The Butterfly Storm (31 page)

She doesn’t hug or kiss me good morning. Alekos leans against the doorframe of the open back
door, playing with his evil-eye beads, a nervous habit he gets from Takis.

‘We’re all going for a picnic,’ Mum says firmly. Her eyes are wide as if daring me to
refuse.

‘A picnic?’

‘Despina’s been busy making salads and
souvlaki
…’

‘I teach Leila Greek,’ Despina says in English.

‘Great.’

‘Breakfast?’ Mum hands me a plate with a croissant and a dollop of apricot jam on
it.

‘It is very beautiful day,’ Despina says. She joins Alekos in the doorway and hooks her arm in
his.

It is a beautiful day and I’m glad we’re not all stuck in the house together. Mum gives
me directions to Holkham before we leave the house and whispers in my ear, ‘Let’s make
the best of this.’ The coast road is clear and the scenery we pass makes up for the lack of
conversation in the car. We drive through Morston and Stiffkey and pass the pub I got drunk
in with Ben. I can feel my cheeks flush at the memory. And then I’m driving into virgin
territory.

‘Turn right here,’ Mum suddenly says as we arrive at Holkham. I swing sharply into a tree-lined
drive, straight as a Roman road, leading to a forest of pine trees at the end. We pull up on the grass
verge alongside a camper van. It looks like a long walk to the beach and I think Mum’s mad to have
suggested it as she hobbles away from the car on her crutches. The four of us walk down the dirt track
in a row, still silent, our attention taken by the cows in the field on either side, the looming pine forest
ahead and the birds flitting in-between. We have no choice but to pair off when we reach the
wooden walkway leading through the forest. Alekos and Despina lead the way and Mum
and I follow slowly behind. Sun filters through the thick branches and casts patchy light
on to the sandy path. I’m struck by how quiet it is beneath the canopy of trees. There’s
no breeze to disturb. The thud of Mum’s crutches on the wooden walkway is amplified.
Alekos and Despina have gone on ahead. I glimpse them before they disappear between
trees.

‘How are you coping?’ Mum asks. Her voice disturbs the peace. I preferred the silence.

‘I’ve messed things up. Alekos won’t speak to me.’

‘Not with all of us together. No.’

‘I’m kind of glad about that. I’m glad you’re here.’

She squeezes my arm. ‘I’m on your side, Sophie. I always have been, even if it hasn’t seemed that
way. Take as long as you like to think things through.’ She leans towards me and kisses me on the
cheek. ‘Come on,’ she says, pointing to Alekos and Despina standing on top of a sand dune at the end
of the path, ‘we’re nearly there.’

As the forest opens on to the sand dunes and beach, the sound of the wind and sea envelops us.
Mum struggles up the path until we join Alekos and Despina. The beach stretches endlessly before us,
the sand rippled and dotted with shallow pools of water and snaking streams reaching towards the
smudge of blue-grey sea on the horizon. This is the wilderness I was after. It’s not desolate; there are
people about, but not within hearing distance, just sparse dots of colour over on the far sand
dunes.

‘You have beautiful country,’ Despina says in English.

Mum nods. ‘We certainly do.’

We find shelter from the wind in the curve of a sand dune, only a short walk away from the pine
forest path. Tall grasses serve as a protective wall against our backs and the dry sand is warm to touch.
Mum settles herself on a canvas put-up chair while I help Despina lay out our picnic on a rug. Alekos
wanders off along the ridge of the sand dune but returns at the sound of Despina yelling,
‘Food!’

Mum is happy to talk, which is good because no one else seems to be. Alekos’ face is permanently
creased in a frown. I catch Despina’s nervous glances between us. Alekos has obviously not talked to
her for once.

‘I always wanted Sophie to grow up with surroundings like this,’ Mum says, ‘where she had
beaches to play on and forests to explore, rather than a tiny back garden in the middle of a
city.’

I translate for Despina while the potato salad is passed between the four of us.

‘Aleko and his sister were always lucky,’ Despina replies in Greek. ‘Takis and I had to travel
from job to job when they were young, but we were always working by the sea. We spent
many years working in hotels and restaurants in Halkidiki. We worked briefly in Athens,
so at least they got a taste of city life. Aleko hated it there. He was always drawn to the
countryside or coast, the quieter life.’ She looks at Mum. ‘Like you here. I never imagined
there were places like this in England. I think of London and rain and rude people.’ She
laughs. ‘I was mistaken. The only regret I have is that, growing up, they never had a real
home.’

