Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
I am happy to see a steady trickle of people from the village appear in the café the following morning. They order coffee and cake and they tell me how much they enjoyed the café opening the other day.
Complaining of the sickly heat, they take their drinks onto the patio area outside. A couple of walkers drop in and glug down iced cold water, before purchasing some more along with a snack bar for their onward journey.
By late afternoon, the sky has grown dark and heavy looking; an eerie silence seems to be hanging in the air.
‘No doubt the storm is coming,’ says Ireta when she calls in for coffee, before joining the other villagers at an outside table. ‘I felt it in my body last night. I had the headache.’
‘Are you sure that wasn’t down to ouzo?’ I joke.
‘No more ouzo.’ She shakes her head. ‘At least not the home-made raki. I am too old now.’
The day passes quickly, the heavy weather sapping the energy from me and everybody else.
I close the door of the café a little after six, and hear the first rumble of thunder that has followed a flash of lightning. I make my way upstairs to my apartment and quickly close the door. As I sit on the sofa opposite the window, I see another fork of lightning dance across the sky.
I try not to feel too anxious as I bury myself in my book, but I find it hard to concentrate.
I busy myself with small things, dusting and watering the plants on my windowsill, as I try to push down my feelings of anxiety.
As a child, I would sit beneath the stairs and count the seconds between the thunder and the lightning.
The light has disappeared outside, so I flick on a lamp, to discover that there is no electricity.
I try to busy myself with some book keeping, and hoping that the storm passes soon, when I hear another violent crack of thunder that followed some lighting.
Fifteen minutes later and feeling restless, I head downstairs, hoping that the power cut doesn’t last too long as the food in the fridge and the freezer will soon be ruined. As I put the key in the door of the café, I spot Phoebe walking towards me.
‘Erin, are you okay? I’ve just finished a shift at the hotel.’
‘Did the electricity go off?’
‘The hotel has its own electricity generator. These power cuts can happen, but they do not usually last long,’ she assures me.
Another thunderclap has me jumping.
‘Shall we go back upstairs? I can sit with you until the storm passes,’ she offers.
‘That is very kind of you, if you are sure you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not. I would be going home to an empty house. My mother is staying at my aunt’s in Lindos.’
We sit chatting. Phoebe kindly does her best to distract me by telling me all about her day as I shake my leg.
‘What we need is a glass of wine,’ says Phoebe after half an hour has passed.
Outside it looks as dark as if it were midnight.
‘I only have a bottle or two, as I am expecting a delivery tomorrow.’
‘I could go home and get a bottle of Metaxa; it is only a few minutes away,’ she suggests.
The rain begins to fall from the sky, gently tapping at the windows.
‘Maybe that is not such a good idea,’ I tell her.
‘It is a little rain. I will be fine.’ She smiles, throwing up the hood of her jacket. ‘I will be back before you know it.’
It feels like forever until she returns, even though only five minutes have passed. Thankfully, she appears a couple of minutes later, brandishing the bottle of Greek brandy.
I grab two glasses from the kitchen, and we each sit sipping our drinks as the rain gathers momentum and pelts on the roof of the apartment.
‘Looks like you got back here just in time.’
Standing and glancing out of the window, I notice the fast-running river alongside the lemon grove that had been little more than a trickle during the summer months.
‘Has the river ever overflowed?’ I ask Phoebe.
‘Not usually. The ground is so dry in summer, it usually absorbs the water well. Try to relax.’ She smiles. ‘Thunderstorms are quite common in late summer.’
‘I suppose so. I have always been a little nervous of them. I don’t mean to be a drama queen.’
‘Of course you are not,’ she says kindly. ‘Most people are afraid of thunderstorms.’
‘Well, that is true, I guess. Thanks, Phoebe.’
Through the patter of rain, I think I hear someone banging on the doors of the café downstairs.
I grab my keys and dash downstairs with Phoebe in pursuit. It is Rita from the walking group.
‘Oh thank goodness,’ she says breathlessly. ‘It’s John. He has fallen near one of the small coves; he slipped on a rock and he can’t move. There was no signal on my phone.’ She babbles, barely pausing for breath.
I usher her inside the café as Phoebe calls for help.
‘It may take a while for an ambulance to get through with the storm,’ says Phoebe. ‘But perhaps we can help.’
Most of the villagers are either too young or too old to help, but I am sure the two of us will be able to offer some assistance.
I grab a blanket in the hope we can create a makeshift stretcher, to at least get John to some nearby shelter.
We are quickly out of the door and easing our way carefully down the forest path that leads towards the beach.
On a fine day, the beach is no more than a ten-minute walk, but the path is slippy and already becoming treacherous.
‘Erin!’ I think I hear someone call my name but it disappears with the sound of the pelting rain.
‘Erin, wait.’ The sound becomes louder. I turn to see a man hurriedly making his way towards us wearing a waterproof jacket with the hood thrown up. As he draws closer, I see that it is Takis.