Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘Since I was a boy.’ Shelly tried to guess how old he was, but failed. A distant look came to his face. ‘She cocks her head and stares at me when I speak to her, like she’s saying, “Talk dog, will you, boss? I’m not a human, you know.”’ He laughed softly and scratched the top of her head. ‘She’s my companion, tripping hazard, hot water bottle, and the best friend a guy could have. If I’m not giving her enough attention, she pushes her head under my hand and peers up at me with her amazingly deep eyes telling me she wants to be fussed.’ His face lit up as he spoke. ‘And when I take my shoes and socks off, she licks my feet with her big, sandpaper tongue until I’m laughing out loud, then she steals a sock and races around with it. At least she used to.’ He turned to the dog, his voice went quiet. ‘What will I do when she’s gone? I want to . . .’ The rest of the sentence gave up trying to make it into the real world.

  ‘How terrible. I’ve never had a dog, tell me more.’

  He glanced up, but hesitated for a moment. ‘We have an understanding, me and Pat. In the early days, she was a bundle of raw energy, but so was I. She ruined the furniture and woodwork. My poor mum . . .’ He glanced up at the sky with gentle eyes, then down again. A simple gesture that told Shelly his mum had passed away too. ‘My mum put up with a lot from the two of us. Yet she seemed to understand how important Pat became to me. In teaching the dog some discipline, I was teaching myself at the same time. Anyway, we helped each other along in those early days, and now, she’s all the family I have.’

  They sat in silence again until Shelly made a suggestion. ‘I think you know what you must do if you really love her. Give her the best week of her life, then let her rest in peace.’

  He stared at the paving slabs. ‘Yeah, sure. I wish it was as easy to do as it is to say. I can’t imagine life without my dog, she’s just, well, an extension of me. I was an only child, going off the rails a bit. Almost got expelled from school but then my parents, well my mum, got me this cute, sweet puppy from the animal shelter for my birthday. I simply fell in love with her. She changed my life, gave me a reason to get up in the morning, and I couldn’t wait to get back to her after school. She had six pups, they’re all still going strong. Two of them are guide dogs.’

  Shelly heard the pride in his voice. ‘Then you should take her to see her children one last time.’

  They sat in silence again, until he said, ‘I think you’re right, great idea, thanks.’ Another pause. ‘Why were you crying?’

  She touched the bracelet and felt her sadness gather. ‘I don’t think I can talk about it.’ She sighed. ‘I know I should, but it’s too difficult.’ She gasped, tried to conjure up some energy to explain. ‘I lost . . .’ She couldn’t quite get there. ‘I mean, well . . .’ Her mouth wouldn’t form the words that were in her head. Everything was out of sync and the emotion overwhelmed her again in one great suffocating wave.

  Fat tears brimmed and spilled over as she forced the two words that she sensed he would understand. ‘My mother . . .’

  ‘You lost your mother?’ Shelly nodded. ‘Oh . . . sorry. Perhaps we shouldn’t have barged in on you the way we did. You need to be alone; I understand, really.’

  She nodded again. A tear splashed onto the back of her hand. The dog made a sad little whimper and licked it away with one great swipe of its pink tongue. Shelly leaned forward and rested her cheek on the dog’s broad head. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve been a big help.’

  ‘I have to go to work soon, but I can’t leave you like this. Please, can I buy you a coffee, or a Coke? You’ll feel better after a sugar hit, honestly. Grief is so exhausting. I’ve been there,’ he said simply.

  She thought about it, shrugged, and nodded.

  They walked over to McDonald’s where he ordered two cappuccinos. Giving all their attention to their drinks, they were silent for a moment, then, aware he was watching her she looked up. ‘What?’

  His kind smile started in his eyes, then lit up his face. She smiled back, then after an unknown length of time, when they must have looked ridiculous to fellow diners, she snapped back to reality. ‘Hello?’ she said.

  He shook his head rapidly. ‘Sorry, was I staring?’

  She nodded, although his smile was still with her, like a tiny spark of warmth in her chest.

  He said, ‘I don’t even know your name.’

  Shelly realised she was batting her eyelashes, then felt the heat of a blush.

