Chapter 13 #2
The sounds of the camp – murmured voices, canvas creaking in the wind, the occasional cough, laugh or cry – blended with the distant, rhythmic hush of the waves.
Cleo sat outside her tent, washing her hands in a plastic bowl of lukewarm water. Her fingers were raw and swollen, her nails rimmed with grit, but she didn’t mind.
She was tired to her bones, yet it was a good kind of exhaustion – it felt well earned.
She glanced round. Most people were in or around the food tent, eating supper, or beginning the process of bedding down in their tents.
Maya, though, was still working, chatting to an emergency worker in an orange jacket.
Straight-backed and with a notebook in hand, she looked every inch the person in command.
Tash was sitting a little apart from the others, near the olive trees, with a shawl pulled tightly round her shoulders. She was staring at something in her hands – the small silver locket she always wore.
Cleo dried her hands and walked over.
‘Ready for bed?’
Tash started, then smiled faintly. ‘Not now. Every time I close my eyes, I hear the ground moving again. I’d rather wait till I’m so dog-tired I’m practically comatose.’
Cleo sat beside her.
‘I know what you mean. It’s as if the earth’s breathing has changed. It keeps you on edge the whole time.’
Tash opened her locket and showed the photograph inside – a man with kind eyes, thinning brown hair and a warm smile.
‘Alfie,’ she said. ‘My husband.’
Cleo nodded. She’d guessed as much.
‘I keep thinking he’d have loved it here – before all this happened, I mean. He adored the sea. He always said it made him feel small in the best possible sense.’
‘That’s a lovely way to put it,’ Cleo said.
Tash smiled wryly. ‘He was better with words than I am. I miss that – the talking. Since he died, I can’t seem to speak properly. Nothing comes out right any more. All I can hear is jumbled sentences in my head, like a kind of white noise.’
Cleo reached over and squeezed her hand. ‘You’ve spoken up beautifully these past few days.’
Tash blinked, surprised. ‘You think so?’
‘I do. You calmed that crying baby, soothed her mother and made half the camp laugh. You’ve got a gift for reaching people, Tash, for communicating with them – whether you’re acting or not.’
Tash’s mouth worked as she tried to answer, but nothing came. She simply squeezed Cleo’s hand and smiled back.
Maya approached from the other side of the camp, her footsteps brisk and purposeful.
‘The guy I was talking to said we should get more supplies in the morning,’ she said, her voice taut with exhaustion. ‘More blankets, food, maybe even a satellite phone.’
‘Good.’ Cleo frowned. ‘You look shattered. Sit down before you fall.’
Maya hesitated for a moment before sinking onto the grass beside them.
‘I can’t switch my brain off,’ she admitted. ‘I keep thinking – what if the tremors start again? What if the mountainside gives way?’
‘Then we run uphill and start again,’ Cleo replied. ‘There’s no rulebook for this. We just do the next best thing.’
Maya gave a small, incredulous laugh. ‘You sound so relaxed about it.’
‘I’m not,’ said Cleo. ‘But worrying won’t make the ground stop shaking.’
For a while they sat in silence, listening to the faint hum of the generator and the low murmurs of voices from the tents.
The night smelled of salt and woodsmoke and somewhere near, a dog barked. It was a raw, lonely sound that echoed round the camp, then the earth gave a sudden, sharp shudder.
It was slight – just a quick, hard jolt – but it sent a ripple through the camp. People shouted and a baby wailed. The three women froze, their eyes meeting in shared terror, and Cleo could feel her pulse in her throat.
Then as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
‘It’s all right,’ she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. ‘I think it’s passed.’
Tash’s breathing was shallow. ‘God, I hate that feeling. It’s as if the world’s trying to throw you off. I feel as if the shaking’s going to toss me off the ground and up into the air. I’ll spin into outer space, never to be seen again.’
Maya pressed her palms to her eyes. ‘How do people in earthquake zones live like this, with the constant fear?’
‘I don’t think they do,’ Cleo said softly. ‘Not really. I reckon they somehow manage to put the earthquakes to the back of their mind, the same as people who live near active volcanoes. They have to just keep going, otherwise, they’d go mad.’
The aftershock left a strange hush behind it, a silence that felt almost too big for the night to contain. Then, around them, people began murmuring again and a sense of relief and contentment returned slowly, like the incoming tide.
Maya lowered her hands and stared at the darkening horizon.
‘I used to think fear was something you could overcome. You know, you could reason your way through it. But this is different.’
Tash nodded. ‘It’s the not knowing that’s so scary. You can’t prepare for the ground moving under you.’
‘No,’ Cleo agreed. ‘I guess you have to try to move with it, to bend instead of break. The same as in life, really.’
Just then, Achilles approached them with his guitar slung over his shoulder.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘That was quite a shock. You look like you’ve survived.’
Cleo brushed the hair from her face. ‘Barely. I hope that’s it now and there aren’t any more tremors.’
Achilles smiled at her, lingering just a little too long, and her pulse quickened.
‘There might still be more, but you’re a strong woman,’ he said. ‘You and your friends are all strong.’ He glanced briefly at Tash and Maya before returning to Cleo. ‘You’re a survivor.’
Cleo’s heart swelled and tears pricked in her eyes. Little did he know this was one of the nicest things anyone had said to her for ages.
‘Thank you,’ was all she managed in reply.
The short silence that followed was interrupted by Katerina, arriving with a pot of lentil soup, a ladle, and three bowls and spoons.
‘Eat,’ she commanded. ‘Heroes need strength.’
Cleo laughed. ‘Heroes? Hardly.’
Katerina gave a small smile. ‘Yes, heroes. The quiet kind.’
Cleo watched while the old woman set the pot on the ground and proceeded to fill three bowls with steaming liquid. The smell was delicious and Cleo’s stomach growled so loudly, everyone could hear.
Achilles laughed. ‘Someone’s hungry.’
‘I am,’ Cleo replied, carefully taking a bowl from Katerina’s outstretched hands and passing it to Tash. ‘I’m sure we all are.’
Achilles nodded and cleared his throat.
‘I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal,’ he said, giving Cleo one last look. ‘Bon appétit. See you tomorrow.’
Once he’d left, Maya lit a lantern which glowed dimly in the darkness. Then the three women huddled together as they ate, sharing soup and stories, their shoulders brushing. Around them, the camp murmured with exhausted voices.
At last, Cleo stood up stiffly and stretched.
‘Come on. We’d better get some rest.’
As she climbed into her sleeping bag and closed her eyes, she remembered the strange conversation with Marina and shuddered. If only she hadn’t promised not to tell a soul! Maya and Tash would undoubtedly have had some helpful things to say on the subject.
Tash yawned loudly. It was catching, and Maya soon followed suit.
‘Night,’ Maya said. ‘Sweet dreams.’
‘Night,’ Cleo replied.
She was afraid she’d toss and turn, but exhaustion engulfed her and she drifted off with the artist’s words swirling round her troubled brain.