Chapter 14
By noon the following day, the mountain air shimmered with heat again.
Helicopters whirred overhead, ferrying more supplies to the camp and the stranded villages beyond Porto Liakáda.
The sound had become a constant now, like a mechanical heartbeat pulsing through the region.
Cleo shaded her eyes as one passed low, sending a spray of dust across the lawn.
‘It feels like they’re finally getting on top of things,’ she said.
Maya, who was beside her, nodded. ‘They’ve set up a command post on the ridge. A full relief team – medics, engineers and so on. They say the main roads might reopen within a week.’
‘That soon?’ Tash looked startled. ‘I thought we’d be stuck here for ages.’
‘We still might be,’ Maya replied. ‘But at least we know things are moving in the right direction.’
They were sitting on the grass, with tin mugs of coffee in their hands.
Around them, Cleo noticed the camp had a different rhythm now.
The frantic urgency of the first few days had been replaced by a steady throb of rebuilding.
Men were carrying timber down the mountain and women were sorting clothing.
Meanwhile, children darted between tents, their laughter bubbling through the air.
Beneath it all, though, was a weariness that went deeper than muscle or bone. Cleo felt it in her whole body. The adrenaline had largely worn off, leaving her with a strange hollow feeling. Yet she still kept moving, patching blisters, fetching water and offering smiles.
Tash, on the other hand, seemed to have blossomed.
She had colour in her cheeks and her eyes were brighter.
Earlier in the day, she’d organised a small group of children to paint pictures on the backs of Villa Ariadne’s broken roof tiles – flowers, suns, clumsy blue waves and wonky goats.
Their giggles seemed to swirl round the campsite like confetti.
‘It’s good therapy – for them and me,’ she’d said when Cleo commented.
But Maya seemed to be becoming more tense and wound up. The more control she gained over logistics, the more restless she became.
She was hardly eating or sleeping and was constantly checking her lists, correcting and refining them.
Cleo watched her now, frowning slightly.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘the world won’t fall apart if you take an hour off.’
Maya gave a humourless smile. ‘It’s already fallen apart. I’m just trying to keep a few of the pieces upright.’
‘That’s not your job alone, there are plenty of people here to help.’
‘I know, but it gives me something to do.’
She glanced towards Villa Ariadne, where a group of engineers were inspecting a cracked wall.
‘If I stop, I’ll start thinking and I’d rather not.’
Cleo understood this only too well and nodded in sympathy.
That evening, a heavy mist rolled in from the sea, a thick silvery veil that turned the camp into a dreamscape. Lanterns glowed like halos and voices sounded muffled and disembodied.
After finishing her rounds, Cleo found Maya at the edge of the campsite, staring into the fog.
‘You should be resting,’ Cleo said gently.
Maya didn’t turn.
‘Do you ever wonder,’ she said, ‘who you are when everything you thought defined you has disappeared?’
Cleo stepped closer. ‘Every day.’
Maya gave a brittle laugh.
‘Before all this, I was someone. Maya Hughes, senior partner, award-winning strategist. People listened when I spoke. I had plans, directions, purpose. Then suddenly, gone. One meeting, one reshuffle and – pouf! I was nothing.’
‘You weren’t nothing. It was just a shock, that’s all. An understandable one. It knocked your confidence but it’s coming back. I can see that even if you can’t.’
‘I was completely and utterly lost.’ Maya’s voice cracked. ‘I tried to pretend I wasn’t. I booked this retreat, thinking a bit of yoga and sea air would fix me. But underneath it all I was angry, at them and myself and at the sheer cruelty of it.’
‘And now?’ Cleo said softly.
Maya took a deep breath. ‘Now I do feel better. I feel alive again. But I’m terrified the feeling will vanish when I go home and I’ll slide back into despair.’
Cleo hesitated, then said, ‘You won’t, because now you know what it feels like to be important and useful, to have purpose, without having a big title to match. You’ve seen yourself through a different set of lenses.’
For a moment, Maya said nothing, then very quietly, she murmured, ‘I think that’s what frightens me most – that I might actually be enough, just as I am.
I don’t have to try to be anyone else any more.
It’s scary because I’ve spent my life trying to create this image of myself, of the person I wanted to be, and now it’s crumbled in front of my very eyes.
It makes me feel naked like a baby, as if I’m starting life all over again. ’
Cleo smiled, though her throat had a painful lump in it. ‘Me too. Welcome to the club.’
