The Olive Tree (9 page)

‘Mummy! I’m getting cold. I need a towel ’cos I want to get out!’

‘Coming, darling.’ Helena stood up and made to move away. Alexis caught her arm before she could.

‘At least let us talk soon, catch up on the missing years.’

She looked up at him, opened her mouth to speak, then shook her head wordlessly and pulled out of his grasp.

13th July 2006

I am lying on my back, floating in the middle of the freezing pool – I can’t hear any earth sounds as my ears are underwater. Here, as I look up from my water-bed,
I can see the dark, curved dome above me, which is the roundness of the earth and sky. It isn’t flat, but like a cave, the roof sparkling with un-mined diamonds. I listen to the gloopy noises
in my ears, close my eyes and imagine this is the closest thing you can get to being back in the womb. Apart from the fact there are no on-tap chips and chocolate and coal, or whatever your mother
cares to pass you to eat down the umbilical cord.

It’s a miraculous process, really it is, the creation thing.

I’m feeling calmer tonight because I have a new womb . . . I mean,
room
, to call my own. Granted, I will have to curl up in the foetal position once I’m in it
– when I reach out my arms, I can touch the mahogany shelves, lined with hundreds of leather-bound books on both sides – but I don’t care. It is mine and mine alone and most
importantly, a Rupes-free zone.

I’ll also have enough reading material to keep me going for the duration of the holiday, for my new habitat is what my mother rather grandly, under the circumstances, referred
to as ‘the library’. It is, in fact, little more than a broom cupboard (and I’d bet it probably once was), placed just off the drawing room. I shan’t be able to – for
health and safety reasons – invite anyone else into it, as there may not be enough oxygen to sustain two pairs of lungs. Besides, they’d have to lie on top of me as there is no room to
stand.

Mum has said she doesn’t mind if I pile some of the books up onto higher shelves, so I can at least have somewhere to put my stuff.

It also has the luxury of a door I can lock and a small window placed high up. Creepy Mr Fix-it has managed to shoehorn a camp bed into it for me to sleep on.

I turn over and swim to the edge of the pool, then climb out and shake off the excess water. I pick up a towel, which is wetter than I am from previous use, and wrap its sogginess
round my shoulders. I flop onto a sunbed and dry off in the still ridiculously hot night air, hoping I’m not the reason my mother looks so down in the mouth tonight.

She’s hardly spoken a word to me since Mr Fix-it left a couple of hours ago. She was monosyllabic with Immy too, mind you, so perhaps we’re both in the doghouse, for
reasons unknown.

I hope . . . well, I hope it’s not because Dad’s arriving tomorrow. Spoiling her love-nest thing with Mr Fix-it. I don’t think it is, because I’m sure she
loves Dad, but I know how hard women’s minds are to read. Where do they learn to be so contrary?

Immy is already cottoning on to the whole female thing. She’ll blackmail me into playing some boring Immy-type game, which always involves her being a princess or a fairy and
wearing a piece of pink netting over her jeans, and me being everything else from Wicked Uncle to a naughty elf. Then suddenly, without warning, she’ll stamp her little foot, tell me
she’s not playing anymore and flounce off.

Like . . . she thinks I care?!

I kneel up on my sunbed and peer through the line of olive trees that borders the pool. If I crane my neck, I can see Mum sitting on the terrace. She is wearing a white kaftan; the
moonlight bleaches her blonde hair and washes out the faint colour she has achieved in the sun.

She looks like an alabaster statue.

Or a ghost.

And I know as I watch her, that just now, she is in the past, reliving another life.

Fred had finally given in and fallen asleep, his small head lolling on William’s lap, small sticky hands still clutching his new aeroplane tightly. William licked his
finger and clumsily tried to wipe off the worst of the chocolate from around his son’s mouth. When they landed, he’d have to take Fred to the gents’ and give him a serious hosing
down before Helena saw him. Their son’s skin seemed to be Velcro for dirt.

William closed his own eyes, grateful for a respite. The flight with Fred had been a humbling experience. He was usually the man in the suit trying to contain his irritation as some pint-sized
monster dug their feet into the back of his seat, screamed, wriggled and stuck their face in between the seats, while a harassed parent struggled to control the child.

