Watching the Wind Blow (The Greek Village Collection Book 9)
Page 17
No, perhaps not that last bit. She half-closes her eyes to see as far as she can across the sea. He chose his death. She must not forget that. It was what he wanted. Sort of. Seeing as he could not erase his memories.
There is a tap on her window and she jumps. With the sun behind them, it is difficult to see who it is. Winding down the window, the smell of stale smoke tells her.
‘Rini, I am glad you are safe.’ The words have no ring of sincerity and she wonders what Captain Yorgos really wants to say. ‘I suppose that the washing up in the sink was not the first thing on your mind yesterday, so I presume that you haven’t come for your money.’ It is not a question, it is a statement. ‘And of course, today is out of the question, but I expect you tomorrow as usual. The Swiss group have offered to come back. Now, about your mother-in-law…’ He begins the new topic before Irini has digested what he has said.
‘Actually Yorgos…’ She doesn’t say the words. Instead, she jerks her chin up, her eyebrows raised, and clicks her tongue in a very Greek no before saying, as kindly as she can manage, ‘I am sure you will find someone.’ And with this, she winds up the window, backs carefully around his frozen posture, and takes the road that goes to the village.
A strange emptiness fills her on the return journey. It feels distinctly odd not to have a weight of debt in her chest. She also has a sense of being directionless after the intensity of the day before. Maybe that was partly what drove Sam to return again and again to Casablanca to do another contract. Maybe that intensity gave him a feeling of purpose. There is also a buoyancy to her mood that she is fearful to give any room to, not sure how it might manifest. In all, she feels disconcerted, and the person who will settle that feeling is Petta. She needs to talk to Petta. Tell him everything. No more secrets.
As she goes in through to the courtyard, she calls, ‘Petta?’
‘Oh Irini, he was worried sick when you took off. I told him not to worry. He was going to take Theo’s moped again. Well, you know me, I am not one to interfere, but on this occasion I told him "no. Give the girl some space, let…”‘
‘Where is he, Marina?’
‘I sent him to the olive grove. I thought a bit of manual labour would take his mind off…’ She leaves the word you unsaid.
‘And Angelos?’ Irini looks around. There are no toys scattered over the stone flags.
‘He had a play date at Maria’s. I thought it best to just continue his days as normal.’
With a hand briefly on Marina’s shoulder as a thank you, Irini runs from the house. Her need to speak to Petta suddenly seems urgent. Their olive grove is up past the church and out that way toward the next village. It is not far, but it even crosses Irini’s mind to take the car to get there more quickly. Instead, she runs.
The olive grove is an old one and the trees twist up from the ground, the silver blue leaves catching the light in contrast to their black trunks. Marina’s great-grandfather planted them, so the tale goes.
An old monastery was disbanded by the church years and years ago and the land that belonged to it was split up and a piece given to each male of the village as a form of aid. This was back in the days when the village was very poor. Marina’s great-grandfather acted wisely. Others planted orange trees, which are quicker to mature and give a return immediately. But the olives provide a better income now and will continue to do so for decades. When they had first moved to the village, in with Marina, the house seemed to echo with every move they made and in their embarrassment, they would come up here for some private time alone together.
There is no sign of Petta. The shade under the olives after being out in the sun all morning is delicious.
‘Rini?’ His voice comes from the far end, where the olives give way to oranges in the neighbouring piece of land. The leaves of the oranges trees grow much more thickly than those of the olives and that corner is shaded and cool. Hidden from the road, this was always their spot.
‘What do you think?’ Petta asks, pointing with an old, soil-covered spoon. Irini looks down. Next to his leg is one of the pots of geraniums that usually lives by the courtyard wall. It is empty. The flowers are now planted around the base by the olive tree. Their olive tree.
‘It’s a reminder,’ he says, all smiles and full of his life. ‘A reminder that life is beautiful and full of joy.’ There it is! The attitude that had made her fall in love with him in the first place. The outlook that turned her world from negative to positive, that brought her to life and enabled her to live again. She cannot stop her smile in response, but it is a smile that does not stay.
This optimism of his has also kept them apart, as he did not want to hear the horrors she has lived through and, she will admit it, she has feared spoiling this aspect of him by filling his head with things he need not know.
His own smile is wiped from his face as she loses hers.
‘But mostly, Irini, it is to remind me of the joy of having you. I thought I had lost you yesterday.’ There are tears in his eyes. Putting an arm over each of her shoulders, he pulls her into him. ‘I have never felt such a devastating sense of loss in my life, Rini. I would have given anything to have taken your place on the boat instead of you. Anything.’
Rini struggles to know how to reply. Where does she begin? How can she explain that being on the boat with the pirate that they shot was actually a wonderful thing? That it has released so much for her. How can she explain what she found in him and through him?
She sits, legs tucked up, her chin on her knees, arms around her ankles, and she fails to sniff away the tears.
Petta sits behind her, pulls her back against him, and rocks her.
‘His name was Sam.’ Her voice disappears into the leaves that spin and whisper back in the slight breeze. They stay huddled for a moment.
‘Tell me, Irini,’ Petta whispers back. ‘Tell me all about him.’ And he reaches out a hand towards the olive tree and writes in the dust.
SAM.
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Also by Sara Alexi
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Black Butterflies
The Explosive Nature of Friendship
The Gypsy’s Dream
The Art of Becoming Homeless
In the Shade of the Monkey Puzzle Tree
A Handful of Pebbles
The Unquiet Mind
The Reluctant Baker