Recipes for Melissa (8 page)

Truth was, she hoped and prayed that the Huberts would never sell the place; that they would leave it to their own children to let – so that one day Max and Eleanor would come here with Melissa and her husband and grandchildren, and they would tell the story of how they found the place – just the way Max’s parents would talk when they sometimes joined them for a few days. Stories about Max on the beach when he was a little boy.

‘You OK?’

‘Yeah. Just daydreaming,’ Eleanor smiled as Max deposited bags in the hall while Melissa headed straight for the fridge to check for the cream.

It was only later as they unpacked Melissa’s small bag that Eleanor caught herself trying not to look at the second single bed in her daughter’s room. The agreed pact was that they didn’t dwell on it. Her and Max. They were still trying –
technically
. Had been trying for more than three years now, but Max felt there was no need to be panicked into fertility treatment. Not while they were still so young. And Eleanor was trying very, very hard not to panic.

Technically.

‘So tomorrow we go shopping for food. And I was thinking we could get the stuff to make cookies. Give us something nice to do if it rains, Melissa?’ Back in the kitchen, she was watching Melissa spread an alarming quantity of jam onto half a scone as Max rifled through a drawer for more cutlery.

‘Do you know that in Devon they put the cream on first?’ Max interceded.

‘Can we get pink icing?’

‘For the scones?’

‘No, silly Daddy. For the biscuits we make.’

‘Cream first would be ridiculous,’ Eleanor pulled a face secretly to Max as Melissa used a knife to smooth cream from a spoon onto her generous puddle of jam. ‘Pink icing? Sounds lovely darling.’

‘You know there is a pastry shop right along the front? If you want biscuits and cakes…’

‘You don’t get it, do you?’

‘What?’

‘Four days with no head of department having kittens over when these new Ofsted inspectors are going to rock up. Four days with no emergency investigations into how a teacher could get locked in a bloody cupboard by second years.’

‘That really happened?’

‘That really happened.’

‘And you think – let’s bake?’

‘Yes I do. Bliss.’

‘Mummy said bloody.’

‘All right, Melissa. Mummy is very naughty.’

Max pulled a face. ‘I’ll never understand women.’

‘It’s the penis, Max. Gets in the way.’

‘Mummy said penis.’

‘No she didn’t. She said it was a heinous crime not to understand women. Now how about we finish this cream tea then we can get the beach stuff together and try out Jaws.’

It was not, in fact, until Wednesday that the baking tins came out – the weather being kinder than was fair to expect for Easter. Two full days of glorious sunshine and then a downpour so that Max was out fishing under a large umbrella – Eleanor reflecting that she did not understand men either – while she and Melissa left the cookie dough in the fridge to rest.

Eleanor sprinkled flour across the kitchen table as Melissa selected cutters from the plastic box she had brought.

‘I like the snowman. Can we use the snowman?’

‘Well, it’s not really the season for snowmen, is it honey? Why don’t you look for the rabbit. There are some heart shapes too. Should be in there somewhere. Have a look.’

And then Eleanor noticed that she had managed somehow to sprinkle more flour over her jumper than the table and began brushing it down off her chest – the rhythm fast and firm, wishing she had brought a full apron, and then suddenly interrupted.

She paused and brushed the left breast downwards again. Eleanor frowned. She must have caught her finger on some twist in the bra fabric. She used three fingers to press the fabric smooth. But it would not be stroked smooth.

‘Can you just give mummy a minute? I just need to wash my hands.’

In the bathroom – a complete change in her body temperature as if she was outside suddenly. A cold draught through her whole body. She wanted to look. And yet she didn’t want to look.

Eleanor moved across to the larger mirror above the fitted towel rail, pulled her sweater quickly over her head and moved her bra down on the left side. She felt softly at first and then more firmly. That draught again.

She sat down on the edge of the bath.

‘I’ve found the rabbit, Mummy,’ Melissa’s voice was right outside the bathroom door.

Eleanor’s pulse in both her ear and in her fingers too as she felt under her left armpit. Another bulge.

‘OK, honey. Mummy’s just coming through.’

She washed her hands, put her jumper back on and splashed her face with cold water.

‘You look funny, Mummy. Your hair’s wet.’

