Wednesday 27th September
A fter the previous day, and aware she had only a few days of the retreat left, Karmela was determined to complete as much of her novel as possible. She was at an exciting part too, when the women’s plans to rescue Agnez the reluctant nun were coming together, their friendship binding them closer with every twist and turn.
It was beyond satisfying, bringing these historical characters to life, although of course she knew nothing of their real personalities. She had made plans for them all before she had started writing, but now she was amazed how they had changed and grown as the story progressed and how much richer they had become on the page. And she especially loved how they surprised her.
Losing herself in their world took some of the dread out of the end of the retreat. Not only would her life go back to normal, but she would miss the others terribly, and she really hoped they would keep in touch in the way she did with her friends in Dubrovnik. But those friends were only an hour’s flight away; this group would be scattered all over the world.
And then, of course, there was Iain. An opportunity wasted. She had heard nothing from her mother. It would be unlike Mama to forget, but those diaries must be taking some finding. Time was running out. Probably had run out for any sort of romance. But at least if Mama was right, Karmela might just be able to put his mind at rest about Emina before they parted.
If not exactly on cue, almost an hour later a message flashed on Karmela’s screen. It was unlike her mother not to just phone, but here she was asking if it was a good time to talk. Karmela finished the sentence she was writing, saved her document, then called her mother.
“Karmela.” No preamble. Her voice sounded strained, her words tumbling over each other in a way they never did. “It’s taken me a while. Not to find the diaries, but to read them. It had been so long. And there are things I need to say. But first, what you asked. Emina was not killed in the NATO bombings, but a few days before when Markale market was shelled by the Serbs. Operation Deliberate Force finally put an end to the conflict, so your pilot should be proud.”
“He is not my pilot.”
“But perhaps now… Anyway. There is something else I need to say. Which is that I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” This was the last thing Karmela had been expecting. Sorry for what? For not getting back to her for a few days? For?—
“Sorry for… the way I was in Berlin. I had forgotten. Deliberately perhaps. But when I read my diary for 1995 I realised there was hardly any mention of you at all.”
“You were never there.” Karmela’s heart was jumping in her chest. This longed-for conversation, the one she had reconciled herself to never happening. And now they were having it, with no warning at all. This might be the one and only time her mother spoke of Berlin, and she found herself unprepared.
“I know,” said Mama quietly. “But in truth I was shocked. So I looked back over the years. When we first arrived it was all about you: finding a school, finding a tutor to help with your German who would not charge too much, finding an apartment where you could have your own room to study. How worried about you I was because you had changed so much without your friends.
“For weeks your father and I wondered if we had done the right thing, but as the situation in Sarajevo worsened we knew that we had. And other refugees came flooding in and I was asked to help them, and the diaries became more and more about my work.
“Mama, I—” The tears running down her cheeks left salt on her lips, her throat almost too full to speak.
“No, let me finish. This is hard enough without interruptions. I thought you were settled and had made new friends. And your father… his drinking… I closed my eyes to that too. Closed my eyes and lost myself in my work. Because there I could help people, and I could not help him. He would not be helped. And instead of being a proper mother, I turned my back on you both. You may be prepared to forgive your pilot, Karmela, but I do not know how you will ever forgive me.”
Oh god, oh my god. Poor Mama . Karmela stifled a sob. “There is no need for forgiveness. War damages each of us differently, and we all find our own way of coping. That is something I learnt, and part of what I have been trying to tell you, but never mind. The important thing is to recognise it, then you can move on.”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, then a sigh. “I am too old to move on, as you put it, Karmela.”
“No, Mama, you are never too old. We can do this together.”
“As you have been nagging me to do for the last year.”
“Something like that.” Karmela found herself smiling.
“You never give up, do you?”
This was it. Time for the big one. If ever there was a moment to say it, it was now. “Because I love you, Mama.”
What did she expect in response? Nothing. For her poor, damaged mother to use the word right now would be a step too far. And yet, for the first time since she was a child, Karmela did feel loved. Mama may not be able to say it, but she had shown it– in sending Karmela here, in reading her diaries to find out about Emina, and more than anything, in talking about the war.
Her mother cleared her throat. “Thank you, Karmela. Now go and find your pilot and tell him the good news.”
“Mama, before you go, will you be willing to talk about this some more when I get home?”
Another sigh. “I thought you would say that. And truthfully, I do not know. I need to get used to the idea, but if it will help you… what you said about rejection… then I owe you at least that. I will not reject you again, my daughter.”
With a soft click her mother put down the phone. Karmela flopped back on the sofa. Had that conversation really happened? She ran through it in her head, remembering and cherishing every word. Her guess that her mother had been avoiding her own pain through her work had been right, and now she realised perhaps, despite what she had said, something might change. Even if it did not, there was a new understanding between them, a new closeness. A tear trickled down Karmela’s cheek. If they never spoke of Berlin again, today had been enough.
