by Sara Alexi
‘What’s wrong with me?’ The words float over the water. She is answered by a multitude of feelings, each jostling for attention.
The dominant one does not surprise her. With Finn married, her role as mother is all but gone. Finn and Helena will probably stay living in London, although Finn has seen possibilities of taking his work to America, to be near Joss and even further from her. His clothes will then always be washed and ironed by Helena, or, more likely, by a housekeeper. His meals will always be cooked by Helena. But then, hasn’t that been happening since he moved to London anyway? It is not that her role is officially being relinquished to another, it’s not jealousy, it’s ... Sarah struggles to define it. It is a feeling of uselessness mixed in with a pointlessness mixed in turn with an it-doesn’t-matter-ness.
‘Not your average doesn’t-matter-ness,’ Sarah whispers to herself. It is more than that. It is a nugatory feeling, a space, a void, and there is nothing she can do to alter that.
‘You want coffee?’ Laurence shouts through the door.
‘When I come out.’ The squeakiness of her voice catches her by surprise and she coughs.
He doesn’t help. She is not sure she would go so far as to say he is a control freak—she does have a theoretical say in their lives—but the reality is that the things that come about in their lives are the things Laurence wants or suggests. Her ideas remain just that, ideas. But he always leaves room to argue it is not so. Like the move when the boys were so small. She suggested that they needed a larger house when the boys got bigger. Somewhere with a garden where they could run around, let off steam. Laurence’s salary was good, they could afford it, and it could be a family home, a place that was theirs, and not just his bachelor pad that she had moved into. It didn’t happen; the boys continued to bounce off the walls, she continued to be surrounded by relics of his single days until, one day, she was called back home to County Clare, to an uncle’s funeral, and Laurence stayed home with the boys. After her week away, Laurence met her at the airport full of his idea that they needed a bigger home, with space for the boys, and within the following week, they had seen four houses and Laurence had put an offer in for one of them—but not the one she liked best. The house move was his ever recurring example, both in private and public, as to the equality he gave her.
‘Everything.’ Sarah sinks beneath the water again. It’s like that with everything, right down to when he takes her clothes shopping. Now she has a wardrobe full of so many dresses that she only half-likes but Laurence loves.
‘I don’t matter. Nothing I do matters.’ The garbled words create pockets of air that jettison to the surface.
She pushes herself up and reaches for the shampoo. Laurence, true to form, has laid everything out in order: shampoo, conditioner, shaving foam, deodorant, contact lens solution, toothpaste.
‘Coffee’s going cold,’ Laurence calls.
‘Alright.’
She slips under the water again to wash off the soap before grabbing at the conditioner bottle. It’s light; it doesn’t occur to Laurence that packing a nearly empty bottle is a bit pointless. She makes a mental note to buy more. Shaking the shaving foam and the contact solution bottle, she finds that at least they are full. She needs to go to a supermarket anyway, get some staples in, something for breakfast; coffee, milk, sugar.
‘I matter for that,’ she sneers. ‘Keeping the cupboards stocked.’ Which is almost true, although, at home, she uses a delivery service that brings the same stuff every week. It is only the special things that she would buy herself from specialist shops. It fills her days.
But here, there will be no delivery service. She will have to go shopping. There is bound to be a supermarket in Saros; she could pop in when they go in to to meet Joss and Pru. But then, Finn had said they should meet up today.
She pulls herself from the water, stepping out of the bath and, drying her hands first, reaches for her phone.
‘Have you arrived?’ she texts Josh.
The heat is drying her more quickly than the towel, which she wraps around her to go and find some fresh clothes. The reply comes before she leaves the bathroom.
‘Meeting Finn and Helena for lunch, join us?’ it says.
‘Where?’ She drips water from her hair onto the phone as she replies.
‘One minute,’ is the answer.
Laurence is still on his laptop. She looks around the room for another door that will lead to a bedroom, but there is only the door that she came in by which went through the kitchen.
