by Sara Alexi
Poppy is still on the sofa, with the umbrella and the poker by her side and a plastic bag next to these, with her clothes from the day of the accident sticking out of the top.
'Poppy?' All the signs suggest Poppy is leaving. Sure, she said she would make arrangements to go, and of course a part of Juliet was pleased at the thought of getting her house back, but now, right now? Why not a day or two, or three?
'I am sorry I could not strip your bed for you, Juliet. I feel as if I have done all the taking and no giving.’
'Poppy, you really do not have to go so soon!’ Juliet exclaims, suddenly panicked at the speed with which her guest is leaving. ‘Leave it a day or two – more, even.'
'No, it is fine, and besides I have my lift here,' Poppy says, as Miltos walks into the house.
'Oh!' Juliet wishes she could have stayed quiet but the sound escapes her.
'Hello, Juliet.' He is standing tall, his head held high, but there is some discomfort in the way he stands.
'Don't worry,’ he continues, but without making eye contact. ‘I am only here to help Poppy.' His smile does not reach his eyes and Juliet reads in them the words he does not speak: Don't worry, I am not here to pester you again, I got your message loud and clear.
'But …' Juliet begins, as a woman with a heart-shaped face and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail walks in and immediately starts to talk to Poppy, asking how she is. Juliet's heart quickens.
Miltos takes a step towards Juliet as if he wants to say something to her privately, but Juliet is quicker, moves in to whisper, inches from his ear, 'It is one thing to come for her yourself, but what on earth possessed you to bring her? That is just spiteful.'
Miltos turns to face her, his eyebrows working up and down as if he has not understood the words she has spoken. He starts to speak but Juliet does not listen, and nor does she wait for more. Instead, she goes into her bedroom and shuts the door.
Chapter 35
Three days have passed since Poppy left, and instead of the normality that Juliet expected to return, the house now feels like a self-imposed prison that echoes with her footsteps. The intervals between her intense periods of work, catching up on her translation, are positively lonely. Perhaps it is just a reaction to having Poppy here and it will pass, she reasons, expecting each day, each hour, to be easier, but for some reason it doesn’t turn out like this. She even wakes in the night thinking she has heard Poppy call out, only to find she is in her own bed and that Poppy is back at home.
She has not visited Poppy, which is rude and she knows it. The first day she thought she would give her space to get used to being at home again, and on the second day she realised she had been rude when Poppy left and had not even wished her goodbye, so wrapped up had she been in her jealousy. At least she can now admit it was because of her jealousy over the woman with the heart-shaped face that she had been rude when Poppy left her house. On the third day she did not visit because she had not visited on the first or second and was now embarrassed about that. In short, with each day that passed it seemed to get harder to make the visit.
Nor has she been to the market, or to the corner shop. She has eaten little, clearing out what was at the back of her cupboards, soaking dried beans and boiling them with herbs from the garden, and drinking black coffee, kidding herself that this is sensible and frugal.
Waking late on the fourth day, Juliet stumbles sleepily into the kitchen and notes with dismay that the jars of marmalade are still lined up on the countertop. The sale is scheduled for tomorrow, and whether she likes it or not these will have to be taken down to the schoolyard sometime today. She can either take them or face having Stella, Marina, Vasso, Maria … in fact, the whole village on her doorstep to collect them.
'Get yourself together, girl,’ Juliet says. ’What is going on?'
She knows she needs to leave the house, and with this encouragement her mind supplies her with an image of Miltos, smiling in the sun, in his collarless cotton shirt. It’s clear the problem is Miltos, but what about him? And another image comes to mind: her kitchen in a mess, nothing in its place. So he moved the flour from one cupboard to another, Juliet muses, spooning coffee grounds into the cafetière. It doesn’t seem so awful today. True, it might take two minutes to find it, but is that so terrible? Perhaps it’s not such a good example.