Now she had her part of the bargain to fulfil. She had to finish her book. Then maybe, just maybe, her next one would be about mothers and daughters. Perhaps the most precious relationship of all.
* * *
It was just after three when Zina jogged down the track from The Retreat House to find Lambros leaning on the fence.
“Sorry I’m late.”
He kissed her on the nose. “No worries, I’ve being doing a bit of goat meditation. Just look at them– half a dozen pallets and they’re happy as anything.”
“Getting their mental stimulation?” she teased.
He winced. “Don’t go there, Zi. I can’t believe I was so crass… but I think I might have found a way to make up for it.”
She snuggled closer to him, and he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulder. “I like the sound of that.” She ran her fingers under his shirt.
“ Kyría Sideris! You have a one-track mind. And this is a serious idea.”
“Then tell me.”
“What you’re doing now for Jo. It’s going really well, isn’t it?”
“Yes. She’s been a joy to work with on a project like this; she’s so honest and open. Only one of the British newspapers was nasty. They made a comment about her hiding away in Greece for the announcement, but I was able to counter that by giving an exclusive on the retreat she’s been running to one of their rivals.”
He pulled away. “You’re positively glowing.”
“It’s been great. I’ll be sorry when it’s over.”
“But that’s my point. It doesn’t have to be, does it? You being on Santorini has proved absolutely no barrier to you doing the job you love. You can do it from anywhere.”
“The clients, though. They like to meet you. And you need to be seen to have contacts.”
“For ongoing work, I get that. But for one-off projects, crisis management, freelancing for other agencies… Come on, Zi. Surely it’s worth a try?”
He was right. He had to be right. And he’d thought of it before she had, damn the man. But no, no… bless the man. Bless her husband for seeing what she could not. A way of making her life here so much better. It would never be the bright lights and social whirl of Athens, but perhaps Athens wasn’t the issue after all. She gripped his hand.
“There are… possibilities.” And challenges. Challenges galore.
“Of course there are. And if it makes you happy, that’s all that matters.” He looked serious for a moment. “But I also know you can’t work any more hours. It’s just not possible. So how about we employ someone to do the cleaning. It’s not exactly your favourite job, is it?”
“But how could we afford to?”
“Easily, I would guess, once you start earning. I imagine you could charge quite a high hourly rate. In the meantime though, while you build it up, maybe we could get someone in part-time. I’ve worked it out; the money we earnt for the grapes would cover a couple of mornings a week between now and Christmas, and I could always do some labouring work when construction gets going again at the end of the season.”
“But what about your projects, Lambros? What about the dairy for the goats?”
He screwed up his face. “They don’t have to have kids next spring. I’m not sure they’re ready for motherhood anyway– they’re idiots.”
“They’re goats.”
They watched as three of them tried to climb on a particularly rocky pallet at the same time, before the small nanny with the white face head-butted one of the others off. Zina leant into Lambros again, the late summer sun warming their backs, her mind buzzing with possibilities. To have this, and to have all the excitement and promise of her career. Sure, there’d be obstacles to overcome, and more compromises, but they could make it happen. They really could.
She’d just have to ensure that not all the compromises were Lambros’s; that however busy she became, she still made their time together a priority. We not me . She would be forever thankful to Karmela for telling her that. Not only in terms of her marriage, but it would make the growing friendship between herself, Karmela and Jo so much more enduring and rewarding too. Friends for all time, instead of just for a good time, as her friends in Athens had sadly proved to be. But perhaps she’d been too wrapped up in herself to be more than a good-time friend too.
Well, not anymore.
* * *
The scrabble of Sybil’s paws on the stairs heralded Iain’s arrival for his last one-to-one, and still Jo was unsure whether she’d be brave enough to put her plan into action. She’d done quite a lot of brave things recently, so there was no reason she couldn’t, but whether she should was another question entirely. How far should the boundaries of being a writing mentor stretch? On the other hand, how far would she go for a friend? She had taken so much from Karmela and now it was definitely time to give.
“Hi, Jo. Am I late?”
She checked the time on her phone, although she didn’t need to. “Two minutes to, as ever. Honestly, Iain, I can set my clock by you.”
“I’m nothing if not predictable.” But the laugh in his voice sounded forced.
“Sit down, anyway.”
Once in the room, Sybil greeted Jo by nudging her nose against her legs, then stretched across the rug close to Iain’s feet. Even she seemed subdued, but dogs were percipient creatures. This one more than most.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a disappointment on this retreat, Jo. You’ve brought everyone else on so much, but I haven’t exactly been a credit to your teaching. Far from it.”
