Chapter 8
That night, she fell into a deep sleep almost straight away. She would have slept right through till the alarm went off, but was woken a few hours later by a violent jolt, followed by a crash, screams and sounds of shouting.
Her eyes sprang open and her heart thumped loudly in her chest. For a few seconds she couldn’t remember where she was and wondered if she was dreaming.
But she hadn’t closed the shutters properly and moonlight illuminated some familiar objects in the room, reminding her she was still in Villa Ariadne.
Sitting bolt upright, she reached for the light switch, only to discover the light wasn’t there; it was on the ground, broken.
More shouts came from different parts of the house, then all of a sudden, her bed started shaking intensely and a chair slid from one side of the room to another before smashing into the wall.
Objects fell off the top of the chest of drawers – her make-up bag, a pottery vase, a mirror. The windows rattled, trembling in their frames, and she heard breaking glass. Then the chest’s drawers slid open and the whole thing toppled over, landing on the wooden floor with a deafening bang.
Dizzy with shock, she was aware of the bed rocking, like a boat tossed about in a storm. She listened, frozen in terror, to a series of rumbles, creaks and groans, as if the house itself was writhing in pain.
From deep within the walls came pops and cracks, like snapping twigs, as joints and nails struggled against the movement and the wooden floorboards exploded like machine-gun fire.
It all seemed to happen so fast, she barely had time to think. Her instincts told her to get out of the house as quickly as possible. But when she tried to stand, the ground seemed to roll and fall away and she couldn’t stay upright.
The door burst open and Henrietta rushed in, her face gleaming white in the shadows.
‘It’s an earthquake,’ she hollered. ‘Stay in bed till it stops. Cover your head with pillows.’
Cleo opened her mouth to speak but Henrietta had already gone, presumably to give her message to others or to race for safety herself.
There was more banging, followed by shrieks.
Cleo jumped back under the covers and held the pillow tight round her head, grateful to be able to muffle out the most terrifying noises.
Lying face down and squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to tell herself this would soon be over. The shaking would stop and everything would go back to normal.
But the longer the violent jolting went on, the more petrified she became, imagining a dark abyss opening up beneath her. Any minute, she’d fall into its gaping mouth and be buried alive.
Her mind flitted to her children and tears sprang to her eyes.
If she could only see them, speak to them, hold them one last time.
Then, strangely, she thought of her own mother, now dead.
She imagined burying herself, childlike, in her mum’s chest and being wrapped in her soft, comforting arms. She’d be safe, then. Nothing bad could happen.
If only. She bit into the sheet beneath her, rigid with terror, and recited the Lord’s Prayer over and over in her head. ‘Our Father who art in Heaven…’
So focused was she on blotting out the noise and confusion, it took her a while to realise the jolting had finally stopped and the bed was still. After that, a strange, tense silence descended on the house.
Ears pricked, Cleo remained exactly where she was, every sense on alert, dreading another shock but also listening for sounds of life. At last, she thought she heard someone calling out, the sound of feet stamping on broken glass and doors creaking.
‘Is everyone all right?’
Henrietta’s voice rang through the building like a welcoming bell, trembling but clear through the dust and echoes.
There were several cries of ‘Yes’ and Cleo found herself calling: ‘Is it safe to get up?’ She scarcely recognised her own weak, wobbly voice and was sure no one else would have heard, so she tried again.
This time, an answer came back. It was Henrietta again: ‘It’s OK to get up now. Make sure you wear shoes. There’s glass everywhere. And put on something warm. There may be aftershocks, so be careful. Protect your heads especially. We’ll gather on the landing then head for the garden.’
Cleo tentatively felt around for her trainers, which were somewhere near the bottom of the bed. She put them on with trembling fingers and stood up slowly, stretching out her arms for balance as her body was still shaking, even though the earth had stopped shifting.
She felt disorientated, as if she’d had too much wine, and as she padded carefully across the room, every crunch and crack made her jump, so fearful was she of another massive quake.
It felt like a huge achievement just to reach the door, which was half open. There were no lights on, but she could make out the bodies of a lot of people, huddling together at the top of the stairs.
Everyone was silent, struck dumb by the trauma of what they’d just experienced. Then, through the stillness, she heard another familiar voice.
‘Cleo? Are you all right?’
The sight of Maya, moving swiftly past the others to reach her, made Cleo cry. Hot, salty tears dribbled down her cheeks and she fell into Maya’s arms.
‘It’s OK, hun,’ Maya whispered, patting her friend’s back stiffly. She was evidently unused to giving comforting hugs. ‘Have you seen Tash?’