Juliet pours boiling water into the cafetière and takes one of the kitchen chairs to the back door so she can see all of the kitchen and through into the living area, her whole domain before her. Supposing he moved every last thing in the kitchen to a different cupboard, and moved all the furniture to different places. Juliet pictures everything in the house moved. She might well bump into things in the dark, but why would she be wandering about in the dark anyway? And surely it would only take a day or two to get used to the new arrangement …
This is all very logical, very sensible, but it doesn’t feel like it is getting her anywhere, so Juliet switches her attention to the issue of Poppy. This is much simpler. She is embarrassed because she feels like she made Poppy feel unwelcome, and then she was rude when Miltos arrived to pick her up. Clearly this is just her pride, her ego, and rather childish, and certainly not important enough to put in the way of her relationship with Poppy. And without any further words to herself she stands, grabs her keys, shuts the house up and walks down the lane.
'Hello?' Juliet pushes the shop door open and the smell of mothballs invades her nostrils. For a moment, she thinks she might sneeze.
'Hello,' she repeats, stepping out of the burning sun and into the comparative cool of the shop. There is no answer, so she picks her way between boxes of tights – size XXL, cellophane-wrapped children's swimming masks with snorkels, piles of clothes, baskets of clothes pegs and paired-up second-hand shoes. She pauses to look at one or two things, items that remind her of her own childhood. In particular, she is attracted to an adjustable pair of roller skates and an apron with a pocket at the front.
A door at the rear of the shop leads through to a corridor with a black-and-white-tiled floor. Now she is alone, without the fuss of the paramedics around her it reminds Juliet of the passageway in Alice in Wonderland. The corridor leads to a small kitchen with a marble sink that is stained and cracked but clean, the dishcloths folded neatly and hanging over the mixer tap. At the far end of the kitchen is a door with glass panels, which stands open to reveal a tiny courtyard stuffed full of leafy green plants. Retracing her steps, Juliet’s eyes land on three photographs propped on a shelf above the kitchen table. They show a striking young woman who could be Poppy, playing with three children in front of a very broad-leafed bush and a solid stone wall. The pictures are a series, and look like they were taken within a few minutes of each other. In one, the eldest child holds a ball next to two smaller children, a girl and a boy, who could be twins, and the woman, who is almost certainly a younger Poppy, is laughing, her hand on the shoulders of one of the twins. In the next, the ball is on the ground and all three children and Poppy are reaching for it, and in this one they all are laughing. In the third photograph, a dog has appeared and the three children and Poppy are stroking it. In all three faded photographs, in the same position, standing watching them, expressionless, is a straight-backed woman in very fine clothes. Despite the laughter and the games they are playing, there is something sad about these pictures. But what strikes Juliet more than anything is that the woman, the one in the fine clothes, looks a lot like herself.
She peers closely at them. The two younger children, the twins, must be Anna and Vass, and Poppy really was a beautiful woman.
'Gosh,' Juliet exclaims in reaction to her beauty.
The woman with the stiff back and long neck must be Monica. Her face is rigid, the muscles in her jaw tense, her neck elongated. She could be looking at a wall rather than her own two children for all the expression she shows, but there is something about her that commands attention. Juliet can imagine the struggle a man like Pantelis might have had, faced with these
two women – one soft and desirable, and the other dominant and arresting. She takes her time to absorb the images before leaving the kitchen. There is a rather blank-looking door in the corridor that she had assumed must be a broom cupboard, but now recalls leads upstairs. She tries the handle to reveal a flight of wooden stairs, with a strip of worn carpet down the centre.
'Poppy?' she calls up.
'Who’s that – Juliet?'
'Can I come up?'
'Yes.' The answer is not enthusiastic, but who can blame her?
The door to the bedroom is open and Poppy is sitting on top of the bedcovers, fully dressed. The old woman's eyebrows rise, and just as quickly her lips twitch into a smile, then turn down, and two lines appear between her eyes for a fraction of a second before her brow pulls smooth. Juliet has no idea what this quick succession of expressions means. Is she cross because Juliet didn't say goodbye?
'Hello, Poppy,' Juliet begins. She has thought of several ways to start her apology, but now each one, as she runs it through her head, seems pompous or childish. Does she actually need to say sorry? It is a word often used in English but it does not trip off the tongue so lightly here in Greece. The Greeks do not have an apologetic culture in the same way that the English do.