He tried to doze, but the Fred-inspired adrenaline still coursed round his body, so he gave up and focused instead on arriving in Helena’s world. He’d been so busy tying up loose
ends at his practice, he’d not had a chance to think about it very much.

Pandora . . . he’d realised from the faraway look on his wife’s face every time she spoke of it, what it meant to her. And William knew he must not let her down by making any
negative comments when he arrived. Even if the house and location were rather ordinary and Cyprus as arid a collection of escarpments as he imagined, he swore he would not let his feelings
show.

Helena had certainly sounded distant and strange in the past few days. Perhaps walking back into her doubtless mentally honed vision of perfection had been a let-down. But he didn’t know
for sure. Where his wife was concerned, he knew nothing for certain.

Helena: even now, as they approached their tenth wedding anniversary, sometimes William felt she was still out of reach. There was an aura to her, an aloofness which meant that, even when he
held her naked in his arms, when they were joined as close as two people could physically be, there was part of her that wasn’t
there
.

And yet, she wasn’t cold. She was as warm and loving as a woman could be. And her children adored her.
He
adored her. William wondered whether it was her beauty that inspired
distance and awe. He’d watched the reaction of others to her closely over the years, both male and female. People were not used to being presented with physical perfection: they coped with
their own flaws by seeing them mirrored in others. With her golden hair, pale, unblemished skin and exquisitely proportioned body, Helena was as near to his feminine ideal as one could get. The
fact she was also a mother only added to her allure, making her
real
and not an untouchable ice-maiden. She often made him feel, through no fault of her own, that he was a mere mortal and
she a goddess. Which then led to feelings of insecurity, because sometimes, he couldn’t believe this amazing woman had chosen
him
.

He always comforted himself with the fact he provided her with the things she needed, was the yin to her yang. They were very different people: she was artistic, ethereal, dreamy, while he was
grounded, solid and logical. They came from completely different worlds, and yet the past ten years had been the happiest of his life. He hoped she’d been happy too.

But since the letter from her godfather’s lawyer had arrived, telling her she’d inherited an old house in some godforsaken backwater of Cyprus, she’d become more distant. And
in the past few weeks, he’d really felt that Helena was drifting away. Yet there was no evidence, nothing solid to back up this feeling. In essence, Helena had been the same as always;
running their home, caring for their children, being there for him and the countless others who oscillated around the glow of his wife’s warmth and humanity.

Not given to introspection, as the plane touched down on the tarmac at Paphos airport, William found it hard to quell his feeling of trepidation.

‘Oh Immy, that is
soo
tacky. I’m not standing next to you if you’re going to hold it up.’

‘Alex, don’t be mean. Immy spent all morning making it. It’s lovely, darling,’ Helena said to Immy. ‘And Daddy will love it too.’

Immy’s bottom lip quivered as she trailed the paper banner proclaiming, ‘WELCUM TO SIPRUS DADDY AND FRED’ into arrivals. ‘I hate you, Alex. You’re the stinkiest
brother ever.’

‘Not as stinky as Fred, remember,’ Alex pointed out, as they followed Helena into the throng surrounding the arrivals doors. Through which, at any moment, the two other members of
their family unit would appear.

‘Right, whilst we’re waiting, I’m going to the car rental booth just over there to sort out swapping mine for the people carrier,’ Helena said, feeling harassed.
‘You two stay here and look for Dad and Fred to come through. Their plane landed twenty minutes ago, so they should be out soon. And Alex – keep a close eye on Immy,’ she
cautioned before disappearing into the crowd.

‘Oooh! I’m so excited!’ squeaked Immy, waving her banner over her head like a fan at a pop concert. ‘Oh, look. There they are . . . DADDEEE!’

William appeared through the doors, pushing a trolley with Fred perched on top of the suitcases. Immy ran to him and threw herself into her father’s arms.

‘Hello, Immy darling,’ William said, smothered under his daughter’s kisses. He peeped out from behind her long blonde hair and smiled at Alex. ‘Hello, how are
you?’

‘Fine thanks, Dad, yeah.’ Alex took hold of the trolley and knelt down to see Fred. ‘Hi there, li’l bruv. Give me five.’

‘’Lo, Alex.’ Fred smashed his small palm against his brother’s bigger one, then held up his toy plane. ‘I gotta prezzie from Dad.’

‘You did? Wow, you must have been a good boy.’ Alex picked Fred up in his arms.