‘I was just a bit hot.’

Eleanor began to fuss with the selection of cutters, picking out a star, a heart and a gingerbread man, her hand trembling slightly as she sprinkled more flour right across the table.

‘What’s the matter with your eye?’ Melissa was still staring intently into her face.

‘Nothing. It’s fine.’

Eleanor could feel it clearly. The intense and infuriating flickering of her eyelid. Like some tic.

‘So come on, then. Let’s get these biscuits sorted, shall we?’

10

MELISSA – 2011

Melissa in her mind watched the bike hit Sam – full on. In that first slow-motion version, she saw the scream of metal and dust explode right into him. It was the version that for weeks and months she would replay in her dreams.

But that is not what happened. That image was the raw terror born of prediction and fear and dread. That was the version in which everything ended, right there on that mountain. What actually happened seemed impossible. The bike slid through the dust and the gravel, and the young Cypriot man who’d been talking to Sam as they strolled down the hill suddenly moved at a speed which seemed to not quite fit the picture. As if his movement was being replayed and overlaid within the scene at a different speed. Yes. That is what it was like.

The young man hurled himself impossibly through the air, slamming the full weight of his body into Sam, thrusting him with the momentum towards the other side of the road so that at the point of impact it was his own right leg which remained directly in the path of the bike.

Melissa had to move very quickly herself then, backing into the shade of trees at the other side of the road to avoid the bike and rider as they continued on their slide, stopping eventually much further down the hill while she then ran back upwards towards Sam and his dark-haired saviour – both now lying in the road.

‘Oh my God. Sam. Jesus Christ!’ kneeling down alongside them – taking in the blood and the ugly rips through flesh into white underneath the stranger’s leg but taking in also the relief that they were both wincing. Both sufficiently conscious and OK to feel the pain. Which she was remembering was a good thing. Pain. Consciousness.

And then Melissa became aware of two new sounds. From the top of the hill three people had appeared – an elderly man and woman and a younger very tall and thin man – all shouting in Greek over the roar of a second motorbike.

The shouting continued as the two men hurried down the hill, the second motorbike passing them to join the first and its rider, now on the ground, much further down.

‘Stay still. Help is coming,’ Melissa had her arm on Sam’s shoulder as he and his injured Good Samaritan lay side by side, in shock still but straining now against the immediate pain. She watched the helpers getting closer, waving their hands and shouting even more loudly, again in Greek, to the two motorcyclists as the second was now helping the first back onto his bike.

And then Melissa watched in disbelief as both motorcyclists simply rode off. Just a few more seconds. More dust. And gone.

‘Bastards,’ she couldn’t believe it. ‘Hey. What are you doing? Come back!’ shouting pointlessly. Randomly. Over and over. ‘Come back here, you bastard!’

It was the two men from the village who were now taking charge, the younger producing a phone from his pocket while the older woman walked more slowly towards them. ‘I phone for ambulance. Yes?’

‘No. No ambulance,’ the Cypriot man, who had dived so bravely to push Sam aside, was now biting into his lip. ‘Just a bad cut.’

‘For God sake, Sam. Look how deep it is. We need to get you both to a hospital.’

The courageous stranger had a long gash, deep to near the bone, it seemed. Sam’s injuries were ugly also – a nasty patch of shorn flesh where the gravel had sliced the surface, some of it embedded. Superficial but nasty all the same. They would both need stitches.

‘You could have broken something. We need an ambulance,’ she was taking out her own mobile, her hand shaking.

The helpers were now talking quickly in Greek to the other injured man before translating for Sam and Melissa. ‘He wants to get it stitched at the nearest medical centre. He is saying the hospital will take hours. What about you? Do you want an ambulance?’

‘I could get this seen in Polis, Mel. They’re right. It will be much quicker. There’s a centre right near the apartment.’

‘I don’t know. I’m not happy about that. And I don’t think you should be sitting up. We need to check your neck? Your bones? Jesus…’

‘Mel. Please. You need to calm yourself. We’re going to be fine. There’s no serious damage. Just a rugby tackle. And a very bad landing.’ Sam was now reaching out to the young man who had clearly come off worse. ‘Are you all right? I am so grateful. So very grateful.’

