The Butterfly Storm (3 page)

On the other side of the patio wall, where a few flowers struggle for life, cream and red butterflies
dance in the wake of the impending storm. But here the sun shines, hot on our shoulders and faces as
we look towards the sky. Dozens of butterflies, caught by the strengthening wind, spiral into the
air.

‘Aren’t they incredible?’ Alekos says. He keeps hold of my hand and we both watch the butterflies’
multi-coloured frenzy. ‘I couldn’t afford roses,’ he says.

‘You ordered them specially, did you?’

Towards the mountain the sky is misted with rain. But we remain in sunshine. Alekos’ hand moves
to the small of my back and he pulls me to him. He’s hot and damp from cleaning the patio
tables.

‘Where are we going tonight?’ I ask.

He leans towards me and kisses me. I wrap my arms round him and his back muscles clench. We
are hidden behind the wall, so I let my hands wander the length of his back and down,
fingering the edge of his shorts. His hands slide beneath my vest top and reach across my bare
back.

‘You’re not even dressed,’ he whispers.

‘Neither are you.’

‘I’ve been working.’

‘You’ve not finished yet?’

Before he can answer, a shaft of silver lightning pierces the grey. We wait, watching the sky
darken. Storm clouds slam together with a bang. The cats meow and one of them shoots for
cover.

‘I never thought I’d be so pleased to see rain,’ I say. Storms in Greece are violent but brief, the
lightning spectacular, clearing the air as effectively as if someone had waved a magic wand. The clouds
creep forward, dark rolling giants in the sky, consuming everything in their path. Their shadow sweeps
across the landscape, edging nearer until it reaches the apricot field. The sun disappears and I feel the
temperature drop. The butterflies spiral higher. Alekos strokes my hand and our shoulders
touch. I feel a cool drop of water on my forehead. With the onslaught of rain the butterflies
disperse.

Takis has left the patio, the cats have fled and, rain-splattered, we head for cover. Despina has
two of her cousins helping out for the night in the kitchen. One of them is seventy-three
and looks on the verge of passing out. Despina is shouting orders, and we are met with a
barrage of words. I’ve never heard her swear in the kitchen, but if ever there was a time, it is
tonight.

‘I don’t understand why you want to go out for food. Eat here!’ she says as we squeeze past
her.

I catch the briefest of scowls between her and Alekos. ‘Mama,’ he scolds.

‘Sophie, I miss you already,’ Despina says. Although her face is beaded with sweat she looks
pale.

‘I’ve made all the salads and the sauces are done.’

‘I know, I know.’ She leans towards me and whispers, ‘I’m working with amateurs.’

‘It’s stormy, Mama, it’ll be cooler tonight,’ Alekos says. He puts his arm around her
shoulders.

She stands on tiptoes and kisses him on both cheeks. ‘And busier.’

There is no winning when she’s in this mood. We back up the stairs, leaving the steam, hot food
and tempers behind. Alekos heads for the shower and I return to our bedroom. It is icy cold
and dull. I pull the curtains open. Only a smudge of blue remains in the sky. Rain lashes
the balcony and thunder continues to rumble overhead. I slip my dress on and glimpse
movement. A red butterfly flutters and lands on the wall. Its wings are bright and still
against the white, as if it has been painted on. I leave it there, safe from the storm. I gather
my hair in a ponytail and quickly put mascara and lip gloss on. I turn the air con off for
Alekos.

I knock on the bathroom door. ‘I’m ready.’

Alekos emerges with only a towel wrapped round his middle. He looks me up and down. His eyes
linger. ‘That’s quite a dress. Do you want to help me get ready?’ he says, nodding towards our
bedroom.

‘I know you too well, Aleko,’ I reply. I blow him a kiss and wiggle my retreat along the hallway. ‘I’ll
be downstairs.’

I don’t have to wait long. Alekos is down in minutes, wearing grey trousers and a short-sleeved shirt,
his black hair combed and styled. He finds me with Takis retrieving dusty bottles of ouzo from the store
cupboard.

‘Is the car ready to go, Baba?’ Alekos asks.

Takis looks up from the crate of bottles and nods. ‘Take me with you, eh?’ He winks. ‘Enjoy
yourselves tonight.’

