The Housekeeper (The Greek Island Series)

by Sara Alexi

  There is a slight hesitation before Poppy continues. 'I was acutely aware that if I had lived through all I had lived through by the age of twenty-four, then I could live through anything. I started each day with an expectation that I would live that day to the full, as if it was the most precious day ever, and I began to wonder if in fact there was a positive force in the universe and I wondered if before I just hadn’t seen the bigger picture.'

  'The bigger picture?' Juliet asks.

  'Ah, I am going on a bit, aren't I? We are getting into the realms of my personal beliefs now. We all have our beliefs, and I am not one to thrust mine on others, but let’s just say I began to see myself as part of a bigger whole rather than someone who was important as an individual. Now I also see life as something that does not happen to you, but rather something that happens for you. A crucial difference in how we view it, I think.'

  Chapter 30

  Juliet studies Poppy, whom she has always regarded as nothing more than a little old lady with a crown of white fluffy hair who sits at the back of her shop, gently snoring in her chair. It is hard to imagine that her mind is so rich and her thoughts so deep, and that her life has been so traumatic.

  Was all this what she intended to discuss when she approached Juliet for English lessons? She was a total stranger then; why choose a foreign woman whom she had barely spoken to, to tell her life story to? … If indeed that was what she wanted; certainly the lessons were a fantasy.

  'Poppy, can I ask you something? You know you came and asked for English lessons before your accident?' A little wave of guilt sweeps over Juliet, remembering the series of events that led up to Poppy's accident.

  'Yes …' Poppy answers with a note of fun in her voice, as if it is a trick question, a game.

  'Did you really want English lessons, or was all that somehow related to what you have told me about your life? I know that must sound odd for me to ask but …'

  'Ah, I knew you were bright. Bravo, Juliet, you have caught me out!' Poppy sounds very pleased.

  'Then I am right – you didn't really want English lessons?' Juliet is now more intrigued than ever.

  'I wanted your opinion.'

  'You could have just come round for coffee and asked.' Juliet laughs but maintains eye contact.

  'I might have to tell you what happened next. That is, if you can bear to hear me droning on any more!'

  Juliet opens her mouth to encourage Poppy to say more when a call comes from the lane, and Marina appears at the gate.

  'Juliet, are you there? Poppy, how are you?'

  Marina opens the gate, bends to stroke the cat that trots to greet her. Behind her is Stella, but there is no Vasso and, to Juliet's disappointment, no Miltos. Although, why would he be with them? But the little collapsing feeling in her chest remains.

  'Ah. Hi, Juliet,' Stella says as Juliet steps out onto the patio. Stella has a basket over one arm and Marina is carrying a bulging plastic bag. She leans over with the weight of it as she walks.

  'Yeia sas,' Juliet greets them, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand. Sometimes she does not notice when she speaks Greek and when she speaks English these days. Only now does she realise that she was talking to Poppy in English and that she must now speak Greek so Marina can understand.

  As the two women step up onto the porch Poppy calls out, 'Hello!'

  'Poppy, is that you, are you up?' In her eagerness to see her friend, Marina barges past Juliet in a way that might seem rude if Juliet did not know her better. She and Stella smile at Marina's childlike excitement. 'Look, we brought jars. And Stella's got the sugar,’ she announces. ‘How are you feeling today? Look at you, up and about. Shall we make the marmalade or the quince jam first? Quince, eh, Poppy? Let’s find that fancy man for you.'

  Juliet strolls inside again, Stella following.

  'So, Poppy, are you going to come and sit at the kitchen table? Then you can make yourself useful cutting the fruit. Do you have a ladder, Juliet, to pick the fruit? Oh, I don't feel very safe on steps. Stella, you are agile, you can collect the quinces and the oranges.' Marina is lining up the jars on the table and tucking a muslin top and a circle of paper under each one.

  'You seem very organised,' Juliet remarks.

  'Come on, then, someone, give me a hand.' Poppy is trying to get to her feet by herself. 'Oh, I wish we had put that circular cushion down for me, Juliet – my tail bone is sore now.'