They stood side by side, watching the fog swirl and thin. Behind them, voices called faintly and a smell of cooking drifted through the air. Meat and vegetables, mixed with woodsmoke.
After a while Tash joined them, carrying three bowls of stew on a tray.
‘You two look like you’re trying to solve the mysteries of the universe,’ she said lightly. ‘Mind if I interrupt?’
‘Please do,’ Cleo replied. ‘We’re in danger of getting far too serious.’
They sat on the grass and ate in silence for a while, with the fog curling round them like a soft grey blanket.
Eventually, Tash said, ‘I had a dream last night. Alfie was there. We were sitting in our garden and he was reading the paper. He looked up and said, “You’re all right now, Tash, you can go on without me.”’
She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I woke up crying but I didn’t feel sad, not really. I felt like he was giving me permission. Does that make sense?’
Cleo reached out and took her hand. ‘It does. He’d be proud of you.’
Tash nodded, with tears in her eyes. ‘You know, I think I might actually sort of believe it.’
In the distance, a helicopter’s thrumming started up again, steady and insistent. Cleo found the sound strangely comforting, reminding her as it did that help was here and the world hadn’t stopped turning after all.
The morning after, the mist lifted and the campsite seemed to breathe again.
The air was fresh, washed clean by a light dawn breeze that carried the scent of salt and crushed rosemary.
Cleo, Tash and Maya stood side by side on the terrace just beyond the swimming pool, which had been badly damaged by the quake.
A large crack had appeared on the bottom and most of the water had drained away. Many of the tiles had also broken and some of the garden furniture had blown in and lay smashed up on the floor.
Leaning forwards and resting their elbows on the broken balustrade, the three women watched sunlight spill over the ridge while below that, the village started to stir.
Folk were already arriving in Porto Liakáda with buckets, wheelbarrows and shovels, and the faint sound of voices threaded through the morning air.
‘It’s starting,’ Cleo murmured.
Tash stood up straight and smiled, hugging her shawl tight.
‘What is?’
‘The end. This is the beginning of the end.’
A voice behind them made them all turn. It was Katerina, who’d come to tell them breakfast was ready.
‘We’ve got coffee, yoghurt and figs today – gifts from the gods for tired women.’
Maya, Tash and Cleo followed the old woman back to the kitchen area, where people were already sitting round tables, talking and eating. They found a large enough space for them all near Mark and Henrietta and pulled up some chairs.
The figs were bruised but sweet, the coffee was black and strong and to Cleo, everything tasted just perfect.
Maya put down her mug and looked round at the others.
‘It’s strange,’ she said. ‘Just after the earthquake, I could hardly bear the thought of staying here another day. Now, the thought of leaving makes me feel weird and a bit… untethered.’
‘That’s because you’ve found your anchor again here,’ Cleo said.
Tash nodded. ‘I think we all have.’
Not long after, the first proper aid convoys started to arrive both in the campsite and down below, in the village. Huge trucks trundled in, laden with tools, timber, cement and fresh food.
Uniformed engineers buzzed round Villa Ariadne, taking measurements, barking orders and scribbling in notebooks. Those who hadn’t left for the village rolled up their sleeves and set to work, too, their voices bright with determination.
At one point, Cleo stopped to look at the villa and fancied it gave a long, sad sigh.
But why, when it was being brought back to life?
It seemed to bear the weight of the whole world on its shoulders, she thought, before telling herself off for being foolish.
Villas don’t think and they certainly don’t sigh. Get a grip on yourself.
Before long, she started helping to organise the medical tent into a more permanent clinic and began to train two local girls to clean and redress wounds. She moved about briskly but calmly. She was still exhausted, but a strong sense of purpose gave her the energy to keep going.
One of the girls, Sofia, asked her if she was a doctor.
‘A nurse,’ Cleo said with a grin. ‘A bossy one.’
Sofia giggled. ‘Like my mother.’
‘Then I approve of her,’ Cleo joked. ‘Bossy women get things done.’
The girl smiled proudly. ‘She says women keep our village alive.’
In the afternoon, Cleo went down to the village to help and saw Maya standing in the middle of a newly cleaned square, some way back from the main street.
Maya had thrown herself into rebuilding the village infrastructure and she’d been liaising with engineers and negotiating supply schedules. She’d also convinced the Coast Guard to prioritise a much-needed second water tank for the camp.
Now, she was holding a clipboard, squinting up at a damaged church.
‘They’re saying we can reinforce the walls without demolishing,’ she explained. ‘But they’ll need volunteers for the clean-up.’