by Leah Fleming
On Holy Friday, Irini and her friend Maria went to join the women to decorate a funeral bier on which lay the statue of Christ. Then in the evening at dusk it was processed all over the town in solemn candlelight and music. The epitaphi procession was a re-enactment of the aftermath of the crucifixion.
Sara watched along with all her neighbours. How seriously the Greeks solemnised Good Friday in contrast with the British Easter. How different the same day would be in England. It was all about shopping, Easter eggs, holiday traffic queues and the real meaning of this season no longer held much meaning except among devout Christians.
The high point was when she joined Mel, Griff and Pippa as they packed into the church late on Saturday, holding unlit candles. As it grew dark and the chanting droned on, people came and went out for a cigarette but at midnight, the priest came from behind the altar holding a Paschal candle with which he passed the light on from candle to candle. The darkness began to lighten as each one lit another until the whole church shimmered in candlelight. It brought tears to her eyes.
‘Christos anesti,’ they whispered to each other. Christ is risen. ‘Alithos anesti,’ came the reply. Risen indeed!
Outside the church women carried baskets of dyed eggs and biscuits to give out to the congregation and Mel said that the ash from their candle must be smeared on the door for good luck.
After weeks of fasting for the faithful, the welcome smell of grilled lamb was in the air, ready roasted on the spit as families gathered for a feast.
‘It’s your first Easter here – it’s unique, isn’t it?’ Griff leaned across the table of the taverna. ‘Like nowhere else.’
‘I had no idea,’ Sara replied. ‘So symbolic and moving. I didn’t understand a word being spoken but I’m so glad I’m here to see it.’
‘Come, Kyria Sara, ela… the fire is lit.’ Markos took her hand and led her to a piece of spare ground where the boys had built a huge bonfire on which sat an effigy dressed up and sitting on an old bike.
‘Look, Judas is burning!’ They cheered as fireworks leapt into the air and guns went off as usual. By two o’clock in the morning Sara was weary, and brim full with delicious dishes. She had managed to take a few photos and emailed them home but how could she explain to Mum and Dad how wonderful Easter was here?
Tomorrow it was back to work, replying to emails, but so far she had only one definite online booking and her bank balance was not looking too healthy until Karen’s money came through. Yet nothing could spoil what she had witnessed in the past few days. From darkness to light, from fasting to feast, from death to resurrection. Now it was springtime and the flowers were in full bloom in the hills; tulips, orchids and poppies. There was a richness to life here that made up for her present cash shortage. Here she could live simply with vegetables, fresh fruits and local produce. All she needed was the faith that things would improve if she kept believing in her business acumen. Time to spread the candle ash over the door. She was sure Ariadne wouldn’t mind. Both of them were in need of good fortune in the coming year.
*
Sara was worried about Sandra and Jack’s coming event. It was as if Sandra had lost interest in her big day. As Sara busied herself tidying Ariadne Villa, she wondered how to inject some enthusiasm into the coming ceremony, so much so she even enlisted Sally, the vicar’s help.
‘Do you think her treatment is affecting her listlessness? It’s as if she is grieving and unable to enjoy any of it,’ Sara said, knowing Sandra was making few suggestions about her party.
‘I think it’s a family matter, a fallout. Sandra told me there is one guest missing, her own daughter who means so much to her and that’s something we can’t remedy, I’m afraid. Sandra is a fighter but the stress does not help her stability. She is such a brave woman and I’ve been on my knees praying for the best outcome.’
‘How could anyone not come to their own mother’s wedding?’ Sara was puzzled.
‘I fear you still have a lot to learn about this business. Every family has its own dynamics, who is in, who is out. I see it most at funerals and weddings. Does the father give the bride away, or the stepfather? What role is there for the new wife when there’s an acrimonious divorce? Why was the brother not the best man, or the sister’s child not a bridesmaid? You get the picture… All these issues come to play every time, even before the banns are read out.’
‘I take the point.’ Sara shook her head in dismay. Sally was being very gentle with her comments.
