The Butterfly Storm (8 page)

I shrug. ‘I just wanted a bit of time to myself.’

He takes hold of my hand and motions at the pale mark on my finger. ‘Losing the ring. Is that what
really happened?’

I pull my hand away from his. ‘Despina will need me in the kitchen.’ I down the rest of my
chipero
,
put the glass on the brick shelf next to the spit and walk towards the restaurant.

The music quickens. A cry goes up from the terrace as a local
Pontiako
song fills the air. Alekos is
in the middle of the group showing Yannis the steps to the dance. I creep between them and the patio
table – filled with bowls of Greek salad,
tzatziki
and mincemeat-stuffed cabbage leaves – to the
restaurant. I poke my head round the kitchen door. Despina, sparkling in a jewelled pink top over black
trousers, pulls a dish of
kokoretsi
from the oven. The stomach-churning smell of liver-filled intestines
sticks in my throat. I wrinkle my nose at the delicacy.

‘Ah, Sophie, there you are!’ Despina’s smile is fuchsia pink, her face immaculately made up. She
places the
kokoretsi
on the side to be carved and hands me two bowls of mussels steaming in tomato
and feta. ‘I find you, Alekos disappears.’

‘He’s teaching Yannis to dance.’

Her pink lips tense. ‘There’s food to take out, wine to open.’ She unsheathes a gleaming knife. It
slices through the
kokoretsi
effortlessly. ‘The lamb?’

I hover in the doorway with the bowls. ‘Ready.’

She nods and waves me away. ‘Go, go. Tell Alekos, wine!’

Emerging from the warmth of the kitchen I feel the refreshing lick of cooler air. I’m longing for the
hot summer nights to give way to autumn. There seems such finality when the leaves begin to curl and
crisp, their vivid green fading to the colour of worn leather. The last holidaymakers of the season will
clutch at the waning sunshine, spending every waking moment prostrate on a beach before the warm
sea is cooled by rain.

The terrace is filled with family and friends dancing in a circle. I can just make out Yannis’ curly
hair amongst a forest of tanned legs. I place the bowls of mussels next to the salads and pop an olive in
my mouth. Its saltiness makes my cheeks clench.

Fingers pinch my waist. ‘I saw that,’ Alekos says.

I spit the olive stone on to the dusty soil. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You’ve been drinking too much.’

‘What’s that got to do with me being hungry?’ I look at him. His cream T-shirt glows
against his deep tan. His fingers play with the experimental beard he’s growing. ‘You should
shave.’

‘You don’t like it?’

‘Do you?’

He shrugs. ‘Mama doesn’t like it.’

‘Then keep it.’

He breathes in sharply. ‘I was showing Yannis a
Pontiako
dance.’

‘I saw.’

‘You should have joined us.’

‘I’m not feeling too sociable.’

‘I noticed.’

‘Anyway, your mother wants our help,’ I say and begin to walk away. ‘You teaching Yannis to dance
is, in your mother’s opinion, you disappearing.’

I walk back into the heat of the kitchen, Alekos follows. Bread is piled in a wicker basket and
kokoretsi
layered on a large plate. Despina reapplies lipstick, squinting at her reflection in a silver
platter that leans against the wall.

‘Aleko, I need the wine open,’ she says without even looking at him. She smoothes down her already
straight hair and switches the oven off.

‘I forgot to say earlier, we’re fully booked tomorrow night,’ Alekos says. He starts to open the first
bottle on the worktop.

Despina smacks her lips together and turns to me with a smile. ‘We must make
baklava
in the
morning, Sophie.’

I nod, pick up the bread and a tray of hot feta in earthenware pots and retreat outside.

Takis keeps topping up my glass with
chipero
. And I’ve mixed drinks: the aniseed kick of
chipero
with sweet red wine. Sixteen of us squeeze round two tables joined together on the patio. Spoons dip in
and out of salads; forks stab roasted red peppers and juicy chunks of pork
souvlaki
. The lamb is carried
over from the coals, de-skewered and placed on a massive plate in front of Despina to be carved. The
meat falls off the bone in great chunks and is passed along the table. Its rich meaty scent disperses into
the night air.

Our voices are carried into the starless sky. Sandwiched between Spiros and little Yannis I’m hot,
my belly full of too much drink and not enough food. Despina, at the head of the table, stands and
raises her glass. We all follow. Yannis grabs hold of my hand and Lena’s and we pull him to his feet. His
sticky fingers curl into my palm.

