Us three, p.5
Us Three, page 5
‘You been inside yet?’ asked Judith, pointing to the ancient building.
Entering the cool stillness of the Agios Nikolaos chapel, the four of them marvelled at the delicate beauty of the icons on the wall. Catrin read aloud from her guidebook, adopting a slightly posh and eager-to-impress voice. She informed them that ‘this tiny chapel is built on very sacred ground, where Apollo once was worshipped.’ They all stood in respectful silence, the air heavy and pensive.
‘Hey Sol, we got a nightclub in Coed Celyn called the Apollo,’ said Lana, unintentionally ruining the moment. ‘Bloke got stabbed there last year. Danny Rhys. Borrowed a strimmer from Eryl the Smack and never gave it back.’
Catrin glared at her.
‘Oh yeah!’ said Judith, oblivious to Catrin’s awkwardness. ‘And it’s weird, ’cos you wouldn’t think Eryl the Smack would own a strimmer, y’know.’
Catrin was mortified by the impression her friends were creating. She looked at Sol. What must he be thinking?
‘I dunno, Jude,’ he said, straight-faced. ‘Just ’cos someone’s a heroin addict doesn’t mean they’re a bad gardener.’ There was a pause, then he smiled. Lana and Judith burst out laughing, unexpectedly warming to him. And Catrin felt her skin tingle.
As they set off on the rest of the hike, Sol and Catrin naturally put distance between themselves and Lana and Judith, who were not the fastest of movers. But Catrin was glad. Because all she wanted to do was walk with Sol along the gorge, talk to him, stumble on another rock so she had an excuse to lean on him, and talk to him some more.
When they reached the abandoned village of Samaria, they walked around its ruins and stroked the curious Kri-kri goats who’d made the place their home. There were benches and shade there, so Catrin chose a seat and took out her packed lunch. ‘You not hungry?’ she said to Sol, who sat, hands in his empty lap.
‘Absolutely starving,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t have time to buy anything.’
She smiled, and placed her share of the picnic feast between them. ‘Dive in,’ she said, and he began devouring the Greek bread before she had time to say ‘taramosalata’.
An hour later, they passed a place where people were building little pyramids out of small stones, as they whispered their secret wishes and prayers. Not wanting to miss out, Catrin and Sol built their own, though neither of them shared with the other what they were wishing for, both confessing that their Catholic guilt still made them feel weird about doing anything vaguely pagan like that. They were seven hours into the hike and Catrin knew this would soon all be coming to an end.
Walking through the narrow cutting known as the Gates, they stretched out their arms laughingly to prove how little space there was between the two megaliths. ‘They’re like two giant security guards,’ Catrin said, ‘escorting us off the premises.’
‘That’s so true!’ Sol laughed. ‘Hey, pass us your camera.’ And he took several shots of her posing – the filling in the mountain sandwich. But before he handed it back, he stopped a fellow hiker and said, ‘Excuse me, mate, will you take one of the two of us?’ Just hearing him say the two of us made her melt and she never wanted that photographically snatched moment to end, as the joyous image was captured on film, their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders in a display of newly discovered friendship.
When they untangled themselves from the pose and Catrin took back her camera, there was a tiny and silent exchange between them. It was only a look. But in that look pulsed a million heartbeats. And they both knew this was so much more than just friendship.
They’d reached the other end of the gorge, walking in silence towards the once-flooded village of Agia Roumeli and the lazy, turquoise sea. Catrin had arranged to meet up with Lana and Judith at a café called Irene’s when they’d all finally finished the hike. Sol said he could wait with her for half an hour, but then he’d need to get the ferry to Sfakia. ‘I wish I could stay,’ he said. ‘I’d like to see your friends again. They seem like a good laugh.’
‘Is that the only reason?’ she teased, slightly scared that it might be.
‘I think you know it isn’t.’ And he looked at her, his eyes gently chiding.
They ordered an Orangina each and the waiter swiftly brought them over along with two ice-filled glasses. Sol asked him for a pen and a piece of paper, and quickly scribbled down his phone number. ‘I’d really love it if we could stay in touch, Cat,’ he said.