“Unlike the others, you came here not knowing if writing was for you.”
“At least I’ve answered one question.”
“Well, I don’t think you’re ever going to want to finish your novel, but this Greek mythology sketch you gave me to look at… it’s really very clever and laugh-out-loud funny.”
For the first time he looked up, meeting her eyes with his startling green ones. “It is?”
“The way you’ve made Apollo sound somewhere between a naughty schoolboy and some sort of seedy sex symbol. Where did you get the idea?”
“I picked up a mythology book when I went to Kamari to walk Sybil and it inspired me. He came over as so up himself I wondered if I could take him down a peg or two. I know it’s not the most polished…”
“I don’t think it needs to be. Not all creative fiction does. If you take nothing else from the retreat it’s that you have a real knack for comic pieces, so please don’t give up writing them.”
Iain nodded. “Thank you. But how anyone fathoms stories straight from their heads, then writes it all down in a way that makes you forget yourself, is beyond me. When I listen to the others read during the feedback sessions, I’m in awe.”
“I don’t think the way you perceive your writing prowess is the only reason you’ve been unhappy recently though, is it?”
He almost jumped in his seat. “Unhappy?”
“Don’t get me wrong, you’ve hidden it well. You’ve joined in with everything and still told your funny stories when the conversation flags at dinner, but your spark’s been lacking, Iain, and if I’m not being too personal here, it worries me.”
He bent down and fondled Sybil’s ears. “In part it’s… I don’t know… everyone’s beginning to talk about going back to their lives. Ellen has an exhibition to set up for November, Diana can’t wait to see her grandchildren, Karmela has her lecturing. And I have no clue at all about what I’m going to do. I hoped that while I was here I’d work something out.”
It would be no consolation to him that Jo was equally lost, so she held her counsel. But he hadn’t mentioned Karmela. Well, only in passing. But what had she expected? If he was nursing what he believed to be an unrequited passion for her, then he probably wouldn’t come right out and say it. What man would? She’d been a fool to think she could get him to open up to her. And she needed to reply to what he’d said.
“Is there any rush?”
“There’s no urgency as such, but I will need to start earning again early next year. A former fellow officer has a flight simulation business he’s looking to expand and he’s asked if I’m interested, but I’m really not. I’d rather do something completely different. But the problem is I won’t have the necessary skills or experience. Whatever they may turn out to be.”
“I couldn’t help noticing that you enjoyed working with Lambros on the farm. Or was that just to escape from having to write anything?”
This time his laugh sounded more genuine. “At first, for sure. But I really loved it. Even to the point of wondering whether I could afford to buy a smallholding, but looking at the economics it would have to be somewhere fairly remote and I’m not sure I’d be that comfortable with my own company.”
One final attempt. Jo fingered the hem of her tunic. “There’s no one special in your life?”
“Not for a long time. A very long time.” He looked thoughtful. “There almost was, but the same thing came between us. How other men in the forces manage, I do not know.”
“And what was that thing? If you don’t mind me asking.”
He sat up straight. “No, actually, I don’t. It would be good to get a woman’s view. An impartial one. It’s the fact that I killed people for a living.”
He was definitely talking about Karmela. “It isn’t inevitable that a woman would see your job like that. Flying missions must have been a tiny proportion of your time. And it’s not as if the decision to end anyone’s life was yours; you were carrying out orders.”
“Does that make it better or worse?”
“That you were doing your job?”
He looked down, fondling Sybil’s ears, as the dog gazed up at him. “The thing is, when you join up as a youngster, like I did, you don’t even think about it. I just wanted to fly, and I’d been in the air cadets since I was thirteen. Back then, the girls rather liked it.” He smiled briefly. “But grown-up women don’t.”
“You said there was someone recently. Have you actually discussed it with her?”
He shook his head. “This time was personal. And the look on her face. I’ll never forget it.”
OK, Jo. Bite the bullet. Oh god, was that even an appropriate phrase? “Karmela? And Sarajevo?”
“Yes.” His clipped voice was very much the RAF officer. He’d closed her down.
But Jo had one more thing to say. “Iain, talk to her properly. What do you have to lose? If you’re right, then after Saturday you’ll never see her again. But if you’re wrong…”
Those green eyes bored into hers, unflinching. Silence. A long silence.
“Sorry if I’ve overstepped the mark,” she said.
He stood, Sybil scrambling to her feet next to him. “You’re only trying to be kind to me, I get that. And it’s fine. Really it is. See you for the feedback session.”
He was a couple of steps down the stairs when she called after him. “Not just kind to you, Iain, kind to both of you.” Perhaps that, if nothing else, would make him think.