Chapter 15 #2
The ferry to Hora Sfakia was waiting at the edge of the small bay, its engine humming softly, and the villagers, some of whom had now returned to their homes, gathered to say goodbye. Henrietta and Mark were there, too.
It was astonishing, Cleo thought, how quickly life had reasserted itself. It was less than a fortnight since the earthquake, and already boats were returning to the harbour, tents had been replaced with plastered walls and laughter rang out where there’d once been panic.
She began to push through the crowd, stopping often to say quiet farewells to the people she’d worked with or treated – the elderly fisherman with the bandaged arm, the mother whose baby had been born in the makeshift clinic and the shy girls who’d learned to clean wounds and take pulses.
‘We’ll be back,’ she told Anthea, before flinging her arms round her neck and then her daughter’s, beside her.
‘You’d better be,’ Anthea replied in a fake stern voice. ‘You’re part of Porto Liakáda now, like it or not. You’re one of us.’
Tash was just in front of Cleo, carrying a sketchbook, thick with jottings, as well as drawings of tents and children, crumbled walls and wildflowers forcing their way through cracks. She’d said she planned to turn them into something larger, though she wasn’t yet sure what.
Children jumped up and down and called out names, while adults offered hugs and handshakes as well as gifts – jars of local olive oil and honey, woven baskets and fresh bread.
When they finally reached the temporary dock, Achilles was standing there with his guitar slung over his shoulder and his hands stuck in the pockets of his worn jeans.
His eyes met Cleo’s and his look was warm and steady.
‘You take care of yourself,’ he said softly.
Cleo swallowed down the lump in her throat and smiled bravely. ‘I will. And you keep playing.’
He smiled back and nodded and she felt a stab in her chest, fearing he was about to go and this might be the last time she’d ever see him. But then he pulled something out of his back pocket, a piece of paper, stuck it in the palm of her hand and bent her fingers round to make a fist.
‘What is it?’ she asked, surprised, unfurling her fingers and starting to open up the paper.
‘My email address,’ he replied. ‘You can write to me – if you want.’
‘I will,’ she said, meaning it.
Cleo looked deep into his eyes and smiled again, but this time instead of a stabbing pain in her chest, she felt a bubble of light float up and out of her body and make its way right across the bright-blue sky towards the sun.
She watched as Achilles turned and walked purposefully away, back to his work, no doubt, and his precious boys. She understood why he didn’t want to wait and watch her go and she respected him for it. But she held the paper tightly in her palm, as close as could be to her heart.
As the ferry pulled off, she took a long, last look at the village, the cliffs, the mountains and the glittering turquoise sea and felt a bittersweet tug in her chest. In Porto Liakáda, fear, grief and courage had collided and, she believed, changed her forever.
She whispered a quiet thank you to Achilles, to the village and to Villa Ariadne itself because she’d been lost and somehow, they’d found her and put her back together.
Soon, the village shrank to a smudge of colour against the rocks, with the mountains rising protectively behind.
‘I don’t think I’ll ever really leave the place behind. It’ll stay with me,’ Tash said. ‘What about you?’
‘I agree,’ Maya replied.
Cleo took a deep breath. ‘And me.’
The water was much choppier than they remembered; something to do with the aftereffects of the earthquake, perhaps. After a while, Lesley and Fran appeared and lurched towards the three friends, hanging on for dear life to the metal handrail.
‘This is completely unacceptable,’ Lesley announced, to no one and everyone. ‘The boat’s swaying far too much. It’s nauseating.’
‘It’s the sea,’ Cleo murmured, trying not to laugh.
‘Well, it’s dangerous,’ Lesley muttered.
Fran looked towards the horizon. There was still the faintest outline of the mountains and the village, then they seemed to melt into nothing and become one with the sea and sky.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Fran said.
Lesley glared at her. ‘Beautiful? Are you mad? I can barely stand up.’
‘You could sit down,’ Cleo suggested.
‘I get seasick sitting.’
‘You also get seasick standing, lying down and when the sea’s nowhere near,’ Fran said quietly.
Cleo nearly choked.
Lesley stared at Fran in open astonishment. ‘What did you say?’
Fran clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t mean—’
Just then, Cleo caught Tash’s eye and they both burst into helpless laughter. Soon, Maya joined in and the three of them had tears running down their cheeks.
Fran’s face turned bright red, but there was a sparkle in her eye.
Meanwhile, Lesley folded her arms. ‘I see what’s happening,’ she declared. ‘Everyone’s against me because I said a few home truths at the camp. I told it how it was, because—’
‘Because you were awful,’ Fran butted in.
The words dropped like stones onto the deck and Lesley’s jaw fell, too.
‘I beg your pardon?’
Fran swallowed hard. ‘You were awful, Lesley. I didn’t want to face up to the truth.
I thought you were just being strong and opinionated, as usual, but you did nothing whatsoever to help with the rescue effort.