She looked at the small sheet torn from the waiter’s order pad. A flimsy, cheap sliver of paper. Insignificant, yet bearing so much. ‘Write your name down too,’ she said. ‘I might have forgotten it by the time I get home.’ They laughed. Truth was, she wanted something more to remember him by than just a series of digits on a page.
He took back the piece of paper and wrote something else, shielding the words from her with his hand, before folding it and placing it under her glass. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to go,’ he said, clearly annoyed that he did. ‘If I miss this ferry I’ll miss the plane. Eddie’s already gonna be wondering where I am. I said I’d be back at the hostel an hour ago.’
‘What?’ She laughed. ‘You told him you could walk the Samaria Gorge in five hours?’
‘It has been known.’ He smiled, reaching across the little café table to take her hand. ‘I have loved today,’ he said quietly, his forehead leaning gently against hers, their fingers interlocked.
‘I have loved today too,’ she whispered, too scared to speak in case her voice might break.
People were playing on the beach nearby, splashing in the sea; the scent of sweet tobacco drifted in the air, mixing with the smell of suntan lotion and coffee and freshly squeezed lemons; a baby was laughing and Greek music spilled out from a tinny speaker in Irene’s café. It was the perfect summer-holiday day.
And the perfect backdrop.
To the perfect kiss.
He didn’t say goodbye. She watched him walk to the ferry, get on board and wave. She waved back and didn’t stop watching till she could no longer see the ferry’s wake or hear its tired engines growl. And when she knew he had finally gone, she took the precious piece of paper from under the glass, opened it and read. Beneath his name and number, he’d written:
Today when we built our pyramid of pebbles, the wish I made was to see you again. And I think that will happen.
She took a sharp breath, completely floored by his words.
In the distance, her name was being called. Looking up, she saw Judith and Lana making their way towards her. Quickly she refolded the paper and put it deep inside her pocket. ‘How are your feet?’ she shouted, finding it impossible not to smile.
7
Lana
The bustle of Nicosia was a far cry from the sleepiness of the Greek islands, but Lana secretly welcomed a bit of metropolitan buzz. They’d been in Cyprus for two days and today they were heading to Kakopetria, the home village of Judith’s dad George Harris. ‘D’you think this thing will actually get us there?’ Lana had joked as they boarded the ancient green and yellow Bedford bus at Plateia Solomou, gearing up for a two-hour journey to the Troodos Mountains.
Lana had sat with Catrin on the journey, because Judith had opted to sit on her own down the front. She said she wanted time to think: this was a big deal, going to her father’s home village, even though there was no one there for her to visit any more, George’s parents being long gone and George himself an only child. No actual reason to go. Except that Kakopetria was where he’d apparently grown up. And Judith wanted to see it. There was something so heartbreaking about George, though Lana could never work out what it was.
As they pulled into the little square in Kakopetria, Judith turned to them from the front of the bus and smiled. At least the journey seemed to have lifted her mood. The three girls dismounted and looked around them. So much quieter than busy, noisy Nicosia. They breathed in the fresh mountain air and stretched.
‘I am bustin’ for a pee,’ Lana said.
‘You’re always bustin’ for a pee,’ laughed Judith. And they headed towards a prettily painted restaurant called Taverna Lenia.
Underneath the shady trellises of lemon verbena, and sat around three tables all pushed together, a sprawling Cypriot family was enjoying a late Sunday lunch al fresco. The adults were laughing and chatting, whilst various children perched on the knees of their parents or aunties or uncles, swapping laps intermittently like a game of musical chairs. One woman was discreetly breast-feeding and a boy aged about six was trying to master a Rubik’s cube.
A tired-looking waiter in his forties came out, carrying two large dishes of kouba and whitebait, placing them wherever he could find room on the table and clearing any empty plates. As the girls approached, Lana felt like they were gate-crashing a party. But when the waiter turned to them and smiled, his face was transformed into a kind welcome.
‘Yassas!’
‘Hi,’ said Judith. ‘Table for three?’