‘I’m afraid you have to be counsellor, adviser and comforter, as well as making sure all the guests are seated in the right place. That’s another nightmare. You put the wrong relatives together and there can be ructions. Most people can be polite for so long but too much wine, raki, whatever and there’ll be trouble. Believe me, bloody noses, tears, fights and structural damage are all par for the course.’ Sally laughed.
‘Hells bells, I didn’t envisage all this,’ Sara confessed.
‘I’m curious as to why you decided to choose this business?’ Sally asked, sipping lemonade and giving Sara a piercing look.
‘I wanted to make a bride and groom have a wonderful experience, a day to last a lifetime.’
‘You’re quite the idealist. I’ll be frank. I find many marriages last no longer than their toaster; at the first sign of trouble they ditch it and each other.’
‘That’s cynical coming from a vicar,’ Sara replied, shocked at Sally’s comments.
‘I’m just being realistic. Some people marry not for keeps but only until something or someone better comes along. It’s a different generation now than that of our own grandparents. Divorce carries no shame and cohabiting and pregnancy is all matter-of-fact these days. I try to hope that those who do decide to marry are in it for the long haul. There are often subtle pressures from parents, career promotions in work as well as legal status and security all playing their part. I gather you’ve not been there yourself then?’ Sally was probing.
‘Almost,’ Sara sighed. It was time to share her own story and she found tears flowing as she recounted some of what had happened last year.
‘I’m sorry.’ Sally touched her hand. ‘Sounds like a lucky escape.’
‘Why do I feel such a failure?’
‘It was once explained to me that we have two sides to ourselves: the sunny bright side we show others as they show their sunny bright side back to us, but as we live and know someone better, the darker shadowy bits feel safe to reveal themselves and this can suddenly destroy our trust and our loving relationship, leaving us confused.’
‘Crikey, that sounds well complicated to me… I thought it was for real and then suddenly I saw him for what he was. It was too much to bear.’ Sara found herself reliving that moment of revelation, the weakness in her legs, the pounding heart and exhaustion draining her confidence.
‘The sad thing, Sara, is until someone recognises their own weakness and dark self, they can’t do anything to change their behaviour. They go on making the same mistakes and making others suffer. Recognition has to come from within and it is not easy to admit. It helps to forgive them this weakness.’
‘I couldn’t do that,’ Sara snapped. This was turning into a counselling session. ‘Anyway, this doesn’t sort out our problem with Sandra, does it?’ she added, changing the subject.
‘Wait and see. I have a feeling it may all work out. I’m praying it will for Sandra’s sake. She deserves a break.’
Sara strolled down the hill from the vicarage. She couldn’t help chewing over all Sally’s experiences. How naive she was being. There was much more to this wedding business than just flowers, bridal arches, table décor, seating plans and canned music. There was a lot to learn about human frailties and the reality of family lives. With loving parents, she was protected from such divisions or feuding. It was time to tighten up her psychology if she wasn’t going to land in a whole heap of trouble. How she admired Sally’s grasp of the realities around marriage. First thing in the morning sh
e would sit down with Sandra to plan the table seating. Perhaps a mixture of local expats with her home guests might be the best arrangement.
24
Mel and Spiro sat down to a well-earned dinner of leftovers. It was after midnight and there was still the taverna to tidy up and much to chew over. ‘Your mother is getting worse, Spiro. She nags at us all day long and I can’t stand much more of it.’ Mel felt it was about time her husband knew just what a pain his mother was of late.
‘Mama is tired and demanding. She’s afraid of being old and dependent so she takes it out on everyone, even me,’ he replied with a sigh.
‘No, not you… You can do no wrong and she’s not that old. She just dresses as old.’ Mel was feeling bitter and washed out. ‘We have the christening party on Sunday and I want Pippa’s baby to have a lovely day.’
‘The baby won’t know anything about it but we can get in extra help if you need it.’ Spiro was trying to be helpful.
