Chapter 10
A little later, when Cleo was taking a short break from her duties, she sat outside the tent Maya had told her to use, sipping coffee and watching Achilles out of the corner of her eye.
He was right at the heart of everything that was going on, she could see, helping wherever he could. One minute he was carrying a pile of crates and another, assembling portable tables and chairs. Then she saw him chatting with a group of frightened-looking villagers, making them laugh.
Her eyes were tired, sore and stingy. She closed them for a few moments and when she opened them again, he was sitting on one of the chairs he’d just put together, with his guitar on his knee.
He didn’t look as if he were preparing to perform, she thought, but then he never did. He carried his guitar as though it were an extension of himself, like an extra limb he’d been born with.
Soon, he started playing and his voice drifted through the makeshift camp, blending with the hum of work. A group of children clustered near him when he strummed, drawn, no doubt, to the soft chords and playful lyrics.
Cleo noticed the adults starting to move more quickly, as if the music were making their tasks seem easier and the loads they were carrying, lighter.
Achilles was one of those rare people, she decided, who lit up a room when he entered and made everyone smile, including her.
After finishing her coffee, she rose slowly and heavily. Her whole body was screaming for sleep, but she wouldn’t give in just yet, not when everyone else was still hard at work.
Even now she could see Henrietta and Mark, plodding towards one of the tents carrying cumbersome boxes.
Strolling over to Achilles, Cleo crouched by his side for a short while and watched his fingers moving deftly across the strings and up and down the frets. He was like a magician, conjuring beautiful sounds out of wood and wire.
When he came to the end of one song, he paused for a moment as if he needed to gather his thoughts, and lifted his face towards the horizon. His long fingers rested lightly on the varnished wood and his thumb idly brushed the edge near the sound hole.
His fingers moved slowly at first, almost experimentally, running over the strings in a light stroke, and a soft, low hum shivered through those who’d gathered round.
He adjusted the tuning with small, precise twists, leaning in slightly and listening closely, almost as if he were communing with the instrument. When he was satisfied, he let out a small breath, then he began again.
The first chord unfurled like warm silk, smooth, deep and resonant. It vibrated through the air and through the earth beneath his feet. To Cleo, it seemed to carry a melancholy undertone, like an echo of something ancient and well-worn or the lingering heartbreak of an old folk song.
She remembered the mother of his boys, who was an addict and who’d disappeared, and her heart reached out to him. He brought joy to the world but he’d also experienced deep pain, she could tell.
At last, he lowered his hands, resting them again on the body of his guitar and his eyes opened. For a moment, he just sat there, absorbing the quiet as though he needed a bit of time before he stepped back fully into the present.
Then he exhaled and looked up with a small, almost shy smile, as if surprised anyone had bothered to listen to him.
All the while Cleo had been watching, she could feel the heat of his arm near her shoulder and she’d been breathing in his faint smell of olive oil, fresh sweat and sea air.
‘You make it look so easy,’ she said, while the people around her clapped appreciatively.
He flashed her a wonky smile. ‘I could say the same about you when you clean wounds, wrap bandages and patch people up in no time at all. I’d probably get sticking plasters all over me instead of the patients.’
Cleo giggled, and in that moment her heart lifted and her body felt so light, she fancied she might take off any minute and soar above the clouds.
Their stolen kiss was still vivid in her mind, sweet, hot and affirming. Whatever happened in the future, whatever her life became, she mused, she was grateful she’d had the chance to experience once again, even if only for a few short moments, what it was like to feel truly desired.
Once night descended, Achilles played his guitar again in the lamplight, by what had become the kitchen tent, where volunteers had prepared supper for the adults.
The smell of cooking made Cleo’s stomach rumble and she realised she hadn’t eaten for many hours.
Leaving her triage tent for a few minutes, she went to fetch herself a couple of pieces of warm pitta bread filled with cubes of grilled chicken and tzatziki.
On her way out, she stopped to listen to Achilles again for a few moments, feeling his music vibrating throughout her body. He looked at her briefly and the world outside seemed to disappear. It was if it was just the two of them, in their own tiny circle of light and warmth.
Even so, he must have noticed she looked pale and tired, because he leaned towards her as he finished a verse.
‘Cleo,’ he said, ‘you’re doing an amazing job. You should get some rest now, recharge your batteries.’
She smiled, thankful for his support, validation and concern. She hadn’t received much of any of them for a long time, and it felt good.
By about 10.30 p.m. the camp had started to fall quiet and Cleo felt she could finally slip away and get some sleep at last. She, Tash and Maya were in the same tent and they retired together, snuggling down into their green sleeping bags and closing their burning eyes.
There were no mattress pads, only the hard ground, and the pillows were small and thin. But Cleo was so exhausted, she could have been lying on sharp pebbles and she wouldn’t have noticed. To her, the sleeping bag felt like a feather quilt.
‘I hope there aren’t any aftershocks in the night,’ Tash whispered in the shadows. So far, they hadn’t felt any.
‘If there are, we’ll huddle together till they pass,’ Cleo mumbled, barely conscious.
Maya let out a loud snore, then went quiet. Tash said something else but Cleo didn’t hear. Her heart rate had dropped, her weary muscles had relaxed and her brainwaves had slowed right down. She was soon in a deep, dark, delicious sleep, devoid of any thought, sound or sensation.