The Olive Tree (5 page)

Whatever dread Helena felt about the Chandlers joining them, she knew she must keep it to herself. Sacha was William’s best and oldest friend; his daughter, Viola, was William’s
godchild. There was nothing she could do but accept the situation.

How will I cope
. . . ? Helena fanned herself in the oppressive heat, seeing the kitchen and its dilapidated state through Jules’ eagle eyes and knowing she wouldn’t be able
to bear the criticism. She reached for her scrunchie, abandoned on the kitchen table last night, twirled up her hair and wound it into a knot on the top of her head, relishing the sudden coolness
at the nape of her neck.

I will cope
, she told herself.
I have to
.

‘Are we going yet?’ Immy was behind her. ‘I’m hungry. Can I have chips with ketchup at the restaurant?’ Her small arms snaked around her mother’s waist.

‘Yes, we are.’ Helena stood up, turned round and managed a weak smile. ‘And yes, you can.’

The midday sun scorched through the windows of the car as Helena drove along the road that wound through the acres of grapevines. Immy sat illegally next to her in the front,
the seatbelt worn across her like a saggy fashion accessory as she knelt up to look out of the window.

‘Can we stop and pick some grapes, Mummy?’

‘Yes, let’s, though they don’t taste quite the same as normal grapes.’ Helena brought the car to a halt and they both got out.

‘Here.’ Helena bent down, and from under a fan of vine leaves, revealed a tight cluster of magenta grapes. She tore it away from the branch and broke a few off.

‘Should we eat them, Mummy?’ Immy asked, staring at them doubtfully. ‘They don’t come from a supermarket, you know.’

‘They’re not very sweet yet because they’re not quite ripe. But go ahead, try one,’ Helena encouraged as she put one into her own mouth.

Immy’s small white teeth bit into the tough outer flesh cautiously. ‘They’re okay, I suppose. Can we take some back for Alex? Sick people like grapes.’

‘Good idea. We’ll take two bunches.’ Helena began to break off another cluster, then stood up, instinctively feeling someone watching her. And caught her breath as she saw him.
No more than twenty yards away, standing in the middle of the vines, staring at her.

She shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun, hoping irrationally that this was a hallucination, because this could not
be
. . . it just couldn’t . . .

But there he was, exactly as she remembered him, standing in almost the same spot as when she’d first seen him twenty-four years ago.

‘Mummy, who’s that man? Why’s he staring at us? Is it ’cos we stole some grapes? Will we go to prison?
Mummy?!
’

Helena stood rooted to the spot, her brain trying to make sense of the nonsense her eyes were showing her. Immy tugged at her arm. ‘C’mon, Mummy, quickly, before he gets the
policeman!’

Helena dragged her eyes away from his face and let herself be frog-marched back into the car by Immy, who took herself round to the passenger seat and sat expectantly next to her.

‘Come on, then. Drive,’ Immy ordered.

‘Yes, sorry.’ Helena automatically found the ignition, and turned the key to start the car.

‘Who was that man?’ Immy asked as they began to bump along the road. ‘Do you know him?’

‘No, I . . . don’t.’

‘Oh. You looked like you did. He was very tall and handsome, like a prince. The sun made a crown on his head.’

‘Yes.’ Helena concentrated on negotiating the track through the vines.

‘I wonder what his name was?’

Alexis . . .

‘I don’t know,’ she whispered.

‘Mummy?’

‘What?’

‘After all that, we left Alex’s grapes behind.’

The village had changed surprisingly little, compared to the ugly Lego-land below them that had sprung up higgledy-piggledy along the coast. The narrow high street was dusty
and deserted, the inhabitants hidden away in their cool stone houses, avoiding the searing sun while it reigned at its most powerful high above them. The one shop had added a DVD library, which
Helena knew would please Alex; but apart from a couple of new bars, everything else looked much the same.

Having stopped at the bank, then handed over some cash to the doctor’s receptionist next door, Helena took Immy for lunch in the pretty courtyard of Persephone’s Taverna. They sat
under the shade of an olive tree, Immy enchanted by a family of skinny kittens that wound round her legs, mewing pitifully.

‘Oh Mummy, can we take one home with us? Please, please,’ Immy begged, feeding a kitten the last of her chips.

