Page 49 of Villa of Secrets

‘She was a freedom fighter, an assassin, in the war.’

‘Bubba, the old lady?’

Rebecca nodded.

After a moment, Fritz said, ‘Can I read the diary?’

‘That’s the exact reaction they hoped to get from me when they sent the weapon,’ Rebecca said.

Chapter 22

Rhodes, Greece.

The receiver rattled in the cradle when Naomi hung up. Why she got herself into such a state about phoning her sister, she didn’t know. Yet she sensed something was terribly wrong in London. Her heart went out to Rebecca, practically all alone with problems that she was reluctant to talk about, even to her sister. She probably had lots of friends to offer her support, but there was nothing like family, everyone recognised that. Naomi scribbled on a post-it note: get Rebecca’s email address.

Bubba’s voice came from the next room. ‘Plato, not Shakespeare, you fool!’ the old lady yelled at the TV quiz.

Naomi smiled. Her grandmother’s recovery was gaining momentum. Her delusions were less frequent, and she persevered with her exercises, building strength in her affected limbs.

The young always think they’re capable of anything, she thought, but they have no concept of what the elderly can overcome. She thought about Marina. Would this partnership work? With maturity, Naomi had come to realise that most challenges weren’t as easy as you first perceive. But she had made a commitment and told herself – as she so often had when unsavoury nursing tasks revolted her – she would just have to get on with it.

She picked up the diary, stared at the brown paper cover spattered with water stains, and traced them with her finger. Had Dora cried over the journal? Where was she and what was on her mind when those tears fell?

Her thoughts returned to her sister. How was life in London, she wondered. Was she happy? Did she have children? Did she ever think about Naomi and their childhood?

Bubba had always struggled for money, accepting any work that came her way, often leaving Naomi in charge of her sister in the afternoons. Every spare moment of Bubba’s day was taken by cooking, cleaning, sewing and knitting.

She recalled the shiny yellow dresses with stiff net petticoats, and red hand-knitted twinsets with mother-of-pearl buttons. Bobble hats and mittens for the winter. Bubba dressed her and Rebecca the same, but it was Rebecca who received the compliments. ‘She’s so pretty!’ people would say. And she was.

When Naomi was thirteen, Bubba, who already had a part-time job at the school, got a couple of hours’ employment at the grocer’s every afternoon. Their lives changed for the better. Bubba wore her best clothes to work, and put on powder and red lipstick. Naomi was so proud of her.

‘You look like a film star, Bubba,’ she said, and her grandmother preened.

A few weeks into the shop job, Rebecca, who was nearly four years old, fell down the stone steps. When Bubba saw the huge egg-shaped lump on Rebecca’s forehead she went crazy.

‘What on earth were you doing, Naomi? You were supposed to be watching her! Can’t I trust you with anything?’ she shouted.

‘I was on the toilet, Bubba.’ Naomi had put a cold flannel on the bump, hoping it would go down before Bubba’s return, and she had given Rebecca a teaspoon of honey to shut up her wailing. Obviously, her efforts where not good enough. Stung by Bubba’s words, Naomi rushed outside, sat on the ground in Spartili Street and cried.

She drew her knees up, rested her head on them, and gave her tears and sobs full reign. Presently, a giant-like figure sat next to her, his heavy arm slid around her shoulders. Papas Yiannis pulled her to him and said, ‘She loves you, you know? Only, things are hard for her right now.’

‘I did my best, but it’s never good enough. I want Mama and Papa! They really loved me . . .’

After a short silence he said, ‘One day, when you’re much older, you will understand just how much your grandmother loves you. But for now, you’ll have to take my word for it. So, come on, big girl, I think Mrs Voskos has some spoon sweet. Let’s go and find out, shall we?’

He never explained. With the memory, Naomi’s curiosity was reignited. She opened the diary again.

The shearing was a catastrophe. Giovanni sheared one sheep, talking his way through it.

‘Right, push her rump down, girls, turn her onto her back, and keep her feet off the floor. Then snip down her belly, careful not to cut her teats.’

It seemed easy. He snipped away while the sheep appeared docile in his hands.

‘Have you got it?’ Giovanni asked, holding the creature still with no apparent effort. The sheep wasn’t distressed, and appeared clean and tidy when he released it. ‘I must leave. I’ve work to do,’ he said.

‘We’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ I assured him.

We only managed a total of three sheep all afternoon, and they looked nothing like sheep when we’d finished with them. Great tufts of fleece dangled from half-shorn beasts, and we were black and blue from struggling to turn the wriggling kickers that weighed more than the three of us together.