Her smiled dropped. ‘How would we live?’
I almost leapt off the chair. ‘Sell it! Sell the whole lot as going concerns to local business people. It will bring in millions, and Nikos won’t have to work all the time and you’ll have some time together. And Leo won’t be able to get his hands on any of it!’
Her face closed up. ‘Give up everything? It would be like dying to him. Doing a good deed that will make him look good is one thing, becoming a retired old man? I don’t think that would ever work. You don’t know him like I do. Give up this crazy idea, Anna.’
‘Look, I know I’m pushing hard, but I truly believe it will be better for us all. I can’t cope with Leo coming after me again, and you know that’s what will happen. He won’t just give up!’ I knew I’d pushed her too far and too quickly, but at least she could see I was scared. Selling made so much more sense than giving a total amateur a huge business, and sorted out the inheritance problem in one go. It was logical. But I’d been impatient and upset her.
I tried again. ‘So let’s do one step at a time. First, we put right the wrongs of the past, then we talk about how to change the future. There is no rush. Can we at least agree on that?’
‘I will help all that I can. I have become used to a…’ – she waved a hand around – ‘a certain level of comfort, but you are right, we could live comfortably on the proceeds of the sale of the businesses. Persuading Nikos to sell is a different matter. This is his life. His life, Anna. It will be a terrible disappointment to him. But, as you say, there is no rush to suggest this. He is only sixty-two.’
Delphine stood, so I did, too.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘I am going to drive over the mountain to make sure that the decorators are starting work on Mrs Andreanakis’ new house. I’ll pick her up on the way so she can see what has been done. What do you have planned?’ She walked me to the door.
‘I’m going to pack, and then I have a few calls to make before I fly home.’ I kissed her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for your support with Uncle Nikos. It is quite exciting, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. Well some of it is, but take care. I would not mention selling the business to him just yet. He would be so angry. I will work on him a little. Come round for a quiet dinner with that very attractive man when you get back. And possibly your parents will come too?’
‘Maybe,’ I said. I waved and walked back down the hill. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful end to a mad month? My Mum and Dad back home and the family back together.
I kept my excitement inside until I got into the house, and then did a little jig around the kitchen. I hadn’t achieved all that I wanted, but I’d made a good start. In the bathroom mirror, a different woman looked out. The sun, and the makeup to be fair, had begun to do its work on my pasty skin, and I’d changed my hair, and I was in love. I wasn’t even worried about running into Will when I went home, either. Not much, anyway. I’d released my inner lioness, and she wasn’t going back in her cage.
Bursting with excitement, and desperate to tell someone, I went round to Aunt Irini’s and found her scrubbing the step. Did people still do that? They did in Crete.
‘Anna, how wonderful to see you. Are you well?’ Irini struggled to her feet and wrung out the cloth in a bucket of water. ‘Have you had lunch? I have newly made cheese pies, and Stavros is also…’ She looked down the street. ‘Here he is now! Son, we have another guest for lunch.’
Stavros gave me a kiss on each cheek, and Irini led me inside, and I was suddenly in the family. My Greek was more fluent after all the practice so they could relax a bit, and I didn’t get lost so often mid-sentence. We had a perfect lunch of hot pies and spring greens that had come straight off the mountain that morning according to Irini, even though she had probably bought them from the market like everybody else. She made me smile.
Stavros said, ‘There has been much happening, Anna. Are you able to tell us about it?’
‘The excitement has reached you then?’
‘Police, violent attacks, we have heard it all. Mother was so pleased that you are safe, and so am I.’
‘Thank you. Yes, it seems I was a gullible fool, but it’s going to be okay now. I hope.’
They both looked at me expectantly.
Once I started telling the story it all came tumbling out, to tears and laughter and expressions of incredulity from them both. We had to have a drink from Irini’s best bottle of raki when I’d finally finished in order to celebrate my great victory.
‘You have done so well, Anna,’ she said. ‘You have achieved justice for those who were wronged, and set your uncle on a better path.’
‘I was frightened for most of the morning, to be honest. I’m not really cut out for bullying people.’
