Page 2 of Villa of Secrets

Ten years was a long time, and Naomi and her sister used to be so close. Naomi could start peace talks, why not? Someone had to try and bring the family back together.

Yet Rebecca’s fair-haired Austrian husband was the problem. No, that wasn’t quite true. Naomi’s grandmother had caused the split. Naomi suspected that Bubba, who was Jewish, had too many wartime memories buried in the recesses of her mind. If she was right and those recollections resurfaced now in Bubba’s feeble state after the stroke, Naomi didn’t want to contemplate the consequences.

A wave broke over her trainers. Naomi stared at her wet shoes and, for the first time in many years, found herself hurled back in time to that same beach on the worst day of her life.

*

Rhodes, Greece, November 1984.

Bubba yelled up the stairs, ‘Put your coat on, Naomi. Let’s go before it gets worse. I can’t sit here feeling useless. I have to look myself!’

Naomi, ten years old, ran down the stone steps as her grandmother, with Rebecca bundled in a shawl and clutched to her chest, called out, ‘I’m taking the baby across the road, child.’

‘I’m coming, Bubba.’ Naomi followed her grandmother into the blustery street. Her red coat danced around like a gleeful puppy but Naomi was in no mood for games. She struggled to get her arms into the sleeves.

Bubba passed the infant to the priest’s wife, promising to return soon. The priest, Papas Yiannis Voskos, came to the door. He dropped to his knees and fastened Naomi’s buttons. She had never seen him look so downcast, his eyes bloodshot and restless in his hirsute face. He would usually grin and say, ‘How’s my big girl today?’ and in a flash, produce a sweet or a cent from behind her ear. On the day of the storm, fun had abandoned him.

‘Any news?’ he said to Bubba, gripping the wooden crucifix that hung against his chest.

Bubba shook her head. In a voice shrill with worry she said, ‘I can’t stand the wait. It’s driving me to madness.’

Papas Yiannis glared at the black thunderous clouds. ‘God, keep them safe.’ He rested his hand on Bubba’s shoulder. ‘Be careful on the beach, woman. It’s dangerous down there.’

Bubba and Naomi leaned into the wind and hurried towards the shore. The roar of the sea met their ears long before the water came into view.

They rounded the corner, hammered back by the gale as huge waves rode on the shoulders of a fearsome swell. Tumultuous foam crashed onto the sand, terrifying Naomi. She clutched her grandmother’s hand and stumbled along the slope of pebbles. They stayed high on the slippery stones, yet her shoes were soon soaked through.

The squall whipped Naomi’s clothes around her almost knocking her off balance. She tried to yell, ‘I’m scared, Bubba!’ but the wind stole the words from her mouth. In the racket made by rolling pebbles, roaring breakers, and the gale howling in her ears, she peered out to sea.

Although barely five o’clock, black clouds scudded across a full, December moon, throwing the scene into eerie darkness. Then, shafts of brilliant moonlight broke through and illuminated the tempest.

Naomi thought of her grandmother as a bucket of hugs and kisses waiting to be delivered. But the gentle expression had gone, leaving Bubba’s face pinched and bitter. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her jaw thrust forward as they peered through spume and spray, desperate for a glimpse of Elevtheria, her parents’ boat. The sea kept coming at them, driving them even higher up the wet stones.

Mama and Papa should have sailed home that morning after a night’s fishing.

‘They’ll be all right, Bubba,’ Naomi tried to say. Papa was the perfect sailor and she never doubted his sea-faring skills. He’d told her many exciting stories that involved stormy nights on the boat. Tales of waves as high as the house, mermaids, and sea monsters, and she would glance sideways at him, unsure which parts of his story were fact and which were fiction.

Bubba, stick thin but strong as a mule and just as stubborn, was beaten back by tiredness and gale-force winds. They returned home reluctantly. Papas Yiannis said he would pray for them. Bubba’s tears ran like red rivers on her pale, salt-dried face. At first, Naomi thought they were tears of blood.

Embarrassed to see her grandmother weep, she didn’t know where to look. Bubba sat next to Rebecca’s wooden cradle, rocking the newborn and staring at nothing. Every once in a while, her chin shivered with a fresh bout of crying. She placed her hand on Naomi’s cheek and said, ‘Child, you’re so like your mother. My poor, sweet, Sonia. Pray to God she’s safe.’

Even now, when Naomi looked in the mirror, she saw the classic Greek features of her mother and, she guessed, of her grandmother too when she was young. Small in stature, olive skin, brown eyes, and a thick tumble of dark curls.

She tried to make Bubba feel better, brushing her tears away, hugging her and kissing her cheeks, exactly as Mama did when Naomi grazed her knees.

The show of affection only made Bubba worse.

Naomi was more worried about Bubba than her own parents. Her father was the best sailor in the world. He would have found a safe haven somewhere. She knew all about ‘safe havens’ because they featured in most of his bedtime stories.

‘Remember, Naomi, no matter how bad the storm, you can always find a safe haven, a calm place to shelter until things settle and it’s safe to go on.’

Later that evening Bubba crept out of the house. Naomi, mature for her years but still not realising the seriousness of the situation, worried when she didn’t return. Remembering Bubba’s earlier distress, she suspected the old lady had returned to the beach. She checked on baby Rebecca, who was sleeping in her cot, then followed her grandmother to the shore.

The storm had abated. The moon slid behind thick clouds, and the wind complained moodily. Alone in the dark, Naomi grew scared, sensing evil in the night, but then Bubba’s shriek ripped through the darkness. For a moment, afraid of the Bogeyman, Naomi shouted, ‘Bubba!’ into the stiff breeze, desperate for her grandmother to hear her.

Bubba’s wailing made Naomi think the Bogeyman had her. She didn’t know what to do. What if Bubba had fallen, broken a leg, and lay screaming in agony? Naomi had to help but her trepidation mounted. Monsters and demons returned to her imagination and dampened her bravery once more.

‘Bubba!’ she shouted again, running across slippery stones, fast as she could, because everyone knew the Bogyman couldn’t run very well. ‘Bubba, where are you?’ She stopped, enveloped by the night, twirling around because the Bogeyman was always behind you . . . or under your bed . . . or wherever you could not see him. But he looked for you, and you daren’t even breathe in case he heard you and pounced. Now he was on the beach, in the dark. She sensed his presence, looming.