, filled with a deep sense of contentment that she had been able to provide such a spectacular setting for her best friend’s nuptials.
A rustling of the grass, so painstakingly cut and tended in advance of this day, alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Taking a few cautious steps forward, a figure hove into view, standing behind the trimmed and tidied pomegranate tree. It was Ton. He stepped towards her and offered her his bottle of beer. Sophie took a swig. She had hardly drunk anything, not feeling the need to and wanting to keep a clear head to ensure everything was going well. They stood there together, silently sharing the rest of the beer. The air was hot and thick and quiet after all the music and voices. Only the susurrus of the cicadas rose above the stillness.
‘If you’d gone into the clergy you could have been the one to marry Anna and Frank,’ mused Sophie out loud. ‘You never told me what really happened to change your mind.’
Ton pulled at a loose twig on the tree’s branch. ‘Life is what happens to you when you’re busy making other plans.’
He snapped the twig and the noise was deafening, tearing apart the quietude.
‘There must have been a reason.’ Sophie was softly insistent, both needing and wanting to know.
‘There was a car crash. The other car came straight at us – a young, inexperienced driver who thought he was still on a dual carriageway. It wasn’t my fault but I was driving. My best mate, in the passenger seat, died. I survived. I couldn’t understand a God who saved me and not Max.’
Ton threw the two halves of the twig to the ground and took a deep breath. Sophie did not speak, unwilling to break the spell. It was already about the longest speech the reticent Ton had ever made.
‘I went travelling, which was really running away, and then I got the job on the newspaper. War reporter. The more I saw of the world’s beauty and the world’s evil, the more confused I became. I still can’t work it out. Maybe I never will. But you can’t be a leader of a flock if you don’t believe.’
Ton sank down onto the grass, legs splayed in front of him. He leant his elbows on his knees and looked down at the grass for long minutes.
‘No.’ Sophie sat down beside him. ‘No, I can see that that wouldn’t work.’ Her mind was turning over and over his earlier words – the revelation of his friend’s death in a car accident. She was thinking of how Ton had helped and supported her when they had visited Petar, instinctively understanding the immense difficulty she would have at entering a hospital again. He had been there for her in the most subtle and kindhearted and insightful way.
And where had she been for him? Not even imagining that he might also have a dread of hospitals, having no idea that the mere sound of an ambulance siren probably set the awful events of so long ago echoing through his very being all over again.
She had not even thought that he might be affected, too.
‘It’s OK, Sophie.’ His voice broke into her ruminations, startling her back to the present.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her voice soft and flat. It sounded so inadequate. Just as it had all the times people had said it to her in the aftermath of Matt’s death, though she had known they meant it and were genuine. There was nothing else to say and that was the problem. No one’s words can heal the pain; she understood th
at now. The cure came from within, and over time, and that was the way it had to be.
Both knew what the other meant, without having to explain.
‘There’s another thing you never gave a reason for,’ Sophie continued, running her fingers up and down a stalk of grass. It was so tough and thick, the grass here, emerald green and forceful in a way genteel English grass could never be.
‘What?’ asked Ton, and Sophie detected the half-wary, half-amused tone she had become familiar with whenever he was questioned about anything, however banal, such as if he’d be back for supper or what his plans were for the next day.
‘Why did you go off like that? Why did you disappear for weeks without telling anyone where you were?’ It was hard to keep the note of accusation from her voice. You left me, she wanted to wail. I thought I’d lost you like I lost Matt and I couldn’t bear to lose another … She couldn’t think of the word to conclude the sentence so left it unfinished, hanging in her mind like fruit that was just out of reach.
But, glancing at Ton’s face silhouetted by the moonlight, Sophie could see he was smiling. He didn’t seem to be cross about her inquisition.
‘There’s only room for one alpha male, Sophie.’ He flashed her a sardonic grin.
So this was it. The nub of the issue, that had remained unsaid even when they had been planting the geraniums on Ton’s return from Yemen.
‘There’s no rival silverback,’ said Sophie, softly. ‘I told you that before.’ The mistake I made, she admitted silently to herself, was being so blind and self-absorbed I didn’t make sure you knew from the off. I let you hear all of Anna’s unsubtle hints for weeks without even considering that I needed to counter them. That you needed to hear me say it.
‘I needed to hear you say it.’ Ton, mind-reader extraordinaire, murmured into the night. ‘I couldn’t bear it any longer. Every time you mentioned Darko, all the help he was giving you, how supportive he was, how much you liked and admired him, I was eaten up by jealousy. Immature, I know – but that’s the way it was. So when the Yemen trip came up, I jumped at it.’ Ton was talking to the sky now, staring up at it, his face full of shadows, his chin firm.
Under an Amber Sky Page 26