You complained about everything and bossed me about.
You treat me more like your assistant than your sister. ’
Cleo stepped away a little, to give them space, and Tash and Maya followed, exchanging glances and pretending to be interested in a passing seagull.
‘I can’t believe this,’ Lesley said. ‘All my life I’ve supported you through everything. You’re hopeless without me.’
‘I’m not,’ Fran replied, softly but firmly. ‘Not any more. I’ve learned I can stand on my own two feet.’
Lesley gave a nasty laugh. ‘Well, good luck with that. You’ll be eaten alive and when it happens, don’t come crying to me for support.’
Fran looked at her with a mixture of sadness and clarity. ‘I won’t.’
Lesley blinked rapidly, as if Fran had slapped her. Then Cleo stepped forward.
‘Fran, do you want to come and sit with us?’
Fran nodded.
Lesley opened her mouth to protest, but something stopped her. Instead, she stumbled to a bench and sat alone, clutching a paper bag, while the others made their way downstairs.
A special bus was waiting for them at the ferry terminal to take them to Chania. When they arrived, Fran helped an elderly man with his luggage and thanked the crew in Greek. Cleo lost sight of her and Lesley for a while after that, as she, Maya and Tash chatted and looked out of the window.
In the city, the world seemed too fast and bright. Cars honked, lights flashed and people shouted. The place had clearly been damaged by the quake, but not as badly as Porto Liakáda.
The three women shared a final meal at the airport – Greek salad and glasses of crisp white wine. They chatted easily, but every now and then a thoughtful silence settled between them.
Tash was the first to speak.
‘You know, I think I might try my hand at writing. Not TV scripts, at least, not yet. Maybe a play about the earthquake and survival and a group of women who come together and rebuild more than just walls.’
Maya smiled. ‘You must. Just make sure you make my character really impressive.’
‘But of course! How could she possibly be anything else?’ Tash replied with a grin.
Cleo lifted her glass. ‘To the play – and to new chapters!’
Maya turned to them, eyes bright. ‘And to remembering who we are and standing tall when everything else collapses round us!’
They met up with Lesley and Fran again at the boarding gate. The pair were sitting side by side but not speaking and Lesley had a face like thunder.
Fran got up to say hello to Cleo, Tash and Maya.
‘Lesley’s furious our seats aren’t next to each other,’ Fran whispered. ‘She started to kick up a stink with the airline staff, but I said I didn’t mind. Obviously, that made her even angrier.’
‘Oh dear,’ Cleo replied with a smirk. ‘I bet you’re relieved about the seats, though.’
On the plane, Cleo found herself two rows behind Fran, who sat between a chatty American teenager and an older woman who was knitting a green scarf.
Lesley was further back, wedged between a huge man with wide, muscly shoulders and a noisy toddler with a plastic dinosaur which roared.
As the plane taxied down the runway, Lesley leaned into the aisle and tried to catch Fran’s eye.
‘FRAN!’ she hissed.
Fran didn’t hear – or pretended not to.
‘FRAN!’ Lesley tried again, louder.
The toddler began wailing while the muscly man put in his earbuds and shut Lesley out completely.
Cleo felt a little sorry for Lesley, but also found herself thinking this was what happened when you spent your whole life complaining, being rude to people and belittling your sister. Eventually, no one wanted to be near you.
When the plane finally landed at Heathrow, Fran stood, stretched and thanked the crew. Lesley, by contrast, wrestled noisily with her carry-on bag in the overhead locker and dropped a jar of Cretan olives on the muscly man’s head.
He winced. She didn’t apologise.
Cleo, Tash and Maya stuck with each other on their way to the arrivals hall. Fran was just ahead and about halfway there, she suddenly stopped dead and turned to face Lesley who, for once, was trailing behind her.
‘Lesley,’ she said gently. ‘Thank you for being my sister and for looking after me when I was little, but I don’t think our relationship has ever been very equal. I need space – and a new start.’
Lesley froze. She was speechless.
‘I hope you’ll be all right,’ Fran went on. ‘I genuinely do. But I can’t be your skivvy any more.’
Cleo watched as Fran took a breath and straightened her shoulders, while Lesley opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.
‘You’re making a mistake,’ she said at last, in a small, tight voice.
Fran shook her head. ‘No, I think I’m finally doing something right.’
She turned to Cleo, Tash and Maya with a big smile and blew them kisses.
‘Keep in touch!’ she cried, before hurrying away. Soon, she was swallowed up by the crowd and vanished from view.
Lesley remained where she was for a few moments, looking lost, with her heavy backpack still on the ground at her feet where she’d placed it.
At last, she bent down, as if she were about to pick it up, but changed her mind and gave it a hard kick instead.
She was one of those people, Cleo thought, who tried to arrange the universe to their liking, but the universe, like Fran, had moved on.
Well, she’d got her comeuppance. And a rather fitting one, too.