A Handful of Pebbles (25 page)

‘
What?’ Sarah screws up her eyes, partly against the sun that is making its way to the horizon and partly from lack of understanding. Her legs stiffen, keeping her rigidly upright.

‘
Neville made a pass at you, right? On the way here, in the car.’ Liz sounds tired, bored almost, rather than accusative.

‘
Oh no! God no!’ Sarah loses her frown, exhales. Her shoulders drop and her legs become her own again. ‘No, no.’ Her words are emphatic. It helps the decision: she will not tell Liz about Laurence and Torin. Why add any more pain to Liz’s life?

‘
What then?’ Liz demands. Sarah searches for something to fill the gap.

‘
I’m afraid I got cross with Neville in the car, told him a few home truths.’ Sarah needs to tell her this anyway.

‘
Such as?’ Liz takes a sip of her drink and pushes off the side with her foot.

‘
I told him what a good wife you’ve been and that he owes you.’ Sarah is not sure how Liz will respond.

‘
A double whammy!’ Liz chuckles. Sarah frowns but before she can ask for an explanation, Neville’s head appears round the side door.

‘
Ah, Liz my dear, don’t you think it’s time to start getting ready? I think they are expecting us by eight.’ and then he disappears just as fast. Liz turns back to Sarah.

‘
I told him I was leaving him when he took me out for lunch today.’

‘
What!’ Sarah was about to sit down on a woven cane sunbed but now jerks up.

‘
I told him that he can pay for a nurse for his ex-wife coz I’m off.’ She paddles her way around to face Sarah. ‘You remember that waiter with the lovely eyes?’

‘
Oh, no Liz, what? What’s a waiter got to do with this?’

Liz puts out her free hand so Sarah can pull her to the poolside
, where she struggles to replace the lilo with solid ground. Once by Sarah’s side, Liz takes a long drink of her martini and then reduces her tone to a whisper. ‘Nothing. I just made it clear if Neville wants a nurse, he should get a nurse and when he smirked—you know that horrible smirk he does—and said what would I do without him, I just happened to mention Costas.’

‘
Costas. Is that the waiter’s name?’ Sarah can feel her temple in her pulse.

‘
No idea. I’d had one too many, I saw this old dear on the table next to us dribbling her lunch down her chin, and I just thought there was no way I could go through all that again. So when Neville was looking, I winked at the waiter and made the rest up on the spot.’

‘
You never?’ Sarah looks through the open side door to check Neville is not eavesdropping.

‘
I was really a bit too far gone to know what I was doing, truth be told. But you know what?’

‘
What?’ Sarah thinks the heat must be affecting them all.

‘
We finished our lunch and Neville held my arm as he walked me back to the car. It seemed a lot further than the way we came and then he pulled me into a jeweller’s.’

Sarah checks Liz
’s ears and neckline before pulling at her hands.

‘
You won’t find anything.’ Liz tries to mount the stairs. ‘He wouldn’t even tell me. I had to look away.’

‘
I don’t understand.’ Sarah guides her into the house but Liz just puts her fingers to her lips and Sarah gives up trying to make sense of what is being said. Liz leads the way into the main bedroom. Neville pokes his head out from the room next door.

‘
Anyone want a coffee?’ he asks, his eyes on Liz but his head turned to Sarah.

‘
Might be an idea.’ Sarah follows Liz, who shuts it behind her.

‘
What are you wearing?’ Sarah opens her closet door.

‘
The gold!’ Liz is slurring her words badly.

‘
Not sure if it is a gold occasion.’ Sarah pulls out the shimmering gold skirt of a full-length dress.

‘
It had better be.’ Liz looks to the closed door, beyond which Neville can be heard descending the stairs. ‘It better be something big and bulky and gold, preferably,’ she struggles with the word, repeating herself, ‘preferably with inset diamonds.’ The bed groans as she sits and Neville opens the door wide enough to pass through a full mug. ‘Hot,’ he says as Sarah takes it and he closes the door.

The coffee helps and after a few false starts
, Liz decides on a white floor-length dress with a gold belt.

‘
He will surprise me with whatever he bought tonight.’ She taps her nose and drinks her coffee, sipping it like a cocktail. Sarah tries to put on Liz’s makeup as she fidgets about. Sarah chastises her in an un-heartfelt way. Liz recalls an anecdotes from their school days, which brings laugher and they lose themselves in meaningless banter. Within minutes, they could be in their bedsit in Douglas, fresh off the boat from Ireland.