The windscreen wipers won’t go fast enough. We drive in a half-light; the sky is so dark and
heavy with rain. We head towards the dusky remains of the evening’s sunshine and soon the
storm is behind us, the rumbles distant and the flashes less intrusive. Alekos winds the
windows down as the car heats up. We pick up speed on the national road and cool air rushes
in.

‘Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?’ I ask.

Alekos reaches for Takis’ cigarettes on the dashboard and pulls one out. I tut.

‘He doesn’t mind,’ he says with the cigarette between his lips.

‘I do.’

He gropes for the matches and passes them to me.

‘Only if you tell me where we’re going,’ I say.

He shrugs in defeat. I light it and watch him breathe in smoke before blowing it out through the
open window.

‘To the Olympus festival,’ he says.

‘To do what?’

‘Wait and see.’

I don’t have to wait long. We pull into a car park in the foothills of Olympus and fight our way into
a parking space. The evening is cooler and the earth is damp underfoot. There’s a fresh smell of soil
mixed with the aroma of sweetcorn being grilled on a stall by the entrance. The sun has dipped behind
the mountain, leaving a stain of red and pink spreading across the horizon. I look behind at the slate
grey clouds gathering over the sea.

We round the corner and walk towards a ticket booth.

‘We’re seeing a play?’ I ask.

I recognise where we are but I haven’t been here since the first summer when Alekos
showed me the sights. The sun, disguised by the breeze, had burnt me while I stood on
the stage at the Ancient Theatre of Dion and bellowed the few lines I remembered from
Shakespeare’s
Romeo and Juliet
. It was an incredible setting nestled between the mountain and the
sea.

Alekos buys the tickets. ‘We would have come last year but I didn’t think you knew enough
Greek.’

‘But now?’

‘I think you’ll enjoy it.’

He couldn’t give me a greater compliment. He passes me the tickets.

‘
Agamemnon
,’ I say.

‘I know. A tragedy. Not right for an anniversary.’

‘I studied it at school.’

‘We can do something else if you want.’

‘No, no, this is great. I’ve always wanted to see a play here.’ I reach for his hand and we follow the
mass of people along the sloping path. At the top it opens out on a crowded and noisy amphitheatre.
Far below is the stage I’d stood on three years before, but now it is shrouded in darkness and
anticipation.

Hundreds of people are squashed on to rows of wooden benches and the amphitheatre buzzes with
chatter. As floodlights light up the stage conversations turn to whispers. The appearance of a
masked figure subdues the audience. They keep it traditional with a bare stage, but they
are creative with their lighting, setting the mood with different colours. Sections of the
stage are lit up to give the feeling of either intimacy or space. I glance at Alekos a few
times to gauge if he is enjoying it or not. Each time he catches me looking, he asks if I’m
okay. The figure of Queen Clytemnestra in dark purple and blue robes with braided hair
commands the stage as her husband Agamemnon sacrifices their daughter. At times I struggle to
keep up with the language, but I follow the story and understand more than expected.

After queuing to get out of the car park, we drive towards the coast, away from Olympus. The Greek entry
from this year’s Eurovision comes on the radio. Alekos hums along.

‘You like this?’ I ask.

‘It’s catchy.’

‘Do you know the words?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Okay, maybe a few.’

It is a clear night away from the lights of the Ancient Theatre of Dion. Hundreds of stars speckle
the sky and the moon is just a pale slither. The landscape spreads out as we drive, with clusters of
lights finishing in a line along the coast. Lightning still flashes on the horizon. I have an idea of where
we’re going, especially when we turn on to the coast road towards Platamonas with its fish restaurants
by the beach.

But Alekos isn’t predictable for once. We leave the dark glint of the sea behind as the coast road
curves inland. We climb a winding road, thundering past another car struggling with the ascent. Then,
from behind a shroud of trees, I see Platamonas Castle. Perched at the summit of the hill, it overlooks
the Aegean Sea. The castle’s turrets and stone walls are the colour of honey, floodlit by the lighting
skirting its base. We pull sharply on to a steep dirt track that zigzags up the hillside to the
castle.

‘It’s spectacular,’ I say, as we rumble up the track. ‘It looks so different at night.’