Stavros snorted through his vast beard. ‘Nonsense, you are a Kokorakis to the core. Now that you know a little of your history, remind me to tell you about your grandmother during the war sometime.’ He twinkled a grin. ‘No, you come from a long line of brave women. Adventure is part of you. It is in your soul. It just needed to be freed.’ He tilted his glass at me, drank it down in one, and allowed his mother to fill it back up.
I laughed and downed my own glass, coughing slightly as it caught the back of my throat. ‘Tell me now, please,’ I said, ‘I’d love to know more about Nyssa.’
He laughed too. ‘I will then tell you a little.’ He folded his hands across his stomach, ready for telling a story. ‘Nyssa lived in the mountains as a girl, and her family kept Messara horses, the only breed native to Crete. They are small, hardy creatures, perfect for the mountains and the weather.’
‘She was wild as a girl, always going off on her horse,’ added Irini.
‘Anyway, when war came, many horses were sent secretly to Albania to save them from the Germans, who wanted them for carrying equipment, and also for their meat. Nyssa would not let hers go, she hid him near an old shepherd’s hut far up the mountain, and that is how she became a courier for the resistance when she was only fourteen.’ He raised both shaggy eyebrows at me.
‘Wow, really? It must have been so dangerous, and she was just a girl.’
Irini spluttered raki into her glass. ‘Dangerous? She would sneak all over the island on that horse, watching the Germans, taking information from one mountain camp to another in all weathers, facing enemies at every turn. She was essential to the resistance.’ Irini drew herself up proudly. ‘She was a heroine to us all.’ She glanced at Stavros. ‘Sorry, son, you tell it.’
He put a hand over hers, and smiled fondly. ‘You are right, Mama, she was, and she was brilliant at what she did until she was caught one night by a German soldier and he shot her horse.’ He looked grave.
‘What happened? Was she captured?’ I asked, desperate to know more.
Irini interrupted again: ‘No! She killed him. Killed him with her little knife.’ She made slashing gestures at the table. ‘And he deserved to die for what his kind did to our country.’ She topped up the glasses. ‘Yiamas!’
I think Irini was a little worse for wear.
‘So that is what your grandmother did in the war, Anna. You see, her brave spirit has carried on.’
Stav toasted me, I toasted him, and I stared often at the photograph of Nyssa on the kitchen wall, as she stood surrounded by family and friends. She was a tough, brave, totally uncompromising fighter. Oh, and she killed someone when she was a child. What a family. It certainly explained why she had the strength to walk away from my grandfather. ‘I wish she had lived a little longer, I would have loved to have been able to talk to her as I can to you.’
‘She did at least come to know you when you were a little girl,’ said Irini, ‘and she loved you from the start.’
‘And you will tell me the rest of her story when I come back from the UK?’
‘Of course. There is much to tell,’ said Irini.
I laughed a lot that afternoon, and it did me so much good. I’d learnt so much about my family in a few short days. I’d achieved part
of the mission I’d set myself. Now I was going to see it through by getting my family back here.
I waddled off home, definitely tiddly, and slept for two hours on the sofa. When I woke up I was cold and it was getting dark, so I scraped out the fire and lit a new one, and made mountain tea. The little grey cat was perched on my windowsill again. So I let her in to sit near the fire while I drank tea and felt calmer than I had for a while. Yes, Leo was still out there somewhere, but I had to get on with my life. It felt different having a family other than my parents, but it was a good feeling.
There was, however, no time to relax. I headed upstairs and sorted out the guest room, which had been acting as the storeroom for Mrs Andreanakis’ soft furnishings. I didn’t have a proper loft, more a four-foot high space that I could crawl around in so I loaded it up with her stuff, and found the new bedding I’d bought. I cleaned the room of residual bathroom dust and vacuumed. Once I had the bed made up, I added hangers to the wardrobe and the downstairs table lamp was installed on a little table next to the bed; the room looked cosy and comfortable. I just hoped that there may be need for it by the weekend.
