by Jo Thomas
That night, I barely sleep a wink.
As dawn comes, I push back the sheets and get out of bed. There were strange sounds on the mountain last night, screams like a wild cat, and I’m sure I heard gunfire again. I go to the bathroom and stare in the mirror. Why is it anyone I ever care about leaves me? I splash cold water on my face and try and push the thought out of my mind. I hope Demi never sees me as I saw my mother: someone who abandoned me when I needed her most. It was why I could never have committed to a full-time relationship and let Mike move in while Demi was growing up. What if it hadn’t worked out? I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t risk him leaving both of us.
I never knew my dad. When my mum moved to Australia, I went to live with my nan. And that was it. I saw very little of Mum, and by the time Demi came along, we were more or less estranged. She did send a card congratulating me, though I knew she was secretly horrified at the idea of being a grandmother. She returned for Nan’s funeral, but didn’t stay for the sandwiches and tea back at the house. She and Bob had to fly out early the next morning. She left with her make-up intact, not having shed a tear.
After the funeral, I returned home to Nan’s house with Demi. It felt so empty without the woman who’d brought me up, who’d always been there for me and who had been the proudest great-nan in the world when Demi was born. Over the next few weeks I boxed up her belongings and tucked them away under beds, on top of wardrobes, unable to take them to the charity shop, vowing to deal with them in time. That first night I slept in Nan’s bed and I never moved out, finding comfort in being close to where she had lain for all those years. It felt like she was still there with me as I brought up Demi, supporting me and cheering me on from the sidelines.
And she’d be cheering me on now, I think, telling me that of course I can find this dittany plant; that I’ll manage just like I did when I had Demi, when I was scared to death of being a single mum at just eighteen. She told me I could do it then, and I did.
I hope with all my heart that Demi knows I’ll always be there for her. I just wish I knew how to show her.
I throw more cold water on my face to chase away the doom. I need to walk off this black cloud. I dress quickly in cut-off denim shorts – the ones I customised with stick-on gems and patches. Demi would be horrified seeing me in them. I smile to myself. Maybe I’m just trying to remember who I used to be.
I slip quietly out of my room. Outside, the early-morning smell hits me as it always does, the damp earth warmed already by the sun, rich and full of minerals. Steam rises as the heavy dew evaporates, mist clinging to the mountainside as though a sheet of wonder-web has been thrown over it for Halloween. Cobwebs glisten, and there are snails with spiral shells everywhere, going about their early-morning business. Kostas loves to collect them, picking them off his wild rocket and turning them into his favourite lunchtime snack, heavy with garlic and served with dakos. The white clouds down the valley meet the rising mist over the mountaintops, and the orange sun is rising behind the dark, rugged peaks, where the skyline is washed pink, orange and light blue. I have goose bumps over my bare legs.
I head straight for the beehives, but there is no sound coming from them. They are empty still. I look up at the mountain, just as Kostas did, searching for signs. I need to get the bees to come. With Kostas laid up in bed, it’s all down to me.
Maria is up early as always, and I hear pots and pans in the kitchen and smell the woodsmoke from the bread oven.
‘Just off to pick the greens before it gets hot,’ I tell her.
‘But you must eat!’ she scolds, stirring a pot of soup for lunch later.
I grab a basket and pinch a piece of white feta from under the domed fly cover in the cool cupboard whilst I’m at it, along with a large tomato freshly picked from the veg plot and a small bunch of grapes from a bowl on the side. I hold them up to Maria. ‘Breakfast!’ I announce, and she smiles.
‘Kostas is like a caged lion, not able to go out. But I think he should stay away from the bees for just a while. They may remember him,’ she tells me.
‘Don’t worry, Maria, we’ll soon have the honey factory up and running.’ I say it with a smile, but although I can clean up the factory, it’s not going to be up and running without the bees.
