Chapter 3
3
It seemed she’d only just dropped off again after her sleepless spell when she was startled from her drug-like doze by a loud knocking. It took her a few moments to remember where she was.
‘Stella? Are you awake? Can I come in?’
Louise. Stella sat up quickly, smoothing down her hair with the palm of a hand and rubbing a forefinger under each eye to remove any traces of yesterday’s mascara.
Louise must have been up a while and looked fresh and bright. Her fair, shoulder-length hair was damp from the shower and she was wearing denim shorts and a clean white vest top, which showed off her toned arms.
She was only five foot three, slim and athletic but definitely a woman, with a small waist and bigger boobs, hips and thighs. Everything was firm and in proportion and she cycled, swam and lifted weights to keep it that way.
Some of Stella’s friends, including Harriet, thought she was too perfect and a bit of a smarty-pants to boot, but Stella disagreed.
She’d met Louise on the very first day of secondary school. She’d been feeling lonely and lost without Harriet, whose parents had decided to send her somewhere else.
Louise had come straight up to Stella, bold as brass, after a PE class and asked if they could be friends. She’d always been brave like that. Stella had been thrilled, said yes, and they’d pretty much stuck together for the next eight years.
Funnily enough, Louise and Harriet had tolerated one another but never really gelled; Stella suspected there might have been some jealousy involved. But there was no need, as their paths didn’t often cross. Louise was Stella’s school friend and Stella saw Harriet at weekends and during holidays.
Everyone seemed to think Louise was super self-confident, but Stella was as familiar with her vulnerabilities as her strengths. She’d wiped away Louise’s tears when she was dumped by her first boyfriend and, later, cheered her up when she failed to get into the university she really wanted.
Louise had done the same for her, and occasionally being bossed around seemed a small price to pay for such a long friendship.
Perching on the end of the bed, Louise peered at Stella and pulled a concerned face.
‘Bad night?’
Stella gave a wry smile. ‘Do I look that awful?’
‘Not at all?—’
‘It’s okay.’ Stella smiled. ‘I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep for ages. I had my eyes closed, though, and I was remembering a lovely weekend we had with Harriet and Jon in Norfolk before she became ill. At least I got some rest.’
‘Poor you.’ Louise’s complexion was so clear and her face so smooth, you’d never think she’d recently turned fifty. She had a light tan left over from a Caribbean holiday with the children in January, and her small, intelligent blue eyes, set quite close together, sparkled with life.
Her hair was naturally fair, she wore little makeup and might have been described as an English rose, were it not for the rows of little gold hoops and studs that glinted all the way up and down the outer edges of her ears. There must have been six earrings on each side. Some had teeny-tiny gold pendants; others were studded with semi-precious stones.
They were intricate and subtle, and Stella often noticed people looking at them. She found her own gaze wandered that way, too. The earrings gave Louise an air of appealing quirkiness, which Stella envied. She couldn’t seem to find time to put on any earrings. Sometimes, she even forgot to brush her hair.
‘Do you want to skip the walk and try and get some more sleep?’ Louise asked now, but Stella shook her head.
‘Let’s go before it gets too hot. It won’t take me long to dress.’
* * *
Her heart leaped when they closed the black iron gates behind them and set off along the sandy path into the Cretan countryside.
It was only 8a.m. and the sun was already shining. The air felt crisp and the cloudless blue sky looked fresh and cool. Spiral spiders’ webs, covered in shimmering dewdrops, dangled like scraps of lace from the olive trees lining the way. Tiny wild orchids and blue pimpernel peeped through the vegetation on either side, which was so dense, at times they felt as if they were walking through a giant salad bowl. The scent of wild herbs filled their nostrils, and birdsong filled their ears. The din was so lusty and joyful, it was almost as if the birds were performing a roistering oratorio just for them.
They kept to a slow, steady pace. They weren’t in a rush and wanted to soak up their surroundings. Stella circled her head and shoulders a few times to loosen her muscles and ligaments, all the while keeping an eye out for roots and stones.
She was wearing loose khaki shorts, a white short-sleeved shirt and thick socks tucked into sturdy brown walking boots. Her hair, which was mid-brown and jaw-length, was really too short to tie back, but she’d pulled what she could into a funny, stubby ponytail.
Several inches taller than her friend, she felt pale and unattractive by comparison. Stress had made her weight fall and now her hip bones protruded and her once voluptuous breasts had all but disappeared.