‘Home was wherever I felt happy, Mama,’ Alekos says. It’s a relief to hear him join the
conversation. He reaches for a line of skewered chicken, squeezes fresh lemon over it and
stares towards the sea as he eats it. I translate for Mum the gist of what Despina’s just
said.

This is the beach where the final scene in
Shakespeare in Love
was filmed. The last shot is of
Gwyneth Paltrow leaving footprints in the sand as she walks away from the sea. To what? The
unknown? What’s next for me? Alekos is running sand through his fingers. He hasn’t smiled all day.
Mum is tired and we have a long walk back. We pack up the remains of our picnic and
head towards the pine forest. Mum walks ahead with Despina. Their conversation is stilted,
Despina speaking Pidgin English and Mum answering with nods and hand signals. I don’t
know what to say to Alekos and so I let the silence between us grow and become more
awkward.

‘We’re flying home tomorrow,’ Alekos says. He stops suddenly on the path and leans against the
wooden railing. Mum and Despina continue walking.

‘I know.’ I join him, half-perching on the railing. If I reach my hand out I can touch him but I don’t.
‘There’s something I need to tell you, Aleko.’

‘Nothing you’re going to say will make this situation any better.’ He kicks sand between the wooden
planks. He pushes away from the side and strikes up a fast pace along the path.

‘Are you sure about that?’

He shrugs.

‘I can’t put up with things the way they are!’ I shout after him.

‘I might surprise you,’ he says, waving a hand at me as he continues walking. He’s going home. I
have no idea where home is. Bristol didn’t seem quite right: a familiar place yet so much had changed. I
don’t know if here feels more like home than Greece and
O Kipos
. Home should be where
I’m happiest. Alekos’ own words. I link my fingers across my stomach. Where we will be
happiest.

The sun is shining. I’m sitting outside on the wall that borders the lawn, with a cup of camomile tea.
It’s early. I left Alekos sleeping; Despina hasn’t appeared yet and Mum is in her study catching up on
emails. The butterflies have gone. Over the last few days I’ve seen the odd one or two doing
a silent dance on their own. And then all of a sudden they’ve disappeared – off chasing
sunshine.

I hear footsteps and a shadow falls across me. ‘Morning,’ Mum says. She sits next to me on the
wall.

It’s peaceful. I could stay out here for hours and watch the horses grazing in the field. My
sketchbook and pencil are next to me on the wall, opened to a new page. I’ve made a start, sketched
the fence and the gnarled trunk of a tree.

Mum picks it up. ‘When it’s finished, can I put it on my study wall?’

I nod. ‘Of course.’

She flicks to the page before and my rough sketch of the salt marshes after the boat ride with Ben.
She runs her fingers over the pencil marks.

‘I spoke to Robert this morning,’ she says.

‘About Ben?’

She nods. ‘He wouldn’t have said anything, but the bruised nose and the stench of alcohol on his
breath gave him away. Robert’s furious.’

‘With Alekos?’

‘No. With Ben. I told him what happened. Ben shouldn’t have put you in that kind of
position.’

‘It was as much my fault as his. I’ve done nothing to stop his advances,’ I say.

‘He didn’t deserve being punched.’

‘Maybe not. But he asks for trouble. Robert was really upset your birthday was ruined. I told him it
could’ve been worse. It could’ve been your thirtieth.’

‘Is that meant to cheer me up?’

‘You used to be so positive.’

‘I used to be a lot of things. Funny how life works out.’

‘How have things worked out?’

‘For the best,’ I say.

Mum reaches down and plucks a blade of grass. Dew still coats everything. ‘Despina’s up,’ she says.
‘I heard her in the bathroom.’ She rips the grass in half and flicks the pieces into the air. ‘What time
are you leaving?’

I glance at my watch. ‘In about an hour.’

Despina turning up might have been the best thing to happen. She’s given me closure. The
butterflies have moved on and now it’s my turn.

