Page 31 of Summer in Greece

SHELLY

Dover/Greece, present day.

‘WELL DONE, DAD.’ SHELLY HAD thrown the lid of the trunk back and they both stared at a grey blanket that covered the contents.

‘Looks like an army blanket,’ Gordon said. ‘What’s on the label?’

‘It’s embroidered, Johnathan Perkins.’ Shelly frowned. ‘Does the name ring a bell?’ She was relieved to be concentrating on Gran Gertie now. Shelly’s past was just as big a monster as that ship’s propeller, and she was just as terrified of being dragged towards it.

‘Wasn’t Perkins the engineer in the ward, and in the other lifeboat, the one that might have got chopped up on the last tape? ’Ere, rewind it a bit,’ her father suggested.

‘You might be right, Dad.’ They listened again and realised it was the very same Corporal. ‘What a wonderful historical record,’ Shelly said. ‘Imagine if this blanket could talk, it’s over a hundred years old. Like new, too. I wonder why Gran Gertie kept it. Sentimental value, do you think? Perhaps, you know . . . who can imagine what went on underneath it? By the way, Gran Gertie’s husband seems to have been a forbidden subject when I was younger. Do you know who he was – Corporal Perkins, or somebody else entirely?’

‘Like I said, it’s not my job to tell you.’

‘She always used the name Smith. To be honest, I took it for granted it was her married name, but if her father was Dr Smith, it was her maiden name,’ Shelly said.

‘That was the name of her son too, your grandfather, Adam Smith. Let’s hope your answers lay in one of those tapes. Anyway, my memory’s going, Shelly.’ Their eyes met. ‘One of these days you’ll have to sign me into The Gables, you know. Gertie was very happy there.’

‘Are you worried, Dad?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m eighty. But I’ll tell you something, when I’m not worried, that’s when I need to go and stay there.’

‘We can visit the place if you like. Or there might be other solutions.’

‘Nah, let’s get back to the trunk and what’s-his-name’s blanket.’

Shelly lifted it out and gasped. ‘Oh my, look! Christmas presents. Mum must have hidden them in here before she went shopping.’ Her heart squeezed. ‘Let’s put them to one side.’

Gordon stared at the parcels. ‘Perhaps we should have a Christmas dinner in your mother’s memory this year. Maggie would love that. All she wanted was to give us a good time. Seems a shame to waste it. What do you think?’

‘Oh, Dad, that’s the loveliest thought. If it wouldn’t be too painful, I’d love it.’

‘Recently I’ve come to realise, she wouldn’t want us to be so miserable every year. I know we’ve never celebrated Christmas since, because of me. But, I felt it just wouldn’t work, trying to be happy and festive. It would all be a lie.’

Once again, Shelly recalled Gordon ripping the decorations down on Christmas morning, his face nasty with anger, his sobs loud. She had curled up in her mother’s armchair, snuggling into the thick cardigan her mum had tossed over the chairback just before she left. It still smelled of her. The comforting, oaty smell of fresh porridge. Shelly had wrapped the sleeves around herself like a hug and cried until exhausted, yet nobody put real arms around her and said it would be all right.

She had longed for the father-figure she’d known and loved, her big, cheerful, Dad, always full of fun, but that person had died with her mother. Hardly surprising that she threw herself into the arms of the first man that showed any affection. She yawned into her hand. ‘Sorry, Dad, but I’m beat. Perkins’s story may have to wait until I’m back from holiday.’

*

Shelly fell asleep imagining all the pleasures of her upcoming trip. Packing, travelling, arriving – she loved it all and didn’t really care where she was going, so long as she could dive, take amazing photographs, and lay on a sunbed with a good book. She woke early, with a smile. One day nearer. She should get some clothes organised. Half a dozen cotton tops, shorts, jeans to travel, capri pants and a skirt, a few luxury toiletries, sandals and walking shoes, swimwear, and her snorkel kit, of course.

Just to get away from everything familiar was an adventure.

*

Shelly slept on the plane and arrived, reasonably refreshed, at Athens international airport. Pleased to have packed all she needed into a cabin bag, there was no waiting around. She stepped out of the terminal at precisely midnight, that magical moment between yesterday and tomorrow. To her left, an enormous sign said, WELCOME TO ATHENS, to her right, the blue and white Greek flag, and the EU circle of gold stars fluttered side by side. The excitement of arriving thrilled her. The heat of the day, tucked away under the paving slabs for the night, still left the air around her snugly warm.

Guided by an information board that promised to lead her to the coach terminal, she moved between pools of golden streetlight. Twenty minutes later, she was riding the coach past an enormous sculpture of the Olympic rings.

‘Madam . . . madam? We are here, the ferry terminal. I get your bag,’ the coach driver said.

She must have fallen asleep. The deserted port was a blaze of light, with several small ferryboats, but no people. The driver took her case from the hold. The wheels made an obscene noise on the concrete.

‘You go to Kea? You have boat ticket?’ the driver asked.

‘Yes, yes,’ she replied.