‘Tria!’ Catrin chipped in, holding up three fingers. ‘Parakalo.’
‘Oh, and the toilet please,’ said Lana, who was on the verge of wetting herself.
‘Come! Please,’ he said, and they followed him indoors, where he seated them at the bar. Lana headed off to the loo, but when she returned, Catrin and Judith were nowhere to be seen.
‘They are out of side,’ said the waiter. ‘With new friends.’
The girls had been invited to join the large family group on the verandah, and were installed at the table with children crawling all over them and their Zivania glasses being filled. Lana found this unusual Cypriot tipple strangely soothing and soon dived in for seconds.
One of the party, Maria, spoke superb English and acted tirelessly as translator, explaining that they had this family reunion several times a year, and the occasion this time was a christening the next day, it being a feast day at the local church. An icon of the Saviour would be carried in a procession around the village, and baby Katerina would be baptized too.
The family were fascinated by the girls – they’d not heard of Wales. Though one of the older men, Themis, who Lana thought looked very wise, seemed to have heard of Richard Burton. There were big nods of approval that all three were going on to higher education in the autumn, and they were particularly impressed that Catrin was going to be a doctor.
‘Ey! Giatros!’ they cheered.
Uncle Leonades said something that made the whole table laugh and Maria translated, saying he had trouble with his bunions if Catrin would like to take a look.
The afternoon turned into one of those unexpectedly delightful gatherings, unplanned, unique and unforgettable. Once the savouries had been cleared away with cheers of thanks for the chef, the waiter brought out several platters of mouth-watering Cypriot desserts – baklava, galaktoboureko, and a kind of custard dish called mahalepi made from cornflour and served with rose water.
As they all tucked in, Themis whispered something to Maria.
‘My uncle wants to know why you choose Kakopetria when you could be in the nightclubs of Limassol?’
They all laughed, and tentatively, feeling confident now in the bosom of her new-found friends, Judith explained her connection with Kakopetria: how her father had grown up here before he moved to Wales in 1973. There was much joy when the party realized that Judith was in fact a Cypriot! But she was quick to clarify. ‘He’s my stepfather,’ she said, ‘so I’m not really.’
‘Ah, patriós!’ Maria explained and everybody nodded a little awkwardly. Lana sensed that step-parents weren’t a common occurrence in Cyprus. ‘What is your father’s name? Perhaps we will know his family,’ asked Maria.
‘Well, that’s unlikely,’ said Judith. ‘He was an only child, and his parents died when he was about twenty. I’m not exactly sure – he doesn’t talk about it much.’
Maria translated for the others, but Lana sensed that their curiosity had been piqued and they wanted more information.
‘Er … he’s known now as George Harris – his middle name is Andrew. But that’s because he changed his name when he came to the UK.’
‘Yeah, ’cos we’re all too bloody lazy in Wales to learn how to pronounce foreign names!’ Lana interjected, a bit tipsy now thanks to the Zivania.
There was delayed laughter in response to Maria’s translation.
‘But his real name – his Greek name – is Georgios Andreas Charalambos,’ Judith said, clearly proud of her perfect pronunciation.
But rather than the mild applause Judith had anticipated for her efforts in Greek, a shocked silence descended. And then a collective mumbling stirred around the table. Except from the children, who had more important things to think about, like how to snaffle another helping of mahalepi when no one was looking.
‘Sorry, can you say the name again?’ Maria asked.
‘Yes – Georgios Andreas Charalambos. Actually, I’ve got a photo of him here,’ she said, taking out the photo-booth picture of herself and George that she always carried in her purse. ‘It’s from about ten years ago – we were on a daytrip to Dan-yr-Ogof Caves.’
The family passed it round, accompanied by gasps of shock, followed by a sequence of fiery exchanges amongst them; concerned looks, raised voices, shaking heads and car keys being sought. One of the women started crying, and was comforted by another, who crossed herself and handed the photograph back to Judith.
The girls looked at each other, confused.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Lana, sensing that whatever it was, wasn’t good.
Nobody answered her, everyone still lost in the chaos of their reaction.