  'Have you had any painkillers this morning?' Juliet asks.

  'Where's the ladder then?' Stella enquires.

  In no time at all Marina has three pans of oranges boiling on the stove and the smell in the kitchen is heady. Poppy is grating the quinces that Stella picked onto a plate and Stella herself is weighing out sugar. Juliet squeezes lemons and grates the skins to collect the zest. The sugar is added to the pans and the intense smell of citrus sweetens. Marina is continuously trying to bring the conversation back to Kithoni, Poppy's friend in the olive grove.

  'So if you made him jam you must have spent some time talking?' she probes. 'Not that I want to pry, but it is all history now, good conversation.'

  Stella sniggers, before unexpectedly snorting, which makes them all laugh.

  'For the first – oh, I don't know, months, I guess, he was the only person I knew that was about my age. So he seemed important. Also, I knew his face from Saros, so he was familiar. It all mattered, as these things do when you first leave home.'

  'I have never left home,' Marina says. 'Born in this village, and I will die here, but I have been to Orino Island, so I can picture it if you want to give us more detail.'

  'Go on, Marina, squeeze poor Poppy dry of any secrets,' Stella teases.

  'Well, there was the one time – it was just before the new owner turned up, after the old couple died.'

  Poppy delivers the sentence as if there is no story behind it, and she does not meet Juliet’s eye. Marina gives Poppy space to speak for once, and the subject is glossed over and Juliet is impressed with how much Poppy can hide.

  'I had been there on my own for a while,' Poppy continues, and I felt so grown up, but also a bit lost, perhaps. Mr and Mrs Kalopoulos had been gone nearly a year, so I had been alone in the house for a while and it was beginning to feel too big and I was beginning to feel isolated.'

  'Oh, do go on.' Marina stirs one of the pots on the stove.

  'Let her talk,' Stella says. She has taken the first pan off the stove and is removing the now slightly soggy fruit so it can cool before it is cut into strips.

  'Well, I had dried up the breakfast things, and I washed through the tea towel and I was hanging it out to dry, when I noticed he was there. He said hello, and we chatted about one thing and another, as we had on odd occasions over the previous year or so. He felt like a friend, of sorts. At least, I was always pleased to see him. I knew from very early on about his love of quince jam, of course, and all year I had been leaving him a little jar on the wall. Every month or so, because Mr and Mrs Kalopoulos had not come back to eat it – it would not last forever, and it seemed a shame to waste it. Anyway, this time he thanked me for the last jar, which I had left out a good couple of weeks previously, and then he asked me what I knew about olives. I said I knew a good olive oil when I tasted it, and he asked what did I know about growing them? It was just chat, and the way his eyes twinkled I knew it was just chat.'

  'So? And? Then? Come on, Poppy!’ Marina stirs the oranges furiously.

  'Well, I stepped over the low wall to look, you know, at the olive trees.'

  Marina puts down her spoon, unable to concentrate both on the stirring and on Poppy’s tale, judging by the expression on her face.

  'I’m not sure, really. He said something about the colour of them, and I moved to the next tree. He followed quickly, I ducked to the next one, and a sort of chase ensued.'

  'Oh my goodness – he chased you!’ Marina's hand is on her chest, as if her heart is beating too fast.

  'We were kids!' Poppy says.


  'Just out of your teens, that is what is so exciting!' Marina confirms. 'So, then?'

  'So then I dodged round a couple more trees and he headed me off, came round the next tree unexpectedly and there I was!'

  'Where were you?' It is Stella this time who cannot hold herself back.

  'Against a tree, his arms on the trunk either side of my head. Face to face.'

  No one speaks; no one stirs or chops or even moves.