‘Where’s the bedroom?’
‘Another door on the patio.’
‘Oh, not very useful if you need the toilet in the night.’
‘It has an en suite.’ He doesn’t look up.
It feels odd to walk outside in a towel and nothing else, but the sun kisses her skin through the vine leaves and she feels a distant promise that everything could be alright here in the sun.
The bedroom is also stone walled, with a really big bed and is exquisitely furnished in creams and pale blue.
Her phone peeps. The message this time is from Finn.
‘Hey! Meet us at café "Kendrikon", main square, Saros, midday.’
She taps her message back. ‘Ok, xxx, mum’
She likes sending x’s and hopes he feels loved by them.
‘Is that coffee still warm?’
‘It’s in the kitchen.’
‘Joss and Finn say to meet them for lunch. Midday.’
‘You’ve spoken to them then?’ He looks up, surprised.
‘Text.’
‘Oh.’ He is back in his computer.
Sarah strolls out onto the patio with a cup of barely warm coffee. Everywhere she looks, the place has been beautifully finished, the details considered. She steps onto the neatly mowed lawn and wonders who waters it to keep it so green in this heat. Her simple shift dress is a lot cooler than was her skirt and top. She ducks under the orange tree and the garden opens up: on one side, a row of flowering bushes marks the perimeter and on the other, the lawn merges into what must be Juliet’s garden next door, which has a more rural feel and is dotted with trees; long rushes grow from a natural pond by a solitary, twisted old olive tree. But Sarah is mesmerised by the blue of the pool in front of the fig tree, the water so clear, the sun reflecting from all the facets. The temptation to jump in fully clothed is almost irresistible.
She chuckles, a dry humourless sound as she imagines what Laurence would do or say if she were to do such a thing. Her coffee all gone, she still continues to move from bush to plant, taking it all in, looking at the details of nature, as she falls into a place where she thinks no thoughts.
‘Darling, time’s flying. We’d best be off, I think,’ Laurence calls from the patio.
‘It must be really early yet,’ she calls back but she knows it is not a discussion and the last thing she needs before seeing Pruella de Ville is a moody Laurence. All these people who annoy her. Maybe, she thinks, and it is not a comfortable thought, but maybe it is not them, maybe it is her. Her stomach grumbles. She still hasn’t eaten. She will have to wait for lunch now.
Lunch with Joss and Finn, both of them, at the same time, for the first time in she cannot remember how long. Joss and Finn, her lovely boys. Well, not really boys anymore. They are men now, and Joss perhaps a little too like his father ... But Finn is still her baby. If only she could have kept a younger version of them at the same time she let them grow up.
‘Sarah!’ His tone is sharper this time.
‘Okay, okay. I’m coming.’ She bends and dips her hand in the water. It’s not that cold; by late afternoon, it might even be positively warm.
The car engine starts up.
‘Oh for pity’s sake.’ She puts the coffee cup down on the table on the patio. The main door is shut and she cannot be bothered to go through the process of getting the key from Laurence to go inside for her bag. Besides, Laurence has the money, so really, all she is missing is her lipstick.
T
hey park where they did the night before and head straight up a paved pedestrian street. Laurence has Googled the Kendrikon and leads assertively. Sarah tries to loiter, look in the shops, one selling seashells and inflated puffer fish, jewellery and postcards. Another sells cheesecloth shirts and loose trousers. On the corner, more shops sell art pieces in ceramic, felted items, and hologram bookmarks.
Sarah lingers, but not too long, so as not to lose Laurence. They have reached the town’s main square. It is bigger than she expected and has a vaguely Venetian feel. The perimeter is lined with cafés and tavernas, their seats and tables spilling out onto the smooth marble. In the centre, a colourful jumble of people stroll around boys who are engaged in a frantic game of football. In the corner is a wide-spreading plane tree, with some of its branches supported by wooden struts, and in its shade are plump, white-cushioned wickerwork chairs arranged around marble-topped tables.