  ‘I’m David,’ he said, sticking his hand across the table. ‘My grandad was a David, my dad was a David, and when I have a son, he’ll be a David, too; or probably Dave. Most people use Dave these days, don’t they? Firstborn son, family tradition; I come from a long line of Davids. How mad is that?’

  She found herself laughing and stuck out her hand. ‘How do you do, David? I’m Shelly. No long line of Shellys, but my mum just loved the name.’ They grinned at each other and, for the first time since Christmas, Shelly felt a little joy at the mention of her mother. Under the table, her fingertips sought the bracelet and a secret smile directed at her mum bloomed in her heart. This David from a long line of Davids had broken the shackles of misery and set her free for a few minutes. She felt lightheaded, dizzy.

  ‘That’s a great idea of yours,’ David said, breaking her thoughts. ‘I’ll take Pat to see her pups . . . well, they’re not pups now, of course, but your children are always your children, I guess. What made you think of it?’

  ‘I’m going to be a vet.’ Shelly pulled up short of saying when I grow up. ‘I have an affinity with animals, you know, I understand them and they understand me. Can’t imagine life without them. I think it’s because I’m an only child.’

  ‘I’m the same about water. I only feel complete when I’m in it.’

  ‘Swimming, you mean?’

  He nodded. ‘Diving’s my biggest pleasure. I want to earn a living as a Tec diver, but it’s not something you can just walk into and it’s expensive to get the qualifications. That’s why I do the websites and lifeguarding.’

  ‘What’s a Tec diver?’

  ‘Basically, a deep diver that breathes mixed gas, and makes decompression stops on the way up.’

  ‘Sounds complicated and dangerous.’

  ‘It’s another world. Do you snorkel?’

  She shook her head. ‘Never tried.’

  ‘You should. It’s amazing. Me and my mate Simon, we go whenever we can. I can’t even begin to describe it. It makes you forget everything.’

  ‘I don’t want to forget my mum, not for a moment,’ she said quietly. She looked into his face, and saw his awkwardness. ‘I hope her memory never fades, ever; but I just want to say, you’ve helped me a lot, today. I’ve never been able to talk about her, before. Not at all. Thank you. It hurts so much, you can’t imagine,’ she whispered. ‘Even so, this afternoon has helped.’

  His shoulders dropped. ‘That’s cool. Pleased to hear I’ve been some use. You see, I lost my mum too. I know how you feel. Like it’s never been so bad for anyone else. I guess it really is the most painful thing.’

  She didn’t want to give him the wrong idea. ‘You’ve been really great, thank you, but actually I meant my mother’s bracelet. I collected it this afternoon. I’ll never take it off.’

  He looked a little hurt and stared at the table. ‘Of course, sorry.’ Another awkward silence. ‘I don’t suppose you’d help me with Pat, you almost being a vet and all.’

  ‘No, no!’ She shook her head. His shoulders went up again and she remembered he was hurting too. ‘I mean, yes, I really would like to help with your dog, but I’m not almost a vet. I haven’t even started training yet.’

  He let out a sigh. ‘Great, thanks, that’s really ace.’

  *

  ‘Shelly, tea!’ Eve called from the back of the surgery. ‘Shelly! Did you hear me? What’s up with you today? You seem distracted.’

  ‘Ah, sorry, daydreaming, didn’t sleep too well.’

  ‘W
ant to talk about it?’

  ‘No thanks. It’s just something I heard, playing on my mind. I’ll buckle down to the lab results. Do you have anything special on?’

  ‘Nothing I can’t handle. Have you booked your holiday yet?’ Shelly shook her head. ‘Well, please do hurry up. I’m waiting to book mine but can’t until you’re sorted. If you can’t decide which island to visit, why not book for Athens and you can simply go on from there?’

  ‘I’ll do it today, promise.’ She thought about DJ and swore to herself. She’d phone him after work. No more putting it off. Her mouth dried just at the thought. What could he want after all this time?

  Through Google, Shelly discovered the Britannic sank in 1916 and now lay just over a mile from the small Greek island of Kea. She wished she’d taken notes while listening to Gertie’s cassette. What year did Gertie board the Britannic? She’d check the moment she got home.