  'He looked me in the eye and it was if he could see every bad thing I had done in my life, and all the good things too. I felt naked. Then his look changed and I felt he saw only the good, and the muscle that had been twitching in his cheek grew soft and his head tilted ever so slightly to one side, and his chest, which had been heaving from the chase, grew calm. He just looked at me until I felt he knew me better than I knew myself, and he knew all that would happen to me in my life, and with his arms either side of my head I felt he would protect me from every bad thing … And then he slowly came closer. My heartbeat seemed to move from my chest into my throat and from there to my ears. I heard my own blood rushing through my veins and he came closer still. It was going to be my first kiss. I knew it and he knew it and he treated it with such care and respect. Then with such gentleness our lips touched. The blood I could hear rushing in my ears seemed to speed through my limbs and churn every last part of my body, and I thought my legs would give way, and then …'

  'And then?' Marina squeals.

  'And then a bee landed on my cheek, we both jumped back, and I banged my head on a branch. He looked so concerned for my welfare, and we both heard his uncle call his name so I ducked under his arm and ran back to the house.'

  'Oh, please tell me you are kidding.'

  'I wish I was. I really wish he had been my first kiss.' With a sigh, Poppy picks up the grater and the last of the quinces.

  'Oh, I think that counts! Your lips touched, right?' Stella says pragmatically.

  'Yes, for one glorious second they touched. Isn't it funny? Even now, after all these years, when I think about it my lips still tingle, almost like I can feel him again.'

  'Definitely your first kiss,' Juliet agrees.

  Chapter 31

  As the oranges are sliced, the jars rinsed and readied and the quince stirred with sticky spoons, the kitchen surfaces become progressively more cluttered, the cupboards disgorge their contents as ladles and bowls are sought, their handles grow tacky from sugary fingers and the sink fills and spills over onto the floor. As Juliet tries to restore some order, it reminds her of tidying up after her boys when they were little and loved to help with the baking. And it is almost as messy as when Miltos cooked.

  'You three are the messiest cooks,' she scolds as she wipes the surface by the stove for the fourth time in as many minutes.

  'Ah, you need Vasso here, she would be beating you to all the clearing up,' says Stella, humour in her voice. The chaos doesn’t seem to concern her.

  'Where is she – stuck in the kiosk?' Juliet wipes the corner of the table, where someone has put a sticky handprint.

  'Yes, she has a long one today. Costa, who does the evening shift sometimes, can't make it,' Stella says, dripping blobs of quince jam down the outside of the jar she is holding onto the table. She scoops up the mess with her spoon, leaving a sticky pool on the wooden surface.

  Despite the mess, the jam is finally made, and then the kitchen is cleared and cleaned, with everyone helping, and the jams are left to set.

  'So, I have other things I need to do,' Stella announces.

  'And I am in the shop this afternoon,' Marina says.

  'That's all right. Juliet and I can label the jars,' Poppy offers, and Juliet looks over at her laptop, on which her work awaits her, and she wonders if her life will ever be her own again. Marina, Stella and Vasso have set a precedent now, dropping in uninvited and staying so long. Juliet feels sure that, once she is on her feet again and back in her own home, Poppy will also feel she can drop in without warning. They are too close now for it to be otherwise. And Miltos? Right now, she wouldn't mind if he came uninvited. Was she too cold with him yesterday? Maybe she has put him off for good.

  'That's an unhappy face, Juliet. Don’t you want to label the jam?' Marina asks as she gathers her things.

  'Oh no, I was thinking about something else. There is some work I need to do too, but I am fine with labelling the jars.'

  After Stella and Marina have left, the house is suddenly quiet. The smell of oranges and sugar hangs in the air, but otherwise there is no trace that they were here. Poppy shifts uncomfortably on her wooden chair at the kitchen table, and Juliet helps her move back to the sofa, on her circular cushion this time.

  'That was hard for you, wasn't it?' Poppy says.

  Juliet frowns innocently in response.

  'Are you going to pretend you don't know what I’m talking about?' Poppy giggles in the back of her throat, her lips pursed.

  'No, I enjoy Stella and Marina's company.'

  'I was talking more about your sense of a lack of control, and the mess.'

  'Well, there was bound to be mess, wasn't there?' Juliet knows she is being evasive.

  'Have it your own way.'

  'Okay, I do get a little stressed, perhaps,' Juliet relents. 'Did I tell you about England before I left? More or less why I left?'

