The Olive Tree (50 page)

‘Is the taxi going to be waiting for us when we arrive?’ she asks.

‘It should be, yes. At least, I’ve booked it,’ I say. ‘Has Fred packed?’

‘Sort of. You know what he’s like – he’ll probably forget to bring any clean underwear, but I’m fed up of reminding him. Anyway,’ Immy let out a small sigh,
‘we’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘You will. And Immy?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s going to be a great night.’

‘I hope so, Alex, I really do. Night.’

‘Night.’

I lie back then, with my head resting on my hands, thinking that this has been so hard for both of them. I’ve done my best, and so has Chloë, and Dad, but we can never make up for the
difficult years. Chloë and I even took them to counselling – we’d all been told that whatever was happening with Mum, we couldn’t feel guilty about living our own lives and
worrying about our own problems. However irrelevant they might seem in comparison.

I think it helped
me
far more than it helped them, to be honest. I’m always a sucker for that kind of thing.

So now I turn my mind to my own personal relationship issues. And as I do, every muscle in my body tenses as I wince in pain at the thought of
her
not appearing tomorrow night. I’ve
made sure she got the invitation, of course, but I haven’t heard a word from her since.

And who could blame her if she didn’t come?

Christ! Why is life so bloody complicated?

Yes, we were related on a technicality, and yes, it was complex, but we
loved
each other, for God’s sake!

Well. Here I was, in the same bloody house, in the same bed where it had all begun. And surely, despite everything, it had to continue?

Just because . . .

It
did
.

Again, I sleep the sleep of the dead (perhaps not an expression I should currently be using, one way or another) and wake to another glorious morning at Pandora.

At least, I think, as I shower and then find Angelina in the kitchen already hard at work and indicating the cafetière she’s prepared for me, I don’t need to look up at the
skies and ponder whether there’ll be rain later.

The rain that seems to be the personification of the Vindictive English God of Outside Events. Every ‘happy’ photograph I’ve seen of English people, taken at weddings,
fêtes, concerts and the like, does not necessarily mean they are smiling at the camera because they have just married their one true love, or won ‘guess the name of the guinea
pig’. They are smiling in relief because the entire event hasn’t been a total washout.

Maybe I’ll get married in Cyprus, which would at least rule out one question mark which always hangs over such a day . . .

Meanwhile, out on the terrace, all is in full swing. Dimitrios and Michel are setting up trestle tables on which to place the beer, wine and glasses. Under the pergola, the long iron table has
been covered in a freshly laundered tablecloth ready for Angelina’s feast to be laid out.

‘Good morning, Alex.’ Alexis appears out of nowhere and slaps me hard on the back. ‘What time are the first guests arriving?’

‘Mid-afternoon, I think. Let’s hope everyone makes it.’

‘Yes. Let’s hope they do.’

From that point on I’m kept busy, and in between I find I am checking my mobile, Facebook, Twitter – would she seriously have tweeted me?! – for news of her impending arrival.
I know switching on data roaming will later bankrupt me, and I don’t care. But there are no messages. Not even an automated voicemail to tell me I’m owed compensation from an accident
I’ve never had.

I take a quick swim to cool down from the effort it takes to make a party. Checking my watch as I get out, I realise there’s less than an hour to go before the first guests arrive. I then
recall that my pink shirt – indeed a girly colour and reminiscent of Rupes, but a colour I have surmised makes most women find you irresistible – is screwed up in a ball at the bottom
of my rucksack. I search desperately around the house for an iron and ironing board, pieces of equipment I have battled with for years.

Eventually I find a rusting, creaky version in the pantry and, thank God, Angelina sees the screwed-up bit of rag in my hand and takes pity on me, so I leave the shirt in her capable hands.

Then I start to pace around the house like some kind of weird patrolman. Everything is ready. I
know
it’s ready. But, like checking my mobile, the pacing has become a nervous
twitch. The pounding of my feet gives me something to concentrate on, because I can’t bear to concentrate on who may or may not be here tonight.

In this very house. Within a few hours.

I am beside myself – another ridiculous turn of phrase, I think randomly – and decide that I will continue to write the final chapter of my memoir to take my mind off the situation.
Even though I will not know the denouement until later tonight.