I make my way down the farm track and up towards the cows’ field, stopping to fill my bottle from the little waterfall. I take a bite of the fat, fresh tomato. The juice squirts out at all angles, and I try and stop it from running down my T-shirt. It’s sweet and fragrant, nothing like the tomatoes I buy in the supermarket back home. I nibble the feta; it’s rich, creamy and tangy, and I take alternate bites of cheese and tomato as I start to walk up through the field, feeling in my pocket for carob pods for the cows. I finish my breakfast just before I reach the path that leads up the mountain, and lick my fingers. Then I climb the fence and walk over to the vantage point, looking out as the rising sun throws handfuls of glitter across the brightening sea, the unmissable scent of thyme on the wind. My spirits lift as the fragrance takes me back to where I was happiest and safest, pushing me onwards and upwards.
Having climbed the stone steps, I start picking greens. After a while, I stop and look up the mountain, wondering what would happen if I were to go a little higher. Who knows, I might just happen on some dittany that I could take back to plant at the farm. I look down towards the house, checking that Maria and Kostas can’t see me, then up at the rock face that rises behind the farm. With a deep breath, I seize the moment and start to climb. I’m just going to pick greens, I repeat to myself. And if I happen to stray a little further, well, where’s the harm? If anyone stops me, I’ll just feign innocence.
Leaving behind the wild horta spot, I spot a sign, bent, twisted and rusted: No Entry! Despite the heat of the August sun, I feel myself go cold. What the hell am I doing? Just go home, I tell myself. But no one has stopped me so far; I’ll go a little higher. ‘I’m just picking greens,’ I repeat out loud. I take a defiant swig of water and wipe away any traces from my lips with the back of my hand, then resume my climb, holding out my arms to steady myself and grabbing rocks either side of the track as the uneven snaking track gets steeper.
I look around and wonder if I can find the spot where Stelios took me all those years ago; where we sat and ate a picnic and he told me about his dreams and plans to build a small hotel there one day. A boutique B&B where tourists could come to experience the real Crete and eat the food that grows here. I’d remember the view, that’s for sure, by a small natural pool where butterflies flitted to and fro. That’s another mental picture I’ve pulled from my memory box. We drank a bottle of local wine and made love amongst the sweet-smelling wild thyme. I could smell it for days afterwards; it made me light-headed with excitement.
The higher I climb, the more it feels like I’m seeing him everywhere I look, my heart lifting and dipping like a roller coaster. He could be just around the corner. I scramble higher and higher, faster and faster, feeling as if I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. All the time I’m scanning the rocks, looking for the plants, thinking I’ve caught a glimpse of dittany, only to realise it’s something else.
The day is starting to really heat up now. The mist is being blown away by the wind and the sun is reaching out behind it. The higher I go, the windier it gets. It keeps me cool, and I pull my baseball cap on, one of Demi’s that she left behind, from a Beyoncé concert she went to in Cardiff. I move through the olive trees and the tall pine trees bunched together here. Their smell is so refreshing and their shade is dark and cool. My mind wanders back to Stelios, and I wonder if he ever built his B&B.
Suddenly I’m stopped in my tracks, literally. There’s no clear way forward. The trunk of an old olive tree is lying across the path. It’s not easy, but I manage to grab hold of the branches and pull myself over it, dropping on to the big rocks on the other side, out of breath and with scratches on my legs. If
that’s what Georgios reckoned was unsafe, I think I can say I handled it. I brush my hands, take a swig of water and allow myself a little smile of victory. Feeling pleased with myself, I keep moving on. I must be close now.
Eventually I reach a plateau and turn to walk out on to it. This is it! My heart leaps and swings like a gibbon in the treetops. This is the spot that Stelios brought me to. I hold my breath. What are the chances he’s here? I’m above the farm, the cows below me. I look around. There’s no hotel. But I can see it, the way he described it, as if it were yesterday. This is where we sat, where I felt so sure of life and my place in the world, next to the man I loved. He was right: this would make a perfect setting for a hotel. I wonder why it never happened. The natural pool is still there, all but dried up, though there are no butterflies like I remember. And there is no Stelios here either.
