Page 12 of Summer in Greece

DESPITE THE DUST AND GLOOM, a spark of excitement tingled as Shelly remembered a trunk of memorabilia under the bed. Better to go through that on her own in case it made her emotional. If there were any clues to her own personal tragedy in there, she didn’t want Eve seeing them.

A moment passed before Shelly realised the kitchen phone was ringing. She hurried downstairs and picked up.

‘Hi, it’s me, Eve. Sorry to let you down at such short notice, but I can’t make it today.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘Absolutely, more than all right. It’s just I’m running a bit late, and now I have to cook breakfast for someone.’ Her voice trailed off to a whisper. ‘Nudge-nudge . . .’

‘Shameless!’

‘Listen, don’t forget to get that holiday booked! Blue skies, turquoise water, remember? You’ve got all day, Shelly, no excuses now!’

Shelly laughed. ‘I will, no worries. See you tomorrow.’ She hung up; the smile still on her face.

‘Who you seeing tomorrow then?’ her father said with a hopeful glint in his eye as he entered the kitchen. ‘Boyfriend, is it?’

‘No, Eve, at work. She was going to come over to help me clear out the spare room, but she’s been side-tracked.’

‘Clear out?’ he exclaimed, the mischief falling from his face. ‘Shelly, you won’t throw any of your mother’s stuff away, will you? I couldn’t bear to part with it, let alone imagine some other woman touching her things.’

It’s been more than twenty years.

‘Of course not, Dad. Don’t worry. I’m sorting it into boxes and we’ll go through each one together, OK?’

His shoulders dropped. ‘That Malcolm’s a nice young man, don’t you think?’

‘The postman? Yes, he’s sweet.’

‘You won’t mind if he comes over once in a while then.’

‘This is your home, for goodness’ sake. You can bring your friends over any time. Listen, did you know Gran Gertie had recorded her memoirs?’

‘I did. They’re for you when you grow up.’

‘Dad, I’m thirty-seven years old. When were you planning to give me the tapes?’

‘I forgot about them. It’s probably safe for you to listen to them now.’

‘Safe?’

‘Well, you need to be a bit, um, broad-minded, like.’

‘Are you blushing, Dad?’

‘No, yer daft bugger!’

*

Gran Gertie had been Shelly’s constant companion in her early years when Mum was postmistress in the village. She recalled the family matriarch’s silver hair, always pulled back in a bun, and her chin lifted so she peered down her nose. Gertie’s soft, freckly hands had oddly shaped knuckles and gentle fingers that dabbed Magic Milk on Shelly’s scraped knees. Gertie removed splinters, sharpened homework pencils, and plaited her long hair before school. Those hands also tucked her into bed before a bedtime story each night.

Shelly smiled, Gran Gertie’s fairy tales always had a naughty elf that said the forbidden words – shit, fart, and bugger. She could hear her great-gran’s voice.

The wind whispered through the treetops like a sprout fart after Sunday lunch.

They would giggle together, eyes fixed on the bedroom door in case they were caught being naughty, the sense of conspiracy making her feel secure. Her great-grandmother knew everything, and if Shelly ever strayed from the facts, Gran Gertie fixed her in a stare and slowly pulled in her chin. Shelly’s heart would pound and in seconds she would breathlessly blurt out the truth, regardless of the consequences.

When times became difficult, Shelly would scramble into Gran Gertie’s lap, her head resting on that pillowing bosom as she stuck her thumb in her mouth. Gertie was the only person in the world who didn’t tell her off for sucking her thumb. Shelly still smiled at the thought of her.