I know it isn’t but I need to take my frustration out on someone and who else do I have to talk to. I
reach across the patio table and hold his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve just been thinking about how good it
would be to start again. Maybe go back to Cephalonia. Just have a break. Spend some time together.
Wouldn’t it be great to have our own restaurant?’
‘You were the one who happily moved over here. The only promise I made to you in the beginning
was wanting to be with you. And I still do.’ He stands up. He’s shivering. ‘I’m going inside. Nikos and
Demetrius are waiting to go to Katerini.’
I watch him trudge back across the patio. He leaves footprints in the snow. Yannis’ laughter rings in
my ears as he screeches in delight with the other children. On the few occasions it snowed when I was a
child, Mum would wrap us both up in hats, scarves and gloves and we’d go out into the
back garden and make the biggest snowman we could. We’d raid the vegetable box for a
carrot for the nose and we even had coal for the snowman’s eyes because of the open fire in
the living room. Mum used to be as excited as I was the moment the first flake of snow
fell, until the cursing began because the car wouldn’t start and the key snapped in the
lock.
‘Sophie! You’re going to make yourself ill!’ Despina calls across from the corner of the restaurant.
Despite the Christmas lights and glow coming from the kitchen, I can barely see her she’s wrapped up
that much. She has my coat folded neatly in her arms. ‘Come inside before you freeze to
death!’
It takes another eight months until we manage to both get a long weekend off from the restaurant but
we go to Santorini instead of Cephalonia. The view from our bedroom at
O Kipos
towards
Mount Olympus is difficult to beat but this spot on Santorini is something else. From our
apartment’s balcony I can see across the blue sea of the caldera to Oia and its cluster of
whitewashed buildings clinging to the end of the island. Blue ocean stretches to Crete and then
North Africa beyond. It’s so peaceful. No voices, no music, nothing to disturb the early
morning.
I go back into our holiday apartment. We have a kitchenette and seating area with white flowers
in a vase on the table. Beyond, through an arch is a four-poster bed shrouded in white
chiffon. Alekos is still asleep. I perch on the edge of the bed and stroke the back of his neck.
‘Breakfast is on the table outside,’ I say. He moans and buries his head further into the
pillow.
I’m up early because I want to walk the caldera path to Oia and it takes two hours and is best not
to be attempted in the midday sun.
‘There’s omelette, bread, fruit, coffee and
bougatsa
, your favourite.’
He rolls over. ‘We could just hire a car and drive,’ he says.
‘Where’s the fun in that? It’s a gorgeous morning. Come on, Aleko, think about lunch at the fish
restaurant.’
‘Five more minutes and I’ll get up.’
…
Even at eight in the morning I can feel the sun beating down on my shoulders. We leave the hotel
apartment, walk past the inviting infinity pool and set off along the stony path on the rim of the
caldera. Far below, a ferry sails across the deep blue water towards the port at Thira. Oia is a long way
off, nearly halfway round the island from our hotel. I trudge along the path feeling only the faintest
hint of a breeze.
‘You’ve got to admit, Aleko, that this is spectacular?’
‘I agree,’ he says, catching my hand in his. ‘I just resent getting up early when we’re on
holiday.’
‘It’ll be worth it.’ I swing our arms as we walk. ‘I feel so free here, spending time outside, instead of
being holed up in the restaurant every day. We work too much.’
‘But working hard is paying for this holiday and our wedding.’
The path follows an incline and we puff our way up as what breeze there was disappears. We round
a corner and reach the summit and suddenly the other side of the island is revealed. The island slopes
down to a flat expanse of patchworked fields and whitewashed buildings ending at the southern side of
the island with beaches and the sea. It’s a dramatic contrast to turn back to the caldera on our left and
the steep drop to the sea crashing against the black rocks below. We start down the winding path that
still clings to the edge of the caldera. Basking lizards scuttle from their sunbathing spots on rocks as we
walk past.
‘Do you remember the evening at the beach on Cephalonia when we cooked the octopus on the fire,’
Alekos says.
‘Do I remember? Are you crazy? Of course I do. It was the best night ever.’
‘I knew that night I wanted to spend my life with you.’