'Come in,' Poppy says, and Juliet steps into the musky room. Flecks of dust spin in the shafts of sunlight that blaze in through the open window, highlighting the smears on a mirror propped on a chest of drawers with fine brass handles, at the end of Poppy's bed. Juliet notices the bed itself, which is solid wood, with delicate inlaid mahogany. There is a feeling in the room that the air is seldom disturbed.
'How are you?' Poppy says in a level tone, as if it is a formality rather than a genuine question.
'Er, Poppy, look, I was a bit thrown out by Miltos turning up … I mean him being the one to help you move. I was a bit surprised to see him there …'
'It was Marina I phoned, so it was she who sent him.' It is an explanation, not an apology. Poppy has lost all the softness that showed in her face during their long chats together. She is again the hard-faced woman, protecting herself. When she is like this Juliet finds her difficult to read.
'Oh, well, yes, that makes sense. I mean, he is big enough to lift you, and Marina could not have …' Juliet hears herself rambling, and the expression on Poppy's face does not change. 'Oh Poppy, I am sorry, I really am! I just couldn’t believe how he had the audacity to bring her with him. It was like gouging open a wound and pouring salt in.'
Poppy’s eyebrows rise.
'That woman, the one with the heart-shaped face and the long hair in the ponytail, just as Kyria Sophia described her in the bakery. There! In my house! It hurt, Poppy – it really hurt!'
The hardness in Poppy's face dissolves and Juliet is relieved to see that at least her friend has returned.
'Oh!’ Poppy exclaims. ‘Is that what it was? Don't we all see life just from our own points of view! There I was, thinking I had offended you in some way that I could not even see. I could fathom no other reason for you not to say goodbye.'
'Oh no, Poppy, it was not you at all, it was that girl with Miltos.'
‘Listen to an old woman, my dear,’ Poppy says kindly, patting Juliet’s hand. ‘If there is one thing I have learnt from my experiences with Pantelis, it is to trust my instincts about a person. There were many things I never knew for sure about him, such as what caused the rift between him and his parents. That was never explained, and I always meant to ask him to explain it properly, but I never did. And I always wondered where the story about the two robbers on the island came from. I even wondered for a while if he had started the rumour, so that he could impress me with his bravery later on … Silly, I know, but the point is I know who he is, even if I did not know all the details, and you should trust yourself. You know who Miltos is, deep down, don’t you? Trust yourself.’
Poppy’s monologue is interrupted by a voice calling up the stairs.
'Hello?'
'Hello?' Poppy returns the call and Juliet detects another shift in her face, a twinkle in her eye.
'Hi, how are you doing, Poppy?' The woman with the heart-shaped face and ponytail walks in.
Juliet, who has been sitting on the bed, stands, but Poppy catches her hand and pulls her back down.
'So, how are you finding it back in your own home?' The young woman’s ponytail swings as she moves. 'Let’s redress your leg, shall we?' She begins to expertly unbandage Poppy’s shin.
Juliet shuts her mouth, which has dropped open just slightly.
'Juliet,’ Poppy says, ‘this is Katerina, who I think you met on the day of my accident. She is a nurse at the hospital.'
Juliet mumbles a formal hello. So what if she is a nurse?
'Ah, Juliet!' Katerina says enthusiastically. 'I didn't get to meet you when we picked Poppy up.' She takes a new bandage from her bag. 'Poppy is lucky to have such a friend, aren't you, Poppy?' She speaks to Poppy as one might to a child.
Poppy doesn’t answer, but she is looking from Katerina to Juliet, her eyes shining as if she is enjoying a private joke. Juliet bristles. How can Poppy be so unfeeling when she has explained how much Miltos means to her and how hurt she was when she heard about his association with this woman? Poppy’s grip on Juliet’s hand is unexpectedly tight and firm for a woman her age, and Juliet would have to twist quite dramatically to free herself. She is not sure she wants to cause that sort of fuss so she remains still, watching Katerina as she blithely attends to Poppy's shin.
'And Miltos,' Katerina continues, her voice light and carefree. 'Now he is quite a man!'
Now Juliet does twist her hand, just a bit, just enough to let Poppy knew that she wishes to be free, to leave before this becomes an even more painful and humiliating situation.
'I met him, you know.' Katerina is wrapping up the used bandage as she looks at Juliet, who is now rigid. 'I was in Saros having a coffee and he recognised me, imagine that!'
