Xan at the head of the table and his wife and mother on either side of him. They had a dish of olives with bread and oil, and then the squid. Xan had been playing cards in the taverna and watching a football game on the television that hung over the bar, and he had come home hungry. Meroula ate a substantial plateful too, but with an expression of forbearance. She looked at Xan’s plate every minute or two, to check that he had enough. The room was quiet except for the clink of cutlery. If Meroula had not been there, Xan and Olivia would have chatted and maybe even drunk some wine. These empty, out-of-season evenings when the children were asleep were among the best of their times on Halemni.
Olivia contented herself with looking around the room as she ate.
There were candles burning on one of the stone shelves and a row of books on another. There were logs stacked in a basket next to the stone hearth, but the fire was unlit – this luxury was reserved for the coldest evenings, or for the times when the island’s power supply failed. Two comfortable old armchairs sat on either side of the fire, with cupboards for the boys’ toys and games beside them. There was a bread oven at the side of the fireplace, but Olivia baked in the new gas oven that occupied the far end of the room together with all the cupboards and equipment for cooking for a dozen guests at a time. The big oak table filled the centre of the space, and windows on one side looked from the front of the house to the square and the sea in the distance. On the opposite side a row of doors opened on to the shaded terrace and the slope of hillside behind the village. In summer this was where life was lived.
Xan had built almost everything and laid the limestone flags of the floor. The doors of all the cupboards were painted with squares and diamonds and lozenges of brilliant colour, turquoise and saffron and tangerine and crimson – this was Christopher’s work – and every spare piece of wall was covered with pictures by guests, the boys and Christopher, and with Olivia’s photographs. There was no television, but there was a CD player and a radio. It had taken a long time to create it all on limited resources but it was a warm and comfortable place now, lit with the candles and low lamps.
‘Have you had enough to eat, Mother? Xan?’
‘Give him that last spoonful.’
Xan pushed over his plate.
‘There’s some fruit. We’ve got figs,’ Olivia suggested.
Meroula shook her head. ‘No fruit. Thank you.’
‘I will make some coffee when I’ve finished,’ Xan said with his mouth full.
‘Let me do it for you,’ Meroula responded.
Olivia let her. She was remembering what it had been like when she first came to Halemni. She had known Xan for only a few weeks, the time that it had taken for them to make their way slowly back to Europe and to know that they wanted to stay together. The last stage of the journey had been on a ferry out of Rhodes harbour. The hot, smoky bar and passenger lounge seemed to be full of weather-beaten men who knew Xan, and greeted him with full-on embraces and streams of questions. But after a brief talk with each of them during which he introduced Olivia as my girl, Xan preferred to stand the whole way, four hours of sailing, on the upper deck. Olivia leaned on the rail beside him, watching the curl of foam from the ship’s bows and the cliffs and rocky uplands of the other islands, her hand tucked under his arm and the thought in her mind that she was giving up everything she had known in her life so far to follow Xan Georgiadis back home.
The idea created a hollow and pleasurable sense of the irrevocable in the pit of her stomach. The travelling was over. Whatever this place waiting over the horizon turned out be like, it was where she would stay because it was where Xan belonged.
‘There it is.’
She followed the line of his pointing finger. A blue-grey smudge on the November horizon of the Aegean.
Forty minutes later the ferry made a complicated reverse manoeuvre in the bay of Halemni and brought the ship’s stern up against a stone jetty. Olivia stood beside Xan in the ship’s bowels as the massive steel door was lowered to reveal a widening rectangle of scenery. A rim of frosty blue sky. Rocky hillsides, brown and grey, and the whitewashed houses in a semicircle above the harbour. A narrow strip of shingle beach fringed with tamarisk trees and an expanse of pale-grey sea. It took a closer scrutiny for Olivia to notice the ruins of a castle on the highest rock cliff, and a more geometric composition of rock and stone clinging to the slopes beneath it. There were windows that looked like dark eyes.
‘The castle of Agrosikia, built by the Knights of St John, and Arhea Chorio, the old village,’ Xan said.
The steel door clanged into the horizontal against the jetty, and sailors and harbour men made the massive ropes fast. The little knot of people Xan and Olivia had been waiting with moved forward in a sudden surge and a couple of trucks nudged out of the hold.
‘There they are,’ Xan said. ‘My parents.’
Olivia saw them. A stout woman with a square body and a square face under a wedge of iron-grey hair, and a much smaller, thin and colourless man with a cigarette cupped in his fingers. With all her belongings in one pack on her back, she followed Xan off the ship and into her life on Halemni.
When Xan introduced Olivia, Meroula’s eyes travelled from her dusty boots to the top of her head. She was almost a foot shorter than Olivia, even when she drew herself up to her full height as she did now. The only son had come home at last, but instead of choosing to marry a Greek girl he had brought this outlandish creature with him. Nikos Georgiadis’s friendly handshake hardly compensated for the chilliness of Meroula’s greeting.
For the first weeks they lived with Meroula and Nikos, sleeping in the bedroom next to the parents’ and eating every meal with them. Olivia learned quickly, putting Greek words and then sentences together, and always deferring to Meroula in everything. To her initial surprise even this didn’t win Xan’s mother’s approval, but then she realised that nothing she did ever would win it because Meroula was her outright rival for Xan’s love and attention. Xan himself ducked out of the conflict.
He spent his days fishing with his boyhood friends or working, when the weather allowed it, on the new buildings for summer tourists that were inching their way upwards on the margins of Megalo Chorio. To keep out of Meroula’s way, Olivia spent her days exploring the island. In time she came to know every piece of it, from the sandy bays on the southern side to the wild rocks and remote inlets on the north and eastern flanks. It was ten miles from west to east and, at the narrowest point, a mile and a half from north to south. She walked and climbed, and sat on rocks and simply looked, and fell in love for the second time.
The weather changed with snapshot speed, from still clear days to wild storms followed by insistent rain, and then changed back again. The sea could take on every colour from almost black to pearl to turquoise, and the bare hillsides darkened with rain and then softened again under the afternoon sun.
Meroula said, ‘You will have to marry, Alexander. You cannot go on living in my house like man and wife without the blessing of the church.’
Xan laughed. ‘We will marry when we are ready, Mother. If you don’t want Olivia and me to live together here I’ll clear out and move in with Stefanos. Would you rather that?’
‘You cannot live anywhere on Halemni but with your own mother and father.’
‘Well, there is your answer.’ Xan winked at Olivia, Meroula gave her a black look.
Christmas came and went. January brought the first of the wild flowers in sheltered places. Olivia discovered
