Watching the Wind Blow (The Greek Village Collection Book 9) (3 page)

Then the day came that Mama and Baba would never return and that soon after Yiayia began to wander off as if searching for them. Irini mostly caught her before she had gone too far, but some days, Yiayia could be very sneaky and Irini would find her streets away, completely lost.

The fishing boat leaves the bay and the rocking of the boat settles. If she is going to see Stathoula today, she’d better get on. She must put the pots that need washing to soak and pump the toilets to clear out the stale water and, while the bleach acts in them, she can nip back to the car for her phone.

And then one day, Yiayia was gone and could not be found. It wasn’t long after that that the field and the house were repossessed by the landlord. That hollow sinking weight of being left with no one and nothing settled into the pit of her stomach, becoming a part of her. That feeling stayed until Stathoula took her in.

Below deck, the air has cleared a little. It is not so acrid. Above deck, it is hot now, but below is even hotter. She opens the door to the forward toilet. Water sloshes below the duck boards, and the soap suds from people taking showers make everything look grimy.

If ever there was a good day to be caught for stealing! That market stall holder had no idea of the favour he did her. The police were involved but it turned out to be good luck for her that day.

The sink, which has yellowed with age, is always impossible to make look clean, and someone has left a toilet roll out whilst using the cubical as a wet room and the soggy tissue has disintegrated on the side.

It turned out the stall holder had known her parents. But it was the policeman who linked her name with the old lady they had found. He told her about the funeral before releasing her with a reprimand but still with no place to go and no food to eat.

To a great extent, it was the memory of all the food at her parents’ funeral that persuaded her to go to Yiayia’s. It certainly hadn’t occurred to her that her family had been traced and that she would see Stathoula and Glykeria.

On the shelf above the toilet and below the porthole is where the first aid box is kept. Really, it is a thick plastic sandwich box with the words ‘
Artemis
- First Aid’ written in indelible felt pen. It has been opened and the contents are spread out on the shelf; there are tubes in the sink and sealed plasters on the floor. An empty shampoo bottle is in the tiny bin which hangs on the back of the cupboard door below the sink and this stops the door closing and the one into the room from opening fully. Irini is unable to get into the space and she fishes about until she retrieves the bottle. Once in the room, she opens the porthole to let out the smell and heat.

That was what had hit her first about Stathoula and Glykeria’s house. The cleanliness. They led her first to a bathroom with a free-standing bath on legs with big industrial-looking taps.

That initial feeling of sinking beneath the warm water was such a luxury, she thought she might never climb out. Stathoula and Glykeria left her alone, and she marvelled at her luck. She did not want to soil their world with her own experiences. She wanted to embrace her new life and her cousins. Cast off the street. Forget the horrors she had seen. Lock it all away, pretend it had never happened.

It was a natural thing to do, even if not the best. If only she had found her tongue back then, talked to them, told them about the time between losing her parents and their Yiayia’s funeral. Talked about it all when it was fresh rather than letting it settle, bury its way into her, become a part of her, stagnating.

Maybe talking today will help loosen some of the armour she has put up. Let people in a little closer?

But just a couple of hours at lunch is not even enough time to give all the thanks she needs to give Stathoula, let alone talk. Still, if she only stays for a couple of hours, an hour even, or just five minutes, enough time to see her face, feel her embrace, it will be a moment of completeness, an acceptance, an absolute joy.

Besides, now that she is settled, maybe they can find ways to see more of each other. Kalamata’s not so far to see Glykeria. Even Germany these days is only a few hours on a plane. She could get a passport.

The toilet is flushed by using a hand pump, and Irini pumps vigorously, drawing sea water into the bowl and back out again into the sea. It gushes and rushes through unseen pipes. As she is pumping away, the first aid box shifts from its place on the shelf by her head and she struggles to push it back. The lid has come off and something inside jams it open. The water in the toilet gurgles and for a moment, Irini doesn’t hear the new noise. But as she stops pumping, she can hear a definite throbbing and the duckboard beneath her feet seems to be juddering. It is as if someone has switched on the engine. Things from the first aid box rattle out and a tube bounces off the toilet seat and onto the floor. Maybe Captain Yorgos has forgotten she is on board. Could he be back already, with day trippers? It’s a little early. If he casts off now, he may be reluctant to put her back ashore.