It didn’t feel like her body any more, but then almost everything else had changed, too, so she wasn’t much surprised.
‘I think I did the wrong thing, making Hector come,’ she said, aware of the sound of their boots scrunching on sand, rocks and pebbles. ‘I hope he doesn’t spoil things for everyone.’
‘He won’t.’
Stella smiled gratefully. Louise was doing her best to be positive, but it couldn’t be easy. She’d have had a much better time if she and her kids had gone away on their own.
‘How often does Hector see Al?’ Louise asked, nudging the conversation on.
Stella took a sip of water from the plastic bottle she was carrying.
‘A lot. Two or three nights a week at least and pretty much all weekend. I’m sure he’d live there full-time if there was an extra bedroom. Al just couldn’t afford a bigger place, on top of our mortgage. The rent’s huge as it is.’
‘Does Hector still blame you for the split?’
‘Oh yes.’ Stella swallowed. ‘He idolises Al. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.’
‘It seems so unfair.’
Stella frowned. It was true she was the one who’d wanted the separation, but only after the atmosphere at home had become so toxic, it was impacting on everyone. It took two to create a mood like that. Why couldn’t Hector understand?
She knew he was insecure, in part, at least, because Al wasn’t his real father. He was a drunk named Robin who’d left when Hector was just eighteen months old. Stella had cut off all contact to protect her son and Robin had died of alcoholism a few years later.
Of course Hector had been affected by the split, and Stella had struggled, too. Then when Al had come on the scene some two years later, he’d literally scooped them both up and the world had brightened.
Ever since, Al could do no wrong in Hector’s eyes. He was the knight in shining armour, the conquering hero who’d always treated Hector as his own.
He had been an amazing stepdad, but Hector wasn’t a child any more. He was old enough to realise no one was perfect and he should be able to see things from Stella’s viewpoint, too.
Instead, he’d dropped out of university and was mucking about. His former school friends had largely turned their backs and he no doubt blamed her for that as well.
‘I could have a word with him if you like?’ Louise suggested. ‘He might listen to me. Don’t worry, I’ll choose my words carefully. It might be worth a try?’
Stella frowned. ‘Thanks, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Not at the moment, anyway. He’d assume I put you up to it, which would make him even angrier, if that’s humanly possible.’
Going down the mountain was quicker than walking up and they soon came to the spot with the brightly coloured beehives.
Stella was keen to lighten the chat, but Louise had other ideas.
‘How’s work going?’ she asked, flicking off a fly, which had landed on her shoulder.
The question was undoubtedly loaded; Stella knew her friend too well.
‘Really bad.’ She pulled a face. ‘To be honest, I might wind up the business and look for something else.’
Louise went quiet with disapproval. She’d always been ambitious and had carved out a successful career in public relations. She didn’t believe in quitting; the word wasn’t in her vocabulary.
‘You need to market yourself again,’ she insisted, sounding slightly exasperated, because once Harriet’s funeral was over and the dust had settled, she’d been repeating the same mantra over and over. Stella might have felt hurt by her tone, but she told herself Louise was only trying to help.
‘I can give you a hand if you want. You’ve got a great little business but you need to kick start it again and shout about it more.’
‘I know.’ Stella sighed. ‘The problem is, my heart’s not in it any more. Since Harriet died, I haven’t been able to summon up much enthusiasm for anything. Maybe I should find a mundane nine to five job that won’t require much brainpower. I like the idea of being able to leave everything behind at the end of the day.’
‘You’d get bored very quickly doing a mundane job. Throwing yourself into your business again might take your mind off what’s happened. You worked so hard to get to where you were. It’d be tragic to walk away now.’
She was probably right, but it wasn’t what Stella wanted to hear. It was all very well telling her to buck up, but Louise hadn’t lost her oldest friend and separated from her husband, all in the space of eighteen months.
In fact, sometimes, Stella suspected Louise didn’t fully grasp why she was still grieving for her friend or her marriage at all; it was almost as if she expected her to be over everything by now.
It was just the little things she’d say, like, ‘Harriet had a good life, even though it was cut short. I guess it was her time to go,’ and, ‘You’ll come through this; be strong.’
Stella ignored the comments because they weren’t meant to be hurtful; they were just clumsily worded. It did make her wonder, though, whether Louise had ever really loved anyone as much as Stella had loved Harriet. Perhaps all her relationships, male and female, were less intense and that bit more superficial.