‘Me too.’ These last three days on Santorini have been what we both desperately needed for
months now, time away from
O Kipos
, work and Despina. ‘I’m not looking forward to leaving
tomorrow.’
With Alekos leading we walk on and concentrate on our footing when the path gets steep and rocky.
The soil changes from a rusty red colour to ash white and charcoal black and clings to our trainers.
We’ve been walking for over an hour and have lost sight of Oia but I can see across to where I think our
hotel is. The ferry we’d seen crossing the caldera earlier is in the port. The whitewashed
buildings of Thira are stacked one on top of each other spreading from the sea to the top of the
cliffs. We walk to the top of the next hill and reach a whitewashed church with a domed
roof and blue bell tower. We sit on a low wall next to the church and share a bottle of
water.
‘I’m not looking forward to going home tomorrow either,’ Alekos says.
‘You’re not?’ I look across the sparkling water to the rim of the volcano in the centre of the
caldera.
He shakes his head. ‘I’ve enjoyed seeing you happy these last few days and I know that’s going to
change as soon as we get home.’
‘Don’t make this all about me. It’s not just me who’s unhappy at home. These last couple of days
I’ve seen a glimpse of how you were on Cephalonia. You need to get back the optimism you
had, that we both had. Were you writing music last night when I was getting ready to go
out?’
‘It was nothing, just some ideas I had.’
‘Going home tomorrow is going to affect both of us.’ I take the suntan lotion out of my bag and
spray it on my arms and shoulders and rub it in. It’s so quiet here with just the sound of insects and
the gentle rush of the waves breaking against the rocks below. ‘I’m fed up pretending to your Mum and
Dad that everything’s okay. Aren’t you?’
‘I’m fed up trying to keep the peace between you and my mother.’
I bite my tongue. I wish he wouldn’t try and keep the peace. He’s like a faulty firework. I can see
the frustration building and building inside him but he never explodes. If only he would. ‘Come on let’s
get to Oia before it gets any hotter.’
…
The path leading into Oia overlooks pretty whitewashed houses, terraces and swimming pools
cut into the edge of the caldera. Houses built on top of houses – a stunning expanse of
brilliant white, with touches of deep blue, and pots filled with vivid pink and red flowers.
The narrow lanes are packed with tourists and lined with cafés, restaurants and souvenir
shops.
‘We should get something from here for Mama’s birthday,’ Alekos says, as we stop in front of a shop
selling Santorini wine. I shrug. ‘On the way back,’ he says.
We head away from the packed lanes, past the castle on the furthest tip of the island and make our
way down the steps to the harbour. Clinging to the rocks is a derelict house with a for sale sign stuck
on its broken door. I look at Alekos but he’s striding ahead to the harbour. Fishing boats bob in the
clearest and most stunning turquoise water I’ve ever seen. The fish restaurant we go to is run by Takis’
old school friend who greets us with a hug and kiss on both cheeks before returning to the red
hot coals he’s grilling fish over. We choose a table on the wooden jetty overlooking the
harbour and order. From where we’re sitting I can see shoals of tiny fish darting through the
water.
The waitress brings us a cold beer each quickly followed by grilled octopus and sardines, fried
mussels with lemon, aubergine salad and the local dish of fried Santorini tomatoes.
I take a sip of my cold beer and stick my fork into a fried mussel. ‘Did you see that house for sale on
the hillside?’
‘What, the one with broken windows and no roof?’
I nod. ‘Just think what could be done with it.’
‘With a fortune spent on it maybe.’
‘I’m only making conversation; I’m not suggesting we actually buy it.’ I savour the smokiness of
the aubergine salad and take a bite-sized piece of grilled octopus. ‘Anyway, it’s too small.
There’s nowhere for a restaurant plus we’d need rooms for artists to stay and plenty of space
outside.’
‘We’ve been talking about buying a one- or two-bedroom apartment near to
O Kipos
… The
wedding’s costing too much for us to be investing in any more than that.’
‘Then we should elope. Get married in Vegas, just the two of us. I’ve never wanted a big white
wedding with four hundred Greeks gawping at us, half of whom even you won’t know the names
of.’
