Summer in Greece

by Patricia Wilson

  ‘Absolutely none of your business.’ Shelly studied the appointment book.

  ‘I know. But was he?’

  Shelly kept her head down, but nodded rapidly and both women chuckled.

  ‘Come on then, at least tell me when you’re going back?’ Eve prodded.

  ‘I might go back when the turtle eggs hatch – if it’s all right with you, of course. I’d love to see the adorable little flappers scuttling down to the sea.’

  ‘What’s his name, then?’ Eve said, refusing to be side-tracked.

  ‘What? Honestly, is that all you think about?’

  ‘Pretty much, yes.’

  ‘Harry.’

  ‘You going to tell me everything?’

  ‘Nope.’

  The surgery buzzer went. ‘I’ll go,’ Eve said. She returned two minutes later. ‘There’s a first. Gerbil in a whisky bottle. Mr Rider wants to know if we can get it out before his boy comes home from school.’

  ‘Was the bottle empty when it went in?’ Shelly asked, peering at the sleeping rodent. ‘I fear it’ll have one hell of a hangover.’

  ‘When are you going back then?’

  ‘You’re driving me crazy now! I said, when the eggs are ready to hatch.’

  Eve giggled.

  *

  At ten to one, Shelly heard the front door open, she guessed it was Mrs Jackson with the Dobermann. Eve called from the front, ‘Shelly, it’s for you!’

  Shelly went through and was surprised to see her father standing at the counter.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling, Shelly, but Malcolm brought this for you, after you’d left this morning. I thought it might be important.’ He thrust a letter towards her.

  DJ’s handwriting was on the envelope. She’d been pushing thoughts of him to the back of her mind, but couldn’t quite forget him. ‘Thanks, that’s kind of you to bring it, Dad. Would you like a look around while you’re here?’

  ‘Me? Well, yes, I would. Often wondered what you do all day.’

  Just then, everyone’s attention was taken by a kerfuffle in the doorway. Mrs Jackson was hanging on to the window bar with one hand, and the Dobermann’s leash with the other. Shelly opened the door.

  ‘Can I help?’

  Mrs Jackson was sweating and red in the face. ‘I’m afraid he remembers when I last brought him here – to have his nuts off – I don’t think he’ll ever forgive you, vet.’

  ‘Poor sod! Neither would I,’ Gordon muttered.

  ‘I see you had his ears cropped, against my advice.’ Shelly tried to keep her tone even, despite her anger.

  ‘Not me. My son. I was furious.’ She uttered, with forty-five kilos of unhappy muscle pulling her out of the door.

  ‘Let me help,’ said Eve, reaching for the lead.

  In a second, everything changed. The Dobermann’s hackles went up, along with its lip. The whites of his eyes flashed and the snarl that came from him made it terrifyingly clear it was on the verge of a savage attack. Despite the muzzle, it could do some serious damage.

  ‘Everyone look at the floor, immediately,’ Shelly said flatly though her heart raced. ‘Mrs Jackson, can you wrap the lead around the window bar and tie it off?’ She did. ‘Now everyone step backwards without turning away from the dog. ‘Don’t look at him, don’t speak, don’t show your teeth even in a smile.’

  Shelly made a humming noise which immediately caught the dog’s attention. The snarling stopped and he dropped his head to one side, then peered at her curiously. Shelly mirrored his behaviour, then she spoke softly, turned slightly sideways and moved a little closer. She made a fist with her hand and slowly raised the back of it towards the dog’s muzzle. All the time, she talked quietly until it lowered its head and dipped towards her. She scratched under his collar and he sat.

  ‘Good boy,’ she said softly.

  *

  An hour later, with the dog anaesthetised, Shelly cleaned below its gumline. ‘There it is, the reason for his bad temper. It looks like a bee sting inside his mouth,’ she said. ‘Must have driven him crazy, especially when Mrs Jackson put the muzzle on.’

  ‘Your dad was amazing, wasn’t he? I mean, even I was a bit rattled, but he just stood there, calm as you like.’

  Shelly straightened and stretched her back. ‘Yes, he was, even I was surprised. That’s the plaque removed. Now a quick de-scale and polish for a brighter, whiter, smile.’

  ‘And a more kissable mouth . . .’ Eve interrupted, then giggled. ‘Come on, now. I need to know all the details about Mr Fantastic.’