Finally, I packed a case of clothes suitable for Manchester at the end of April. Jumpers, jeans and a waterproof jacket, basically.
Then I waited in the living room for Alex to get home, and take me out to dinner. We had a lot to talk about.
26
I actually enjoyed the drive from Kissamos to the airport on Thursday, even though there were lorries everywhere and I missed the airport turn-off on my first attempt. I’d had to promise Alex to keep in touch, which wasn’t hard, and Irini was more excited than I was and came out to wave me off. I double-checked that the car was locked and left it in the long-stay car park, having made it promise not to get stolen. Then I prepared for a very long day where I planned to sleep as much as possible.
The taxi finally dropped me outside the restaurant in Manchester at almost two the following morning. There was a light on in the front bedroom, and Mum arrived at the side door before I needed to find my key. She was wrapped in the fluffy dressing gown I’d bought her for Christmas and stood with her arms open to hug me as I got to the door. Behind her stood Dad, on the bottom step of the stairs, his normally luxuriant dark hair sticking out at odd angles. He was so grey-looking and so small, I could hardly recognise the vibrant, strong man I’d left behind only two months before.
‘It’s so good to see you, darling,’ Mum said into my shoulder, and almost squeezed the breath out of me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off my father, who looked awful. ‘Come on, upstairs,’ she said. ‘Let’s get you a drink and into bed. I’ve put you a hot water bottle in already to warm it up.’
I dragged my case up the narrow stairs and dropped it in my old bedroom. They’d redecorated! Sneaky pair. I checked myself out in the mirror, and fixed my silk scarf more firmly round my neck. The hair looked fine, considering.
We sat round the kitchen table while Mum made me cocoa, not that I’d need it to send me to sleep, I could have done that standing up. Over the steam I snatched glances at my dad, and watched her eyes sliding away from his. He was really ill, that was obvious, and they hadn’t told me how ill. Now wasn’t the time to discuss it, though, as we all needed to sleep. So I chatted to them about Grandmother’s house, and how lovely it now was, and how I’d met Aunt Irini and the members of the expat society who had become friends.
After a scant wash and climbing into a toasty, soft bed, I sent a little prayer up to the god I didn’t believe in that Dad was going to be okay.
My family don’t rise early. Their working day begins after nine, and I woke to the sound of the shower through the thin wall. I lay there for a while, examining the tasteful décor, until with a sickening thump I recognised the hand of my ex-husband. I’d bet anything all of this had been his idea. Even the bed linen, in tasteful beige and khaki, was his style. The style he’d forced on me for years.
There was a knock on the door, and in came my mother with a mug of tea.
‘Oh, you angel,’ I said, shuffling up against the headboard.
‘Drink this while your father is in the shower,’ she said, whispering and glancing at the wall.
‘What’s the matter with him, Mum? He looks so ill.’
She sighed and took my hand. ‘Prostate cancer, the doctor says.’
‘Mum! Why didn’t you tell me?’ I was aghast. ‘All the times we’ve spoken. How could you keep this from me? Oh God, how serious is it?’ I wobbled the mug back onto the bedside table. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes but I dashed them away. ‘Tell me, please.’
‘Stage Three.’
‘But that means it’s spread…’
‘Oh, he has a good chance if the drugs and radiotherapy work. The success rate is high, I’ve heard.’ She sighed. ‘It was your father who wouldn’t let me tell you, of course.’
‘Of course, my dear father tells me nothing important, as usual.’ I couldn’t stop the bitterness and instantly felt guilty. This was hardly the time. ‘Sorry, go on.’
‘He was diagnosed just before you left, and had an operation the following week. We didn’t want to ruin your adventure for you. You do understand?’
‘Operation?’ He’d had an operation, and no one told me. And then I remembered all the phone calls I’d not answered from Will. ‘Oh. Did Will try to tell me?’
Mum wouldn’t look at me. ‘I turned to him. Of course I did,’ she defended herself. ‘He’s been wonderful, Anna.’ She wiped a tear away. ‘It’s been so dreadful, especially the chemotherapy which has hit your father so hard. William has taken us to the hospital on many occasions. Wonderful…’ She trailed off.