‘I want to thank all of you for a wonderful day,’ Despina says, looking around the table at each of
us. Yannis fidgets next to me. ‘It’s lovely to see all my friends and family together, celebrating
with me.
Yamas
!’ Everyone leans in and clinks glasses. ‘To health, happiness and more
grandchildren!’

Alekos leans across the table and catches my eye. He has a sleepy smile plastered across his
face. Wine sloshes in our glasses when we knock them together. ‘
Yamas
,’ Alekos says to
me.

In the distance the sky growls. Despina gazes up to where clouds blanket the stars. ‘The sound
of the end of summer,’ she says. The flames from the torches make the jewels on her top
sparkle, and she smiles as she looks over at Takis quietly sipping his wine. ‘Everyone eat,
eat!’

Thunder rumbles closer and then cold droplets of rain splash into drinks and the remains of food.
The effect is immediate; a stampede towards the warmth of the restaurant, everyone under orders from
Despina to grab a bowl of food on their way.

I head in the opposite direction and duck beneath the umbrella of grapes. I don’t want to go into
the heat and brightness inside; I don’t want to be bullied into being sociable by Alekos. Outside, rain
pummels the ground like a fist against a punch bag. The restaurant is an oasis, a pinprick of light
within a shroud of black. Only occasional headlights break the darkness, flashing by on the road that
passes in front.

I lean on the rough stone of the arched wall and peer into the night. Fat drops of rain splash on to
my hands but the rest of me stays dry beneath the vine. After each rumble of thunder I
count… one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… and wide-eyed I watch the darkness flicker to life.
Jagged silver light splits the horizon open, a strobe-like flash backlighting the outline of
Olympus.

I don’t hear Alekos shout for me. Mesmerised by the electric storm I’m unaware anything has
happened until Alekos grasps my shoulders.

‘What are you doing out here?’ His voice is strained. ‘I’ve been calling you.’ His black hair glistens
with water; droplets cling to dark eyelashes. The rain has soaked his T-shirt and splattered his
jeans.

‘Sorry, I didn’t hear you,’ I say. I wipe rain off the bridge of his nose. ‘It’s too stuffy inside... the
storm’s incredible. What’s up?’

‘You’ve got a phone call from England,’ he says.

‘From who?’

‘I’m not sure but it’s about your mother.’

I turn my back on the Gods of Olympus for the second time that day and follow Alekos inside. A
rush of hot air, cigarette smoke and laughter greets us. I catch sight of my hair in the glass panel of the
door: it looks like dark-red fronds of seaweed plastered to my neck. I leave a trail of water across the
marbled floor. The middle dining tables are laid out with the leftover food and music blasts
from the speakers on the wall. Everyone claps Christos and Takis who are energetically
dancing.

I retreat into the darkness of the kitchen. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, is that Sophie Keech?’ It’s a woman’s voice.

‘Yes.’

‘My name’s Lorraine, I’m a staff nurse at Norwich University Hospital. We’ve got your Mum
here.’

‘In hospital?’

‘I’m afraid so,’ she pauses. ‘Is there someone with you, Sophie?’

‘Yes.’ I look over at Alekos in the doorway. He mouths something. I wave him away and look at the
floor.

‘I’m afraid your Mum was admitted after a motorbike accident earlier today. She’s been taken good
care of and is now in a stable condition but she has suffered serious injuries.’

‘She doesn’t have a motorbike.’

A flash of lightning lights the kitchen with an electric blue glow.

The woman pauses. ‘It was her partner’s bike.’

The plum-coloured varnish on my toenails is flaking off.

I didn’t know Mum had a new boyfriend. ‘But she’s okay? She’s going to be okay?’

‘She’s stable, but she’s got a broken leg, is suffering with bruised ribs, concussion and has had
stitches to a cut on her right arm.’

Thunder rumbles overhead.

There’s a pause in the music. Despina shouts something to Takis.

‘Does your Mum live alone?’ the nurse asks.

‘Yes.’ Music starts up again, faster and louder.

‘Any relatives or friends close by?’

‘Only her parents in Sheffield, but they don’t get on. I wouldn’t know about any friends. She’s
moved since I lived with her.’

‘She’ll be in hospital for a few days but she’s going to need looking after once she’s discharged. Will
you be able to make arrangements?’

‘Yes. Yes of course.’