I gaze out over the wonderful view. I can see Georgios’s little stone house, and an old open-sided barn next to it, right on the edge before the mountain drops away. I spot a field of sheep, penned in; it is like Kostas’s farm but on a much smaller scale. It feels as if I’m up with the gods, it really does. I pull out my phone to take some pictures, but I can’t send them to anyone because there’s no signal. There’s also no sign of human life. I’m alone, totally alone.
I go back to the path and climb a little further, only to find a big pile of rocks in front of me, a landslide, blocking my way. I look up to the ledge above from where they’ve come, and put my hand against the rock face. It’s just a pile of stones, I tell myself. But it feels as though someone has put them here intentionally. The mist is below me now, rolling and tumbling away down the mountain in between the shrubs and trees as the sun reaches out its rays. And then it strikes me that nobody knows I’m here. Who would miss me if something happened? I feel small and insignificant all over again, and realise the stupidity of what I’ve attempted. If the dittany was that easy to find, the locals would be up here themselves, not depending on some messenger from the gods. I need to go back down before I get lost, or something happens to me.
I turn, suddenly feeling nervous. People have been using these paths for years, I remind myself, trying not to panic; centuries probably, before the roads were built. I hear a bird call and, holding my hand over my eyes against the glare of the sun, look up to see what looks like a golden eagle circling around the mountain peak. I look away, back down, hoping to see the path again. But I can’t. I have no idea which way to go. It’s like sand blindness; all I can see is rocks, all looking the same, and I’ve lost my sense of direction.
Actually, this really wasn’t a good idea at all. Stelios, where are you when I need you? I think to myself, praying that this will be the moment he finally appears.
‘Stupid! Stupid idea!’ I say out loud. ‘All alone up a mountain! Stupid!’ I repeat to absolutely no one, or so I think.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘Argh!’ My heart rockets into my mouth.
‘I told you not to come up here. It’s not safe.’ It’s Georgios. My heart sinks. Of all the people . . . Why couldn’t it have been a group of tourists? Why him?
‘I was picking greens, wild horta. Got a bit lost.’ I try and brazen it out, sticking to my story.
‘If you have your horta, please go back to Kostas’s farm, and next time stick to the lower slopes.’
‘What’s going on? Who’s doing this?’ I ask, gesturing to the rock pile. ‘Someone really doesn’t want people up here.’
‘We don’t know what’s going on. There is a lot of talk, but you can see for yourself, it’s not safe.’ He points further up the slope to another metal No Entry sign.
‘But this mountain belongs to the town. It always has . . .’ I stop myself, realising that I may have given too much away. I don’t want anyone asking about my last trip to Crete. I want to keep myself to myself until I’ve found Stelios.
He looks at me, his green and gold eyes narrowing, and I suddenly feel all my brazen bravado seep out through the soles of my feet. ‘Like I say, a lot has changed around here.’ He glances away towards the coast, and just for a moment I wonder again . . . do I recognise him? Does he recognise me? But I doubt it. He’s right. It was a completely foolhardy thing for me to do. Looking for greens, indeed!
Before dinner that evening, I drive into town and scour the streets for signs of Stelios and his family. I even park up and go to the taverna just down the lane from the restaurant, where I sit under the boughs of a big plane tree and order a glass of wine. The waitress nods and smiles at me. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s wondering why I’m here drinking wine on my own. As are the two old men outside the coffee house next door. Despite the laid-up tables and the menu boards, no one is sitting and eating. It’s just me. I make my glass of wine last and write my postcard for Gracie, wondering if Stelios might pass by. The longer I wait, the more I know the locals are staring at me
The waitress puts a small plate of sweet treats in front of me: a square of kataifi, with chopped walnuts and what looks like golden spun thread on the top, the whole thing soaked in sweet lemon syrup; galatopita, golden and flaky, filled with mizithra cheese; and a small triangle of lemon cake. I start to say that I haven’t ordered anything, but she puts her hand up, showing me that they’re a gift, and I thank her.
