Chapter Twenty-Three
Twenty-three
When Skye returned home several hours later, it was still raining, great sheets of water that seemed to blow in from every direction. She clutched her bag to her side and ran, slipping on the wet earth and almost falling in her haste to reach shelter.
There was no sign of the truck or Andreas, though she could see from the glistening patches of putty on the walls that he’d been hard at work during her absence.
The downstairs area had been transformed over the past few weeks.
Skye took a moment to admire the smooth curves of her new fireplace, the stacked seating area that wrapped around the room, and Andreas’s beautiful wood-paneled ceiling, reinforced by steel supports.
Stamatis had laid rubber panels beneath the floors upstairs to minimize sound and trap heat, while up in the attic, flat boards had been hammered into place.
She no longer had to hop across the joists in order to reach the window.
It was still her favorite spot, the place she retreated to whenever thoughts of Katerina crept in.
Skye didn’t believe in ghosts, not in the spectral sense, though she couldn’t dismiss the idea of energy, that invisible trace a person leaves behind.
The notion that death was merely an end struck her as not only cruel but insufficient.
Her dad had gone, yes, but something of him remained, threaded through her in ways she could not explain.
And now Katerina, too, existed in that quietly persistent way: not seen but felt.
In the bedroom, she peeled off her dress and hung it up to dry before rooting dejectedly through her open suitcase.
She’d finally gotten around to ordering a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, and a bed frame and mattress, all of which were due to arrive before the weekend—and not a moment too soon.
Skye was well aware that she also needed to buy a sofa and chairs, rugs for every room, as well as a desk and bookcases.
She was also keenly aware of her rapidly depleting funds.
The proceeds from the Rolex would cover the renovations and her own living costs for the first year or so, but after that, she would need a steady income.
The downpour still hadn’t let up. Rain pummeled the roof as Skye pulled on a shirt and shorts, the fabric clinging to her damp skin. She was halfway to the kitchen, her mind on coffee and maybe some lunch, when a sharp knock split the air.
“Bloody hell” was how Joy greeted her. “It’s wetter than a sea lion’s flipper out there.”
“Come inside,” Skye said. “I was just about to put the kettle on.”
“Got anything stronger than tea?” Joy asked, shaking out her umbrella and leaning it against the wall, where it promptly began to drip a small puddle across the tiles.
She wore a tie-dyed maxi dress in swirls of purple and green, her mass of frizzy hair pinned up in a loose, slightly lopsided bun, and her bronzed arms were flecked with what looked like paint.
Knowing Joy, it could just as easily have been part of the outfit.
“I don’t think I do,” Skye said, smiling an apology. “But there is some honey cake.”
Ever since Andreas had given her a slice, she’d been addicted.
“Sophia’s honey cake?” Joy said.
Sophia was the owner of the village bakery—a wily, sparkly-eyed woman in her seventies who was forever telling Skye that she was “tóso ómorfi”—so beautiful.
“Naturally,” Skye said now, leading Joy toward the kitchen, “although one of these days, I might have a go at making one myself.”
“Least you’ve got an oven. You know the girls are still getting by with only a microwave?
Dusty’s so set on finishing the extension that she’s ignoring all the other rooms in the house.
I told her she should let Andreas and his crew help out, but she won’t have it.
She’s started some Instagram account now.
I’ve seen her out in the garden filming ‘A Day in the Life of a Greek Renovation’ videos. ”
“Sounds like a nice idea,” Skye said. She had deleted almost all of her social media accounts before coming to Folegandros, though she’d taken plenty of before-and-after pictures of the house at Sal’s request. Her friend had promised to try to visit at the end of September, once the third Australian school term broke, which meant Skye had plenty of time to finish the place.
“Did I tell you that Mini Mia’s started working at the vet clinic?” Joy went on. “Only for two days a week, but she’s loving it so far.”
“Has Louisa had any luck?” Skye asked. “I know she was looking for something.”
Joy accepted a mug of coffee, turning it so she could drink from the nonchipped side.
Despite having bought new crockery, Skye remained attached to the items donated by Andreas.
Her own mug had a faded map of the island on one side, and “I don’t need therapy, I just need a trip to Folegandros” printed on the other.
“Nothing yet,” Joy said, “although she has been looking after little Iris and Ajax now and then. Cora and Klodi are so tied up with running the mini-market, especially now that there are more tourists here.”
“Don’t most people stay in Chora?” Skye asked. The idea of strangers traipsing through Ano Meria made her uneasy.
“Yeah,” Joy said, “but more and more of them are starting to discover this place. Pantelis had a full house for lunch last week at the taverna.”
That explained his continuing inability to make time for her external plastering.
“Maybe Louisa should work for him,” Skye suggested.
Joy lowered her mug.
“Bloody good idea that, although I think she’d rather be employed by Andreas, if you know what I mean?”
Skye avoided having to reply by turning away to slice the cake.
“I haven’t told you my news, have I?” Joy continued.
“News?”
