Greece, the Nineties
Jorgos’ words chased Artemis as she ran across the scrubland towards Athena’s house, rain lashing against her legs.
Aside from a bolt of lightning, the island was pitch-black and Artemis felt rather than saw her way, falling against the door as she reached it, banging with her fists as if her life depended on it. In that moment, she believed it did.
Athena’s face dropped when she saw her. ‘What the—’
Artemis pushed her way into the house, oblivious to Maria hovering in the doorway of the kitchen.
‘He’s going to kill me – Athena, you have to believe me …’
Artemis’ fists clenched convulsively, the image of Jorgos’ face up in hers. You need to be very careful. If you speak to anyone – and I mean anyone – I will kill you, and then I will kill your son.
She was desperate for Athena to comfort her, to tell her it would be all right. But Athena said nothing, simply staring silently back at her oldest friend as if she didn’t know her at all.
‘You have to believe me, Athena, I know too much! I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me. The way he talks about me as if I’m mad …’
She pictured Jorgos waiting for her on the way home from school, he and another boy throwing stones at her. Hissing at her. Treló korítsi. Crazy girl.
‘Please just promise me that if anything happens to me you will remember what I told you.’
The sound of a branch cracking on a tree outside caused the women to turn and spot Maria in the doorway, a toy rabbit hanging limply by her side.
Athena took a step towards her friend, reaching out a hand. ‘Artemis …’
But Artemis stepped back, away from the disbelieving gaze.
She turned as she spoke, more quietly now. ‘If you don’t believe me, what hope do I have?’
The house was still empty when she returned. The storm had begun to run out of breath, moonlight spilling through the window on the landing above as Artemis moved back up the stairs without removing her wet clothes.
When she blinked, she could see the house just as it was the day she first came here, the bed in the corner, neatly made, the copy of the business book Clive was reading placed on the pillow. She felt Clive’s eyes on her, then; the way she felt under the intensity of his gaze, the power he held over her even then; the power she felt in the reflected glory of what he seemed to see in her.
She felt herself sit, drawing the bedsheet up to her chest, her fingers clutching the cotton so that it was ruched in front of her, a ghost not yet unfurled.
Her fingers worked their way along the hem of the sheet. Soon the material was taut between her hands, her wrists twisting in opposite directions so that she was now holding a rope. She felt a portentous energy glide over her as she held it against herself, noticing the malleability of the cotton as she touched it briefly to her neck, against the amethyst necklace Clive had given her, in another lifetime.
Briefly, she thought of her sister, how she must have felt that night, seconds before the house crumbled above her. And then her mind moved to David, his little face dappled in sun spots as he looked up at her, like a buttercup basking in the final glow of summer.
This time when she heard the knock, she didn’t move. She didn’t need to, the door was already open. She closed her eyes as Jorgos stepped inside, closing the door behind him.