Typical man, he had no idea of the work involved. Harmony may be asleep but her parents would want a celebration to remember. Baptisms were huge events among the locals. There were balloons and decorations to put up, special dishes and tables to look good.
‘Thank goodness the book club will muck in, even Dorrie Thorner, wonders will never cease, but it’s just…’
‘Just?’ Spiro was puzzled.
‘You and I get so little family time together with the boys; a day on the beach, a picnic or a trip to the waterpark in Chania. It’s all work, work, work.’
‘That’s how it is in the season. This is when we make our money and times are hard. You can’t expect me to down tools and lose business because you want time off. I know it’s hard for an English girl to be a Greek wife.’
Mel sniffed her disapproval, shaking her head. ‘There has to be some balance. The children need to see us all together.’
‘They see us at dinner.’
‘That’s not what I mean and you know it.’ The gloves were off. ‘I come to bed and my skin stinks of kitchen fat, my calves ache, my eyes are stinging with weariness but I can’t sleep. You turn up after dancing in town and snore like a pig all night. It’s not fair.’
‘I thought you like me dancing with the troupe?’
‘How do I know what you get up to behind my back? Some of those young boys attract the tourist girls like flies to honey.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I dance and that is all. You said that I was unfit and needed to lose some weight and I have,’ Spiro shouted.
‘Don’t call me stupid… I know Greek men flirt, drink and the rest… if they can get away with it. I know you smoke. I wash your shirts,’ she yelled back.
‘So, what if I do? A man needs comfort from a nagging wife.’ Spiro stood, his arms crossed, his chest defiant. ‘You’re not my mother.’
‘Thank God!’ Mel snapped, aware her arguments were going nowhere. ‘It’s all about what your mother wants, your taverna, your jobs. None of you appreciate anything I do. I’m going to bed.’ She fled in tears and slammed the door.
‘Melodia! Don’t be childish. We can talk about this again when you’ve calmed down,’ Spiro whispered through the door.
‘You can sleep in your mother’s flat… I want to sleep alone.’
She heard the door close with a bang. Markos woke up and demanded to sleep in her bed. ‘Where’s Papa?’
I don’t know and I don’t care, she thought. Why am I being like this? Perhaps it was the time of the month again or just that she had had enough. Tomorrow she must pin on her smile and make sure Pippa and Duke had a wonderful day.
Next morning, they both made polite conversation over coffee as if nothing had happened.
‘Is Griff still going ahead with that rescue centre?’ Mel asked.
‘Not sure, the deputy mayor and the demos think it is unnecessary but no one has told him yet.’ Mel knew Spiro had mixed feelings about the venture. ‘You think it’s my job to inform him? Everyone sees me as a bridge between foreigners and the town because I’m English.’
‘Griff is determined to form a private trust, a charity with or without the demos’ approval. Simon Bartlett and Chloë are on board. You must support them.’
‘I don’t know, it will cause trouble.’ Spiro was in no mood for compromise.
‘You mean from Stavros Metrakis and his thugs?’
‘Metrakis is from the past, he lives in the hills, his sons are uneducated and he hasn’t much influence down here. The dog to him is just equipment. When it gets lame or sick it’s disposed of with a gun. That is their way… you can’t change that,’ Spiro argued.
‘Can’t we? A working animal deserves a retirement, like the horses on Chania harbour. They are found homes. It is only humane. Metrakis is an ignorant peasant and he could do with a good wash.’ Mel had no time for the man who still lingered in their taverna eyeing the tourist girls in their shorts and tops.
‘Don’t badmouth him in public, Mel, he can go crazy when drunk. If you rattle him, he may take matters into his own hands.’
‘Like what?’
‘Nothing, just warning you not to get too involved.’
‘That’s not like you to defend a bully. You must see Griff and explain things.’
‘Enough, I’m off.’
Mel couldn’t settle. What was it about Metrakis that troubled her husband? Why did he make him welcome in the taverna and why did Yiayia, grandmother Irini, refuse to serve him? Spiro was holding back on something and she was determined to find out just what it was.