‘Nope. I was bad.’

‘On the plane? Did you like the plane?’

‘Yep.’ Fred nodded, his freckled nose wrinkling as he rubbed it. ‘Where is Mummy?’

‘Yes, where is Mummy?’ William was beside them, scouring the concourse for his wife.

‘Over there by the car rentals.’ Alex gave Helena a wave as he spotted her walking towards them.

Fred wriggled out of his arms and ran towards his mother.

William watched his wife, as always when he hadn’t seen her for a while, struck afresh by her loveliness. She was wearing a blue T-shirt and a pair of cut-off denim shorts, her long blonde
hair tied carelessly back in a ponytail, and looked no older than a teenager.

She walked towards him, holding Fred by the hand.

‘Hello, darling.’ He put an arm round her shoulder and kissed her.

‘Hello.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Good flight?’

‘Eventful,’ he sighed, ‘but we made it here in one piece, didn’t we, Fred?’

‘Yep. Can we go to Cipuss now, Mummy?’ Fred asked.

‘Darling, this
is
Cyprus, but yes, we can go home to our house.’

‘But I just come here!’ Fred looked confused.

‘I mean our house here in Cyprus. The car’s just through there.’ Helena pointed to an exit.

‘Then let’s make a move,’ said William.

‘Helena, it’s beautiful, it really is.’ An hour and a half later, he stood on the upstairs balcony, gazing out at the view.

‘Really?’

‘Really. And the house . . . well, you’ve worked wonders, considering you’ve only been here for a few days. Everything looks so fresh and bright.’ He stepped inside their
bedroom, then stopped and sniffed the air. ‘Can I smell paint?’

‘Yes.’

‘Surely you haven’t had time to decorate, on top of everything else?’

‘No. I got someone to do it for me.’

‘I am impressed,’ said William. ‘It takes me weeks to find someone to mend a pipe back in England, let alone paint a house in a couple of days. Anyway, it looks lovely. And not
at all how I imagined it.’

‘How did you imagine it?’

‘I don’t know. Just very . . . Mediterranean, I suppose. Stark, a bit spartan . . . yet you could put this house in an English country village, and it wouldn’t look out of
place. It’s more old rectory than Cyprus villa. It’s got character.’

‘It’s a very old house.’

‘And with lovely old cornicing.’ William turned his architect’s eye over the proportions of the room. ‘And high ceilings.’ He then ran his hands over the top of the
polished mahogany tallboy. ‘I’d reckon some of the furniture is quite valuable, too.’

‘Angus wanted to create his little piece of England right here,’ Helena explained. ‘He had everything shipped over, down to the grandfather clock in the hall.’

‘And it’s all yours now.’

‘Ours,’ Helena corrected him with a smile.

‘And probably worth quite a lot of money.’

‘I’d never sell it,’ she replied defensively.

‘No, but there’s nothing wrong with knowing how much it’s worth. Perhaps you should get it valued.’

‘Maybe.’ Helena steeled herself not to mind that her husband could even
think
of Pandora in terms of pounds, shillings and pence. ‘Come on, darling, I’ll show you
the gardens.’

The two of them joined the children in the pool just as the sun was setting, then Helena suggested they go up to Persephone’s Taverna for an early supper.
‘I’ll show you the village,’ she said as William negotiated the potholed track. ‘And the kids can have chips and chicken nuggets for a change.’

Having wandered along the one street, with William professing an urge to go and look inside the pretty Orthodox church at some point, they walked into Persephone’s.

‘This is a very cosy place,’ remarked William as they sat down at a table. He hauled Fred onto his lap in an effort to contain the child, who was long past tiredness and into
hyperactive mode instead.

‘Can I do blow on the candle, Dad?’ Fred asked.

‘No, you can’t. Here, have your car instead.’ Helena took a toy out of her handbag and zoomed it across the table to Fred. ‘It’s hardly changed at all since I was
last here, and the food is really good.’

‘We’re not having any more of those chick’s pees, are we, Mummy?’ put in Immy.

‘No, but Daddy and I are having the meze. You should try some,’ Helena said as their wine arrived. She ordered for them all. ‘Oh, and I’ve found a cleaner, William, who
can also babysit. Yes, Fred, your food is coming. Here, have some bread to keep you going, Immy.’ Helena adeptly conducted three conversations at the same time.