Chapter 2
2
KASSIOPI, CORFU, GREECE
‘We need to dress him in blue.’
‘Why do we need to dress him in blue?’
‘Because he always wore blue.’
‘Not when he was watering his pot plants on the veranda. Then he didn’t wear anything. It was disgusting.’
‘Well, he needs to wear something. We cannot bury him naked because that will be the way he arrives at the gates of Heaven. And what will God do with him then?’
‘He did not go to church. How do we know he is going to Heaven?’
‘Because he is Greek.’
Christos Baros shook his head at the conversation his mother – Angeliki – and sister – Magdalena – were having in the middle of his late godfather’s apartment. The two of them were pulling items of clothing from the wardrobe with only one door, mismatched hangers – the ones for trousers with shirts over them. There was peeling wallpaper on the walls either side – flowers and nymphs – the oddest combination, but then nothing matched in this tiny apartment. From the slightly unusual-shaped bed – not straight nor square – to the one-and-a-half-seater sofa and the kitchen with only one cooking ring. But what also didn’t match was the picture-perfect view falling away below this top-floor flat. In complete contrast to the hordes of evidence of a very eclectic life were the sparkling diamonds dazzling against an azure sea in the horseshoe-shaped harbour of Kassiopi. There were dozens of small boats for hire dancing delicately on the water, ropes tautly tied, chairs and tables scattered along the plaka paving, tourists sipping cooling frappés and freddo cappuccinos.
‘This place could be something special,’ Angeliki said with a sigh, a light blue scarf hanging over her arm. ‘He always said he wanted to make more of it, but Vaggelis was always better at talking than he was at putting things into action. Half of this and half of that.’
‘All of him naked on the terrace. That is what I will remember about him the most,’ Magdalena said.
‘Well, please refrain from saying that when you do the speech.’
‘That is Christos’s job, no?’
What Christos wanted his job to be was ordering a skip and arranging for all this shit to be hauled out of here. Not that he suspected the local recycling plant could cope with it! The flat needed gutting, from the broken-up wooden floor, to the ceiling with peeling plaster, and his mother was talking about ‘special’. It would need work to get it into shape for sale and, even then, it would be quite the task, and would anyone really want to take on something this small, barely big enough for one person? It had been hardly large enough for Vaggelis. The giant of a man was as tall as he was wide, the varied jobs he’d had throughout his life all involving small feats of strength – hauling fruits and vegetables in and out of vans, dragging nets of fish from the sea, smashing plaster plates on his head, balancing a bottle of ouzo on his nose and dancing on tables at Greek nights for tourists. His godfather’s greatest trick when he was a much younger man was holding a chair on the end of his chin while balancing a small child on top of it.
Christos swallowed away the knot of nostalgia. It had no place being in his throat, no place in his thoughts either. Vaggelis was gone, he briefly had to help his mother and sister sort this mess out and then it was back to business, his business. That was where his focus was and had been for the past five years since he’d escaped the trappings of small island life and moved to Greece’s capital, Athens. He’d worked night and day at a bar – fourteen-hour shifts, sometimes more – until he had enough cash to rent a small space and launch his very first gym. He had started tiny, then it grew, slowly, steadily, hitting each target marker month on month, year-on-year until it was time to expand and create a second branch. He had just opened gym number three and had employees. Thus far, he had kept his success the way success should be kept. Quiet. Softly making gains, gradually working his way towards the day when it would be time for everyone to know his name. You should only be loud about success when no one can ever strip it away from you.
‘Perhaps we will see who has been left the most in the will and decide who will do the speech from that,’ Christos replied.
The official reading of the will was in a few days’ time. He had got here too early, his mother deliberately misleading in her information to ensure he spent more time on the island. He knew she thought he had abandoned her, but she also thought that when he had travelled south for a weekend in Kavos. Greek mothers spent a large majority of their lives feeling abandoned by someone or something.
‘Why do you not have an opinion on anything?’ Magdalena asked him.
‘I do,’ he countered. ‘If it is important.’
‘OK, so what is your opinion on Vaggelis’s naked watering of his flowers?’ She folded her arms across her chest and stared at him. His little sister, still with that quick-fire sass.
