by Jo Bunt
But as infatuation had been replaced by pregnancy, everything had changed between them. Where there had once been love was now mutual resentment. He realised now that they had never talked about the future and, as a result, they hadn’t realised that they both wanted wildly different things. They didn’t have much of a social life in Cyprus but on Eddie’s days off they would head out to Fig Tree Bay on the back of the Suzuki and swim the few hundred meters out to the small rocky island where they would snorkel for hours, pointing out the rainbow of fishes darting through the turquoise waters, returning back to the shore with reddened shoulders and wrinkled skin on their fingers. They would then sit at George’s Taverna as the gossamer of salt hardened on their skin while they drank beer and awaited the catch of the day. Some days they would be served the freshest calamari dragged up the beach from the little fishing boats, hung on lines to be dried by the sun. Once they were given sea-slug to eat. They laughed about it, wondering what the people back home would make of it and marvelled at how different their lives were to those of their parents. They would talk as the sun started to slip down the sky of how lucky they were and how life couldn’t get any better.
But then, as the pregnancy progressed and Pru found she couldn’t do the things she used to do, she seemed to get angry with Eddie. Everything he did would infuriate her. She looked at him with contempt. Her once smiling lips now curled towards her button nose in contempt.
Eddie would never have considered himself a needy man but it was apparent now that he wanted to be needed by someone. Pru withdrew into herself and Eddie searched out alternative forms of validation. He threw himself into his work, volunteering for all the overtime, the more dangerous the better. He was hand-picked to escort President Makarios off the island amid fears for his safety. The feeling of importance he got from this seemingly simple task glowed deep inside him and he stoked the embers of this fire as a man desperate for warmth on a freezing cold night.
Eddie squeezed the wooden arm of the chair until his nails ached and his knuckles stiffened. If he’d been home he could have stemmed the bleeding at the very least. She needed him and he had let her down. All this bravado, guns and fighting didn’t make him a man. He had fallen short where it was most important. He had failed as a husband.
Eddie hated this feeling of helplessness. He was trying his hardest to contain the molten anger threatening to erupt from deep inside. He was scared that if he let go, he would never stop. Nonetheless he was sorely tempted to start kicking and punching inanimate objects. Perhaps even the animate ones too. He wanted to hear things break and feel them crumple in his fists. His thoughts whirled around his head with dizzying ferocity. They had shot her. The bastards shot her. Did they look through their sights at her and squeeze the trigger? Did they know what they’d done?
Eddie couldn’t help but feel the army had failed the both him and Pru. While the British army were just watching and listening, a very real fight was going on. And that very real fight had come over his doorstep tonight. What would it take for them to get involved, and how many people would have to die? Somebody somewhere needed to take very real and immediate action against the Turks instead of viewing the whole scenario as part of a testosterone-fuelled chess match.
“I love you, Pru. Can you hear me?” he whispered. “If you can hear me, I want you know this one thing. I am so sorry.” He stood, leant over the bed, kissed her forehead, stroked her hair and then left without looking back.
Pru tried to swallow but her throat hurt. She tried to lick her lips and found them rough and dry under her tongue. She was so thirsty but she couldn’t move to get the glass by the side of the bed. She needed a drink of water so badly. Water. A fragment of a memory caught in her mind, enticing her, beckoning her, a snake in the Garden of Eden.
She could see herself in the kitchen with a glass. The tap was running cool water over her hand. No. Stop. The shutters came down abruptly on the thought. There was nothing there. She’d get a drink later. Right now, she was so tired. Somewhere across the room she thought she heard Eddie say he was sorry. So he should be, it must be really late by now. What time does he call this? Doesn’t he know she needs her sleep? He should have been home hours ago. Pru sighed and drifted back into the hospitable arms of sleep.
Chapter eleven
I snapped awake from my dream and sat bolt upright like a sprung trap. Wheezing, I dragged the air down into my lungs in large gulps. I placed one hand over my heaving chest and panted. I dreamt that I was trapped under a collapsed building and couldn’t get out. It had all felt so real. I could still recall the roughness of the rubble, the bricks on my body and the weight of them pressing down on me. I had been cold, so cold, and it was wet where I lay amongst the debris. In my dream it had been raven black and I couldn’t see anything. My legs were trapped and somewhere I could hear a baby crying – my baby – but I couldn’t get to it. Then there was a blinding flash of white light and I was catapulted into consciousness. Always the flash of light.
I blinked and my eyes adjusted to the reality of the honey-gilt room before me. I felt comforted that it had been nothing more than a dream, even though it still felt like a reality. Goosebumps rippled over my arms as the cooling air sighed on my sweating body. I sat slumped over for a minute, still waiting for the hammering of my heart to subside. It was one of those dreams that stayed with you. I knew them all too well. It had been a while since I’d had a nightmare like that one. It would hang around me like a shroud for the rest of this evening, making me feel uneasy and unsettled no matter how many times I told myself it was just a dream.