‘
We need whiskey,’ Liz suggests.

‘
No you don’t. What is all this drinking about anyway, Liz? Has it just been since Neville’s mum died? Are you just kicking loose?’

Liz breathes in and out
, long and hard through her nose. ‘Since the plans.’ Sarah tells her to hold still whilst she finishes her mascara. ‘When Miriam was on her last legs, we began to plan more and more what we would do. We would giggle like children at our plans, Neville would sit with his calculator doing the sums. We would share a bottle of wine together. It was nice.’ Liz slumps and Sarah gives up on the makeup and tries, instead, to pin up her hair.

‘
You nearly ready, girls? You want more coffee?’ Neville shouts up the stairs. Both of them turn and look at Liz’s yellow silk kimono that hangs on the back of the door. Neither of them answer him.

‘
But when she died, the cozy bottles of wine stopped, the planning stopped, and I knew it was all just dreams.’

Sarah thinks of Nicolao
s’ wisdom. Some dreams are never to be realised—they are just to give us hope. Fat lot of good that did Liz.

‘
So I continued the planning and drinking on my own. I wanted him back. I wanted the dreams, the closeness, the oneness. When I drink, he pays me more attention, he worries, he helps me if I overbalance when I walk. It forces him to be close.’

‘
Girls, we should really go now.’ Neville taps on the door before opening it.

‘
I don’t think I can stand.’ Liz hiccups. Neville is by her side, taking her arm, lifting her from the bed. She turns to look at Sarah and winks.

‘
Oh is that Laurence’s car I can hear?’ Neville escorts Liz down the stairs.

‘
You know, I think I’m going to walk.’ Sarah beats them down the stairs and gives a half wave from the patio. Liz looks up, grins, and waves. Neville shouts he is ‘coming’, to a knock at the front door.

Sarah hears the tone of Laurence
’s voice as she ducks into the olive grove but she cannot make out the words, nor does she care. She is no longer accountable to him.

The light is draining from the sky
. The view is paling to pinks and blues, the olive trunks black in the fading light, and the evening whispers through the leaves. It is magical. A crack of dried twigs turns her head but there are no goats, no sheep, no Nicolaos. It is probably late for grazing the herd. Something scuttles, unseen, through the dried grass. There is the smell of warm earth.

Would she tell Nicolaos about Laurence if he were here? Probably not, but she would tell him that she had spoken to Jim. If she does stay and become housekeeper, Nicolaos will be in the field next to the house every day. In a way
, that’s a disconcerting thought. She has shared so much with him she cannot remember all she has said. But now there is a possibility that she might stay, it dawns on her that perhaps she only confided so much in him because she thought she would never see him again once the wedding was over and they had packed to return home. Hurrying out from under the trees and onto the track, she wraps her arms around herself. It is not cold but she feels suddenly exposed. How must Nicolaos see her? Probably as someone who is pretty foolish. Someone who chased after ease and riches and threw her life away in the process. Stumbling through life, allowing those around her to dictate how she lives and spilling her heart out to strangers.

Out on the road
, she turns towards Helena’s. In the darkening sky, a halo of ambient light above the trees indicates the house. It will be too dark to go up through the gully and in at the side gate. Sticking to the road, she still wishes she had worn flat shoes. Her heels are low, elegant, but still not suitable for hiking. She takes them off, the tarmac warm even though the sun has set now.

A firework cracks above the house, a dog barks, another responds from across the village. Then the silence falls again, with just the rustling of branches by the roadside in the slight cooling wind. The sky so large, the stars go on forever. As Sarah stares into the expanse, smaller stars emerge between the brighter ones, and then dimmer ones again between those, layer after layer. So vast
, the pettiness of her own life seems infinitesimally small. The universe does not care if she is joyful or miserable. Mankind will not alter its path by either her happiness or her sadness. In short, it makes no difference to anyone anywhere, so she might as well choose. She picks up a stone. She cannot see its colour in the fading light. If it is white, she will be happy to the point of selfishness from now on; if it is black, she will continue with her plans and if happiness comes, that will be a bonus, not a decision. She tucks it in her pocket, a secret stored for later.

The gates to the house are open and a car passes her as it pulls up the drive
, forcing her to step to one side. As she nears the bend, Sarah puts her shoes back on. Neville’s car is there already, in front of one of the garages. A Jeep has hemmed it in, making it look small. This pleases her.

