by Jo Bunt
Pru smiled. “Tired. You?”
“Shattered.”
Eddie kissed the top of her head and sat down next to her with a grunt, placing his tanned hand on her thigh.
“Where were you, Eddie? It’s been terrible. No one would tell me where we were going. I thought I was going to have the baby then and there. And then I get here to be told that Dad has died. Where were you?”
“There is a war going on, you know?”
“Do I know? Are you seriously asking me that? Someone tried to shoot me, Eddie! Shoot me! Can you believe it?”
Eddie sighed wearily but didn’t answer her straight away.
“I am sorry about your Dad. I didn’t know until Bet told me. You know I wouldn’t leave you if I didn’t have to.”
“Why should you put your work before me, Eddie? It’s just not fair that I–”
Eddie leant over and kissed Pru firmly. She resisted at first, trying to keep her mouth closed against his insistent tongue. She was furious with him and would tell him so as soon as she could open her mouth to talk. Feeling his stubble against her smooth skin and his hot lips against hers, though, caused Pru to give in to his kisses. She would chastise him later.
“Pru! Lovely to meet you.” Suddenly the man whose voice she had heard in the kitchen was upon her. Pru pulled away from Eddie in an instant and regained her composure. The colossal man held out his hand in what Pru assumed was a handshake but as soon as her hand was in his he hauled her to her feet and hugged her.
“I see you’ve met Bernie,” laughed Betty as she came through to the garden with a tray of food. “Sit down, you old fool.”
The men tucked into the food while Betty bombarded Bernie with questions about the fighting.
“Well y’nah how me and the kid here,” Bernie nodded in Eddie’s direction, “got Makarios out of the country last week?”
Pru didn’t want to show her ignorance or her disinterest in what her husband was involved in. “Erm... Tell me again how it happened.”
Pleased to be given an open invitation to talk some more, Bernie swallowed a large mouthful of ham and began.
“He’s a good bloke, whatever they say. He made sure this group of school kids were oot of the presidential gaff and safe before he fled, y’nah? And he could’ve bin killed. We had no idea where he was until he turned up in Paphos. All we were told was the Greek military had overthrown the government. We were sent to get him to this RAF fighter jet and that was it. He was away. It’s anyone’s guess now what’ll happen. I heard that some of ‘em higher up wanted to intervene but have been told to stay put. They say it’s been coming for years. There was all that trouble in the sixties. Each side blames the other. The Greeks should never have got rid of Makarios because now the Turks think that the Greek military are going to align Cyprus with mainland Greece. I can’t see why they would want to anyway. Any more ham, hinny?
“The Turks tried to get wor support for their ‘peace operation’. Ha! When we didn’t give it they invaded anyway. Turkish troops landed on the Northern coast in the early hours and they are pushin’ the Greeks oot a their homes with more force than I’d say is strictly necessary. But that’s what happens when the fighting starts. ‘Peace’ isn’t in the forefront of their minds and anyone who says it is, is a lying bastard. Pardon me French love.
“It’s frustrating for us that we just have to sit by and watch it all. We’re gathering intelligence and keeping tabs on where the Turks are but what else can we do, y’nah? Listen to me blitherin’ on. Any mustard, hinny? Anyway you’ve got bigger things on yer mind. Sorry to hear about yer Dad, pet. Got any brothers an’ sisters?”
“What?” asked Pru, surprised to find herself suddenly included in the conversation. “Er, no. Only child.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.”
“Even so,” Bernie continued, “not nice that it falls on your shoulders to take care of your Ma.”
“It doesn’t. Fall on my shoulders, that is. No, she has made it clear that she can cope on her own.” Eddie reached out and entwined his fingers with Pru. He didn’t say anything, but that gesture was enough to let Pru know that he knew how much she was hurting. Sometimes she wondered what she would do without Eddie. No one else knew her quite like he did. And there was no one else left to care anymore.