I couldn’t stop the tears then. I seemed to have done nothing but cry for weeks. What kind of a daughter was I that my own father didn’t feel able to tell me he was seriously ill? And why didn’t my mother open her bloody loyal mouth? And why hadn’t I given Will a chance to tell me?
‘Oh, Mum, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I didn’t answer Will’s calls. I thought he would just try to get me to go back with him. I could easily have stayed at home for another couple of months. I’ve been so selfish, haven’t I?’
Dad appeared at the door, dressed and with his hair thinner but smartly combed. His face was still drawn, but he looked better. I leapt out of bed and wrapped my arms around him. ‘Dad, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.’
He shrugged, his usual response to my emotional outbursts, and patted me on the back. ‘Anna, you are here now, and I would rather see you when I am up and about, than on the days when I am ill. I will have more than two weeks now, to feel better, until the next one. Come, have breakfast with me before I go to work.’
‘You’re still working in the restaurant, now? Why?’
He patted my arm again. ‘Not working, just supervising. My new chef has taken on the cooking.’ He took the stairs slowly.
New chef? I turned back to look at Mum, still sitting on the bed. ‘Yes, all is changed here.’ She waved a hand in such a gesture of futility I panicked. ‘What treatment is he on at the moment?’
‘He’s on the chemo, then the radiotherapy to follow. Then, who knows? We look forward, not backwards. Come on, breakfast.’ She struggled to her feet and gave me another shock. My mother was the most active, lively, young fifty-six-year-old I knew. Now, she looked ten years older, worn down by all her worries about Dad, and of course, me.
I had a quick shower, checked out my bruises, which were coming along nicely, and pulled on jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and a cotton polo-neck jumper. Manchester in April was cold and wet, so it was easy to hide the bruises. I didn’t want Mum to see any evidence of exactly what my ‘adventures’ had entailed.
Downstairs, in the old kitchen where so much food had been prepared for so many people, many of whom had become family friends over the years, I was amazed. There was a definite sprucing up in evidence, and a lot more stainless steel. In the corner, where our little
breakfast table had always been, there was a larger table with six chairs. Fussing around placing eggs and toast on the table was a tall, fair-haired, skinny man in a chef’s whites and hat. He was not in any way Greek.
‘Anna,’ said Dad, ‘meet Michael, our new chef.’
Michael hurried over and stuck out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Anna,’ he said in the soft tones of North Lancashire.
‘Pleased to meet you too,’ I said. ‘You’re not Greek then, Michael?’ He looked about twenty-five. Only just out of acne, really.
‘No, Preston for my sins, but I was sous chef at Manouso’s for five years, so I’ve done my training, and your dad keeps me on my toes.’
He skipped off and brought a pot of coffee over. ‘Please, take a seat and enjoy your brekkie, I’m just going to prep some veg. Give me a shout if you need anything.’ Michael stood over at the new steel prep table and got chopping.
If it wasn’t for the fact that I was, as usual, totally starving, I’d have run into a small corner and sobbed. Never had I felt so ripped away from all that I had taken for granted. My strong parents were small and diminished, my dad wasn’t cooking in his beloved restaurant. He might die. Dad might die. There was a child in charge, and my mum and dad were just doing what he said. How could this have happened in a few weeks?
‘Oi, dreamer,’ said Mum, ‘where have you gone off to? Come on, eat. You need food after that long journey.’
I ate eggs and toast and fruit and drank coffee, all on automatic pilot. While I’d been faffing about decorating and playing Mother Teresa, the two most important people in my world were suffering. Despite what they say, the Catholics don’t have the monopoly on guilt, it’s built into the Cretan psyche, too, and it was fermenting, churning. The world of Leo and the Kokorakises seemed very far away. How could I force my poorly dad to face up to his past? I sipped coffee and spread jam on a bit of toast. On the other hand, if I didn’t ask him now, I might never get the chance to put it all right. I chewed but couldn’t taste anything.
Those You Trust: compelling women's psychological fiction Page 20