In between the garage and the house
, a bonfire has been lit. In the floodlit garden on the other side of the front door, two barbeques provide gathering points, and lines of linen-covered tables fill the lawn, being lifted to the heavens by clusters of white and silver helium-filled balloons. Men stand around, some smoking, one with tongs in his hand, two with white tea towels tucked into waistbands. Jim is there, laughing, as the man who holds the tongs points them to the sky; a story is in progress. The orator briefly breaks away to turn whatever is cooking on the grill.

‘
Dogs hate it.’ The teenager, Jenny, comes from behind the garage. The same girl who opened the door for Sarah when she came to see Frona. ‘It’s the noise, but no one thinks about the dogs.’

‘
Grab them a sausage each and they will forgive you everything,’ Sarah suggests.

‘
I’m going to get them a steak each.’ And off she goes, winding her way between the people who are thronging in front of the house. Beyond the dressed tables and the barbeques, at the far end of the lawn, a stage has been erected and, in front of that, a wooden dance floor. A man plays the bouzouki, and he is accompanied by a guitar. The speakers whistle and crackle to the sound check.

‘
Ena, dyo, ena, dyo, ena, ena, ena.
’ The man strums his long-necked instrument and the guitar picks up the tune. The group by the barbeque raise their glass to the men on the stage, who begin to perform in relaxed earnest. The guitarist wedges his cigarette in the strings above the neck and sings a guttural warble into his microphone. The music speaks of ages past, a culture that has remained steadfast for centuries despite invasions of the Turks and, more recently, the E.U. Sarah knows that if she was Greek, she would be proud.

‘
You know, you should be inside with the women.’ The teenage girl is back, a big raw steak in each hand.

‘
Really, why?’

‘
They are doing the rice and child thing in a bit. They are all clucking like hens inside.’ Her accent is American, but her olive skin and dark hair are all Greek. She throws a slab of meat to each of the dogs and they sniff without much interest. ‘I’m gonna watch a video. Beats all this.’ One side of her upper lip lifts into a sneer but her words and this action are awkward, a brave attempt to look composed when really she has no idea how to act or what is expected of her. Joss was morose at this girl’s age, Finn painfully shy.

‘
Good idea,’ Sarah agrees, and the girl gives a self-conscious wave as she leaves.

Spitting grit from its wheels
, an opened-backed truck comes to a halt and a man shouts as he leaps from the cab. One of the men by the barbeque goes in the house and returns with two rifles. Sarah drops back into the shadows by the dog cages, keeps in the shadows as she follows the wall and finds herself around the back of the house where she enters by a door that opens at the far end of the swimming pool. Silk water lilies are clustering around the filter. Slowly, they are sucked into the stream of returning water from which they are suddenly jettisoned, bobbing and spinning back to the centre of the pool. A dragonfly, fooled by the colours, hovers over them. The window that dissects the pool at the front of the house has been raised and the hall is open, neither inside nor out.

A group of women come
s from the direction of the kitchen with stacks of circular basketwork trays in their hands. Seeing Sarah, they smile and beckon, bustling up the stairs. Sarah is given several baskets and a bag of rice. The women gabble at her in Greek. The baskets are filled with red silk petals.

Giggling and talking over each other
, the women lift skirts and hold tight to the hand rail as they ascend to the first floor. The lady at the rear waits for Sarah, who has stopped to look up through the skylight as a rocket explodes. Noise seems to be coming from every direction. Music and talk from the front of the house, fireworks above, the echo of laughter and shrieks from inside the house. The whole place is filled with excitement but emphasises Sarah’s loneliness.

The group collides with more women, and one or two men who are trying to keep their dignity in the throng. Everyone is jamming into one room. The squash of people propels Sarah along and she finds herself next to a large double bed strewn with rose petals. A child of about six reaches up to try and grab some petals from the baskets Sarah has forgotten she is holding. Handing the girl the whole basket
, more hands reach and Sarah hands out all she has but is offered one back. Taking a handful, she follows suit and throws the petals on the bed. The packet of rice she brought is split open and that, too, is spread on the bed. The older woman, with sun-browned and work-worn fingers, stirs the mix, coating the bed evenly. The men, who had taken a step back from the central point, now reach over the throng and throw bank notes onto the counterpane. Some flitter though the stirred air, people snatching at them before they become lost amongst the feet, and they are thrown again to lodge between rice and petals.