‘Look, maybe we should go,’ she said, more to Judith and Catrin than to anyone else.
‘No,’ said Maria. ‘Wait. Please.’ And her husband, who was now getting into his car, shouted something back to her.
‘Entáxei! Naí!’ she replied, and turned to Judith. ‘We think …’ Maria looked around the table, at the family – all waiting on tenterhooks for Judith’s response to what she was about to learn. ‘We think that your father, Georgios Charalambos, may be the brother of a friend.’
The three girls tried to process what they were hearing.
‘What?’ asked Lana, Judith clearly too shocked to speak.
Maria continued, ‘My husband Nico, he has a friend, Iannis, who has a wife. She is called Sofia.’ Maria paused, allowing the information to sink in. ‘Some years ago, Sofia’s brother – Georgios – he left Kakopetria to go to England for one year. But he never came back. We think—’
And Lana finished the sentence, ‘You think that Sofia is Judith’s aunt!’
8
Judith
Fifteen minutes later, a woman in her thirties – with the same straight nose and kind brown eyes as Judith’s father – got out of Nico’s car, followed closely by two confused and awkward children, along with a man who Judith presumed was the woman’s husband. Neither of them could say anything at first, so Nico stepped in, his faltering English not as good as his wife’s but certainly good enough. ‘This is Sofia, sister of Georgios,’ he said quietly.
Judith stared at Sofia and fought the urge to laugh. Was it some kind of hysterical reaction? In contrast, Sofia – Aunty Sofia – was shaking and weeping like a baby.
‘Hello – I’m … I’m Judith,’ she said, unsure of what to do next. Her world had just been turned inside out. Her father wasn’t who she thought he was and she’d inherited an entire Cypriot family in the space of ten minutes. Nervously she held out her arms to Sofia, who needed no encouragement to return the embrace. Judith had never been hugged so tightly in her life and there followed a long sequence of tight embraces, face-holding and loud weeping, until eventually Sofia calmed down. The unsuspecting family who’d only come out for a regular Sunday lunch had found themselves spectators to a real-life drama, applauding from their ringside seats. They were joined by Catrin and Lana as the happy-ever-after unfolded before their eyes.
At least, Judith hoped it was going to be a happy-ever-after.
Realizing they couldn’t stand there for ever, Maria took charge, encouraging Judith and Sofia to go inside the taverna, sit down and talk. Catrin gently apologized and pointed out that it was now five o’clock and they still had nowhere to stay. ‘So whilst Jude catches up with Sofia, me and Lana will go and find somewhere, yeah?’
When Maria translated this, Sofia became animated again. The subject wasn’t even up for discussion. ‘She says you must stay with her,’ said Maria. ‘All of you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Of course! You are her family!’ said Maria with a smile.
And so within an hour of discovering a brand-new aunt, uncle and two young cousins, Judith was on her way with Catrin and Lana to Sofia’s smallholding, a mile or so out of the village, where they’d been offered a bed for the night. Maria had agreed to come with them and translate, which Judith thought was bloody kind of her considering she was meant to be attending her own family party. But then on reflection, as Lana said, ‘I bet she’s gagging to know about George!’
They were greeted in the yard by a handful of chickens and a goat with two kids, who came running over to see what all the fuss was about. Heading inside, Iannis, Sofia’s husband, invited them all to sit at the kitchen table while he made coffee and put out glasses of water. Sofia produced a large platter of cookies called koulouraki and a dish full of glyka or ‘spoon sweets’ – pickled figs, and cherries and walnuts.
‘I am going home the size of a whale!’ Lana mumbled to Catrin, who didn’t care and couldn’t wait to get stuck into the treats.
When they were finally all settled around Sofia’s kitchen table, they began – with Maria’s help – to unpick the mystery of Georgios Andreas Charalambos.
‘You may have heard about the war,’ said Maria.
‘What, like with Hitler an’ that?’ asked Lana and Catrin discreetly kicked her under the table. Obviously not that war.
‘No, you mean here in Cyprus, don’t you?’ said Judith. ‘In the mid seventies?’