We pull up on the grass in front of the castle walls and Alekos switches off the engine. The air stills
and all I can hear is the sound of crickets surrounding us. We get out of the car and I look around at
the weather-beaten castle walls looming above us.

‘Open the boot,’ Alekos says with a smile.

I click it open and find a picnic hamper and cool box inside.

‘You romantic,’ I say.

‘I didn’t want to take you to a restaurant. I thought it would remind us of work.’

I kiss him. ‘This is perfect.’

We take everything out and find a flat spot a little way from the car. We lay a rug out on the grass
by the edge of the hill and sit with our backs to the castle.

‘Did I make that?’ I ask as he brings out a bowl of salad.

He nods.

We eat hot feta, roasted red peppers and
spanakopita
in the dark. Alekos rests a torch on the rug to
shine on the salami and cheeses, bread and olives. A moth flutters between us, drawn to the light. We
drink straight from a bottle of sweet red wine, taking long gulps and passing it to each
other.

‘It’s so good to be out,’ I say. There is more food but I’m full. Alekos manoeuvres himself towards
me and I snuggle back into his arms.

‘I’ve never felt this happy before,’ he says. He holds me close. ‘Have you?’

‘I’ve been happy before but this is different. I want to pinch myself to make sure this is really
happening.’ I wriggle my toes in the long, scratchy grass. ‘There are probably snakes and things in
here, aren’t there?’

‘And lizards.’

‘I don’t mind lizards.’

‘You will when one bites you.’

‘It can’t be as bad as the bloody mosquitoes.’

‘At least I can’t see your bites in the dark.’

‘I only have two bites.’ I elbow him and he squeezes me tighter.

‘I love you, even with ugly, red marks,’ he says.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment. Anyway it only means they find me tasty.’

‘Me too.’

There is something about night time that leaves me with the feeling of being cut off from the
rest of the world. High on the hill the darkness is threaded with lights that reflect off the
sea.

‘We were somewhere over there earlier.’ Alekos points to a far off cluster of lights. It
is different at night and peaceful, away from the summer crowds – the beach is filled by
mid-morning, not with so many people that you feel your space is invaded, but close enough
to hear each other’s conversations. Up on the castle hilltop it feels timeless, empty, as if
we are the only people for miles, surveying our land. I’m getting carried away – but why
not. My contentment is more than just an evening of theatre, or the food and wine filling
my stomach, more than Alekos’ arms around me, or his lips tickling my neck. It is the
feeling of belonging, of finally being satisfied, of hope for the future without any fear of what
it might hold. It may feel unreal but I realise this is normality – the lights piercing the
darkness below belong to a country I have embraced. I wouldn’t change it for anything.

We leave the car parked on the grass outside the restaurant and avoid the gravel in an attempt to not wake
Despina and Takis. We tiptoe through the dark kitchen and up the stairs.

‘That was the best evening,’ I say as we reach our bedroom door.

‘Shush,’ Alekos says, putting his middle finger against my lips. ‘They’ll hear.’

‘I’m only talking.’

‘Whisper.’

I sigh. Loudly.

He takes my hand and says, ‘Follow me.’

We creep back along the dark hallway past Despina and Takis’ bedroom and pad down the stone
steps and out through the kitchen door.

‘What did I do?’ I ask. I follow him across the garden.

‘You wanted to talk. I could tell.’

‘I always want to talk at night you know that. I’m past being sleepy.’

‘We can always have sex if you’re not tired.’

‘We’ve plenty of time for that.’

He tickles my sides and I wriggle away from him and run towards the far end of the
garden. We slump together on one of the seats beneath the olive trees. Takis calls them
the love seats as more and more couples end up locking lips on them at the end of the
night.

‘We should sleep outside, under the stars,’ I say.

‘With all the insects?’

‘Maybe not. But I’m so awake.’

I untangle myself from him and walk across the garden and past the patio. A velvety darkness
stretches endlessly in every direction. I go through the archway and out on to the grassy area behind
the restaurant. The security light from the patio clicks on and shines through the gaps in
the wall making diamond shapes on the grass. The ground is so dry puddles have formed
after the storm. I see a fleck of white in one and bend down. I pick up a cream butterfly,
drowned by the rain. I can barely feel it in the palm of my hand; its wings are like tissue
paper.