‘Hey! Look!’ she cried, relieved to spot a distraction. ‘I think that’s the start of the steps.’
‘So it is. Let’s grab a coffee in the village before we explore.’
Once they reached the bottom, it wasn’t difficult to find their way round Porto Liakáda as it was so small. The low-lying buildings, all white with blue windows, were set like an amphitheatre round the crescent-shaped bay, with tall date palm trees rising majestically between them.
The one main street was right on the waterfront, and it was here that the two women sat in a café at a table overlooking the pristine turquoise waters of the Libyan sea.
Fishing boats of different shapes and sizes bobbed in the harbour while some way off, royal blue and white umbrellas and matching sun loungers dotted the small pebbly beach.
For now, it was deserted, but rows of yellow kayaks and white paddleboards for hire suggested this state of affairs wouldn’t last long.
They ordered coffee and a Bougatsa to share, as recommended by their waiter. They weren’t sure what to expect and it turned out to be a delicious pie made of crunchy filo pastry, filled with local mizithra cheese and sprinkled with sugar.
It disappeared so fast, they soon ordered another, and when Louise had finished her final bite, she stared mournfully at the empty plate. ‘I’d happily have that for breakfast every day.’
It was still early and the shops were only just beginning to throw open their doors. A handful of folk in summery clothes were ambling up and down the main street, as if waiting for the action to begin.
The sun was getting hotter by the minute and Stella remembered she wasn’t wearing sunscreen. With her pale skin, she’d burn in no time.
Rising, she tried to move her chair under the parasol, but was interrupted by a loud yell, which made her jump.
Glancing down, she could see what appeared to be a child on the ground beneath her seat. He was on his knees, his top half hidden under the table, his rear end squirming. She was so astounded, she wondered for a few seconds if she were imagining it.
‘OHMYGOD!’ The words tumbled out in a rush.
She tried to whip the chair out of the way before realising the child was trapped between its metal legs.
‘Aargh! Are you all right?’
Her heart was thumping so fast, she’d forgotten where she was. There was no need to worry, though, because the boy understood her English perfectly.
‘You might’ve broken my arm,’ he said angrily after finally managing to reverse out of his prison and sit back, rubbing the sore bit. ‘You should watch what you’re doing.’
Stella was too anxious to be offended. Frowning, she squatted down to his level, apologising profusely. ‘I’m so sorry. I really am. Can I take a look?’
The boy, somewhat mollified, sat up straight and extended one skinny arm, which she examined carefully.
To her great relief, the chair seemed to have left nothing more than a red mark, and the arm and hand were working perfectly.
She inhaled deeply, realising she’d been holding her breath.
‘It seems okay, thank God. No serious damage.’
‘It still hurts. You should be more careful.’
Now she could see him better, Stella realised he could only be seven or eight, but he didn’t seem at all shy.
He was a scrawny little thing in a grubby white T-shirt and blue shorts. His bare feet were grimy too. His hair was very dark, almost black, and the fringe was so long and shaggy, she wondered how he could see out of it.
Jutting his chin, he started to lecture her on her bad behaviour. Now it was her turn to be annoyed.
‘What were you doing under my seat anyway? You shouldn’t have been there.’
Before he could answer back, they were interrupted by a shout.
‘Oi! Meaty! Come here!’
Stella swung round to see a big blonde woman in a flowery dress running towards them. She was red-faced and her features were scrunched so tightly together in a frown, you could hardly make them out.
As soon as she was near enough, she grabbed the boy’s wrist and yanked him up sharply.
‘I told you not to go out without shoes,’ she snapped, slapping him on the side of the head before he could duck. ‘You might’ve stepped on broken glass, then you’d be sorry.’
‘Ma! There isn’t any broken glass!’
The boy tried to wriggle out of her grasp but she hung on tight.
‘Get back home before I really lose my temper.’
As she started to drag him away, he hollered something about his ball being under the table. It seemed he’d been trying to reach it when he got trapped.
His mother shook her head. ‘You should look after your possessions. Scrabbling round like that under the poor lady’s feet. She probably thought you were trying to steal her bag!’
She was wearing quite a lot of shiny blue eye shadow and Stella decided she must have been in a rush this morning, as one eyebrow was darker than the other.