  They laughed and joked until Shelly started to feel a little disloyal, because in fact, she missed Harry terribly and couldn’t wait to finish work and give him a call. She would just thank him for a wonderful week, and wasn’t naïve enough to think he would be missing her already. She’d seen Shirley Valentine and suddenly realised Harry bore a strong resemblance to Tom Conti when that film was made, decades ago. She closed her eyes and imagined his smiling face.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Eve said. ‘You’re doing far too much grinning, vet. It’s a little scary after all these years.’

  They laughed again and got on with the day until Ann Jones collected a miraculously recovered Bob at half past three.

  ‘I’ve got a little present for you, Ann,’ Shelly said. ‘It’s a booklet on how to take care of Bob. It’s for grown-ups really, so do you think you could get Mummy to read it to you?’

  Ann nodded seriously and passed it to Mrs Jones.

  *

  On the way home, Shelly pulled over and opened DJ’s letter. She had to see him, or risk regretting it for the rest of her life. Why was all this happening to her now? It couldn’t have come at a worse time. He sent a date, time, and place. A small snack bar, The Honeypot Café, not far from the practice. Agreeing to see him was one thing, but she hardly dared think about the effect he would have on her.

  *

  ‘You had a good time then, Shelly love?’ Gordon asked halfway through their meal that evening. ‘You going to tell me about it?’

  ‘I had a wonderful time.’ She told him about the egg-laying turtle, and diving the Burdigala wreck. ‘The island’s so close to mainland Greece, yet it’s almost a wildlife sanctuary.’

  ‘Will you be going back any time soon?’

  Shelly nodded, watching her father’s face. ‘In about two months, I think. I’d like to see the baby turtles return to the sea.’ She thought about Harry. Eight weeks seemed a long and lonely time before she’d see him again. There was so much she didn’t know about him, silly stuff, trivia. If she could, she would go back tomorrow. She closed her eyes and imagined being in his arms.

  ‘That’s good,’ her dad said, pulling her back to reality. ‘’Cause next time I might come with you.’

  Shelly looked up, her mind racing through several scenarios of what that might entail. With a tight feeling in her chest, she threw all her effort into sounding delighted. ‘Oh, Dad! How lovely. What brought this on?’

  ‘Well, Bill got the hang of taking care of me birds. And that was the biggest reason for me not going with you.’ He peered at her, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he contemplated. ‘And I have to tell you, Shelly love. I’m not as young as I was. Don’t be fooled by the pomade and Pond’s cream—’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘No, really. Today, I realised how hard you work. In fact, I realised that I don’t know that much about you, my own daughter. And I was dead proud of the way you handled that rabid dog. I thought you just took money off cat people and puppy lovers.’

  ‘Dad!’ she cried again, trying to stop herself laughing. ‘It wasn’t a rabid dog, it had a bee sting in its mouth. Can you imagine how that felt?’

  ‘Well, anyway, the long and short of it is, I’m coming to Greece with you, next time.’ His eyes narrowed in a scheming way. ‘Would you mind if I brought Malcolm along?’

  So that was what this was about. ‘Dad! No, you can’t bring Malcolm. I hope you haven’t said anything to hi
m.’

  ‘He really likes you, Shelly.’

  ‘I’ve met someone!’ she blurted. His face lit up, and she almost said something she might have regretted later, so she just thought it: Oh, for fuck’s sake!

  ‘Really? Was that—’

  ‘Stop right now, Dad! I’ll tell you about it when I’m ready. Now let’s drop the subject before I get angry. It would be lovely if you came to Greece with me, but I’m just as happy for you to have Bill or Malcolm round here for the week. Now, I’m going to play another one of Gran Gertie’s tapes because I’m hoping to know the whole story before I return to Kea. So, you can listen with me or go and watch the telly.’

  Gordon decided the football was more important.

  CHAPTER 26

  GERTIE

  Greece, 1916.

  AFTER A HURRIED LESSON ON the crutches, Perkins hopped up and down while Josephine and I folded the bedlinen and tried to restore the school room fit for purpose.

  ‘I must say farewell to Yiayá,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you on the quayside in a few minutes.’ I rushed around to the matriarch’s home and found the cutest white goat tied to the donkey loop in the wall. I knocked on the door while the goat nibbled on my apron bow.