‘I guess this is it,’ Laurence says. Sarah begins searching for her boys’ familiar faces, for that first glimpse that will pull her heart into her mouth and make her lose all sense of self.
‘There!’ She points and moves at the same time.
‘Joss! Finn.’ Finn stands and flings his arms around her. He looks so well and so happy. ‘Wow, you look amazing, Finn. Joss!’ She turns to her eldest. His arms are slower but the hug is more powerful. Finn is shaking hands with Laurence, and Joss breaks his hug to do the same.
‘Hello Pru. Hi Helena. How are you feeling? Are you nervous?’ Sarah asks.
‘Hello Mrs Quauyle.’ Pru holds out her hand to be shaken. It seems overly formal and Sarah wonders if she should suggest Pru call her Sarah. Pru is so groomed, finished.
‘Hi Sarah.’ Helena interrupts and pulls her into a hug and kisses her on both cheeks. She smells of suntan cream and her embrace is warm and heartfelt. Sarah is aware of her own stiffness and awkwardness in comparison.
They pull up chairs and sit, Joss enquiring about some shares suggested to Laurence, Finn asking Helena if she is comfortable.
‘How was the trip?’ Sarah asks Pru, stealing glances at Joss, scrutinising for any changes, marks of struggle or bliss.
‘Long.’ Pru takes out a packet of cigarettes and lights one, blowing smoke above everyone’s head.
‘Ti thelete paidia?’ A white-shirted waiter stands loose limbed at Sarah’s side. She looks from Pru to Joss to Finn to Helena to find someone who understands.
‘Okay, what do we want, guys?’ Helena asks. They all look blank and the waiter steps away and returns with drinks and snacks menus.
Sarah’s hunger is forgotten, replaced with such joy at seeing her sons. Finn looks so happy, energised, Helena by his side. They order, and Sarah drinks in the conversations that buzz around her. Joss teasing Finn with his dry, straight-faced humour about how easy it is to establish yourself in Britain compared to the US. Laurence is asking Pru how her work is. She has recently been promoted again in her company; she is explaining what she does now.
Helena turns to her. ‘I am so glad you are here. When are you coming up to the house? It’s chaos. My yiayia wants to do all the cooking herself and is driving us all crazy with tasting spoons of this and spoons of that. Mama says she is too old, she has never catered for five hundred and she shouldn’t start now. Some second cousins from Australia came last night, and my uncles come today from America.’ Her words almost slur, she speaks so fast and with such energy.
Sarah feels out of breath just listening to her.
‘The flower people are saying there is a problem with the flowers and we may have to use Ruscus leaves instead of Smokebush, but to be honest, I really don’t think it is a deal breaker.’ Helena pauses to take a sip of her frappe. Sarah has also ordered a cold coffee, this time trying it glyko—sweet.
‘Have you got your dress yet?’ Sarah squeezes the question in just as Helena is about to say more. She can see why Finn is attracted to her, with so much energy but, really, she is almost too much.
‘Oh, it is to die for.’ Helena’s hand raises to her chest. She sucks in her lower lip and looks to the skies.
Pru’s head turns.
‘I saw a shop with wedding dresses in the window on the way here,’ Pru says. ‘Greek taste is very, um, interesting,’ She inhales on her cigarette and then her jaw pushes forward and bottom lip extends as she blows smoke above Helena’s head. ‘The one in the window was all net bodice and diamante. It was so, how shall we say,’ she pauses for effect, ‘bold.’
Helena’s eyes flash, perhaps hers is net bodice and diamante. Sarah wants to say, ‘Have you met Pruella de Ville?’ but instead pours herself some more water as her heart goes out to Helena, who is some years junior to Pru and with a fragility about her.
‘It’s possible that they could look too ‘bold,’ as you put it,’ Helena replies with a calmness that impresses Sarah. ‘Few could wear them, as you really do have to have the figure.’ Helena’s focus flicks from Pru’s eyes down to Pru’s ever-so-slightly spreading waist. Pru looks away. Helena stands and excuses herself, smoothing her dress over her slim hips and, with slinky movements, extracts herself from the group and heads indoors, presumably to the toilet.
