Chapter 18
18
LOUTSES
The cherry-red truck wasn’t quite as Molly had envisaged. In her mind, cherry-red had said ‘bright’, ‘glossy’, ‘luscious like the fruit’. Instead, parts of it had turned a kind-of orange colour so it was a patchwork effect over the entire bodywork. Plus it had some faded logo on the side of it that Christos had said was a company his godfather had worked for back in the eighties. Was it even really Vaggelis’s? Or some ex-company vehicle he had just kept and never given back?
It had taken four turns of the key to get it to start – the key that had been under the sun visor – and before the ignition procedure, she had had to remove the end of a broken parasol umbrella from under the back wheel that felt like it was almost embedded in the tyre. She was actually surprised the tyres were all rolling on the journey to wherever they were headed which seemed to be one hairpin bend after another.
‘You are OK?’ Christos asked her, his voice loud over the roaring engine.
‘Statement or question this time?’ she shouted back.
‘If you grip your seat any harder I am afraid the plastic will crack and your fingers will be in whatever is left of the foam underneath.’
She unfurled her grasp a little then instantly regretted it as Christos took another tight bend and her body was forced against the door. ‘Where is this olive tree anyway? And why would a person own one olive tree miles away from where he lives?’
‘This is not far away and we have relatives near this village. On my mother’s side. My mother is an Economou. Very well-known family in this area.’
‘We aren’t meeting the family, are we?’
He laughed. ‘Molly, you sound terrified.’
‘No. I just… you know… have limited experience with big family meet and greets and this whole inheriting from a Greek guy is new to me and?—’
‘Relax,’ Christos said. ‘If we see any of them we can say a quick yassas and then we can leave.’
Relax. Take in the stunning scenery. It really was spectacular here, halfway up the mountain. Craggy rocks, interspersed with tufts of spiky greenery, houses at the road’s edge falling away like they were hanging from the mountain, cats darting from the undergrowth, half a truck that didn’t look dissimilar to the one they were sitting in rusting out in an olive grove. But with every twist and turn there was another chance to look down from whence they had come and view the shimmering sea banded around the island like it was its protector.
‘It is called Loutses,’ Christos said. ‘This village we are coming to.’
‘Loutses,’ Molly repeated.
‘It means place with a hole… with water,’ Christos informed.
‘Oh.’ And now her mind was fighting the sexy connotations of that.
‘I do not know why I know that, but I do.’
Don’t think of Niagara Falls…
They passed a small taverna, the sign saying ‘Hatzos’, and then continued up the road going by what looked like a honey shop – Bee Happy. There were houses with large chaotic courtyards – dogs, plant pots, plastic chairs, washing drying on lines, hosepipes – ruins – roofs sunken, weeds thriving and then, just when it looked like they were leaving civilisation behind, Christos drew the truck to a halt.
‘Here we are.’ He turned off the engine and hastened to get out.
‘Here we are’ seemed to be nowhere at all, except the sheer sudden barrenness took Molly’s breath away. There were undulating mountain lines – browns, greens, greys – swooping into a landscape that spoke of nothing but pure wild nature. In fact if it wasn’t for the power lines at the outer edge of the road, you would think this was a place completely untouched by time. Except, looking harder, she could see that in some places the vegetation was different.
‘Some of those trees,’ she said, pointing up towards one of the peaks. ‘There are no leaves, and their trunks are so dark.’
‘Yes,’ Christos replied soberly. ‘That is because they were destroyed.’
‘Destroyed?’
‘It was a few years ago now,’ he began. ‘There were terrible fires on Corfu. People had to evacuate their homes. They were without water and electricity for days. The fire service on the ground and water planes in the air worked tirelessly to save whatever they could, but their priority, of course, was people and property. Nature took the full force.’
‘You were here then?’ Molly asked him, finding it hard to imagine this beautiful countryside covered in leaping flames.