  ‘Ela! Yiayá,’ I called.

  ‘Agapití mou! ’ My lovely!’ she cried reaching up and tapping my cheek.

  I stepped inside and the old lady’s face lit in such a lovely way that I knew I would miss her terribly. ‘Me,’ I pointed at my chest, then out towards the horizon, ‘Syros!’

  Yiayá’s eyes widened as she understood, then with an alarmed voice, she shook her head and cried, ‘Allá o engonós mou se agapáei! ’ She thumped her heart with alarming ferocity.

  With no clue as to what she was saying, I pointed at my chest then out to sea and shouted, as shouting seemed to be the thing to do in a serious situation, ‘Me, Gertie, go with Manno, to Syros!’

  The lovely old lady blinked for a moment, pointed at me, slid her two forefingers against each other and cried, ‘Tee, Manno, Syros?’ in a questioning way.

  ‘Yes, yes!’ I replied, happy to be understood, though confused by the finger sliding. ‘With Manno.’ Then Yiayá did an odd thing. She placed one hand on my head and made the sign of the cross three times with the other.

  Yiayá was so lovely and kind, on impulse, I enfolded the little woman in my arms and kissed her cheeks. Then to my alarm, I realised the old lady was weeping. ‘No, no, Yiayá,’ I said, wiping her tears away. ‘Me . . .’ I drew a circle in the air then pointed at the ground, ‘Kea!’ It was the only way I could think of to say I’d come back.

  ‘O engonós mou se agapáei,’ Yiayá said again, and I made an effort to memorise the words as they seemed so important to the old dear.

  ‘Gertie!’ The cry came from outside.

  ‘I must go, Yiayá.’ I lifted the woman’s hand and kissed it, then hurried out of the cottage and headed for Manno’s mooring where Josephine and Perkins waited with my pillow-bag.

  Manno’s boat approached. My heart fluttered, but then I stared in disbelief at the contents of his caïque. A basket of fish, a pile of yellow net, his father Yianni, and a huge, curl-horned ram whose goatish stench overpowered everything. The creature was clearly unhappy with his mode of transport.

  ‘Holy Moses, what the blazes is that?’ Perkins cried. ‘Just take a look at the business end of that ram! He’s got gonads down to his knees!’

  Josephine and I blushed at Perkins’s choice of language.

  ‘Magnificent, yes?’ Manno beamed as if it was a personal compliment. He leapt onto the quayside, tugging on the goat’s rope halter. ‘Ela! Ela! Malaka! ’ he yelled, telling the ram to come, then swearing at it.

  The ram, nimble despite its robust size, hurled itself at solid ground. Manno thrust the rope into Josephine’s hand. ‘Hold on to him, nurse, while I get the post.’

  Josephine pulled in her chin, reluctant to breathe the acrid goat-stench that encircled her. Startled to the point of speechlessness, she wrapped the rope twice around her fist and gripped tightly.

  The ram, clearly uninterested in its human audience, sniffed the air. Manno steered the wooden wheelbarrow towards the boat and his father passed the mail sack up. Before anyone could react, the ram caught the scent of Yiayá’s pretty goat. It hurtled towards the cottage, its physical attributes making its intentions very clear, dragging a yelping Nurse Josephine with it.

  The ram was not a romancer. The creature mounted the goat without so much as a ‘hello’.

  Josephine, her face aflame, turned her back on the beasts but kept a grip on the rope.

  Manno strode over, took the rope from Josephine’s fist, and with a grin said, ‘Very good, nurse. Maybe you marry a shepherd, yes?’ He tied the ram’s halter to the metal ring while Josephine scurried back to me.

  Manno thrust the air with an open hand, in the direction of the ram’s behind in a slightly lewd manner, and grinned at Perkins.

  ‘Is one happy boy, yes!’ he cried.

  Josephine and I stared at the fisherman, then at each other. After a moment of shocked silence, we grasped one another to save falling over while trying to contain our laughter. ‘This will not do,’ Nurse Josephine squeaked, trying to apply a sombre face while smoothing my apron. ‘Not the correct conduct for upstanding nurses in public.’