‘But you might have broken something. Fractured something. There could be something internally—’ Melissa had her hands up to her head.

‘They have gone to fetch my brother – Alexandros. He can help you,’ the youngest of their helpers was again on his mobile, speaking in Greek briefly before putting it back in his pocket, then speaking again in Greek to the older man who was nodding. ‘He is home on holiday. Alexandros. Working up at the cafe. You need to keep still, I think. He will only be a few minutes.’

Melissa hated that she could not follow the phone conversations – her face betraying her continued panic. Failing to see how a waiter…

‘He’s a medical student. My brother.’

‘Oh right,’ she blushed. Still she would have preferred an ambulance but had no idea how long it would take for one to arrive.

Melissa was now looking at Sam’s injury.

‘It’s OK, Mel. These guys are right. An ambulance and hospital will take hours. We’re gonna be fine. I’ll get this all washed and cleaned up back at the resort. We’re all just a bit shaken. It’s going to be fine.’

‘You want police?’ the young Cypriot helper was looking at his watch.

The younger injured man shook his head then turned to Sam who shrugged his agreement.

‘OK. No police.’

‘But it’s a hit-and-run, Sam. The guy should have stopped,’ Melissa still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘We can’t let him get away with that.’

‘It was an accident.’

‘He lost control because he was going too bloody fast.’

‘Look. None of us needs it, Mel. The police. The paperwork,’ Sam’s eyes were wide. ‘The whole circus. These guys are tougher. And they’re right. We’ll be stuck here for bloody hours. Please. Just let it go. We’re all right.’

It was at this point that Alexandros joined them – an immediately calming influence who urged everyone to step back while he very methodically checked them over in turn. Their eyes. Their limbs. ‘Does this hurt? And this?’ flexing their legs and arms and feeling very carefully the flesh at each of their joints. Also their chest and ribs.

‘You have both been very lucky. Nothing broken. We can wash the wounds here. Clean you up a bit but you both need stitching.’

‘Yes I realise. We will get it done in Polis. There’s a medical centre not far from where we’re staying. But what about the other guy?’

‘There’s a place not far from here also. I’ll arrange it.’ Alexandros had now stood back up and was talking in Greek to the two other men who helped both Sam and his saviour to their feet.

‘Let’s get you both back up to the cafe to get you washed up. Then – we’ll see.’ Alexandros’ tone remained both calm and kind and Melissa was now placing him. He was the one who had served their coffee and pastries just an hour earlier.

‘This is very kind of you, Alexandros. Thank you. Very kind.’

‘No problem. But I warn you. I’m only in my third year,’ and now he was grinning. ‘So – no litigation?’

Sam now managed a smile as he let the men help him further down the road to the hire car which they all decided was a better bet than trying to help the two injured men walk back up the hill. They moved beach towels from the boot to protect the seats from the blood and Melissa drove very slowly with Sam in the front and the other man across the back seat, while Alexandros hurried ahead on foot. By the time they accepted the shoulders of volunteers to guide the patients slowly into the cafe, Alexandros had set up a table through an alcove at the back, with hot water in a bowl into which he had poured some foul-smelling concoction. He had also set out bandages and some sterile dressings from a large, zippered first aid kit.

The older woman, who Alexandros now introduced as his mother, was meanwhile producing small cups of strong coffee.

‘Sugar,’ she was saying, pointing at the cups. ‘Sugar.’

‘It’s sweet. Please drink it. My mother is right. The sugar will be good for the shock,’ Alexandros was smiling as he lifted the Cypriot’s injured leg onto a chair to examine the gash more carefully, narrowing his eyes at first and then nodding. ‘It’s pretty deep and will need several stitches. But – you’ll live. I can tape it and arrange a lift. And you two want to get this properly dressed in Polis. Yes?’

‘Yes,’ Sam broke in before Melissa could fuss further.

‘OK. But this must be done today. You’ll need to get back to Polis before 4 o’clock. I will ring them. Tell them to expect you?’

‘Would you? That would be great. Thank you, Alexandros.’ Melissa was sitting down at a second table as his mother brought her a coffee also along with a small pastry – nodding her head and smiling.