‘Not at first,’ he admitted. ‘But as soon as the phone calls came from my mother and my sister, and Vaggelis and I realised this was so serious, I got the first flight over here and did everything I could to help. The taverna we passed on the way up here and the cafeneon in Perithia, they were food and drink stations with large buckets of ice for cold drinks for the emergency services and the volunteers, and people made pastitsio and moussaka and every dish you can imagine.’ He pointed upwards, further along the road and higher. ‘The village of Old Perithia was one of the most badly affected. We filled up and strapped the biggest water tanks we could find to the back of trucks and came up to help trying to contain it. We built fences in the roads from anything that was not flammable – metal pipes, soil, rock – trying whatever we could to stop it spreading.’
‘What worked in the end?’ Molly asked.
‘Community,’ he answered. ‘As much as I hate to say it. People working together on a common goal, a goal of survival, even fire cannot compete with that.’
She mused on his statement as he stepped towards the edge of the road, the steepest drop only one foot away. Community was such an old-fashioned concept in a world where people were supposed to be connected more than ever but actually, really, weren’t. But the takeaway from what he had said was:
‘Why do you hate to say it?’ Molly asked him.
‘What?’
‘You said “community” and then “as much as I hate to say it”.’
‘Oh, well, you know, here “community” means people sticking their noses into your business and I am not a fan of that.’
‘Agreed,’ Molly said. ‘But “community” saved your island. It was the only thing that saved your island.’
‘OK, but?—’
‘So is it “community” you’re not a fan of, or rather a community you sometimes feel forced to be a part of?’ she asked. ‘Because, you can choose your own community, you know. You don’t have to be part of anything that makes you question your personal values. Like some of the WhatsApp groups I’ve removed myself from.’
‘I don’t know,’ he answered. ‘I find most communities tend to be pretty needy.’
His trainer – no formal shoes today – was edging closer to the drop.
‘And you don’t like people in need?’
‘I don’t like people who require a certain level of attention to exist.’
‘Whoa,’ Molly said. ‘What does that mean? You’re the ultimate lone wolf who doesn’t need anything or anyone? Because people don’t need to have permanently stable times, even lone wolves. Life has highs and lows and one day you’re going to need to call on somebody for something.’
‘I would not be so certain of that.’
‘OK,’ Molly said, moving a little closer to him. ‘So, if you fell down this ravine, for example, you wouldn’t need me to go and get help? And then need someone to rescue you?’
‘I am not going to fall down this ravine, Molly. I have been going up and down this path for almost as many years as I have been alive.’
‘You didn’t answer the question. I said if you fell.’
‘And I told you I won’t fall.’
‘That’s ridiculous. You can’t know that. And that wasn’t the point of the question.’
‘I am finding it hard to know exactly what the point of the question is.’
‘To make you realise that everybody needs somebody! And like it or not, you needed your mother and sister and your godfather once, even if you don’t need them now,’ she stated firmly. Then she continued. ‘And if you don’t need anything from anyone, why do you need Vaggelis’s inheritance? Why not just give it all to me?’
‘Ha! Very good! I see what you are doing.’ He pointed a finger. ‘Excellent work.’
‘OK, so I was joking about the last part but, you know, flying completely solo can be lonely, especially for the mind.’ She remembered a time when she thought she could build her make-up business completely alone, didn’t want to let anyone in on her ideas, worried they would either steal her concept or think it was stupid. She’d buried herself in research to the detriment of everyone in her life; her mum, Siobhan, her work colleagues, until Janette gave her a much-needed wake-up call.
‘It’s perfectly fine to be independent,’ Molly continued. ‘Excellent in fact. But “independent” isn’t the same as “isolated”.’
‘Did you read that in an empowering Instagram post?’ He smirked.
‘Ah, the classic “make fun of what scares you”.’
‘Right now, the only thing that scares me is you talking and never stopping, so I am going down to the olive tree now. Are you coming?’
She looked over the precarious edge. ‘The tree really isn’t down there, is it?’
‘Do you think I would be standing in this very spot for no reason?’
‘I don’t know,’ Molly said. ‘I’m not a loner with an unrealistic view of existing in a world full of others.’
‘Wow, that almost hurt.’
‘Well, if it had, I hope you wouldn’t be expecting me to help or call a doctor.’
The words were only just out of her mouth when she saw Christos lose his footing. In milliseconds he had disappeared, over the side of the mountain and down. Gone.