‘No, darling. They live here, with their own mummy,’ Helena replied firmly. Her hand shook slightly as she lifted a glass of young local wine to her mouth. It tasted exactly the same
– slightly acrid, yet sweet – as she’d always remembered. She felt as if she had fallen through the looking-glass, back into the past . . .

‘Mummy! Can I have ice cream or not?’

‘Sorry, darling, I was daydreaming. Of course you can.’

‘Do you think they have Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food here?’

‘I doubt it. I should think it’s plain old vanilla, strawberry or chocolate, but let’s ask.’

The young waiter was summoned by Immy, the deal with the ice cream done, and a Cyprus coffee, medium sugar, ordered for Helena, to dilute the glass of wine.

Twenty minutes later, they left the taverna and wandered along the dusty street towards the car.

‘Look at the nuns, Mummy, sitting over there on the bench.’ Immy pointed in the direction of the church. ‘They must be very hot in those dresses.’

‘They’re not nuns, Immy, they are the old ladies of the village. They wear black because their husbands are dead and they are called widows,’ Helena explained.

‘They wear black?’

‘Yes.’

‘No pink? Ever?’

‘No.’

Immy looked horrified. ‘I don’t have to do that when my husband dies, do I?’

‘No, darling. It’s a tradition in Cyprus, that’s all.’

‘Well, then, I’m never moving here,’ Immy retorted, and skipped off towards the car.

The two of them arrived back at Pandora with the boot of the car loaded with provisions. Alex appeared at the back door.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Hi, darling, are you feeling better? Can you give me a hand with some of these shopping bags?’

Alex helped Helena unload the boot and took the bags into the kitchen.

‘Gosh, it’s hot.’ She wiped her forehead. ‘I need a glass of water.’

Alex found a glass, went to the fridge and poured out cold water from a jug. He handed it to her. ‘There.’

‘Thank you.’ Helena gulped it back gratefully.

‘I’m going upstairs for a rest. Still feeling a bit dizzy,’ Alex announced.

‘Okay. Come down for supper later?’

‘Yes.’ He walked towards the door, then stopped and turned round. ‘By the way, there’s someone here to see you.’

‘Really? Why didn’t you tell me when I first arrived?’

‘He’s out on the terrace. I told him I didn’t know what time you’d be back, but
he
insisted on waiting anyway.’

Helena struggled to keep a neutral expression on her face. ‘Who is he?’

‘How should I know?’ Alex shrugged. ‘But he seems to know you.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I think he said his name was Alexis.’

11th July (continued)

I‘m standing at the window of my bedroom, peering round the shutters so I can’t be seen from the terrace below.

I’m watching the man who has come to see my mother. He is currently pacing nervously, backwards and forwards, hands jammed into his pockets. He is tall and well built, his
skin tanned a deep nut-brown. His thick black hair is slightly greying at the temples, but he definitely isn’t an old man. I’d guess he’s probably just a little older than my mum.
And younger than my stepfather.

I noticed when he arrived and I saw him up close, that he has blue eyes, very blue, so perhaps he is not a Cypriot. Unless he is wearing coloured contact lenses of course, which I
doubt. The upshot of all this man’s combined parts means that he is definitely very good-looking.

I watch as my mother glides onto the terrace. She walks so gracefully it’s almost as if her feet are not touching the ground, because the top half of her body doesn’t
move, even though her legs do. She stops a few feet away from him, her hands hanging loosely by her sides. I cannot see her face, but I can see his. And watch as it creases into an expression of
pure joy.

My heart is beating fast now and I know it’s no longer dehydration. Or malaria. It’s fear.

Neither of them speak. They stand where they are for what seems like hours, as if they are drinking each other in. He looks like he’d like to drink Mum, anyway. Then his arms
stretch out and he moves towards her and stands in front of her. He takes hold of her small hands in his big ones and kisses them reverently, as though they are holy.

This is gross. I don’t want to see it, but I can’t help myself looking.

He finally stops the hand-lip thing, then takes my mother in his muscular arms and embraces her. She is so tiny and pale and blonde against his dark strength that she reminds me of
a china doll being hugged to death by a large brown bear. Her head is thrown backwards at a funny angle against his huge pectorals as he squeezes her to him. His elbow seems to be round her neck
and I only hope her head doesn’t snap off, like Immy’s china doll’s did once.

