Greece, the Nineties
Artemis listened to her son’s shallow breathing as the plane took off at Heathrow, pushing up into a glistening summer sky. David’s head was pressed reassuringly against her arm, one of his hands resting on her lap, the other clutching the same red Power Ranger he had been given a year earlier, his love for it yet to be eclipsed by another toy.
Clive had already been gone for a few days, on a working trip to Moscow, and was due to meet them on the island a week or so later. Something had been going on with his work over the previous months so that when he was home, Clive was largely holed up in his study, the door closed against the outside world. When Artemis thought of the house now, the paintings of her previous life hanging like remnants of another world, goading her every time she passed, she felt a shiver.
She breathed deeply, a wave of freedom rushing over her. She didn’t have to think about the house, not now; she was on her way home.
Artemis ran a hand through David’s hair as he leaned against her shoulder on the Dolphin boat from Skiathos to the island, watching the sun dance on the surface of the water.
Markos and Rena met them at the port, armed with freshly baked snacks. David guzzled hungrily, flaky pastry clinging to his lips as they made their way from the jetty to her parents’ front door. Rena held David’s hand, merrily chatting away to her grandson in Greek, so happy to have him there that she was oblivious to his almost total incomprehension. Artemis had tried talking to him in her mother tongue at home, but over the years it had become increasingly difficult, David looking embarrassed in front of his friends if they were in public, or claiming to be too tired to think in another language when he got home after a long day at school. When he was there, Clive discouraged it, too, as though wary of any form of secret code between them. For someone with little interest in the day-to-day business of parenting, he could be remarkably possessive.
They stayed at her parents’ that first night. There was no need to head up to the house in the old village just yet. Artemis slept well, thanks to the extra pill she had taken just in case, she and David side-by-side in her old bed. There was no point risking a return of the nightmares now that she was back in her childhood home.
‘You look exhausted,’ Rena said the following morning, handing Artemis a coffee. She breathed in the aroma gratefully. Coffee in London was awful, so thin and insipid.
‘Do I?’
‘I bet you haven’t had a proper cup in months,’ Rena said, echoing her thoughts, taking a seat opposite her daughter at the kitchen table while David entertained Markos with the new Mario Kart game Clarissa had given him for his birthday.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Artemis said defensively. ‘We have coffee in London. There are plenty of quite charming cafés on the high street just next to us, as you would know if you ever visited.’
Rena snorted. ‘London? You have to be joking. Anyway, it’s nice for David to come here, to see his grandparents in his mother’s home.’
Artemis smiled, taking a sip. She couldn’t stay angry with Rena for long. Besides, she was right, she was never coming to London and Artemis was relieved. This way, she could paint a picture of her life to show her parents from a distance, without risking her seeing the cracks that were impossible to miss up close.
‘How’s Athena?’ Artemis asked, changing the subject, taking a sip of coffee and closing her eyes, savouring the taste.
‘You haven’t spoken to her?’
‘Not for a few weeks.’ Actually, when she thought of it, it had been well over a month. They always had their ups and downs, made worse since Clive told Artemis that he and Athena had been talking about her behind her back. But Athena always called on David’s birthday and this year there had been no word.
‘Panos has left,’ Rena replied.
‘What?’ Artemis felt like she had been punched. Her best friend’s husband had walked out on her and she’d had no idea. ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’
‘I thought you knew.’
Artemis stood. ‘Can I leave David with you for an hour or so?’
‘Of course,’ Rena said. ‘You know we love to have him here as often as we possibly can.’
The house Athena and Panos had moved into not long after she became pregnant with Maria stood at the top of the mountain, on the cusp of the old village, just before the cliff gave way to the water.
Through the kitchen window, she could see Athena standing at the sink. It was clearly her, but Artemis thought how different she looked, frail in a way that was impossible to pinpoint.
Artemis knocked on the door and waited a moment. She heard running footsteps and then the door opened wide, Maria’s face falling as she saw who was there.
‘What did I tell you, Maria? It won’t be your father, he’s not coming ba—’
Athena’s voice was moving towards the door.
She stopped when she saw Artemis, the dishcloth she had been using to dry a pot falling from her hands.
* * *
‘Now, what is your favourite food to eat, if you could eat anything in the world?’ Artemis asked, swinging Maria’s arm gently as they moved down the hill later that day. Maria thought for a while, her little face concentrating hard on the question. At six, she had grown even more like her father, albeit a far prettier version. She had the same dark, intense features, the same look of concentration.
‘Chicken,’ she said after a while.
‘Chicken?’ Artemis sounded impressed. ‘I love chicken, too, and so does David. He’s going to be so happy to see you.’
‘Where are we going? We shouldn’t leave Mummy when she’s sad,’ Maria said, her voice growing small.
Artemis stopped and crouched down so that she and Maria were on eye level. ‘You’re going to stay with us for a few nights, while Mama sorts a few things out and has a little rest. Does that sound OK?’
Maria nodded reluctantly.
‘Good.’ Artemis squeezed her hand. ‘David and I are going to take very good care of you. You’re like family to us. You know that, don’t you?’
Artemis heard the diggers as she stepped out of the taxi, holding the door open for David and Maria to follow her onto the side of the road next to the house. Her hands gripped theirs more tightly as they walked up the dirt path towards the olive grove where earth came up in clouds of dust, like smoke.
‘What are you doing?’ she called out to the men, who turned nonchalantly from their tools, the metal claws chewing up the foundations of the land.
‘Who are you?’ the nearest replied, taking a step towards them.
Artemis felt David pull at her arm. ‘Mama, it’s OK.’
She ignored him, continuing to address the builder. ‘This is my house.’
‘Then you’ll have to speak to your husband, the Englishman,’ he shrugged, turning away.
Artemis’ fingers trembled as she hurried through the front door, moving to the house phone and dialling Clive’s mobile number. She had no idea what time it would be in Moscow and she didn’t care.
‘Clive, there are men digging up the garden,’ she shouted down the line when he answered.
‘Oh yes,’ he said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
Now she remembered, Moscow was only one hour ahead of Greece. And yet already Clive sounded drunk. Listening harder, she heard the clatter of cutlery in the background. She wouldn’t ask him where he was – she didn’t care where, or who he was with.
‘Why are they here?’ She tried not to sound agitated in front of the children.
‘They’re building a pool.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘A pool. You know, those things you swim in?’
She heard him put a hand over the phone, saying something to whoever he was with.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘It was supposed to be a surprise.’ He moved his hand away so that his voice became clearer. ‘David and I thought—’
‘David knew?’ She turned to look at her son. Since when did David and Clive have secrets? Irrationally, she flinched at the thought of the two of them conspiring against her. Yet it was hardly a conspiracy. Clive said it himself – it was supposed to be something nice. A surprise. Artemis had a sudden image of Clive and May in the kitchen.
When she pictured it, in hindsight, the image mutated so that at one minute it was a passionate embrace, the next a form of combat. Her throat constricted as she recalled the intimacy of what she had seen – her husband and his best friend’s wife turned in on one another in her kitchen surrounded by her son’s birthday balloons.
Blinking, the image of Jorgos formed in its place, his face towering over her as he held open the door of her wedding car.
How many more surprises would there be?