Alekos puts his fork down on his plate and wipes his mouth with a napkin. ‘I thought you were
happy with the wedding plans.’
‘I want our wedding to be simple and intimate. I gave in to having our wedding in May instead of
December and I said yes to getting married in church because I know that means a lot to you, but your
mother is getting carried away with the reception afterwards. Just think what we could do with the
money we’d save if we kept the wedding small.’
‘You know Mama and Baba want to pay for the reception.’
‘And if they pay it means we have the kind of wedding your mother wants.’
He takes his wallet from the back pocket of his shorts and puts twenty-five euros on the table. ‘Let’s
go, shall we?’
We walk in the opposite direction to Oia and the harbour, along the wooden jetty until we
reach a dusty path curving around the base of the rock with the castle perched on top.
The water looks clear and cool, an inviting turquoise merging into dark blue where it gets
deeper.
‘I think we should have the church wedding with a small gathering of close family and friends at
O
Kipos
afterwards,’ I say. ‘And we should move out before our wedding.’
Alekos shoves his hands in his pockets and strides away from me around a rocky outcrop.
‘Why are you all so scared of upsetting her?’ I call after him.
He turns back to me. ‘And why are you so intent on fighting her all the time?’
‘Because I hate the way she uses you and that upsets me. Someone needs to stand up to
her.’
‘That’s enough. We’re staying at
O Kipos
until after our wedding. It’ll break Mama’s heart if we
leave now.’
‘What about breaking my heart?’
‘Sophie I’m not making this decision to hurt you, I’m just doing what I feel is best for all of
us.’
The sun’s heat is oppressive, burning my shoulders. ‘How are we going to make a marriage work if
we both want such different things?’ I try and twist my engagement ring but my finger is too hot and
swollen. I yank at it until it comes off. I hold it out in front of me and the diamond sparkles in the
sunlight. Alekos is open-mouthed; perhaps he thinks I’m going to chuck it into the sea. I grab his hand
and push the ring into his palm and close his fingers around it. ‘I can’t do this anymore, Aleko. So
maybe we should put our wedding plans on hold until we both figure out what we really
want.’
I’m at my spot by the fence. The whole of Alekos’ family and their friends are in the restaurant garden
behind me, talking, laughing, shouting, drinking, dancing and celebrating Despina’s 60th birthday. I’ve
just watched the sun disappear behind the dark outline of Mount Olympus. I can see the moon, pale
and uneven like a chunk of feta. Mum used to tell me it was made of cheese when I was little. And I
believed her.
‘Sophie,
ti kanis
?’ Alekos’ voice carries across the empty field. I turn and see his tall silhouette in
the arched entrance of the garden bar.
‘Watching the sunset,’ I call back.
He raises his hands. ‘We’ve got guests.’
‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
He shrugs his broad shoulders and disappears through the arch. I turn my back on the mountain of
the Gods, and head towards the flickering light. I walk through the arch and I’m lost in a
world of music and laughter, of patchwork stone and vibrant reds. Grapes shade the terrace
on the other side of the arch. In daylight their deep purple is misted with the breath of
dawn. Takis’ infamous homebrewed
chipero
is made from the skins, boiled and distilled
until a clear liquid remains, ready to be flavoured and bottled. I catch sight of him, with a
glass in his hand, by the glowing coals of the
psistaria
. A whole lamb turns on a motorised
spit. Liquid fat drips from the flesh and sizzles on the embers in tiny flames. After seven
hours of slow cooking the lamb overpowers the smell of wood smoke. I watched Takis and
Despina prepare the lamb in the morning and decided I’d be better off making the salads
after witnessing Despina ram a skewer in one end of the lamb and out again through its
mouth.
‘Sophia, Sophia, Sophia, beautiful Sophia,’ Takis says. He pours me a shot of
chipero
and taps his
glass against mine, ‘
Yamas
!’ He pokes the embers and the fat spits in retaliation. He turns to me. A
frown creases his leathery forehead. ‘Did Alekos find you?’
I nod and take a sip of
chipero
. Aniseed ignites my taste buds. ‘Does he want help with the
food?’
‘I think Despina was asking after you.’ Takis gestures towards the field. ‘You seem very thoughtful
tonight. Is everything okay?’