Dad lifted his teary eyes to mine. ‘Why did you never say that he was cruel?’
Mum blew her nose on a tissue. I felt bad to burst the bubble of wonderfulness in which she placed Will, but it was time. I was far enough away from it all to see what had really been happening. ‘I was so young, only twenty, and how could I know how a marriage should work? We had lovely things, cars, holidays, articles in the national magazines. But no real love, no fun, just control and behaving myself. I was a nervous wreck half the time, trying to please him. But I don’t want any of that now. I’ve found what I needed. I’m happy. I have friends, I’m finding work, and maybe, love. Come back with me. I think it’s what you need, too.’ I could only stare at him and wait.
Eventually, as dusk began to fall and my knees were about to give out, he gave the smallest nod. ‘Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is time.’ He turned to Mum. ‘I have been cruel to keep you away from your family all this time.’
To me he said, ‘So, let’s go and see my brother and see what he has to say after all these years.’
It was more than I could have hoped for. We were going home. I longed for Alex, for my house and my new family and finally getting rid of Will and his influence on my mother. I leapt up and swiped tears away. Enough of that, I had work to do. ‘I have phone calls to make. Thank you, Papa,’ I said and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
27
Of course, nothing is ever as simple as ‘why don’t you come back with me now?’, is it?
I went downstairs before six that evening and the restaurant was just preparing to open. Michael, the chef, had the rest of the staff in the kitchen with him and was going over the menu in detail. He was young, but he was definitely in charge, and the way he talked about the food explained why Dad had wanted the restaurant to go to him. I ordered us a simple meal of chicken souvlaki, chips and salad, and a carafe of red wine to have upstairs in the little kitchen in the flat.
Once the parents were settled in front of the TV for the evening news, I rang Delphine and explained what we needed. I had Dad’s medicines in front of me and sent a photo of each of them over the phone, then asked her to alert the local hospital to see if there was anything we should do. She was quite excited and didn’t seem fazed by the request. I’d ring our local hospital in the morning, and convince them that Dad would be all right to travel. I hoped he was.
Over dinner, Dad was quiet but calm. He seemed to have accepted that he was about to do something momentous. But Mum couldn’t hide her excitement, and kept reaching across to grab my hand. Made drinking my wine decidedly dangerous.
Then I had a thought. ‘I don’t suppose either of you has an up-to-date passport?’ I asked. Blank faces greeted me.
‘I’ve never been anywhere,’ said Dad. ‘I did get a British passport when we took out citizenship about forty years ago. Only used it once.’
‘And mine ran out years ago,’ added Mum.
I reached for a pen and paper, and started a list. ‘First thing tomorrow, we go to the post office and get photos. Then we’ll go to the passport office in Liverpool and wait for them to be processed.’
‘You can do that?’ said Mum.
‘Yes, I did it when I first went abroad with Will,’ I said, ‘when I was at uni. Don’t you remember? It was the most boring day of my life, but I got it, so don’t worry, I’ll do the same tomorrow. Then I promise I’ll contact the hospital and check it out with them.’ I didn’t expect for a moment that they’d be happy, but as Dad had said, he may die anyway, so why wait?
‘Now, you two, I need you to think about what you need to do in terms of packing and who you need to tell that you’re going away. Over there it’s warm during the day now, but cool at night, and soon it will be summer! We’ll sort out plane tickets when we’ve got your passports sorted. Easy.’
‘You’ll need some better clothes, Theo,’ said Mum. ‘We can’t have your rich brother thinking we are the poor relations, can we?’
He rolled his eyes.
I laughed. ‘We could all go together tomorrow. Photos first, so we can complete the forms before we go. Drop the passport applications off and then go shopping in Liverpool. It’ll be much more fun than sitting in the passport office, waiting.’
Dad shrugged and wiggled his feet. ‘I suppose I do need summer shoes,’ he said.
‘Shoes?’ scoffed Mum. ‘And the rest. You need a whole new set of clothes. And I will take no arguments.’ Her eyes lit up.