The next few days were a welcome break for Pru. The four of them slid into an easy routine together and Pru helped Betty with the house, cooking and garden.
Pru was becoming impatient, even excited, to have this baby. She hadn’t had a great relationship with her own mother but was certain that it would be different between her and her own baby. An only child to a couple who had had her too late in life to enjoy her energy, she craved the family life that she had never had. Her mam and dad weren’t just a different generation to her but, it seemed to a young Pru, a different species. Mam’s maternal instinct failed to be roused when a screaming baby had invaded her life when she was just embarking on her forty-fifth year. Dad wasn’t a man of many words and if he wasn’t on the allotment, he was reading the Sun newspaper or nodding off in his armchair. But there was still a bond in this silence that had the young Pru following her dad to the allotment and back every day.
“Pass me the dibber, Little Bean. Ha’penny for every slug you find and put in this jar, Little Bean.” She missed Dad. What hurt her more than anything was that he hadn’t stuck up for her when Mum had kicked her out of home.
Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly when Betty swung open her bedroom door with a flourish. She brought a morning cup of tea with a beaming smile on her face. “Morning! Ceasefire! Thank God for that, eh? You can get back home now and get on with bringing that bairn into the world. Let’s get you packed up.”
“Right. Yes. Well that’s good, isn’t it?” offered Pru half-heartedly.
Betty laughed. “You don’t sound too happy aboot it!”
“No, I am. It’s just... well, I’ve got used to being here now.”
“Ha! And you were such a sourpuss when you arrived here, looking down yer nose at us.”
Pru coloured with embarrassment and looked down at her cup of tea intently.
“Bless yeh. I’m only joking.” Betty pinched her cheek “I’ll never be far away! And just you try keeping me away from that bairn when it comes,” she chuckled, and together they packed Pru’s bag ready for home.
Neither of the women knew that this would be the last time that they would see each other without the weight of tragedy on their shoulders.
Chapter seven
The sun was fleeing west by the time I arrived at the taverna. In the restaurant heads bobbed and bowed over plates of green olives. With rising panic I wondered whether I should have booked, after all, it was a Saturday evening. George did say to come by tonight, but how firm an arrangement had that been?
“Writer Lady. You are welcome!”
A sigh of relief escaped my mouth too loudly. The swarthy man held my upper arms and kissed me on both cheeks.
“Good evening, George. Are you able to squeeze me in tonight?”
“Of course! Come. Your table is upstairs.”
I followed George up the same stairs that I’d noticed on my first visit. Three sides of the room were open to the gentle breeze and most people were sitting at these outside tables with natural air conditioning and beautiful views.
I followed George past a couple holding hands across the table, gazing at each other with the fresh budding of love in their eyes. The next couple we passed were a more familiar sight to me. They sat in dense, foreboding silence. Both were looking in the vague direction of the sea and twisting the stems of their wine glasses. Their constricting wedding rings were choking the sensation out of fingers once used to cajole and caress.
I almost walked into the back of George as he stopped and motioned grandly to an oblong table set for four people.
“Oh. I will be dining on my own tonight, George,” I said with a
touch of embarrassment.
“I know. But you need much space for mezze. No?” He laughed that warm, throaty chuckle that made me smile with him. “And, anyway. There must be two people for mezze. For you, Writer Lady, I allow it to be one person. But don’t tell the boss!”
“Thank you, George. That’s very kind of you,” I said as he pulled a chair out for me. “I am very much looking forward to it.”
“Drink?”
“White wine. Whichever you recommend, and some water as well, thank you.”
“Certainly. Would you like the fish mezze or the meat mezze or a mixture of both?”
“I’ll have the fish mezze tonight, George.”
“Of course, you can sample our meat mezze another evening, yes? My son, Stefanos, will serve you this evening.”
George picked up the three unwanted wine glasses from the table as I laid the red paper napkin across my lap.
“And The Pleiades? It is nice, yes? Antheia is looking after you?”