As she backs out of the toilet, the first aid box falls onto its side by the sink and she bangs her hip against the door handle. Wincing and bending with a hand covering the pain, she rushes to the steps that lead up to the deck.

‘Captain Yorgos. Hey Yorgos, have you forgotten I am on board? Don’t cast off.’

With the light behind the figure streaming in from above deck, Irini has no idea who or what she is looking at. Initially she thinks it is Captain Yorgos, his arm outstretched, handing her something, and her hand twitches in response to accept the offered item. But there is something in the way the person moves and the steadiness of the hand that holds the object outstretched towards her that makes her hesitate and take a step back.

The figure fills the space at the top of the steps. Irini takes another step back as the glare lessens, and the figure descends one step. The object is still held out, the shape becoming real. The round black hole at the end of a shaft lined up with her forehead. His grip unswaying around the handle. His cheek level with its sights, suggesting images from films. Irini gasps, sweat breaking into beads on her forehead.

‘Who are you?’ the gruff voice asks in a clear English.

‘Kanenas
,’ Irini’s voice croaks in Greek, generating a flick of incomprehension on the man’s face. She repeats herself in English ‘No one, a cleaner.’ She vaguely lifts the cloth in her hand as proof. The saloon blurs but she dare not move even to wipe her eyes. Coloured spots dart in her vision and she feels slightly sick.

He looks about himself, quickly, animal-like. In the aft of the boat are two cabins and a toilet, accessed by doors on either side of the steps that lead down from the cockpit. He pauses on the next step, reaches to open the door to the cabin on his left, releasing a stench of stale smoke and heat, male sweat and dirty clothes. A quick glance, his eyes only leaving her for a fraction of a second. Transferring his weapon, he opens the door to the other cabin. The bed lays smooth, made up with clean white sheets. Irini notices a corner that has not been tucked in, and at the same moment registers a fly that has landed on the frying pan soaking in the sink in her peripheral vision. Still on the stairs, he opens the door to the toilet next to the cabin and closes it again. Between these brief glances, his unblinking eyes stay fixed on her. The muscles in her legs seem to be weakening. Her mouth is dry. Her tongue has stuck to her palate.

Transferring his weapon back to the hand that it sits more comfortably in, he takes the final steps down and plants his feet firmly on the wooden floor. The saloon suddenly feels very small. Raising his free hand, he points with one finger. Irini’s limbs respond of their own accord; a tremble runs through her. The finger is alongside the barrel, lined up with her head. All his focus is on her. He is so still. He seems to neither breathe nor blink. His eyes are all black. Like a shark’s.

‘Open it.’ He enunciates crisply. His finger still points. With sudden awareness, Irini realises he means the door behind her. She opens it, grasping at the handle twice in her haste. Another bed, freshly made up, ready for clients. Maybe with a wrinkle or two, perhaps where the child slept yesterday.

Angelos! If anything happens to her, what will become of Angelos? With this thought, her mouth creates too much saliva. She swallows once and then again. The cabin blurs all the more and this time, she cannot resist swiping a hand across her eyes, clearing her vision.

‘Close it.’ The voice is not unkind. Irini closes both the cabin door and her mouth. ‘Both,’ he adds. His finger now points to the door of the bathroom that she was about to clean before he appeared and the cabin opposite with twin bunks that is always open, used as it is as a general dumping place, and a store for bed linen, mop and bucket. She pushes every door shut.

The man seems to relax, inasmuch as he takes a breath and blinks. His eyes flick around the saloon, from the cleared table to the full sink, taking in the chart table where navigational charts are stored and the panel above that controls the lights, the VHF radio, and the other electronics on the boat.

‘Stay below,’ he says and then turns his back on her and skips up on deck. The engine’s throbbing grows and Irini can feel the movement of the boat. The engine revs, causing her to grab the edge of the saloon table to keep her balance. There is no doubt that they are underway, but Irini cannot make sense of what is happening.