Shopping is the main way Mum and I come together. You could say that it’s our natural talent. That’s why I like doing it for a living. It’s my happy place.
‘If we can sort it all out over the weekend, how would you feel about flying on Monday?’ I asked. ‘That way I can use my booked seat and just add yours on.’
I think Dad was in dull acceptance mode, he simply raised a hand in defeat. I couldn’t imagine what was running through his head.
‘Yes, that will be fine, won’t it, Theo? We’re going home,’ Mum said. And it did indeed feel like that.
Next morning there was no lying in bed late. I could hear them chattering away in their bedroom, and by the time I emerged they were fully dressed and Mum was on the phone, booking them both in at the local hairdresser.
Dad gave me a rueful look. ‘Why am I going to a hairdresser? What is wrong with Luigi’s where I have gone all my life?’
‘Humour her, Dad. You look very smart anyway.’
‘This is for the passport photos, she says. I feel like I am going to a wedding.’
Mum looked dressed for an occasion, too, in full makeup. ‘You look great,’ I said.
‘Humph, I looked at our old passport photos, and I’m damned if I’m going to look like a convict on this one. Right, breakfast and then hair, and then down to the post office.’ She looked at Dad. ‘You, bring the credit card. We need new suitcases, and you need shoes and trousers and shirts and underwear.’
I couldn’t help but laugh. Marks and Spencer would get a hammering today. ‘Don’t tire him out, Mum.’
‘I won’t, but I don’t want us to look like the poor relatives either. There is no need for us to be ashamed of our lives.’
‘Too right, you’re both brilliant, and it’s good to see you enjoying yourself, even if Dad looks like he’s being tortured.’
He actually laughed. ‘Come on, family,’ he said, ‘let’s eat and get going.’
Once they were done at the hairdresser’s, and we had the photos and the forms filled in, thanks to a fantastically helpful woman in the post office, I drove us in Dad’s old Volvo over to Liverpool. The man behind the counter at the passport office told us that we may as well go away for the rest of the day, so we did our clothes and suitcase shopping. Well, Mum and I did. As soon as he had chosen a couple of pairs of shoes, Mum settled Dad into a pub that was showing Formula One racing and he was happy with a beer, a pie and the newspaper.
We didn’t mess about; I learnt all I know about shopping from my mum. The first pass is where you look at everything once, then you have a cup of tea, and think about whether you have something similar already (ouch), and only then do you go back and get what you need. Fail-safe, and stops my usual impulse-buying issue. I bought a suitcase as well; there was just too much stuff to get into my little bag.
Finally, we got back to the passport office just before closing time and retrieved two shiny passports. We were all set to go. I was amazed we’d managed it.
We were all quiet on the way home. It was just over an hour from Liverpool but we were slow in the Friday night traffic and Dad dozed off in the back. Mum was looking at the new passports and thinking. She rubbed her knuckles backwards and forwards across her teeth. Dead giveaway. ‘What is it?’ I asked quietly.
‘Are we doing the right thing, Anna? Your father is so ill, and to go back, now. What if it is dangerous?’
‘It’s not dangerous for goodness’ sake. It’s not the Wild West. The hospital in Chania is first rate. Nikos
needs to make amends, Dad needs to go home. You need to go home. I need to go home. End of.’
She looked at me. ‘You feel like Crete is your home?’
‘I’m beginning to. Look, Mum, you have to accept that it is over between me and Will. I’m not going back to him. I’ve, well, I’ve met someone.’
She tutted. ‘That didn’t take you long. Who?’
‘It’s been almost two years! I’m hardly out every night partying. No, this is a Swedish man called Alex, and he is one of the kindest people I know. It’s early days, but, I have a good feeling.’ I could hardly wait to get back to him.
‘Oh, well, I shall look forward to meeting him then,’ said Mum, folding her arms.
And not much else was said for the rest of the journey.