I squeezed my shoulders upwards and rolled my head from side to side. I seemed to have strained something while thrashing about in my dream and my neck had stiffened in response. I was mildly surprised to find that I was still fully dressed. I remembered now that I had only intended to doze a short while away from the harsh glare of the sun. I wasn’t feeling as refreshed as I’d hoped I would. In fact, if anything I was feeling more exhausted now than before I laid down. I pushed myself out of bed and slipped out to the patio area with a blanket around my shoulders. It was beautifully and resplendently warm outside and the blanket was entirely unnecessary as anything other than a comforter. I sat on the bench with my knees up to my chin and thought about what had happened today.
An appalling night’s sleep last night meant that I had been awake before the morning was out of the starting blocks. In Protaros I had headed straight to an Internet café where I sat for twenty minutes with a drink looking for information on Facebook and then on Friends Reunited until I found what I had been looking for. A quick Google search and I was a step closer to my prize. I had been surprised at how easy it had been really. All that information on thousands of people you hadn’t met laid bare for you to pry into. I felt like a voyeur sneaking a peek at these people from the hidden safety of my Cypriot café and eavesdropping on conversations not intended for me. Knowledge is a heady drug that I craved as much as a flower seeks daylight. Without it, I was suffocating and withering day by day.
I hastily tapped out an email to Dom explaining what I’d learned so far and where I would be staying for the next couple of weeks. After a brief hesitation I hammered out a few kisses and pressed ‘send’. Armed with an address and a flicker of excitement, I wandered the streets of Protaros until I found the place that I was looking for. I positioned myself in a café over the road where I could keep an eye on the building I sought. I snacked on the chips and souvlaki they brought me but barely tasted it as I watched for some movement or sign of life opposite me. It looked like I was going to have to return later.
Now standing outside the building, which was now teeming with a certain kind of fun seeker, and still groggy from my nightmare riddled sleep, I was nervous in anticipation of what the evening might hold.
“Forgive me, Mum,” I said to the air as I stepped into the neon-bathed bar. This certainly wasn’t somewhere designed to appeal to the locals of the island. The music
was too loud and was blaring out ‘classic’ Brit pop. Oasis was all but drowned out by a group of men with their arms over each other’s shoulders singing along with ‘Wonderwall’ in flat Northern tones. I hovered at the door and fingered the shoulder strap of my bag nervously.
This was usually the kind of place that I avoided when holidaying or working abroad. I never went into bars like this at home so I certainly didn’t seek them out when I was away. But I was here with a purpose; nothing else would have convinced me to set foot over the threshold.
My eyes scanned the bobbing heads in the darkened bar but no one stood out. Now that I was here I realised that there was more than a slight possibility that he wouldn’t be here at all and, even if he was, the chance of me recognising him was slim. The air was thick with the scent of spilt beer and cloying aftershave. I manoeuvred my way towards the bar through the throngs of people, my trainers adhering to the lager-lacquered wooden floor. As I tried to squeeze past a man in a Ben Sherman shirt too small for his greed-induced girth, he turned and said “Aye, aye! She’s touching me up!” to much hilarity from the assembled crowd. I managed a weak smile and tried again to get past him. This time he purposely blocked my way.
“Hey honey! I might not be Fred Flintstone, but I could certainly make your bed rock!” he said with a raised eyebrow and eyes full of mirth and suggestion.
His mates laughed and cheered and while he basked in their admiration I slipped away.
“Tosser!” I muttered under my breath and squeezed through enough people to shield me from the oaf and to get me closer to the heart of the din where people were shouting orders to the bar staff.
I got to the bar as two over-made-up young women moved away from it clutching their alco-pops. One glanced disapprovingly down at my attire and then away quickly as if she thought that I was the kind of woman who would start a fight. She leaned in closer to her friend who glanced at me sideways from under her false eyelashes. I met her surreptitious glance with a brazen stare of my own as they scuttled away. I wasn’t in the best of moods tonight, possibly because I was way out of my depth and getting tired of treading water. I glanced along at the bar staff. They didn’t look old enough to drink alcohol, never mind serve it.
There were only three of them and they seemed to be overworked. As soon as they handed the change to one person they were already asking the next one what they wanted. Pint after pint was pulled as I watched. It was surprisingly busy in here for the off season, but it was about as close as you could get to the high season before the schools broke up, so it stood to reason that nearly everyone here was childless or single. A quick glance behind the bar confirmed that this establishment would not be featured in my culinary tour of the island unless Walkers crisps and pickled eggs counted as a Greek delicacy.
Several times I opened my mouth to order a drink and the barman looked past me to either a young man leaning over me or a young girl who out-cleavaged me. Time to take assertive steps. I put both of my elbows on the bar top and felt something sticky on my arms. I pulled myself up to my full height and fixed my eyes on the nearest barman.
“Yep?” asked the barman.
“Keo please.”
“Bottle or glass.”
“Bottle.”
“Sure.”
“Is Eddie in tonight?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible.
The tanned boy in front of me cocked his ear at me and I leaned in closer to shout.
“I said, is Eddie here tonight?”
The boy just looked puzzled and shrugged as we exchanged money for beverage.
