Page 69 of Summer in Greece

‘Blimey, that’s incredible!’

‘I found a box of cassettes where she’d recorded her life story. Honestly, I was blown away! It’s clear she blames herself for the sinking. She survived and when she was in her nineties, she recorded the whole story. I haven’t heard it all yet, in fact I’m about to play another tape. Meanwhile, thanks. I owe you, Simon. I’ll see you next month, as usual, of course.’

*

Once Shelly had her dive application prepared, she made travel arrangements for Kea. Peak season on such a small island could be a problem, so she would book her accommodation ASAP.

She had learned so much, researching most evenings since her return from Greece. Now, she was eager to take another look at the contents. She slipped her hands into her pocket and stood, watching the cassette. Her fingertips touched DJ’s letter. With a sigh so heavy it seemed her heart deflated a little she pressed the off button.

It was no good, she had to deal with the letter before she could concentrate on everything else. Besides, what harm could it do to meet DJ, just the once? He could be revengeful, might want to get things off his chest that had festered there for years. How could she know? He might have been holding a grudge since that dreadful day when she walked away from him. The awful thing was, she had to admit, although she hadn’t seen DJ for nineteen years, and here was the truth, she knew she still loved him. She knew that for sure.

So where did that leave her and Harry? There was such a distance between them. And then there was her father.

She took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialled DJ’s number again. The moment someone picked up, her dad walked in. She dropped the receiver into its cradle, folded the letter, and slipped it back into her pocket.

That evening, Shelly returned from an emergency. The kitchen was empty, no sign of supper. She peered out of the window. Dad had set up a deckchair at the bottom of the garden, a crate of pigeons at his side. He sat with a can of bird food in his fist. With his eyes turned up to the sky and his face full of hope, he reminded her of the sad icons that hung in Greek churches.

‘Come home, pigeon, make an old man happy,’ she prayed, deciding to make him a mug of sweet tea. She plugged the kettle in and pulled DJ’s letter out of her pocket.

‘Are you all right?’ Dad asked, coming through the doorway. ‘You look pale.’ He nodded at the letter. ‘Not bad news, I hope.’

‘No, no, just from someone . . . not important.’ She shoved the letter back into her pocket, but her hand stayed there, fingers curled gently around the paper.

‘I’m going to the club, will yer drive me, Shelly? I ’avent got time for the taxi.’

‘Yes, of course, Dad.’

‘Two hundred and thirty-five miles, at seventy miles an hour – how amazing is that?’

‘What? Which club are you going to, Dad?’ Shelly said, alarmed.

‘Not you, daft girl, the bird. She’s flown 235 miles, what a cracker!’

Shelly laughed. ‘Yes, of course, silly me. Do you think you’ll get a prize?’

‘She’s clocked in already, from the chip on ’er leg, but I won’t know how the others have done until I gets to the club.’

‘Well, good luck, Dad.’ She kissed his cheek. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

CHAPTER 28

GERTIE

Greece, 1916.

MANNO WAS TRYING TO PACIFY Perkins. ‘No worries, my friend. Is not a vulture up there, is Eleonora’s falcon. He catches the little birds that head for the island. There are many falcons here, nesting on the cliffs.’

The wooden fishing boat had seemed a sturdy vessel in the harbour of Kea. Now, I stared around at the vast sea and wondered how Manno knew which way to steer. As we progressed, towards Syros, my fear of what awaited us continued. Another landmass loomed on the horizon.

Manno cried, ‘Now you see her! That is my island, the capital of all the Cyclades.’

Our progression seemed painfully slow, but eventually we chugged close to the undulating landmass.

‘She is beautiful, yes?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘My family has lived on this island since before Christ!’

Perkins opened one eye, glared at Manno, then shut it again. I hoped the morphine would keep him down a little longer.

Manno continued. ‘The Persians, the Romans, the Franks, the malaka Turks, and even the French have tried to take her away from us, but they fail. Syros, she belongs to us, and she will always come back to us, the Greeks!’