After what feels like forever hanging onto the saloon table, the revving is decreased and her legs can hold her no more. Is he alone? Are there others? Three rocking steps take her to the rear of the saloon. From here, looking up to the patch of light at the top, she can see him behind the wheel.

‘I said stay below.’ His words are shouted and she listens for the footfall of others overhead. Through the thin windows in the superstructure, she can see no feet. He is alone.

She will not do anything stupid. Images of Petta and Angelos bring her hand to her heart. If this man’s intention is to shoot her, he would probably not do it below deck as a bullet through the hull would be a problem, wouldn’t it? If she goes up on deck and he shoots her there, then he can throw her overboard and that’s that. It is best to stay below deck.

The radio crackles - Captain Yorgos leaves it permanently on, mostly for company, she suspects. Right now, it is more than company: it could be her lifeline. It is only just audible over the throb of the engine, even where she is standing next to it. Irini’s breath comes in short gasps. She glances nervously up at the hatch and her chest heaves. From where she is standing, all she can see is blue sky and the end of the boom swinging. She waits. Will he come down? The engine has found a steady rhythm, the boat rocks this way and that, never the same twice. Another glance through the hatch. He is standing and holding onto the helm, eyes far out to sea. She walks backwards to the radio and cautiously surveys the switches and knobs, one eye on the hatch. She turns the one marked volume way down low and then takes her time to think.

Captain Yorgos will sometimes run the engine to recharge the batteries and even when he has shouted to her down below, she has heard nothing. Likewise, she has shouted up to him on deck and he has not been able to hear her, and that was with the engine just idling.

She turns the volume up click by click till she can hear some crackling.

Irini’s chest heaves like it will explode, but the hatch remains a square of blue. Lifting the microphone slyly to her mouth, she presses the button to talk.

‘Port police, port police, this is
Artemis
. Come in please?’

Even though the man will not be able to hear, she dare not raise her voice above a whisper. She releases the button and waits. Silence.

‘Port police, port police, this is
Artemis
. Are you there?’ Releasing the button, she wills a voice out of the speakers.

‘
Artemis
, is that you, Yorgo?’

‘Er no,’ Irini begins and then remembers she has not pressed the ‘speak’ button. ‘No, this is Rini, I clean the boat for him.’ The quiver in her voice must tell them everything.

‘What can I do for you, Rini? Need some more bleach? Where’s the captain?’ There is a general chortle of voices over the airwaves.

‘There is a man on board with a gun. Over.’ She doesn’t breathe, her heart stops beating. She tries not to blink. The situation becomes real in the telling.

‘
Artemis
, did I hear you right? A man with a gun?’

‘Yes.’ Irini keeps looking at the speaker. ‘He has taken the boat by force.’

She waits. The fly eats yesterday’s bolognese sauce from the edge of the frying pan.

‘
Artemis
, this is the port police. Over.’

It sounds so loud. She hastens to turn it down.

‘Yes hello,’ she whispers hoarsely.

‘Rini is that you? Over.’

‘Yes.’

‘Have you seen his hands? Over?’
 

‘I haven’t noticed his hands. What about his hands? Wait.’ She puts the microphone on the chart table and moves toward the hatch, staying out of the line of sight. At the steps, she ducks down and then raises her head in stages to see over the top. He’s looking behind, back to Saros, his hands on the helm. Smothering a gasp, she ducks down and creeps back to the radio.

‘The end of his little finger is missing, ragged skin.’

There is silence. The wait seems to be forever. Raising the microphone to her mouth, she is about to press the button to talk when she hears,

‘
Artemis
, he is a known mercenary. He is wanted for travelling with illegal documents. Dangerous. We will come. Try and keep in contact but do nothing to upset him. Do you hear? No heroics.’

The saloon is swimming. Irini wipes across her eyes with the back of her forearm.

‘Leave the radio on. We will come.’ The radio crackles and goes quiet. Irini slowly hangs up the microphone.

‘Come up where I can see you.’ He shouts the command from the top of the hatch. Did he see her, did he hear her? Will he just shoot her when she goes on deck?