“Yeah, I met this fella from the Netherlands down at the beach the other day. He runs a gallery in Chora. Sander, his name is. Anyway, we got to chatting, and he’s offered me a slot, says they do a good trade, especially during the summer months.
If I can get a few pieces done over the next few weeks, he reckons he can sell them through July and August.”
“That’s brilliant,” Skye enthused, passing her a plate. “What are you going to paint?”
“Well…” Joy took a bite of the cake, and her eyes rolled back theatrically. “Christ, that’s good. Yeah, anyway, that’s actually why I popped round. I was hoping you’d let me paint you.”
“Me?” Skye said. “Why me?”
“Don’t look so surprised. You’re bloody gorgeous, what with all that blond hair and delicate bone structure. My plan is to do a Greek gods and goddesses series, only modernized, put the old Monroe twist on them, you know. I want you to be my Aphrodite.”
“But I’m not Greek.”
“You’re not a goddess, either, but since when has reality stood in the way of artistic creation?”
Skye put her plate in the sink.
“Wasn’t Aphrodite traditionally depicted naked?” she said.
“Well, you’re welcome to do it in the nuddy if you like,” Joy began.
“No! God, no.”
Joy let out a chuckle.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “There won’t be any nudity, and I won’t ask you to wear anything silly. I know I kid around a lot, but when it comes to art, I’m deadly serious.”
“I don’t know.” Skye’s fingers curled around each other. “Can I think about it?”
“Sure.” Joy began rinsing out her empty mug before adding lightly, “Done thinking yet?”
Skye was, in fact, thinking about her dad. He’d have loved Joy.
Though he’d worked with clay, Cosmo MacKinnon had always been drawn to paintings—portraits in particular. He used to call them “maps of the soul.” She knew what he would’ve said had he been there to say it, and yet…
“I’m just not sure,” she told Joy. “Can you start with someone else? What about Victoria?”
“Maybe.” Joy didn’t seem overly enthused. “I guess I could pop round and ask her once it stops bloody raining.”
They both paused to listen. Skye eased open the back door to see the faintest glimpse of blue between the clouds.
“It’s stopped,” she called, and Joy joined her.
“You never get used to it, do you?” Joy murmured.
“The view out here, all that sky and mountain and sea. Victoria said it makes her feel small, but it’s the opposite for me.
I felt small at home, just another cog in a city full of moving parts.
Now, don’t get me wrong, Sydney isn’t all bad.
We have parks and the harbor, but there’s still a claustrophobic element.
I reckon it’s unavoidable when you cram that many folks together.
When I still had Bobby, it was all right, you know?
I was in my bubble. But afterward…well, death has a way of bringing everything into sharp relief, doesn’t it? ”
The sun had yet to reappear, though Skye could feel the warmth of it.
“I went to Sydney a year after my dad died,” she said.
“I didn’t want to be at home on the anniversary, and my oldest friend lives there.
I walked around that place all day every day for two weeks on my own, while Sal—that’s my friend—was at work.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt more invisible.
That’s not to say Sydney is unfriendly,” she added as Joy’s lips tightened a fraction, “just that it was easy to get lost in, become one of the cogs.”
“Nobody enjoys feeling invisible,” Joy said.
Skye stared beyond the boundaries of her garden, her eyes tracing the roughly hewn pathway that led up to the ridge.
“I didn’t used to,” she said, the words catching somewhere in her chest. “Dad always told me I was his compass point, the pin keeping his life on course. Soppy old fool.” She shook her head. “It’s no wonder, really.”
“No wonder what?” Joy asked. Her voice had softened, the usual teasing edged out by something gentler.
She could tell her. About Martyn. About all of it.
Skye drew in a breath only to let it go as Tigri sprang up onto the wall, mewing indignantly. The cat was no doubt outraged by the puddle-strewn route he’d be forced to take to reach her.
“I’d better go and get him,” she said, slipping her feet into flip-flops.
“Mind your step,” Joy called after her. “Looks as if more of that wall’s fallen in there.”
All the stones Skye had spent weeks carefully resetting had collapsed back into the mud, dragging more with them. A shallow cavity gaped beneath where the largest rocks had stood. As she stepped closer, something caught her eye, half-hidden in the dark hollow.
“In a minute,” she murmured to Tigri, who had stalked along the wall to meet her. Skye shifted her weight, then crouched, trying to see more clearly.
“You found something?” Joy asked, picking her way across on bare feet.
“I’m not sure. There are stones in the way—hang on.”
The first one she lifted was wet and slithered from her hands.
“Careful,” Joy said, scooping up her dress to avoid being splattered with mud.
Skye shifted three more stones, each one landing with a thud as she flung it aside. The last was lodged deep, wedged between the crumbling edge of the wall and the gnarled roots of the lemon tree. She crouched lower, braced her knees, and with a groan of effort, worked it free.
At that moment, the sun broke through, spilling wide shafts of light across the hillside. Puddles shimmered, and crystal droplets shook loose from the branches overhead.
In the hollow below where Skye and Joy stood frozen, a collection of tiny bones lay gleaming in the earth.