I scribble the hospital’s phone number and Mum’s ward on a notebook tucked next to the menus. I
say goodbye and put the phone down. The rhythmic drum of rain on the kitchen windows is nearly
drowned by the noise from the restaurant. Alekos walks over.

‘I have to go to England,’ I say, gazing at the piece of paper in my hands.

‘Why?’

‘Mum’s been in an accident.’

He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it again. He pulls me close and wraps his arms
around me. He smells of wood smoke. ‘Is she okay?’

‘I think so... I don’t know.’

‘Come upstairs.’

His hand is hot in mine. We climb the stairs and head for our bedroom. Alekos switches on the
bedside lamp and I sit on the wicker chair next to the balcony window. He faces me with his arms
folded, legs tense, rooted to the spot.

‘Sit down, for God’s sake,’ I say. He does, on the white sheet folded on our bed. Our whole room is
white walls and white furnishings. My hair is the most colourful thing in the room. Despina likes
everything fresh and clean.

‘You’re seriously going to go?’ Alekos asks.

‘The nurse said she needs looking after.’

Perched on the end of our bed he leans towards me. ‘You haven’t seen her in over four
years.’

‘I know.’

‘Will she even want you there?’ Our knees almost touch.

‘She doesn’t have much choice, Aleko.’ I don’t care. It’s been three weeks since we returned home
from Santorini and already I want to escape again even if it means facing Mum. Our room lights up
with another flash of lightning. My hand finds his. ‘Come with me, Aleko.’

His silence is all too familiar and the way his eyes shift away from mine so predictable. I know the
answer before he says a word.

‘You know I can’t,’ he says. ‘Mama will need me here.’

‘And I don’t need you? Have you forgotten everything I said on Santorini?’ I pull away from him
and slump back into the wicker chair and hug my knees to my chest. My head is blurred with wine and
ouzo. Behind the rhythmic drum of rain on the window, the music from the party continues in the
restaurant below. Alekos wipes sweat from his forehead and rolls his T-shirt sleeves to his
shoulders revealing tense muscles. He still looks like the man I first met but he behaves
like an obedient mummy’s boy. ‘I’m sorry Aleko, it’s just I could do with your support.
I haven’t seen her in a long time. We’ve had our troubles but she’s the only family I’ve
got.’

‘I’m your family, Sophie.’

‘Then get on the plane with me tomorrow.’

His fingers reach for his cross and he pulls it from side to side on its chain.

‘Do you realise how difficult it was to get Mama to allow us four days off to go to Santorini? You
know I would go with you if I could. But she won’t be able to cope with us both gone.’

‘For fuck’s sake, Aleko, stand up to her for once. You haven’t even been able to tell your
parents the real reason why I’m not wearing my engagement ring. Stop making excuses for
everything.’

He jumps up. ‘They’re not excuses. I respect my mother…’

‘Unlike me? Is that what you were going to say? I’d respect both our mothers if I knew mine
respected me to begin with, or if yours understood that you… that we need some space. Can you not
make a decision without having to think “but what will Mama say”?’ I scramble to my feet, turn my
back on him and watch the rain splatter the window and streak down the glass. ‘More time away from
here would do us good. Time together.’

‘I thought you were going to England to help your Mum, not another holiday for us?’

I turn and face him. ‘You’re not listening. I’m talking about going for a couple of weeks to help
out.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He takes my hands in his and rests his forehead against mine. He smells of aniseed and
wood smoke. His cross lies against his skin in the dip of his throat. His familiarity is reassuring. I knew
the moment I met him that he was everything I’d ever wanted, yet his predictability and unwillingness
to move on is wearing me down. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want the situation here to force
us apart. I want to kiss him. I want him to hold me close and tell me he’ll be there for
me.

‘I’m scared, Aleko.’ I squeeze his hands.

‘Don’t be. Your Mum’s going to be all right.’

‘I’m not talking about Mum.’ He pulls far enough away from me so I can see his frown. ‘I’m scared
about what’s happening to us.’

‘There’s nothing to be scared about.’ A smile forms on his lips and I know he doesn’t understand
me.

Footsteps falter outside our bedroom and then someone knocks. The door scrapes open. Alekos
releases my hands and I look over his shoulder and see Despina standing in the doorway, her
pink-jewelled top glinting in the light from the hallway. Her cheeks are flushed and match her lipstick.
She holds two glasses of wine up. ‘Aleko, Sophie!
Taga, taga
! I’m about to cut my cake.
Everyone was asking after you.’ She bustles into the room. ‘I said you were probably making
babies.’