'Imagine,' Poppy says, and Juliet casts her a fierce glance.
'So I invited him to sit. I wanted to know how Poppy was. If you remember, we had an emergency that cut our time with Poppy short.' She picks the bag up as if ready to leave. 'Anyway, it was good to know how you were, Poppy. And you, Juliet, you got lucky there.' She widens her eyes as if to emphasise the word.
Juliet doesn't want to speak to this woman, but she can't help herself.
'Lucky?' she says.
'I would say so. It’s not often that men get so wrapped up in someone that that’s all they talk about. He is besotted. Your name was about the only word on his lips. I was very curious to meet you when he called me to ask if we could use my car to move Poppy.'
'My name?'
'Nothing but. And I can see why,' she says kindly, but in a slightly patronising way, as if she is aware of the age difference.
'So, Poppy, I think you should try and be up and about a bit, otherwise you will end up with bedsores.' She laughs a little at this. 'Maybe Juliet can go for a walk with you?'
She gives a little wave, not waiting for a reply, and trots down the stairs and is gone.
'Wasn’t I just saying that we all see life only from our own point of view!' Poppy’s eyes dance.
'In the name of … You, Poppy, are one wicked woman!' Juliet cannot hold back her joy. 'You knew and you didn't say.'
'At which point should I have said?' Poppy asks, now giggling herself.
'The moment she came in the room.'
'Ah, but the way it worked out was just fine, wasn’t it?' Poppy releases Juliet’s hand, but now Juliet holds on.
'But it might not have,' Juliet says. She cannot stop smiling.
'So, Miss Juliet, now your love has been brought back from the dead, how will you behave differently?' Poppy says. But her wording strips the smile from Juliet’s face.
'We cannot bring Pantelis back, though, can we?' Juliet says with a squeeze of Poppy's hand before she lets go.
'No, we cannot. But I have been thinking
things over in the last few days as I’ve been lying here – you know, about softening, letting go of the hard protective shell. It is all just fear, isn't it? Like your feelings for Miltos, all held back through fear.'
'Yes, but you cannot just make fear go away.'
'Well, that is what I have been thinking about. The equation is simple. Think of a see-saw. When one end is up the other end cannot be. So if you put you and Miltos on either end of the see-saw and allow your side of the see-saw to be at the top, the one you focus on, then you will be focusing on your own fears and insecurities. But if you let Miltos go to the top and all you think about is him, then you forget your fears, and your mind is full of making him happy, enjoying his company and planning for the future.'
'True, true …' Juliet does not seem sure.
'And here is another way to see things. Your fear is that he will take over, right?'
'Right.'
'Because that was what happened with Mick when you were in your twenties. But you are no longer in your twenties – this is outdated information that you are working on. Since then, look what you have done. It is very unlikely that someone can take over your life again. You, who have moved countries, conquered a foreign language, renovated a house and become part of a foreign community. I could see your point if you were a local girl, perhaps, whose father still had the last word on who she must marry. I heard the other day of a girl in the next village who cannot go to university because her father cannot see any point in educating a girl. It is not long ago that Greece was a patriarchal society, and probably still is in some parts. So it is possible that someone may end up in the same situation again as you found yourself with Mick, but of all the women in this village you are the least likely to be bullied ever again. You will see the signs if there is a next time, and you don't need to be so vigilant.'
Juliet furrows her brow.
'Oh, come on, Juliet, you are brighter than that! Let me put it another way. There were two fishermen who went out to sea and a storm came, one of the worst storms this part of Greece has ever seen. They had one of the bigger boats, one with a bit of a hold down below, packed with ice for the fish. Well, apparently the storm grew so bad that they thought they would die. One of them decided to go down into the hold with the fish, in the cold, and there he wrapped his hands around his legs and buried his head and stayed put until they made it safely back to port. He never sailed again. The other stood on deck, the rudder in his hand, the wind whipping his face, his eyes on the horizon, which as you know, will stop you being seasick, and he faced the storm, watched the lightning, stood firm in the face of the towering waves and steered them safely back to harbour. He is still a fisherman and very successful too. Now, which of those two men do you want to be, Juliet?'
