Joy raised her arms in an offer of a hug. Skye dropped her chin.
“It is Sunday,” Andreas said. “There are no more ferries today. I think the first one tomorrow is at seven forty-five.”
Skye considered this.
“You mean there are none leaving or none arriving?”
“Both,” he confirmed. “If any more boats come today, it would be only the private charters.”
Skye felt the tension slip slowly from her body. Joy had gone very quiet, her arms now folded in front of her, while Andreas continued to frown.
“I don’t want to leave,” she said, the words a whispered rush. This washerhome,herbare walls waiting to be painted,herview of the mountains and of the sea beyond.
Joy was beside her in an instant, bracelets tumbling across her wrists as she reached out to grasp Skye’s hand.
“You don’t have to leave, you silly chook,” she said. “Whatever’s going in that head of yours, we can work it out. If being here is what you want, you must stay.”
“But I can’t,” she said, her voice thin. “You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t,” Joy agreed. “But the best thing you can do is tell us. I can see that you’re scared,” she added, “and that’s a worry.”
Skye glanced at Andreas, something in her chest catching, a leaf caught on a current of air.
“Fear builds higher walls than whatever it is waiting on the other side,” he said. “Can I?”
When Skye said nothing, he moved past her and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I had a brother once,” he said, without looking up. “Sotiris. He was younger than me, and one of those people for whom everything in life comes very easily. He always had many friends, a lot of girlfriends”—he huffed out a laugh—“and was very successful in his studies. The plan was that he would go to England and study medicine. He had passed the exams, my parents had saved enough money, and before he was due to leave, we decided to have one last holiday together, the four of us.”
Joy crossed the room and sat beside Andreas, but Skye didn’t move. Her feet felt leaden.
“Sotiris,” she said, wanting to say his name. Andreas’s hands tightened briefly into fists.
“We went to Corfu,” he said. “There is a small island, Vido, close to the town, and boats to take people across. My brother wanted to swim. He was like a fish, always in the water, and we did not worry about him. I went with my parents on the boat, and we waited together on the beach.”
He stared into the middle distance as he spoke. Skye wondered if he was still, even now, watching for his brother.
“By the time we realized something was wrong, it was too late. The sea had taken him, and it took the heart of my family with it.”
“Oh, you poor love,” Joy said.
Skye took a long steadying breath.
“I don’t tell very many people this story,” he went on. “I think, sometimes, that it is too much. Nobody wants to be around sadness. They do not want to be marked by it.”
The look on his face tugged at something in her.
“I don’t feel that way,” she said, her voice softer than before, the edges less sharp. “I think it’s nice to talk about the people we’ve lost, otherwise you risk allowing their memory to fade. My dad died four years ago now, and my mum still refuses to talk about him. Well, unless she’s saying something critical.”
Andreas looked grim.
“Your mother is angry?”
“That about sums it up,” Skye agreed. “Angry with him, angry with me, angry at life.”
“But you are not?”
“I was.” The admission felt heavy, and Skye hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I found the anger helpful in the beginning. Anger is a force; it got me out of bed in the morning, made me want to move, to do things, go to work, clean my flat, feed myself—but once that drained out of me, and the sorrow took over…” She grimaced. “That was when things became more difficult. I understand why my mum can’t let go of the anger, but that doesn’t make being around her any easier.”