As my sulking mother disappeared up the stairs with a pile of bags, Dad stopped me at the door. ‘I’m glad you have found somebody, Anna. I could never have said, but I didn’t like Will from the start. Too cold. So I really am looking forward to meeting this man. I’m just sorry he isn’t a nice Greek boy.’ He grinned at me and picked up the last two bags, leaving me with the suitcases.
Later, Dad disappeared down into the kitchens to talk to Michael about looking after the restaurant for several weeks. He was gone for some time, and I could only imagine the list of instructions he had for the poor guy. I think he may have talked about the final agreement to sell, as well. It was time. Time for us to go home.
28
Touching down onto Cretan soil was a moment I won’t forget. I could see the pair of them, hanging sideways to watch the plane flying in over the city. We’d had to wait in Athens airport for a couple of hours for the transfer, and they’d enjoyed having coffee and cheese pies at a little concession in the foyer. It wasn’t home, but they were closer. I’d paid extra for the parents to sit up front on the Chania connection, but because of the late booking I was several rows behind them. As I’d expected, Dad had slept through most of the journey, but Mum woke him and ordered drinks and fussed around until he was what she considered presentable. I was amazed he let her get away with it.
Waiting for our bags, Dad kept glancing around as if he was expecting people from his boyhood to spring out and know immediately who he was. They were both excited, and I could see, nervous. I got a trolley and pushed my way into a good spot to grab the cases.
‘It won’t be long now,’ I said. ‘I’ll leave you at the entrance, pick up the car and come back to get you. I hope I can get all the luggage in my little car.’
We stood for a moment at the top of the steps outside the airport. It was full evening now but some birds still sang and the scent of spring flowers came from well-tended beds. And it was a warm wind blowing, not a cold gale.
Good little Fiat was where I had left it, covered in a thin layer of red dust but otherwise unscathed. I had to squash Mum in the back with half the luggage as it wouldn’t all fit in the boot, but it was finally all in and we set off for home.
I could feel Dad trembling next to me. He was muttering under his breath. Was he crying? ‘Dad, are you okay?’
‘I don’t know. It’s been so long.’ He clutched at his chest.
‘Breathe, Dad.’
Mum snaked a hand over the seat and held onto his shoulder. ‘It will be fine, love,’ she said. ‘We’re just going to stay at Anna’s. That’s all there is to think about for tonight. You must be very tired, and you don’t need to think about anything else for now. Okay?’
‘Okay, you’re right, I’m getting all upset. But, as you both say, the feud is over, and my brother wants to see me. I never thought this day would come.’ He gave a shaky laugh. ‘Look at me, the big man, crying like a baby.’
‘Yes, get a grip, Father,’ I said, and patted his knee. ‘Let’s do this one step at a time.’
My main concern was that my house would be in one piece when I got back and that there had been no unwanted visits from Leo. It appeared the police had not been able to apprehend him in the week, according to Delphine. It was another worry to add to my list.
The main road from the airport skirts Chania, and runs through the lower end of the mountains. I could feel them pulling at me, Lefki Ora, the White Mountains, and I knew they would feel it too, but Dad had lapsed into a brooding silence and Mum was twisting in her seat trying to remember landmarks in the dark.
The approach to Kissamos isn’t spectacular; in fact, the road just gets a little more populated until you find yourself amongst shops, tavernas and restaurants, many of which were still closed at this time of the year. Dad perked up, though, as we got towards the centre of town.
‘Could we stop and see?’ he asked, almost fearful.
So instead of going straight home, I took them down the little streets towards the museum and into the heart of the town. I stopped and let them get out for a wander. It was quite busy for a Monday, the tavernas and cafés were full of people eating and drinking now that Lent was over.
‘Tzanakaki Square,’ said Dad. ‘I spent a lot of my teenage years hanging around here with my friends.’ He took Mum’s hand and they turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. ‘It’s where I met you,’ he said to her. ‘You were sitting on the wall with your friends, flirting with all the boys except me. I was so jealous.’
‘I did it on purpose,’ purred my mother and gave him a very serious kiss.