*
Sara sat in the little church as Sally baptised Harmony Marianne Millar into the fellowship of the church. It was a traditional ceremony and Mel, Simon and Chloë stood as godparents. Little Harmony slept through it all. Pippa wore her turquoise wedding dress with a crocheted shawl over her shoulders and Duke, well, he dressed as Duke.
Griff sat opposite in chinos and cream shirt and Sparky crept under his feet. Many regulars were far away and Mel explained how she wished she could introduce Sara to Ariadne Blunt and her partner Hebe but they were in North Yorkshire on the coast trying to nurse Hebe back to health. There were other absentees too but Della Fitzpatrick came with her friend, Joe. All those friends scattered to the four winds, unknown as yet to Sara. She hoped in time she would get to greet them on their return.
Expats were a fluid community, coming and going with the seasons, houses rented out, dogs and cats rehomed with neighbours. Was she here only for a season or two? Her business was in its early infancy, hardly viable, and she was living off savings but the thought of returning to Sheffield held no joy. The sale to Karen was going ahead. It had to be done but it felt like burning a final bridge. She could not be in two places at the same time and here was where she was choosing to live.
It was at times like this, seeing families celebrating a birth, that she felt her singleness. To have a loving relationship, a child perhaps. Would these things now pass her by? Jack and Sandra’s wedding was next on the agenda. She noticed Sandra was blooming with a new lease of energy, much to Mel and Sara’s relief. Perhaps there had been some good news about her health.
Sara looked across to Griff. What was he thinking? After the supper date, she’d avoided him where possible but in their close-knit group it wasn’t easy. They held an open meeting to discuss a fundraising campaign for the newly named SPARKS. No one had yet got any original ideas for a moneymaking event that might attract a crowd and the animal blessing service had died a death. There was no support coming from the demos as yet but they still had high hopes of cooperation.
Griff and the kind vet from the shelter near Chania were going into the school with Sparky to talk to the children. The vet would use Sparky to examine for fleas and ticks, check his teeth and coat, asking the children to look out for sick dogs and cats. This was a start but vet bills, medicines, cages and a sick bay would all cost so the sooner they could come up with a viable idea, the better.
Sara had to admit the more she saw of G
riff, the more she couldn’t help liking him but where that might lead frightened her. It was barely a year since her own sad event and far too soon to be involved with another man; once bitten twice shy and all that. She blushed at such wandering thoughts as they stood to sing an old favourite hymn: ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’. This was going to be a lovely day with a feast to look forward to, even if she must change her heels for flats and her dress for jeans. She looked at her watch and nodded to the book club contingent. Time to get moving. It was kitchen duties for them all, and soon, or they would face the wrath of Irini.
July
25
Sara was watering the plumbago in the front garden when her English neighbour came running down the path. ‘Have you seen Orpheus lately?’
Sara looked up. ‘No, why?’ Orpheus was Miss Blunt’s cat.
‘We’ve been looking after him and he’s getting on now. I know he sneaks back into his home garden if I leave the gate open but he’s not come back for his food. Oh, hell!’ she cried.
‘Where does he usually end up?’ Sara asked.
‘Who knows, but he’s always by the side door ready for his meal. When it’s not your own… I’m usually so careful. My husband’s already been out looking for him.’
‘Let me just put this away and come and join you. We can ask around. His fur is distinctive and he’s friendly. Have you checked any old buildings?’ Sara could see how anxious she was. They spent the morning searching down by the harbour in case he was scrounging fish bits, then along the tavernas, shouting his name.
‘He’s a bit deaf now and has a one-track mind when he is hungry, from his days as a stray. Ariadne adopted him. What can I do?’
Sara walked up to see Mel and ask around. She had grown fond of the little moggy with its stripy fur. There were always cats milling around in the square scrounging for scraps. Irini was sitting holding court with her neighbours, crocheting and eyeing up the visitors passing by. Sara described Orpheus in detail.