“Yes, it’s wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. Thank you so much for fixing that up for me George.”
“You are welcome. I must see to my other customers. Enjoy your meal.” He nodded at me.
“Thank you.”
I exhaled and allowed my shoulders to drop away from my ears. The sea, still rich with the orange glow of the sun, was to my left and the hubbub of the restaurant was to my right. The sky was opulent with a pink haze the colour of Turkish delight, wisps of cloud powdering the confectionery.
From my elevated position I looked down upon the deserted beach. The day’s detritus of a discarded shoe and a handleless yellow bucket lay unwanted on the sand. I took a deep breath in through my nose. There wasn’t even the faintest scent of the sea tonight. Either that or I had already acclimatised and now took the scent for granted. The rich aromas of the kitchen pervaded the night air and mingled harmoniously. There was still so much residual heat in the day that I flung my shawl onto the neighbouring chair before getting out my notebook and pen.
Saliva flooded my mouth in anticipation of the delights that would be presented to me tonight. I watched with ill-disguised envy as dish after dish was brought out by the young waiter and placed before eager diners. Every time someone came up the stairs with his arms laden with succulent dishes my heart give a small skip with the hope that it would be my food. I was so busy studying the young man serving the next table that I didn’t notice another, taller man sidle up to me with dishes lined up his tanned arms.
“Good evening. How are you tonight?”
“Fine, thank you.” I smiled up at the waiter and found myself looking into the dark eyes of my tour guide from earlier in the day. The open smile on my face slithered away.
“Oh. It’s you,” I tried to say lightly while holding my chin aloft and keeping my gaze steady to cover the fact that I was inwardly cringing. The young man in his crisp, white shirt with one too many buttons undone at his chest placed the dishes carefully in front of me.
“I am Stefanos. My father has asked me to take special care of ourimportant guest.” I could almost hear the inverted commas he placed around the word ‘important’ as if he begged to differ on that point. “I am sorry that I had not been aware of who you were on the boat today,” he smirked.
“Would you have treated me any differently?”
“No.” A waitress appeared at Stefanos’ side with a tray.
“White wine? And nero. Enjoy.” She placed the drinks on the table and left but not before she fluttered her eyelashes in Stefanos’ direction.
“So,” he began, ignoring the dishes he had just placed down. “You are staying with my aunt at The Pleiades. How do you like it so far?” His words were polite but the lack of warmth in his eyes betrayed him. His short sleeves were folded up to his elbows, revealing strong arms with leather bands on his right wrist and a chunky gold watch on his left.
“It’s very nice, thank you.” I sat up straighter, sucking in my stomach involuntarily.
Pleasantries dispensed with, Stefanos swiftly moved on to business.
“This evening I will be bringing a selection of Cypriot dishes. To begin with we have olives, taramasalata, hummus, tsatsiki, tashi sauce and pitta breads. My father says you would also like further information about each dish. Everything is home made. Please ask me any questions you may have about the ingredients or method of cooking.”
“Thank you, but I am familiar with these dishes.”
“Very well.” He nodded curtly and then left the way he came, his soft black shoes making no sound on the wooden floor.
I really hadn’t been expecting to see the young man again and felt uncomfortable that not only had I run into him again, but that he was serving me my meal and was also nephew of the woman I was staying with. While he had been nothing but courteous, I still felt his chill of annoyance at with the way I had badgered him earlier about getting access to Varosha.
The smell of the dishes on the table brought me back to the sight before me. It was hard to be distressed when there was such delicious food to be savoured. I had always been a fan of this style of eating, be it mezze or tapas. There was something so indulgent about several dishes of sublime food in small earthenware dishes. It was rarely worth the effort of preparing so many dishes at home. This was certainly one of those occasions when I couldn’t do better myself.