‘Enough already, you two. I know, how about a drink before we go home? That bar is open. I’ll bet you’re hungry too.’ I led them to a table outside the little bar and they ordered a drink, and I watched the tension seeping out of my father’s shoulders. A small smile played around his mouth.
He caught my eye. ‘I’m home.’
We had coffee and raki and olives and shared a few small plates of food and let the bustle of the town flow around us. There were families with children chatting and eating, early season tourists trying to interpret street signs and choose a menu, and shop workers finally closed for the night enjoying a drink on their way home. Young people rode past on motorbikes and scooters wearing no helmets, girls straddled over the engines, hair blowing behind them. Elderly ladies, all in black, shuffled past, chatting and grinning their toothless grins. All was well. My own tension eased to the point where I realised that my shoulders and neck had turned into an iron bar over the past few days.
Mum still had her eyes on stalks, but Dad was calmer after several shots of raki and a little food. He was still grey, though, and I was worried about making him ill with all the excitement. Then I reminded myself he was sixty, not a hundred and sixty. I worried until the owner of Dimitri’s Taverna, which was on the opposite corner to where we sat, came hesitantly across the road.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘but are you Theo?’
Dad just stared at him.
The man slapped his chest. ‘Dimitri! Your best friend! How could you forget me?’
Dad stood up and his mouth dropped open. ‘Dimitri?’ was all he managed before he was enveloped in a bear hug. ‘I…’
‘You have been gone so long…’ Dimitri pulled up short and looked around him. ‘How? Why are you back?’ He dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Is your brother…?’
‘No,’ said Dad through tears, ‘not dead, but it is over, I can come home.’
It was almost midnight when I dragged them away. Once Dad and Dimitri started to talk, the years fell away, back to when they were two young men on the brink of their adult lives. We were introduced to Dimitri’s wife, both of his children, one of whom had to be pulled out of the kitchen, and we had to promise to go back the following night to eat before we were allowed to leave. Odd that their lives hadn’t turned out all that differently, really. Both of them had gone into the food trade.
‘Okay, back in the car, the pair of you,’ I said. ‘So much for an early night!’
I probably shouldn’t have driven the last few hundred yards home after two glasses of raki, but I didn’t care. Dad had thrown off the depression that was dogging him, a
nd Mum was still weeping at every opportunity, but with delight, not sadness. And me? I was completely exhausted and longing for my bed. Operation Bring Them Home had done me in.
We drew up outside the house, and got out. I tried to be as quiet as I could, but not much got past Irini, even in the middle of the night. As soon as my parents were out of the car, and we’d begun unloading the luggage into the living room, she came out of her house like a woman half her age, wrapped in a huge dressing gown, and that led to another half hour of talking and hugging and weeping.
I lugged the suitcases upstairs and made sure the bedroom and bathroom were ready for them. I eyed the still unopened pot of terracotta bathroom paint. ‘I’ll get to you soon, do not fear,’ I told it. Finally, I gently escorted my Aunt Irini out, and suggested she join us for a late breakfast the next morning.
Once she had gone, I saw that my parents had no energy left at all. They’d been going on adrenaline, but it only gets you so far. Sleep was needed. ‘Welcome to my home, Mum and Dad. It is your home, too, for as long as you want to stay. Don’t act like guests. You’ll find everything you need in the cupboards. I think you need to go to bed now, and please don’t wake me up in the morning!’
Mum beamed at me. ‘It’s beautiful, Anna, what you have done with Nyssa’s house. Thank you for doing this. Thank you.’ She turned to Dad. ‘Come on, bedtime.’ Then she gave me a hug and I felt closer to her than I ever had.
Dad didn’t speak, he just climbed the narrow stairs after her and they found their room. They spent a few minutes in the bathroom, then all was quiet. I rubbed my face. Hell’s teeth, but this was a mad experiment. I debated texting Alex, and Delphine, but decided they would be asleep, and that was where I should also be.
Those You Trust: compelling women's psychological fiction Page 22