The tension in the car on the way to Heathrow is unbearable. The pressure to start a conversation builds
as the journey continues, but the further we get the harder it is to think of something to say. So we
remain silent, even Despina who’s never lost for words. The morning remains sunny, but it’s
depressing leaving behind the countryside for service stations and the suburbs backing on to
the motorway. I glance in my rear-view mirror. Despina has her eyes closed. I can’t tell
if she’s really asleep or just pretending in the hope that Alekos and I start talking. We
don’t. Instead we listen to the radio. All the conversations I’ve had over the past couple of
days keep playing over and over again in my head. Signs for Heathrow don’t come soon
enough.

Despina pushes a trolley with her suitcase on towards departures while Alekos strides ahead with
his hands shoved in his pockets. A memory of him on Cephalonia walking along the harbour with his
guitar slung across his bare chest flits into my head. I shrug it off. I’m letting him go. My thoughts are
quickly swallowed by the noise from the amount of people in the departures building. I leave Despina
and Alekos in the check-in queue and go upstairs to the café where, only three days ago, I waited for
Alekos to arrive. It’s hot and packed and I wait in the queue to get us drinks. It’s interesting to see the
mix of people gathered in a place like this and wonder who they are, what they do, where they’re
from and where they’re going. My artwork always used to feature people. I’d study and
draw faces. I’ve always liked photos featuring people however beautiful the location. I took
countless photos of Alekos on Cephalonia: on the boat, the beach, in restaurants, in bed… I
sketched him too - impressions of him playing volleyball or of his arm muscles clenched as
he pulled on a rope aboard
Artemis
. If it’s not too late by the time I get back I’ll go to
Salthouse and sit in the fish restaurant or on the pebble beach and sketch the people around
me.

The girl behind the counter takes my order and hands me two lattes and a hot chocolate. At least
three plane loads of people have poured through the arrivals gate while I’ve been queuing. Clutching
three large drinks I make my way back down the stairs and hand the lattes to Despina
and Alekos who are near the front of the check-in queue. Alekos doesn’t look at me. There
are a lot of other Greeks waiting in the queue. I catch snippets of conversations in Greek
and English as the queue shuffles forward. Greek is now so familiar. I force back tears as I
think of the excitement I felt arriving in Thessaloniki just over four years ago and seeing
Alekos.

After check-in I trail after them to the departures gate. I should have just dropped them off in the
car park and said goodbye there. A sharp pain. My hands clutch my stomach. I gasp and then it’s
gone.

‘Are you okay?’ Alekos asks. He moves towards me.

I reassure him with a nod.

Despina has wandered off and is browsing through magazines in a shop. Dressed in jeans and a
jumper, Alekos looks more comfortable than when he arrived wearing trousers and a shirt. I reach for
his hand. ‘Give me some time, Aleko.’

‘Don’t call me,’ he says while rubbing his thumbs up and down mine. He leans towards me until his
forehead is touching mine. ‘Unless it’s to say you’re coming home.’ I can smell his cologne, a rich spicy
scent. He gently kisses my forehead before pulling away. ‘There’s nothing to keep me at
O Kipos
without you.’

I shake my head. ‘I was what was keeping you there? All this time I’ve been talking about and
begging you to move out and you didn’t want to and now…’ My words are a muddle. I want to shake
him, kiss him, hug him, hurt him.

‘I don’t belong anywhere without you.’

Despina taps her way towards us in her heels. ‘We can go through,’ she says to Alekos, and points
towards the departures gate. ‘Get your ticket and passport ready.’ She turns to me and says firmly. ‘I
hope we see you soon, Sophie.’ She squeezes my shoulders and kisses me on both cheeks before walking
away.

‘Alekos,’ I say, taking a step towards him.

‘I know,’ he says with a nod.

All I can do is watch them walk through the departures gate. Despina waves. Alekos doesn’t. They
disappear from sight.

‘You’re out of your mind,’ Mum says. ‘If you’re not going back what the hell are you going to
do?’

‘I don’t know.’

That’s the truth. I don’t know. Mum looks at me from the other side of the kitchen, where she’s
leaning against the worktop, her crutches propped up next to her. She shakes her head at me. ‘This is
all very sudden, isn’t it?’

‘Not really,’ I say. ‘I haven’t been happy for a long time.’

‘But you’re engaged?’

‘We were, yes.’

‘And the other morning, in this kitchen, you both said you loved each other.’