‘Say sorry,’ the woman barked, glaring at her son, who goggled in dismay.
After repeating herself to no avail, she tried to cuff him again, but this time he managed to twist from her grip and bob out of the way in the nick of time.
His mum lumbered towards him like a great grizzly bear. The boy glanced round, searching for an escape route, but the tables were quite close together, and besides, he had Stella and Louise to contend with.
Realising the game was up, he muttered an apology but it was so quiet, you could scarcely hear.
His mum took another menacing step forwards.
‘I’M SORRY!’ he said, louder this time because he was panicking.
‘You don’t sound it.’
‘I AM!’
Stella was beginning to feel a little sorry for the boy. His mum even scared her . Bending down to look under the table, she spotted a yellow tennis ball. ‘Is this what you were after?’
The boy’s face lit up in a grin, revealing a funny gap in front where only one of his permanent teeth had come through.
As soon as he’d grabbed the ball, he scurried off into the distance while his mum turned to Stella, mismatched eyebrows raised.
‘He’s a right little devil. Sorry for all the trouble. His name’s Dimitrios, but we call him Meaty ’cause he can’t get enough of the stuff. Lamb, chicken, pork, you name it, he’ll eat it. You wouldn’t think so by the size of him, would you? He’s all skin and bone!’
She had a Yorkshire-sounding accent and spoke so fast, Stella had some difficulty keeping up.
‘I’m April, by the way, April Vasilakis,’ she went on, barely pausing for breath. ‘I run the supermarket over there with my husband, Georgios.’
She pointed to a small store set back from the waterfront where a stout middle-aged man was wheeling out displays of fruit and vegetables on a black shelving unit.
‘That’s him, my hubby.’ She grinned and waved and he waved back.
Now she’d stopped frowning, Stella realised the woman was really rather pretty. She had a round face, a small, squashy nose and sparkly grey eyes. Her bleached blonde hair was in a loose twist, secured on top with a tortoiseshell clip.
Louise, who’d been quite quiet till now, sipping her coffee and taking everything in, piped up, ‘I’m guessing you’re British. Where are you from?’
She looked amused; she was clearly enjoying herself. It wasn’t every day you came across characters like Meaty and his mum.
April said she was born and bred in Leeds.
‘I met Georgios when I was nineteen. I was on holiday here with my mates and, well, we just clicked. It was only supposed to be a summer romance and I’m still here twenty-five years later, with four kids, two dogs, two fat cats and a hamster. How did that happen!’
She had a throaty, infectious laugh, which made her shoulders jiggle up and down. Stella and Louise laughed, too.
She said she lived above the shop and Stella’s gaze drifted to the two small windows above the supermarket. She found herself wondering how everyone fitted in.
April must have read her mind.
‘It’s a bit of a squeeze, but it’s home to us. We’ve got two Bernese Mountain Dogs. They’re quite big and hairy. They sleep on the balcony in summer but in winter, they insist on kipping on our bed, along with the cats!’
Georgios had finished putting out the display stands and customers were already going in and out of the supermarket, but April seemed in no rush to leave. Perhaps she was a little homesick, as she talked a lot about the UK.
‘I love it here but I do miss cheese and onion crisps!’ she said mournfully.
She was so chatty, Stella feared they’d never get away, but when Louise told April where they were staying in Porto Liakáda, she fell silent.
‘It’s a big old place,’ she said at last. ‘Do you like it?’
Stella was surprised. How could anyone not like such a stunning house with two pools and breathtaking views?
‘It’s really lovely,’ she replied, meaning it.
April nodded, but her grey eyes were clouded with doubt. ‘It’s so big, I should think it’s a bit like a maze in there. I’d get lost.’
Stella hoped she’d be able to tell them who owned the place, but April said she couldn’t help.
‘They might be an older couple, I don’t know. I think they’re Greek, but no one from round here’s ever met them, as far as I can tell. A few years back, they brought in a team of builders from Athens to do the place up. Some of the workers used to come to the village, but even they didn’t know a lot. They were happy because they got free housing and were well paid. That’s all they cared about. Some people round here say it’s weird to buy a place like that and never visit.’
Her hand shot up and she fiddled with the clip in her hair, catching a few loose strands.
‘Even old Mrs Papadakis, the housekeeper, never talks about them,’ she added, before clearing her throat. ‘To tell you the truth, I sometimes wonder if they exist at all.’