Is that what I wanted?
Yes.
No.
Yes.
‘Ally.’
I rounded on him, startled. Had I summoned him by sheer will?
‘It’s time to go,’ he said, hooking his thumb in the direction of the minivan.
‘Oh, right. Thanks,’ I added as an afterthought.
I trailed behind him, not wanting to get too close, then climbed in the passenger seat.
Trudy seemed to have shaken off her bewildered state and was chatting animatedly to Niki about her Greek heritage. I eavesdropped as Michalis drove us down the hill back to Chora, noticing the affectionate way Niki talked about her family even though they apparently drove her bonkers most of the time.
Minh was quiet as always, only asking Niki the occasional question, and Tommy was completely silent. Like me.What’s going through his head?I asked myself.
God, I just wanted to be back on Aetheria, hidden in my villa, and running down the clock. Less than two days to go.
And I still hadn’t told Tommy not to show up later.
* * *
Just like everyone, I’ve had moments where I wished I was anywhere else. And when we left Eggares, it felt like the day would keep heading in that direction.
But then we arrived at the restaurant owned by Michalis’ family, tucked in the heart of Chora, halfway up the hill from the waterfront. That’s when I met theiryiayiá, the woman in the photograph – the one holding hands with her husband in the olive grove.
And she wasbeautiful.
She would have been at least ninety, but that was doing maths rather than judging by her appearance. She may have had grandsons in their forties, but she looked far younger than her years, standing erect with the grace of a ballerina. Her large, round dark-brown eyes were wise and kind and filled with laughter, and her salt-and-pepper hair was worn in a thick, high bun. I’m only five-foot-one, but I towered over her – she wastiny.
She welcomed us into her kitchen with the fuss of a mother hen, her warm smile framed by laugh lines etched like laurels, making her even more beautiful.
I was in awe.
There’s something you should understand about the way Claude and I were raised. Our mum, Jenny, is the sort of mum who will do anything for anyone. She might complain about it and be a little judgey (but aren’t we all sometimes?), but she is generous to a fault.
Except to herself.
Mum has never booked in for a spa day or shopped anywhere more expensive than Marks & Spencers. She doesn’t wear clothes that are anything more than perfunctory.Why would I bother with all that fancy stuff? Who’s going to see me?She and Dad never have date nights or take proper holidays, no matter how much I nag them. And shehatesit when I buy her nice things.What a waste, Ally. My thousand-year-old [insert item here] works perfectly fine. I don’t need you spending your money on me.
But most of all (least of all?), Mum has never been one to follow her dreams. Or evenhavedreams. Or even consider that she’s entitled to them!
I’m convinced she thinks of herself solely as a wife, a mother, a friend, and a neighbour – forgetting entirely that she’s alsoJenny.
I only paint this picture of my mum – a woman I love deeply but will never truly understand – because the day I met Maria Kouros (orYiayiáas she insisted we call her), I met the woman I wanted to be.
Proud. Accomplished. Generous. And beautiful – inside and out.
She was aforce.
And so,sofunny.
She had very little English (which was still more than my Greek), so Michalis translated for us. Even when he appeared shocked, shaking his head at her and saying, ‘Ochi, Yiayiá,’ she would scold him, prodding him to translate exactly what she’d said.