  Poppy does not answer; instead, she folds her good arm over the arm in the sling and lets her chin rest against her neck, waiting.

  'I think you know I was married, right? Well, that all went bad … Actually it was bad for years, either him ignoring me, or telling me what to do. Long story. I should never have married him, but I at least have my boys. My twins.'

  'Twins!' This seems to catch Poppy off guard.

  'Maybe it is as you said – we recognise people with similar life experiences? By the time I left Mick, my twins were at university.'

  Sitting indoors for the shade, with the heat of the summer deep inside her bones, it feels like talking about another life. 'In fact, I took my own degree around the same time as them. After sixteen years or whatever it was of night school, I thought a degree in Greek would be easy.'

  'Was it?'

  'To start with it was too easy, and then it snuck up on me and in the last year it was hard. Anyway, the long and the short of it was I graduated at the same time as the boys, but of course once I finished studying I started looking around me, taking note of where I’d got to in life. We’d sold the house with the divorce, and I was renting a pretty grotty flat above a shop, and once my degree was done I had nothing to do. No children to look after, no dinner to make for my husband. I worked in the mornings in the shop below and I got the occasional translation piece to keep body and soul together. When I was studying, it was just a means to an end, but once there was no more uni, the shop job was almost my total focus. I cannot tell you how depressing that was.'

  She looks out of the open door into the sunlit world. 'The whole situation just wasn’t for me. So I started to look around at my options.' She returns her attention to Poppy. 'And of course I got a million pieces of unsolicited advice from friends, acquaintances, the shop owner, the postman, my ex, the boys … You name it, everyone had advice to give me.'

  'It is so easy to run someone else’s life.' Poppy nods.

  'Yes, but they were all saying the same thing. They were all saying “What do you expect when you are divorced at your age?” But they would not stop there. The consensus was that with half the money from the house I could expect nothing more than a dingy flat so I should be grateful for that. And at my age I would be lucky to find a job at all. I remember a girl on the checkout in the local supermarket saying “No one will give you your first job at fifty.”'

  'I suppose she had a point.'

  'It was something about the way people said it, with this smug “glad it’s not me” voice, and the way they were all so adamant that I should expect so little and I should be grateful. It was humiliating. The first time I had
been on my own for about twenty-five years, free of Mick’s jibes and put-downs. I had broken free of him, and educated myself, and I was ready to fly, but everyone around me was all doom and gloom. I got so cross with everyone telling me how little I could hope for. The friends who used to come round socially seemed to talk about nothing else, and everyone wanted to offer their own advice. In the end I just didn't answer the door. Then there were the people in the shop, so intrusive, all wanting to express their opinions, so I just gave them blank looks, no cheerful smiles or invitations to talk any more. I even didn't bother to pay the phone bill, so I was cut off, which came as a relief. In fact, I think the only people I was still talking to when I left the UK were my boys.'

  'So this is where your need to stay in control comes from?'

  'I didn't see it at the time, but when I look back I can see that my behaviour had gone a little over the top. Like, I would wipe down the sink side literally every time I passed. I think I had started focusing on my surroundings with the feeling that if I could get everything shiny and clean it would all feel a lot better. Besides, by that time I didn’t want to go out any more.'

  'Were you lonely?' It is asked not unkindly.

  'Very.'

  'So, the move to Greece. That's a bit of a leap.' Poppy drops her head to one side, enquiringly.

  'That was a bottle of wine.' Juliet throws her head back to laugh and she feels all the tension in her shoulders loosen. 'I went for a job. It wasn't even a job I wanted, at a travel agent’s. They didn’t say it, of course, but I could see they thought I was too old, and there was no way they would give me the job. So I took a handful of their brochures on the way out, a bottle of wine from the shop next door, and went back to my grubby little flat and dreamt of the one holiday I’d had, which was here in Greece. I can remember I was talking to myself – I think I did a lot of that back then. I was trying to tell the unlistening world that they could stuff their jobs, and then I opened that day’s mail to find the house had completed and half the money was in my bank account.'