  ‘More’s the pity,’ Perkins muttered, glancing at the goats

  *

  An hour later, Josephine, Perkins, and I were in the fishing boat with Manno and Yianni. I peered back at Kea as we sailed out of the bay and past the lighthouse. So much had happened on that island, and at that moment, somewhere below us, HMHS Britannic lay on the sea bed, along with Sissy’s watch. I glanced at Corporal Perkins’s foot, and wondered what he was thinking. He looked up, straight into my eyes, and I saw such sadness. I wished I could hold his hand for a moment.

  Then Manno caught my eye and winked. My spine tingled as I tried to hide the thrill I felt when he looked my way. ‘You no worry, koukla. My boat, she is unsinkable.’

  ‘Isn’t that what they all say?’ I remembered Yiayá’s words. ‘Manno, what does: O engonós mou se agapáei, mean?’

  His face darkened and his brow furrowed. ‘Who says these things to you?’

  Alarmed by his attitude, I shook my head, ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No, you must tell me. Who said this, koukla mou?’

  ‘Yiayá.’

  The aggravation left his face and he tilted his head back to laugh heartily. ‘Ah, this is good.’

  ‘But what does it mean?’

  I glanced over to Josephine, but as I did, the nurse turned away, smiling. I returned my attention to Manno. ‘Tell me.’

  He let go of the tiller, cupped my chin and peered into my eyes. ‘O engonós mou se agapáei means: my grandson loves you.’

  ‘Oh!’ Heat rose in my cheeks. ‘And this?’ I slid my forefingers side by side.

  Manno grabbed the tiller, stared at his fist, then, threw a challenging glance at Perkins, who seemed to understand more Greek than me.

  ‘Manno?’

  ‘Ah, it means – well, you saw the goats, yes?’

  Horrified to realise why the old woman had blessed me. I returned my stare to Josephine who wore a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ she said.

  I clasped my hands between my knees and stared at my feet.

  Outside the bay, the little boat rolled and bobbed on the blue water.

  ‘Don’t you put the nets out?’ I asked Manno.

  ‘Not here, there are bombs down there. Is not safe.’

  ‘Bombs? My God, we’ll all be blown to bits!’

  ‘No worries, you’re safe with me, koukla, they’re fixed to the bottom with a long rope, but they’re for the bigger ships which are deeper in the water.’

  The boat bobbed about as we chugged over the waves. Manno said something to his father who then pulled a box from under the seat. He emptied the contents into our
laps, replaced the lid, and then set the top as a table. He laid fresh bread, a beautiful pink dip with a strong scent of fish, plump black olives, and lemon wedges, before us. Josephine clamped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. She shuffled to the front of the boat, a look of utter despair on her face.

  The food was wonderful! ‘What was the pink dip, Mr Yianni?’ I asked. ‘It’s really delicious.’

  ‘Is taramasalata; is made from the raw eggs of the mullet fish and stale bread, all whipped up with lots of extra virgin olive oil.’

  The information was too much for Josephine. Her face turned grey and she hung over the side. Yianni guided her to the back of the boat, which he said was a much better place for her to be, under the circumstances.

  Soon, the little fishing boat approached a hilly, barren island. ‘What is this place, Syros?’ I asked.

  ‘No, it’s the cursed island of Giaros,’ Manno replied. ‘Nobody lives there. Giaros no have the water. They say if you step on the island, you will die a terrible death. In the old days, the Mediterranean pirates buried their treasure there, but then they all got sick and died because the well they dug was filled with seawater.’

  ‘Did anyone find the treasure?’ Perkins asked.

  Manno lifted his chin. ‘How can we know? They would keep it secret, yes?’

  ‘It appears quite forebidding,’ Nurse Josephine said, staring with puffy eyes at the high cliffs. ‘A difficult place to get on or off.’

  ‘Are you feeling better, Nurse Josephine?’ I asked, noticing a little colour had returned to her cheeks. She nodded.

  As we skirted the landmass, I saw a great splash in the water. At first, I thought it was someone swimming, but we were a mile from the shore. I squinted with my hand shading my eyes and realised I must have been mistaken.

  ‘What are you looking at, Gertie?’ Josephine asked.

  ‘I thought I saw splashing, over there, but it’s stopped. Perhaps my imagination.’

  ‘Or fish,’ Josephine said. ‘I’ve seen them leap out of the water on a calm day.’

  The sun glinted off the sea, then suddenly there was another great splash further to the right.

  ‘Oh! There it was again. Did anyone see it?’