Sarah wants to shout ‘Touché.’
‘Isn’t she amazing, Mum?’ Finn leans over and whispers.
Sarah smiles at the closeness of his face. ‘Somehow, I think I’m going to like your Helena.’ She smiles and brushes a stray hair from his face as if he was eight years old again.
Chapter 7
When Helena re-joins the group, the conversation moves onto the complexities of living in different countries.
‘I miss so many people back in Ireland,’ Sarah joins in, and Laurence raises his eyebrows as if this is news to him.
‘But the world is getting smaller. I mean, I was born in the States and I am back there now, but I have lived and worked in Hong Kong and London. It’s no big deal anymore to keep up. Sure, my friends in Hong Kong meet me halfway, usually Paris, but all you need is a long weekend.’ Pru lights another cigarette, tipping her head to one side behind the lighter, the sun catching its gold, a momentary dazzle, hiding her face
‘I think you have to like flying,’ Helena answers. She seems to bear no grudge from the previous encounter. ‘I mean, even though I was born here, we moved to Australia when I was six months old and we stayed till I was seven and then moved to the States. When I settled in London, it seemed a long journey to catch up with old friends. I’ve only been back to Oz four times.’ This explains why she has no Greek accent. Finn is holding Helena’s hand under the table.
Sarah can count the times she has been on a plane on her fingers.
‘I haven’t travelled much,’ she feels compelled to say. ‘I mean, we holiday two or three times a year, don’t we?’ She turns to her husband. ‘But with Laurence traveling all over the world with his work and golfing, he prefers to ...’ she pauses, looking for the right word. ‘... explore the UK. Less travel, more relaxing.’ The words ring hollow in her ears. She looks from Helena to Pru and back again; her jury wears a slight frown. She would like to add that they have plans to travel, but they don’t.
‘So you’re a golfer,’ Helena chimes in, taking the focus from Sarah. ‘It must be handy being a pilot. You must play in some of the best clubs in the world?’
Laurence shuffles his feet. ‘Well, the golfing’s enjoyable of course, but it’s also a tool for business. I mix with pilots from other airlines, and it has paid off, as shown by my recent move. But also with the suits on the ground, the decision makers, it’s good to spend time with them.’ He casts a fleeting look sideways to Sarah. ‘But mostly, it just kills time between turnarounds.’
Laurence has had long stopovers in America, Mexico, the Bahamas, Puerto Rico, Jamaica. All places Sarah would like to visit, all places with golf courses. The first time he had a long stopover, they had just got married. She had been so young, hadn’t even turned twenty. He sat on the bed with her, holding her hand, explaining how
it was just a turnaround, how boring it would be, how he would be filling in his paperwork, playing a round of golf with someone from the airline, and really, he would have no time for her at all. She would be left alone. Sarah had pointed out that she would be left alone at home anyway and that she would be rather be left alone in the sun. Surely the hotel would have a pool?
Laurence had sighed and explained kindly how it would not look right if he were to bring his wife along to his work. It just wasn’t done. He seemed so much older than her in that moment; he had a certain gravitas at thirty-four compared to her nineteen years. Sarah suggested that she just take his flight, once they were at the hotel, he wouldn’t even have to acknowledge her. His hands had un-entwined from hers and he had stood up at that point, dropped his kind tone and asked why she was trying to make his life difficult when he was trying to be so considerate. This was his work they were talking about, not playtime. That was the first of the golfing stopovers at far-flung, beautiful-sounding places with people (he said) it was important he mixed with. Her holidays with him were in five-star hotels in Dublin, or Bath, or Edinburgh. One time, they only got as far the Mount Murray Hotel, a ten-minute drive from their home in Ballasalla, and that had a golf course where he met up with friends and she spent her time in the spa.