The first taxi pulls up and, just (or almost) like ten years ago, Jules and Sadie emerge onto the drive. Then Rupes, and little Peaches, Sadie’s daughter. My heart
catches suddenly as I walk towards them, but I paste a smile onto my face. Three of the passengers look almost exactly the same as they did: Jules hot and cross, Sadie inappropriately dressed, and
Rupes as bullish and florid as ever.

At least this time I’m prepared for his handshake, and even pull my stomach in and flex my shoulder muscles to steel myself against having my arm torn off.

‘My God, that journey hasn’t got any better!’ Jules puffs and pants. ‘And doubtless the house is in a worse state than it was before. It’s ten years older and bound
to have deteriorated.’

‘We’re
all
ten years older, Jules,’ I say, hoping she gets the inference.

Sadie rolls her eyes at me and then gives me a hug. ‘Ignore her,’ she whispers into my ear. ‘She hasn’t changed a bit. Say hello to your godfather, Peaches
darling,’ she says to the child standing by her side.

I sweep Peaches into my arms and hug her. ‘Hello, sweetheart, how are you?’

She giggles with pleasure. ‘I’m fine, Uncle Alex. How are you?’

‘I’m very well, thanks, Peaches.’

As I lie to her, Sadie taps me on the shoulder and indicates another person whom Jules is helping out of the taxi.

‘I’m warning you, Alex, if you think Jules is a pain in the bum, just wait until you meet her new boyfriend,’ she mutters under her breath.

I watch as a man with a scarily similar complexion to Rupes, but minus the hair and bedecked in a pair of bright red chinos and checked shirt, dislodges himself from the front seat of the
car.

‘My God! He looks old enough to be her father!’ I whisper to Sadie, as he clings onto Jules’ arm and attempts to walk across the gravel towards us.

‘He probably is, but apparently he owns half of Rutland and has an entire stable of thoroughbreds. Jules is a tenant on his country estate and they met when he came to check out her, er,
frozen pipes,’ Sadie smirks.

Jules introduces him to me as Bertie, while he looks up in horror at the accommodation.

‘You told me I should expect the worst, but I’m sure we’ll make the best of it,’ he says, with possibly one thousand plums in his mouth. ‘C’mon Jules, old
girl, show me up to our suite!’ With that, he slaps her on the bottom and she giggles girlishly. Sadie and I, and even little Peaches, make quiet sick noises.

‘Isn’t he awful?’

I realise I have completely forgotten Rupes, and turn to find him standing behind us, hands in his pockets. None of us comment; we just turn as red as he is naturally.

‘I did tell Mum she should ask if he could come. And she said she’d always slept in a double bed here anyway, so she was sure it would be fine. Anyway, how are you, Alex? Hear
you’re doing rather well at the moment?’

‘I’m okay, thanks, Rupes. And I hear that you’re training to be a teacher?’

‘Yes.’ He laughs loudly and raises his eyebrows at me. ‘How ironic can you get, given the last time we were here at Pandora? Hardly Classics, as you know, but since I had to
give up professional rugby because of my knee injury, I started coaching and I’ve really been enjoying it. So I thought, why not? Sadly there’s no family money to fall back on, as you
know.’

‘Well, Rupes, I think you’ll make a perfect sports teacher,’ I say with feeling. Personally, mine were all trained by the Triads.

‘Thanks.’

‘Fancy a beer?’

‘Why not?’ he agrees.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Alex, but are we in the same room I was in last time?’ Sadie asks.

‘Yes. Angelina’s put in a camp bed for you, Peaches, just like the one I sleep on in my Broom Cupboard.’

‘You sleep in a cupboard?’ she asks me, fascinated.

‘Not really. It’s what you might call an affectionate term, because the room’s so small,’ I explain to her as we all traipse into the house.

‘You stay down here with Rupes, I know where we’re going,’ says Sadie as she heads towards the stairs.

‘Meester Rupes!’ Angelina appears in the corridor and I thank my lucky stars, as the last thing I wanted was a DMC with my half-brother, who doesn’t even know he
is
.
‘How are you?’

‘Good, thanks, Angelina,’ he says as he kisses her on both cheeks.

‘Come into my kitchen, Rupes. I have made you the cakes you like so much last time you was ’ere.’