‘No,’ said Cleo, wiping away some snot with the back of her hand. Her eyes widened. ‘We have to find her. She gets panic attacks. She must be absolutely terrified.’
Mark, who was beside Henrietta, must have overheard. He had a stubbly chin, his hair was sticking up and he was wearing a crumpled, pale-coloured dressing gown.
‘We need to go downstairs – together,’ he insisted. ‘It’s not safe to stay here. We don’t know if the structure’s sound. We’ll do a proper headcount outside.’
But Maya was having none of it.
‘Tash is probably still in her room,’ she said, jostling past an angry-looking Lesley. Fran was quivering at Lesley’s side and Cleo followed close on Maya’s heels.
Tash’s room was further down the corridor and they saw Ingrid hugging Frida, who was angrily wiping away tears with a sleeve, perhaps annoyed with herself for weeping. Noreen, with her back against the wall, was chalk-white, her eyes wide with raw fear, and she suddenly looked very old and fragile.
‘Are you OK?’ Cleo asked, but Noreen didn’t seem to hear. She was somewhere else entirely.
‘She’s hurt her arm,’ said Ingrid, who seemed OK. She and Frida were both in stripy, baggy pyjamas.
It was only now Cleo noticed Noreen clutching an arm to her chest. Memories of her past life flashed through Cleo’s mind and she felt a familiar surge of responsibility – old instincts kicking in.
‘Henrietta? Mark?’ she called, spinning round on tiptoe and searching for them above the heads. ‘Can you bring a first aid kit? We’re going to need bandages, plasters, antiseptic wipes. Whatever you’ve got.’
She turned back to Noreen. ‘Don’t worry, I’m a nurse. You’re going to be OK. I’ll take a proper look in a minute. I just need to find Tash.’
Tash’s door was ajar and Maya spotted her first, curled up in a tight ball on the floor with her arms covering her head.
‘Tash?’ Maya said in a commanding voice. ‘The earthquake’s over. It’s finished. We have to go downstairs now.’
Cleo tiptoed over to Tash and squatted beside her with a hand on her back. She could feel Tash shaking like jelly. It was as if her body had no structure or firmness any more and her bones had turned to mush.
‘I’ll help you up,’ Cleo whispered. ‘You can lean on me.’
Tash let out a small, frightened cry. ‘I-I can’t move. I’ve tried. I don’t know what’s happened.’
Cleo paused and glanced at Maya, who mouthed, ‘We need to hurry.’
‘I know,’ Cleo mouthed back.
‘You’re fine,’ she said softly to Tash. ‘It’s just shock. There was an earthquake but it’s over. There might be a few aftershocks, though. That’s normal.’
She put an arm round Tash’s waist, another on her upper arm and coaxed her up to sitting.
‘See? Now, put your arms round Maya’s and my shoulders. We’ll support you.’
Still shaking violently, Tash slowly rose to her feet, wobbling like a newborn lamb, but her friends took most of her weight and she soon began to walk a little more confidently.
The crowd on the landing was thinning as Henrietta stood at the top of the stairs, supervising an orderly exit. Mark had gone first to lead the way.
‘Is she injured?’ Henrietta asked anxiously, referring to Tash. Henrietta’s face was a mass of fretful lines.
When Cleo said she thought not, Henrietta sighed with relief.
‘I know Noreen’s hurt and most people have got bumps and bruises, but I think that’s the worst of it, thank God.’
‘What about you?’ Maya wanted to know. ‘And Mark?’
‘We’re OK. We need to make sure everyone’s safe and accounted for.’
As she headed downstairs, Cleo felt as if she were walking into a battle zone. There was dust and debris everywhere: broken paintings, vases, lampshades, ornaments, books and bits of furniture.
Some of the windows had smashed and they had to pick their way across the uneven floor, avoiding shards of glass and chunks of plaster. A few cracks in the walls suggested the very foundations of the building might have shifted, and sparks seemed to be coming from the kitchen.
It dawned on Cleo she was lucky to be alive; they all were. The villa could have collapsed, killing everyone inside.
Mark and Henrietta led the group to the open lawned area where only yesterday they’d had a yoga class. Here, they were well away from walls, trees or power lines.
Cleo held Tash’s hand the whole time until Tash sat down with a bump and wrapped an arm round her knees, clutching onto Cleo’s pyjama bottoms with the other hand.
Her breath came in little gasps. Cleo could see her lips moving silently, not in prayer, she thought, but because she was counting, trying to ground herself.