“Damn!” Maybe I wasn’t in the right place after all. Deflated, I turned around and walked straight into the chest of a tall, well-built man.
“Who wants to know?” came a clear strong voice that cut through the music easily without shouting.
I looked into his face. It wasn’t quite what I’d been expecting. In the photos I’d seen of him, he’d been fresh faced with a pointy chin. This man was altogether rounder and softer looking but there was no doubting that, when I was born, this man had been my mum’s husband. I had found Eddie.
Chapter twelve
Cyprus, 1974
Eddie watched as the sky began to concede its raven hue. On the horizon the first rays of light were seeping like watercolours into the velvet morning. He sat astride his motorbike with his helmet under his arm. It was time to go. He threw his helmet into the wadi and heard it skid on the parched earth. He felt the need for the wind on his face today. Eddie was restless and in no mood to play it safe.
The birds were stirring and singing loudly enough to be heard over the thrum of the bike’s engine. A lizard scurried into the bushes as the wheels disturbed the dust. Twice he narrowly missed the fast black snakes who made the arid wadi their home. The faster he rode the bike, the more he could detach himself from the sight of his wife lying in the hospital bed, tentatively hanging on to her depleted life.
He knew where the pockets of Greeks were hiding out in the hills and set off to join them in their fight. Knowing the thirsty land better than the roads, Eddie was able to move up the country without coming across any checkpoints until he got to the hills. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would come across fighters of one nationality or another. As he kicked the bike on up the crumbling walls of the dry ditch and onto the road, he wasn’t surprised to see armed men up ahead. He felt unusually numb. He didn’t fear for his own life, possibly because he didn’t much care for it.
Directly in front of him were four soldiers leaning on a tank. Eddie slowed as they motioned to him with their guns. From here, he couldn’t tell if they were Greek or Turkish. He had to be patient. Eddie slowed down enough to take stock of the situation. As he got closer he recognised the tank was an American M48 Patton favoured by the Turkish army and the final piece of his plan fell into place. He clenched his fists around the handlebars of his motorbike and hoped his recklessness would pay off. He didn’t want to show his hand yet.
Even before he spoke, they knew that he was British.
“Stop. What is your business?” came the stilted but technically perfect English.
“I’m a journalist. I’m here to report on the...” Eddie paused, thinking carefully about what he would call it.
“The peace operation?”
“Yes, thepeace operation,” Eddie said pointedly.
“Where is your camera? Your papers?”
Eddie nodded behind him to the pack on the back of his bike.
“Please stand here.” The Turkish soldier pointed with his gun at the side of the road.
Eddie got off the bike, carefully stretching his legs as he did so, and stood before the man addressing him. He might have looked relaxed but every muscle in Eddie’s body was thrumming with adrenaline and preparing for attack.
“You have weapon?”
“No.”
The Turkish man beckoned one of the others over who flicked his cigarette butt away before patting up and down Eddie’s legs and body. He nodded as he confirmed there were no weapons concealed on the Englishman’s body.
Eddie took this opportunity to look at the men closely. The Commander appeared a few years older than the rest of the crew but that might only have been because of the authority with which he conducted himself. They were shorter than Eddie but all were wider and strong looking. There was a slightly bored expression on the faces of the younger men. Eddie knew that look. He had seen it on the faces of colleagues who were eager to join in the fight but were instead put on basic duties. Something that struck Eddie as he looked at them was the assured manner they all had. Not one of them showed any signs of being in the wrong. Not one of the men here felt like they were intruding on Greek land. He wondered if one of these men had fired the shot that had hit his wife and felt his gut clench.
“Where are you going to?” the first man asked again. He looked curious rather that suspicious.
“To the North, in order to see the Turkish troops in action.”
With a nonchalant wave of his hand, he dismissed Eddie and went back to his station by the tank. As he turned his back on Eddie his gun swung loosely by his side. Eddie saw at once how he could grab the weapon and crunch the butt of the gun into the Commander’s face before shooting the others as they stood uncomprehending in front of him. His hands twitched but the moment had passed and he let the men live. For now.
Eddie kept his eyes on his mirrors as he edged the bike away from the group, careful to proceed slowly up the road while he was still in their sight. As soon as he was behind the ridge of trees he kicked the bike up a notch and turned off onto a dirt track that he had travelled many times before. Even if the tank had decided to follow him, it couldn’t go above thirty miles an hour and there was no way it could follow him up this narrow track. Within fifteen minutes the track became too rough and steep to ride on so Eddie pulled the bike off between the trees by what looked like an abandoned shepherd’s hut. Shouldering his pack he set off again up the hill. He wanted to retrieve the box and then push on to reach his destination before the heat of the day could disrupt his plans.
It took him some time to find the right place, and in his panic he thought that someone had beaten him to it, but there it was, in the cool and silent darkness of the hollow in the rock. The crate stood firm and square with the word EOKA stamped on it in four-inch-high inky black letters. Eddie had come across the box on a camping trip two months ago but had left it well alone then. Partly because he knew it was something that he shouldn’t have seen, but mainly because of the arrow sharp scorpions who made these rocks their home.