I follow them into the kitchen, and whilst Angelina fires a barrage of questions at him, I furnish him with a beer. As I listen to him answer politely, I decide that Rupes has definitely calmed
down since I last saw him. He’d been crying then, but that had probably been for himself, which happens a lot on such occasions.

I check my watch. It is nearing six o’clock. Just over an hour to official lift-off, when the main protagonists in tonight’s drama will make their appearance.

‘Rupes, if it’s okay, I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower,’ I say.

‘Of course,’ he nods. ‘Where am I sleeping?’

‘On the sofa in the drawing room, I’m afraid. We’re full to the brim tonight.’

I walk away before I can ask him the question that is burning on my tongue. Chances are he won’t know the answer anyway, and he may give me the wrong information, which would just make
things ten times worse.

So I will hold my peace. I smile wanly to myself, remembering how I once believed it was spelt ‘piece’ and all that entailed, then walk upstairs to take a shower.

Stepping out, dripping wet, I read a text from Immy that has obviously only just decided to slide through the Cyprus wires.

‘
Plane delayed. Now landing at six thirty
.’

Damn! This means they won’t be here until at least half past seven, when the party has already begun. What if they’re even later?

Downstairs, Jules and Bertie are sitting at one of the small café tables laid out along the terrace. I see they’ve already helped themselves to wine, and I hear him complaining
loudly about the quality of it. I’m just restraining myself from punching him when thankfully, Sadie appears through the French windows.

‘Hello, sweetie. Everything ready to go?’

‘I think so, yes. We’re just missing a number of important guests.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be here. I think it’s a lovely thing you’ve done to organise this, I really do.’

Sadie gives me a spontaneous hug, and I know she is feeling emotional too. ‘By the way’ – she lowers her voice as Peaches brushes past them, heading for the bowl of crisps
she’s just spied on the table – ‘you don’t think that, er, Andreas will be here tonight, do you?’

‘I really don’t know. Maybe you should ask Alexis. He’s the one who’s been in charge of the Cypriot guest list.’

‘Right, I will.’ She looks across at Peaches stuffing her face with crisps. ‘He won’t suspect anything, will he?’

I glance at Peaches – a little blonde replica of her father. ‘I doubt it,’ I lie.

Rupes ambles onto the terrace, and we all turn and stare as we see a car bumping along the gravel towards the house.

‘It’s Alexis and his family,’ I say. ‘Right, Rupes, I think it’s time to get the bottles of white wine out of the fridge, don’t you?’

By seven thirty the terrace is brimming with people I barely remember, but who all seem to know me. Just as I am starting to worry about death by hugging, I feel a light tap on
my shoulder.

‘Alex! It is I! I am here!’

‘Fabio! You made it!’ It is my turn to hug him. He’s been a tower of strength to all of us over the past few years, especially to my father.

‘See? I have brought Dan with me. Now you can meet him for the first time.’

A tall, dark-eyed man who looks – spookily – only a few years older than myself, steps forward and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,’ he
says in a pronounced American accent.

‘Please, call me Alex. And it’s a pleasure to have you here.’

‘It’s a pleasure to be here, Alex.’

‘So,’ Fabio’s eyes dart across the terrace, before I answer Dan with the word ‘pleasure’ again. ‘Where are the rest of you?’

‘The plane was delayed, so they’re late. I’m hoping they’ll turn up before everyone goes home.’ I indicate the terrace tensely, and the small band limbering up in
the corner of it.

‘They will be here, Alex,’ Fabio comforted me. ‘And now, both of us ought to try the wine your mother’s friend makes that I enjoyed so much the last time I was
here.’

I take them across to the table, and while I make further small talk about Dan’s permanent struggle to learn Italian and wonder if I should get the details of his cosmetic surgeon, I feel
my heart drumming in my chest.

Where the hell are they?

I decide to walk across and grab myself a calming beer, but I’m constantly waylaid by guests, and questions from Angelina as to what time should she serve the hot food, and should the band
start playing now?

‘
Hot, cold, or frozen bloody solid! Who cares?!
’ I only just refrain from snapping at her, such is my agitation. Because it really doesn’t matter just now.

I have just reached the table with the booze when an arm is put on my shoulder.

‘Alex, they’ve arrived.’