  Was it possible to dive the ship? Wouldn’t that be amazing? She YouTubed the wreck, then Kea, and explored the island online. Wouldn’t it be great to fulfil all her holiday requirements in one convenient location? Was there a dive outfit on the island? Yes! Now she longed to be there. However, it wasn’t on the tourist trail and hadn’t an airport. She’d have to fly to Athens, and take the fifty-minute ferry to Kea. She hesitated; it was the end of May, the start of the egg-laying season for turtles all over Greece. Before listening to Gran Gertie’s tape, she had considered Zakynthos, turtle beach, to photograph them, but with patience and good luck, it was possible to capture this phenomenon on any quiet sandy beach around early June.

  When Eve saw Shelly log off for the day, she eagerly turned towards her. ‘So, have you booked?’ she asked. ‘Where’re you going?’

  ‘All done. Next weekend, the island of Kea, Greece.’

  ‘Well done you! Kea? Never heard of it.’ She picked up a pen and moved over to the calendar. ‘Go on then, give me the dates and I’ll mark them off.’ Shelly did. ‘Damn it, you’ll be away for your birthday! We’ll have to celebrate when you come back.’

  *

  At five thirty, Shelly let Eve out of the surgery’s front door. ‘Good job today, thanks, Eve. Sorry if I appeared a little distracted.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it, just get a good night’s sleep. See you tomorrow.’

  Shelly locked the front of the shop, then went into the back, checked her two overnight patients in their cat pens, set the alarm and security camera, and left.

  Two minutes later, she was back. She punched in numbers to disable the alarm, then pulled DJ’s letter out of her bag and reached for the phone. She could do this! She could . . .

  She still didn’t know what to say. It had been such a long, long time.

  Whatever you do, Shelly Summer, do not cry!

  The ringtone stopped. The person you are calling . . . after the tone . . . and so on.

  ‘Oh!’ She hesitated, almost hung up, then decided to speak. ‘Hello, this is Shelly Summer. I received your letter saying you wanted to meet. I’m going away soon, so it would have to be this week, or in a few weeks’ time. Please call this number to confirm a place and time. Thank you.’ She pressed the hash to end the message, aware her voice had been cold and unemotional. Then, all the sentiment she’d held back, all the pain, still so raw, burst forth and tears trickled down her cheeks. Why had life been so cruel to her? The ginger tom in its overnight crate curled its tail around its feet and watched her.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ she said to the cat, a sob catching her by surprise. ‘It’s not what you think. I don’t want him back, not after all this time. It’s too complicated. Yet, I do . . . oh, how I do!’

  Just as she reached for a paper towel, her mobile rang. Sods law, an emergency at the worst possible moment. She dried her face and picked up. ‘Summer Veterinary, emergency service, state your name and phone number, please.’

  ‘It’s DJ. I was put through to this number.’

  Shelly gasped. ‘DJ? Look, DJ—’ Then a sob escaped. She hoped he hadn’t heard. ‘I don’t know what you want from me exactly.’

  ‘Sorry, I realise this must be difficult after all this time. I just want to understand why you walked away. I don’t have any ill will, but I need to know your reason for leaving.’

  ‘DJ, let me explain, I was seventeen, my mother had just died and my father was having some kind of breakdown. I was trying to study and work at the same time to get myself into university. I simply couldn’t cope with anything else. It was all too much.’ She gasped, dangerously close to losing it. ‘I’m sorry, really, but I can’t talk now.’

  ‘I can hear you’re upset; I don’t want that. Can I see you?’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ It might be best to meet somewhere, get it over with, or else he might turn up at the surgery, or stalk her, or call at White Cottage. ‘Why don’t you suggest something and let me know?’

  ‘I will, thank you.’

  CHAPTER 10

  GERTIE

  On HMHS Britannic, 1916.

  STARING AT THE WONDERFUL PICTURE of my sister in Lloyd George’s book, I hardly heard the knock on my cabin door. It swung open and Matron stood there looking displeased. ‘Did you not hear me knock, Miss Smith?’

  Tears were rolling down my face. I sniffed hard and nodded. ‘It’s my sister, Matron. I just found it. Look, a photo of her before she became a VAD on Lemnos where she got the influenza and died.’