‘I do not remember it,’ he replied, adjusting his tie.
‘You must remember it!’ she countered. ‘It was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life!’
‘Oh my God!’ Angeliki exclaimed, a blue pair of trousers now in her hands. ‘If that is one of the most traumatic experiences of your life then you have not experienced enough trauma.’
‘That is a fine thing to say to your child!’ Magdalena said. ‘Why do you not say those things to Christos?’
And so the bickering continued anew. It had been that way for as long as he could remember and he wanted no part of it. The issue was that his mother and sister were so similar, and he had always felt a little different, more like his father he guessed. Except, that was the very last person he wanted to be likened to. No one wanted to be compared to a selfish person with the morals of a stray tomcat. It was one of the reasons it was so important for him to leave Corfu and make his own way, with nothing from his past blighting anyone’s opinion. Here, there was too much focus on the negatives and not enough time spent on making things better, on improvement and growth. And that was the nucleus of who he was now. He stepped out onto the balcony and the humidity hit him with full force. Sweat was beading at the back of his neck, and the intense prickling began. He watched his white shirt turn transparent in places. What was the point of being here? To comfort his mother and sister? There were plenty of people who could do that, had been doing that with their pots of food and good wishes at all times of the day. Even if he had been left something in the will, did he really need it? Want it? He looked down over the harbour, one boat looking a lot less well-tended than any of the others. His godfather’s boat. All these parts of Vaggelis’s life, things he owned but didn’t take proper care of. Christos was determined not to end up like that, dead and bloated, apparently going to be dressed in blue and exposed as someone who watered their plants naked.
‘That boat.’
It was his mother, suddenly at his side, using that skill she had of creeping up on people silently. He had tried to emulate it when he was a kid, but he had never been as good at it as she was.
‘I am not sure it has moved in two years or more,’ Angeliki continued. ‘There is most likely a family of squid in residence on the bottom of it.’
‘Why did he keep it?’ Christos asked, hands around the top rail of the balcony. ‘If he did not take it out?’
‘Ah, I used to ask the same thing about the bicycle I bought you for your sixth birthday.’
‘Mama…’
‘Well, sometimes you keep things not for the reason they were purchased for in the first place.’ She sniffed, eyes seeking the mid-distance. ‘Sometimes you keep things to remind you of a time when you were happier.’ She paused, then added, ‘Perhaps I still have your bicycle because you are not here.’
‘Mama!’ Christos exclaimed.
‘You should visit us more.’
‘You know how busy I am.’
‘I know that is what people usually say a few moments before they have a nervous breakdown.’
‘I am having a nervous breakdown in here!’ Magdalena called. ‘There is a whole shoebox full of millipedes.’
‘Try not to develop more trauma.’
‘I am leaving the box for you!’
Christos took a breath, the heat scorching the inside of his mouth a little.
‘Christo, I am just saying, perhaps that is why your godfather kept the boat. To remind him of times he had when he was younger and fitter and the boat was used for parties as well as fishing.’
‘Parties?’ he queried.
‘Ah, well, most of the best ones took place after you children were in bed.’
‘You went out on the boat when we were in bed?’ Christos asked.
‘I left the dog in charge,’ his mother answered.
He looked down at the boat again, remembered him and Vaggelis sitting on the deck repairing holes in the fishing nets, his first taste of tsipouro and how the smell still made him feel sick. But the overriding feeling of that time was calm . The sensation that life was settled, slow but peaceful. There had been so few moments like that when his father had been around, and afterwards when his mother had been struggling, financially and emotionally, tears about money and broken hearts, his sister mostly unaware, or so he hoped…
‘You should sell everything,’ he said, turning his back on the view and facing his mother. ‘Get it gone.’
‘Christo, we don’t know what is in the will yet or who he has left his things to,’ Angeliki reminded him.
‘I pity the “lucky” person. They will be paying out more than they are receiving to get this junk out of here.’ He rebounded off the railing, ready to go back inside.
‘Christo—’
‘I have a meeting on Zoom in fifteen minutes, I will see you later at home.’
He couldn’t stay amongst this clawing sentiment a second longer.