Finally, just as I am running out of breath from holding it so long, he lets her go and I gulp in some air. Thank God. No lip-to-lip kissing, because that would have been rank
beyond belief.

But it’s not over yet.

He still doesn’t seem inclined not to be holding some part of her anatomy, so he takes her hand again. And leads her towards the vine-covered pergola and they disappear
beneath it, out of my sight.

Damn! I walk slowly back to my bed and throw myself onto it.

Who is he? And who is he to
her
?

I knew, as soon as I saw him standing on the terrace, looking like he owned the place, that he was something. Should I phone Dad? The dad that’s not my dad, but as much of one
as I’ve ever known? I knew he’d eventually come in useful for something one day.

Surely he wouldn’t be happy about his wife being mauled on a terrace by a big brown Cypriot bear? I reach for my mobile phone and turn it on. What do I say?

‘Come NOW, Dad! Mum’s in mortal danger under the pergola!’

Christ. I just can’t. He thinks I’m a weirdo anyway. I’m fully aware he has no choice but to tolerate me because he loves Mum, and I came as part of the package.
Unfortunately I’m rubbish at most ball games, even though I’m enthusiastic. When I was younger, he tried to teach me, but I always ended up feeling I’d let him down by not getting
into the firsts for anything. And then turning in golden ducks in front of him when he came to watch me, ’cos I was so nervous. Me being good at that kind of thing would have helped our
relationship a lot, but at least he loves Mum and protects her against all the others that seem to want her.

Like the one currently under the pergola.

Ironic, really. There was me looking forward to some time alone with her without Dad, who makes me feel I’m always in the way, yet here I am, not twenty-four hours on, wishing
he was here.

Maybe I
should
text him . . . I check my mobile, then discover I only have eighteen pence credit left, so I can’t. And even if I did, what could he actually do?

There’s no one else here but me. And Immy, but she doesn’t count.

So . . . there’s only one thing for it: I shall have to go it alone.

I will go into battle to save my mother’s honour.

‘You look . . . just the same.’

‘No I don’t, Alexis, of course I don’t. I’m twenty-four years older.’

‘Helena, you are beautiful, just as you were then.’

Heat flew to Helena’s already flushed cheeks. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘I’d heard a rumour in the village. Then Dimitrios called me at lunchtime and said he’d seen a golden-haired lady and a child on the track leading from Pandora, so I knew it
must be you.’

‘Who is Dimitrios?’

‘He is my son.’

‘Of course! Of course!’ Helena laughed in relief. ‘Immy and I stopped on the way to pick some grapes and I saw him, staring at me. I thought it was you . . . how silly . . . he
looks so like you.’

‘You mean he looks like I
did
.’

‘Yes. Yes.’

They lapsed into silence for a while.

‘So, how are you, Helena?’ he ventured. ‘How has your life been all these years?’

‘It’s been . . . good, yes, good.’

‘You are married?’

‘Yes.’

‘I know you have children, Helena, because I have already met your son and heard about your daughter.’

‘I have three, but my little boy, Fred, is at home in England with his father. They’re joining us here in a few days’ time. You?’

‘I was married, to Maria, the daughter of the old mayor here in Kathikas. She gave me two boys, but died in a car accident when Michel, my second son, was eight. So now, we three men live
together and harvest our grapes and produce our wine, like my father and grandfather and great-grandfather before us.’

‘I’m so sorry, Alexis. How absolutely awful for you.’ Helena heard the triteness of her words, but couldn’t think what else to say.

‘God gives and he takes away, and at least my boys came out of it alive. And Dimitrios, whom you saw in the vines, is about to be married, so the generations continue.’

‘Yes. I . . . So little seems to have changed here.’

Alexis’ expressive face moulded into a frown. ‘No, much has changed in Cyprus, as it has everywhere. But this is progress. Some of it is good, and some not so good. A few becoming
very rich, and greedy, as always, for more. Yet here in Kathikas – for the present at least – we are an oasis. But the developers’ greedy fingers will one day stretch into our
fertile land. They have already started to try.’