The rice and petals seem to be finished now
, but the money keeps coming. Everyone is laughing, talking and excited, their traditional magic a heady brew. Men keep pushing into the room, throwing notes, outdoing their friends. As they leave, new faces arrive. The twenty and fifty euro notes that began the ritual are now replaced by hundreds and then five hundreds. One man in a shiny suit drops a note that says it is one thousand euros. Sarah is not even sure if such a note exists. The man lights a cigar as he ambles from the room. A group of children come in, screeching and shouting. The smallest girl, in a lace dress with a large ribbon at the back, is roughly grabbed by one of the old ladies in black. With effort, she is picked up and thrown on the bed, but the child squirms and runs away. Another willingly offers her services and climbs by herself into the central position. With all the attention on her, she awaits instruction. She is to roll, roll amongst the money and the petals. Many hands assist her.

‘
May they be blessed with many children,’ someone calls in English and is answered in Greek. Liz puts her head around the door. Sarah lifts her hand to attract her attention, but she is gone. Neville’s head appears. He studies the room, watches the other men. Someone pushes past him, slapping him on the back as he throws his own note. Someone else pulls Neville into the room, encouraging him to join in. The child has had enough of rolling and wriggles from the bed and runs away. Neville pulls out a twenty and tries to be casual as he lets go and it floats down onto the bed. Laurence is behind him now. His eyes dart around the room, trying to make sense of what is going on. Sarah bends her knees, glad that the woman in front of her is tall. Between shoulders, she watches as someone gesticulates, trying to explain what is going on to Laurence. He is offered rice; someone else takes out his own wallet and shows Laurence what is expected.

Sarah could tell them that Laurence will not join in. He will see the encouragement as bullying, expecting him to conform to something that is not in his culture. Gritting her teeth
, she waits to see how he will handle it. She hopes he will not make a fuss. The man who is trying to be helpful taps him on the shoulder and points to the bed, his eyes alight at the game they are playing. Laurence shrugs the man’s hand off and takes a step back. Two men are facing Laurence now, their smiles gone. Liz reappears and talks in Laurence’s ear. He turns and is gone. Well, at least there was no fuss, but how mean can you get? It is his own son who would benefit.

More baskets of petals arrive, the floor underfoot now crunchy with grains of rice. Gently pushing past people
, Sarah heads for the door. As she passes the bed, she takes a fifty euro note from her handbag and pushes her hand through the mass of people and lets it drop. For a second, she is part of it all.

Back in the hall
, the fireworks ring above. She has seen neither Joss and Pru or Finn and Helena, nor has she yet met Helena’s mother. It would also be polite to say hello to Jim, and where in all these rooms and in all this crowd is Frona? Maybe in the kitchen.

Spotting Laurence in the hall
, she leaves through the back door she came in by. For a second, there is calm, quiet, but as she turns the corner back towards the bonfire, the noise is heightened by some of the men pointing rifles in the air and shooting at the sky. In the shock of the sudden sound, Sarah runs and finds herself in the shadows on the dog pen again. The dogs’ heads rest on crossed paws; she is more alarmed by the gunfire than they are. After each round of shots, there is laughter, and more men come to join in the celebration. Jim is at the centre of it all, loading and handing out rifles. The men cheer with the cracks, and occasionally, the trees that line the other side of the wall rustle as they are hit.

The man in the shiny suit with his cigar in his mouth saunters around the pool
. Behind him are Laurence and Neville. Liz hangs back, glass in hand, looking at the silk water lilies. Jim greets Laurence loudly as they are absorbed into the throng of men. The man with the shiny suit is handed a gun. He looks at it with disinterest, steps to one side to let others gather around Jim. Holding the shotgun in one hand, he concentrates on his cigar with his other, drawing out the last few puffs.

Someone from the barbeque area shouts, first something that sounds like
‘Eh Timmy’ and then another voice bellows, ‘Food’s ready.’ No one responds except the man in the shiny suit. He grinds out the last of his cigar, props the gun against the dog cage, and, pulling up his trousers from their waistband, hurries his steps towards the waiting food.

He does not see Sarah.

The gun waits.

Laurence is being shown how to hold a rifle by Jim
. Neville has returned to Liz. There are many people shooting, so much noise. Jim leaves Laurence to assist another man. Laurence stands still as he takes his aim.

In all this chaos
, who would know how it happened?

Sarah picks up the rifle.