  Matron stretched her neck and spoke down her nose. ‘I can see it is not a good time, Miss Smith. I’ll speak to you in the morning.’ Then she turned away and disappeared down the corridor.

  I never did discover what she came for. That book became one of my most treasured possessions and at this point, I still have it.

  *

  Our days were filled with scrubbing decks, making beds, and medical lessons, though we did have some time off each day until we reached our destination. This period was occupied by gymnastics, which were led by Sergeant Jones from Pontypridd in his white trousers and white vest. It’s a wonder the dark haired, broad-chested soldier had the bravery to stand and raise his arms above his head before that many pairs of appreciative eyes each day.

  The swimming bath was available to men in the mornings, and women in the evening. I swam every day, becoming faster and stronger with each session – keeping my promise to Father and writing how many laps I had done in my letters to Mother. I even joked that if the worst happened, I would be quite able to swim home from wherever I was. I loved the pool – loved competing with other nurses in impromptu races – and enjoyed the immensely clean feeling as I dried off. Sergeant Jones saw me punishing myself one evening and suggested that I train for the 1920 Olympic selection and even offered to coach me.

  ‘Really! Do you think I would stand a chance? What would I have to do?’

  ‘We would need to send off your best lap times, name, address, and date of birth.’

  Date of birth? There I would come unstuck. My euphoria plummeted. ‘Sir, I came here to tend the sick. This is a full-time occupation so I think it would be best to forgo the temptation of joining the Olympic team. But I thank you for offering to assist me.’

  *

  Time passed quickly. Besides our chores, we practised various forms of bandaging and endless sterilising. Such was my naïvety, during our first lifeboat drill, I thought we’d all be ordered into the lifeboats and lowered to the sea. I soon discovered the drill only consisted of fetching our lifesavers, which were twelve cumbersome cork blocks stitched inside a canvas tabard with tapes at the sides. We had to put them on properly, and gather at our designated muster stations. A simple procedure. What could possibly go wrong? The entire exercise was a waste of time in my opinion.

  After passing through the Strait of Gibraltar, we entered the Mediterranean. The air grew warmer and we spent more free time on deck playing cricket and deck quoits. I continued to spend at least an hour each day improving my swimming.

  The ship arrived at
Naples on 17 November and embarked coal and water. The port seemed overwhelmed by battleships and troop carriers, both moored up and anchored off. These ships were served by barges that offloaded supplies. The vastness of the war started to enter my perception.

  Amorous soldiers and sailors swarmed everywhere, and we enjoyed their wolf whistles when we were together. My heart pitter-pattered and my cheeks burned when they accosted us with this absurd flattery. However, if alone, I hated the raucous attention and flew back into the company of my colleagues. Of course, we all stuck our noses in the air and marched away; I admit to swinging my hips with a little more gusto than usual.

  Our first patients boarded; six non-combatant soldiers destined to stay with us until they recovered or HMHS Britannic returned to England.

  A storm whipped up mountainous seas, keeping the ship in port longer than planned, but on the Sunday afternoon, Captain Bartlett decided to take advantage of a break in the weather.

  Matron Merriberry, who both inspired and terrified me, gathered a group of us to E deck as the ship prepared to leave port.

  ‘Nurses!’ she cried, her full bosom quivering. We stood to attention, matching her upright stance, chest out and head up. ‘I selected the eight of you to attend our new patients.’

  My heart pounded; how marvellous to be chosen. I would be exemplary, people would say so.

  Matron glanced at each of us in turn. ‘Look on it as an honour and an opportunity to gain as much experience as possible. Staff, or myself, will be available at all times. I want you to make the most of this unexpected chance to improve your skills.’

  Fierce yet fair, they said of this woman with biceps like a man. She gave us instruction on each patient and ended with a booming, ‘Any questions?’

  Barbara, straightforward as ever, raised a hand. ‘Is it possible to know where we’re headed, Matron?’

  Merriberry rolled her wide shoulders and frowned, pausing for a moment to consider. ‘As we won’t meet land again until we arrive at our destination, I don’t see why you shouldn’t know.’ She drew herself up. I held my breath. ‘We are heading for the port of Mudros, on the island of Lemnos. It’s the largest hospital clearing station in Europe, thanks to the tragedy of Gallipoli last year.’