On my return to the farm, I have a quick call with Demi, who tells me that yes, she’s eating fine, and yes, she’s managing her money. That she’s left home now and is a grown-up. She sounds tired. She’s told me that the children she looks after have no idea of bedtime. They sound like a handful. I wonder if she’s getting the chance to meet new friends, other nannies, maybe a boyfriend. Or maybe I don’t want that for her yet.
That night as I lie in bed, my thoughts turn to Georgios and that look he gave me earlier. I’m trying to work out what he meant when he told me that a lot had changed around here. As I start to drift off to sleep, I hear gunshots coming from the mountain in the distance again, making me jump and get up to leave the bathroom light on for the night. I don’t understand it. Why isn’t Stelios doing something to protect the mountain from whoever is up there? Where is he?
The next morning, I’m on the lower slopes when Kostas, who is still supposed to be inside recovering, comes running down the mountainside towards me so quickly that I almost drop the basket of greens I’m collecting. He is wearing a white beekeeper’s suit, the netted hat unzipped and flapping around, bouncing off the back of his head. In one hand he has a kettle, pouring out steam like a train as he runs, the other is holding an empty cardboard box.
‘Kostas? Kostas?’
‘Argh!’ he wails as he passes me at speed, a gaggle of agitated bees behind him, buzzing like a high-pitched orchestra of untuned violins. I let them pass before following Kostas back to the farmhouse.
‘I thought I might, well, encourage one of the queens away.’ He is shrugging, sitting on a stool in the kitchen. ‘Whilst it was still dark, while they were shut down, resting.’
Maria has put the kettle on and is reaching for the practically empty jar of dust and scrapings from the sprig of dittany left last time by the messenger. ‘I told you to stay inside!’ She bangs a cup of tea angrily down in front of Kostas. This time there is no honey to sweeten it.
‘Then one got into my suit. It was like he was determined, like a screwdriver trying to find a way in.’ He sips the tea. ‘The guard bees, they are protecting the hives like the Minotaur in the labyrinth eating humans!’
‘They are just looking after their families.’ Maria tries to be the voice of reason against Kostas’s raging. ‘What were you doing up there anyway? We agreed not to go up to the hives, but to encourage the bees down the mountain.’
‘I couldn’t wait any longer for them to come. I thought that if I took a queen bee and rehomed her, the others would follow,’ he says sheepishly.
‘And then . . . well, they got all agitated and that one got into my suit and . . . ouch!’ He winces.
‘You have to stay inside until these stings all heal. And until the bees are less agitated. What if they remember you now? You have made them your enemy! We have Nell here, for now.’ She swallows, as if wondering what will happen when I’m gone, and I wonder too. ‘She’s a natural. Like she was born here.’ She smiles at me. ‘The honey factory is nearly ready. It looks like new.’
‘Well, I’m not sure about new.’ I blush, but I’m actually very pleased with how it’s looking. Kostas has mended the hole in the roof, and where there was once moss and ferns, the walls are scrubbed clean and the surfaces sparkle in the summer sunshine.
‘Kostas and I have been talking. You have worked so hard in the honey factory. We want to repay you.’
‘You give me my board and lodgings,’ I cut in.
She holds up her hand. ‘Once the honey starts to come in, we will sell it at the market. We would like to share the profits with you, by way of thanks. No arguments.’
I know that to turn this down would cause offence, and I can’t deny the money would be very welcome. ‘Thank you, that is very kind of you.’ It is kind of them, and even more reason to get the honey farm up and running again. Who knows, maybe I could even earn enough to tide me over while I look for a new job back home, a new beginning so I don’t ever have to go back to the factory.
Maria shakes out the very last of the dusty herb remnants from the jar, peering inside to make sure it really is all gone.
