Mel took her break with half of the book group in the taverna, sipping hot chocolate, as Chloë recounted what she had witnessed two days ago on the hillside.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Mel said. ‘No wonder I’ve not seen them passing by. And in those caves, for goodness’ sake. We have to do something. Sammia’s baby is due soon and she can’t deliver it there. I did try to get her to see Dr Makaris, but it’s not their custom to have a male in attendance. What if there’s a problem? It’s her first baby and they can be tricky.’ She was thinking of how Markos had had to be sucked out of her in the end.
‘We have to find rooms, make someone open up their holiday let,’ said Della sipping deep into her mug of chocolate.
‘But they cost. Youssef and Amir live from hand to mouth without regular work. It’ll be hard for them,’ offered Natalie.
‘Then we must make sure the tenancy is met by us all chipping in, crowd-funding, if you like.’ Della had a chocolate moustache but apparently no one had noticed it.
Natalie nodded in agreement. ‘No room at the inn.’ She sighed. ‘It’s a bit of a coincidence being so close to Christmas.’
Mel smiled. ‘They’re proud people. I’m not sure they would accept our charity.’
‘Then we must make it into some sort of trust fund: homes for the homeless, Greeks and refugees alike. Whoever needs a roof over their head could apply for support. Make it an official charitable trust.’
‘Perhaps we could buy a property. There are so many on the market, all over the island,’ Chloë chipped in.
‘But that will take time and would be a bit of a stretch for us,’ Della said. ‘Better to rent first and see how it goes. I’m sure Father Dennis and the doctor would help. And not just expats, but the whole community.’
‘Times are hard for them too, though,’ Mel said, imagining how Irini might react to this suggestion.
‘All the more reason to include those on the breadline here. At least they have land to live off and big families to support them, but Sammia and Maryam have nothing.’ Chloë wasn’t going to let them off the hook.
‘Then we must make sure our carol concert raises funds,’ Mel said. ‘We can call it the Christmas Choir Appeal, starting with all the villa owners in the other villages. We’ll invite them in person to join in this worthy cause, rattle the tins in their faces.’
‘You’re right. Between us all, surely we can find an out-of-season rental.’ Chloë said, and everybody nodded. ‘The Christmas market raised enough to get things started. The pity is we keep drawing from the same old well.’
‘Then we can go online, start a Just Giving appeal, make a Christmas video and stir up some sympathy. I think Gary Partridge might help us. Someone told me he worked in IT before they won the lottery.’
‘I bet his wife won’t help,’ Mel said.
‘You don’t know that until you ask,’ said Della. ‘She comes to my Pilates class. I’m sure we could rope her in, as it’s such a good cause.’
‘Oughtn’t we tell Youssef and Amir what we’re doing? They must be involved too. If they see the wider project, it won’t feel so much like charity to them,’ Mel said.
‘Good idea, but how do we let them know their secret is out? Should we visit them?’ Natalie asked.
‘No, we wait until we have something to offer,’ Chloë argued. ‘Do I take it we have a committee?’ Everybody nodded. ‘Right then. Mel will ask around, as she knows local families. I’ll find out who’s dealing with properties, either for sale or to rent, and see if some can be had cheaply. Della can see the Partridges for IT ideas and promotions, and Natalie can visit around the area to get others on board.’
‘Who will speak to the Begans?’ Della asked.
‘I will,’ Mel replied. ‘Sammia still comes here to help. I’ll ask them in for a meal together. I’ll insist it’s not our custom to celebrate our religious festival knowing others are sheltering in such conditions. They have to know we mean well and that this charity will be for everyone, not just them.’
Later, when they were preparing the evening meal, Mel disclosed their ideas to Irini, who was chopping potatoes. She looked up, interested. ‘So the caves come to the rescue again.’
Mel thought she’d got the wrong end of the stick. ‘No, we want to find them a safer place.’
‘There is no safer place than those caves. In the war they were a hiding place, or so my mama told me. When the Stuka bombers came over the island, strafing houses and people alike, everyone fled to the caves and sheltered there. It was a terrible time. The island was occupied and the troops took all the olive oil, the fruit and the animals for their own use. Little did they know that our uncles hid great amphoras of oil, deep in the caves, where it was cool, along with some chickens and goats, but they were hard times. Look at the war memorial. See how many young men were lost on the mainland, in Crete and here, for the Resistance. They fled high into the mountains hiding in mitato, the shepherds’ huts.
‘I had no idea,’ Mel said.
‘No, the young forget what a sacrifice it was to stay alive in those awful years and then afterwards, when men fought each other over politics, popopo. That was even worse. War tears us apart from family and homeland. Now it happens all over again.’ Irini wiped a tear on her sleeve. ‘You do right to find a home for the homeless. We Greeks have always prided ourselves on xenophilos, the friendship given to strangers, but when things get tight, it can be forgotten. I will ask around my friends to see what rooms might be opened up. Our Lord was born in a stable, after all, but it shouldn’t happen in this day and age.’
‘Thank you. We must do what is right to help others.’
‘And your heart is warm, Melodia. That is good.’ Irini patted her hand, as Mel felt tears of gratitude spring to her eyes. A compliment from Irini Papadaki was a compliment indeed.