Ignoring the plate and cutlery in front of me, I reached for a chunky strip of pitta bread and dipped into each dish in turn. The tsatsiki was a world apart from the one I made for Dom and myself in England. The yoghurt was thick and creamy, the minutely diced cucumber was refreshing and the jade shards of mint lifted the dip onto its tip-toes. The hummus was richly nutty with a smooth rounded aftertaste. I left the taramasalata until last. Not because it was my least favourite; no, quite the opposite. I was such a fan that I dreaded that it wouldn’t live up to my high standards. I was slightly put off by the colour. It was too pink to be natural so I gingerly dipped my little finger into to it and licked off the globule before it could plop back into the dish. It was tangy with the contradiction of fish and fresh lemon. I made a note in my book. I would have to get the recipe off George. I had never yet found a decent taramasalata recipe. It didn’t seem fathomable to me but shop-bought always surpassed my own attempts.
Before I had finished all of the dips Stefanos was by my side again.
“And here we have Greek salad, artichoke salad, dolmades – vine leaves stuffed with rice, haloumi cheese and okra in a tomato sauce. Is everything okay?”
“Thank you, yes.” I pointed to the carafe before me with a hunk of pitta. “Could you tell me the name of the wine?”
“Yes.” He picked up the jug and began to pour it into my wine glass. “This is our house white. It is a chardonnay called Kotrotsos from mainland Greece.”
“Kot-rot-sos,” I repeated writing it down in my notebook. “Thanks. That’s great.”
He disappeared as silently as he had appeared and I was dining in solitude again.
I wrote down the names of the dishes as I ate but by now I had slowed down a little. There was still a lot to come and I wanted to be able to sample all of it. Mezze wasn’t really the sort of meal you would normally eat on your own. It was a social meal for many people to share. There was no way I was going to be able to eat all of it but I would give it my best shot. I felt sure that good company was the only missing ingredient from this feast. Good conversation and laughter were an often underrated condiment for a perfect meal.
“And now we have the fish course,” came the smooth deep voice behind me. I jumped a little but tried not to look surprised as I felt his warm voice draw a line down my spine.
“This is marida, a small fish to be eaten whole; calamari, deep fried squid, and grilled octopus in a red wine sauce. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I don’t think so Stefanos.” He flinched at me using his name. It seemed altogether too intimate and I felt awkward at the sound of it being uttered by my ow
n voice.
“Enjoy your meal.”
I sat back and looked at the feast in front of me. There wasn’t a spare inch of table to be seen straining under the weight of the ten or so dishes before me. I poured myself some more wine to cleanse my palate before starting to devour the calamari. I knew that I should take a measured approach to the meal but it was too delicious to stop at just one or two pieces. The only time I paused was to squeeze lemon juice over the crispy batter. Calamari was one of my favourite dishes. In fact, today, I would say there was nothing else I would rather be eating. The smell was enough to turn me into a ravenous beast but I reminded myself that with a mezze it is not obligatory to finish everything on the table.
I speared a slice of warm salty haloumi cheese with my fork and lazily bit off the end of it. The edges were slightly charred and caramelised. I knew from experience that it was better eaten while it was still piping hot. Cold haloumi had a tendency to squeak disconcertingly against your teeth.
Next, on to the dolmades which oozed a smooth green sweetness of olive oil down my chin that I dabbed away with the paper napkin. I picked up my pen and made a note that overall presentation could be improved upon but taste could not. “Delectable,” I wrote.
My appetite hadn’t been everything it could have been of late and so the dishes in front of me pushed at the sides of my shrunken stomach. Every time I thought I’d had enough and put my fork down, my taste buds convinced me to squeeze in just one more mouthful. I made notes on each dish as I sipped my chilled wine, and started to feel a bit more like my old self again. I was staring out to sea with my wineglass in my hand wondering what Dom was up to right now when the screech of chair legs brought me back to the present.
Stefanos sat across the table from me. His arms were folded and his gaze was steady. I looked back at him and raised an eyebrow. I was both curious and panicky at the sight of him sitting opposite me. I carefully placed my wineglass down and waited for him to speak.
