The English Lesson (The Greek Village Collection Book 11) (3 page)

Juliet

'
So
you have been back a week already.' Juliet tugs on the handbrake. With her eyes screwed up against the sun, it is possible to see through her dusty windscreen that there is only one yacht in the harbour now. Climbing from behind the steering wheel out of the car and back into the heat, the first noticeable sound is the yacht’s halyard clacking against the mast. The boat’s hull is a dirty white and there are towels and clothes hanging on the wire handrail between the stantions. An orange beach towel hangs limply over the boom. It has all the appearances of a boat that is someone’s home, not a holiday experience. Schools of tiny fish nibble seaweed from a rope that trails loosely in the water from a bollard on the quay. The fisherman's boat is not there.

'I know, life is just spinning past.' Michelle unfolds out of the car and stretches. 'I’m glad I’ve finished cleaning the house though. It feels my own again now.'

'It doesn't seem like a week since I picked you up from the bus station.'

'It would if you had spent the week cleaning,' Michelle laughs.

'Nor does it seem like a week since I met Toula.' Juliet picks her books off the back seat and pushes them under her arm before they set off. An English Encyclopaedia, a Greek to English dictionary, an exercise book with a pen clipped on its cover.

'Do you know what Marina from the corner shop in the village told me?' Michelle asks as they walk side by side. 'She said she grew up with Toula, knew her before her husband started his construction business. Do you know he started it with a loan that he got from the bank that was meant to be used to extend his house? All a bit naughty, from what I heard.' Michelle’s bob needs a trim if she is going to keep it in that style. It is a long time since Juliet has seen it this long. The dress Michelle bought is very similar to her own; light linen, no need to iron.

They walk side by side with long, easy strides until they come to stop by the side of the road, waiting for what little traffic there is to pass.

'Well, this is Greece. The law is not exactly black and white. Even worse in the old days, they say.'

'He deals in clocks now.' Michelle steps out after the last car passes.

'Do you want to stay in town for lunch today?' Juliet asks, hitching up the sinking books.

'We could do. I am going to leave you here and I'll see you in an hour.' Michelle hops onto the pavement at the other side and turns towards the harbour-front cafés.

'You've dropped something.' Juliet bends to pick it up but Michelle is too quick. 'Michelle, that is a military envelope!!'

'So?'

'It's from him isn't it? It's from Dino,' Juliet teases but her eyes are wide, asking for information.

'See you in an hour.'

Juliet watches Michelle’s outline become unclear in the glare of the sun. There is just the slightest of squeezes around her heart. She is not sure whether it is heartache from the potential loss of her friend. Maybe she is ready to find someone herself. Maybe the tightness is just a trace of loneliness. The idea of love is very seductive. But there are always complications.

As Juliet passes Toula's door, she can hear clanking and whirring. An involuntary shiver runs the length of her spine and she shakes it off, putting it down to the sudden shade and the sneaky breeze from the north. Soon, she will have to carry around a cardigan or a light jacket. And then a coat in a couple of months as January and February bring the colder weather down from Russia. She will order wood early this year, pay a little more and get the kind that does not spit and burn holes in her rug. A big wood fire with the sofa pulled close and she will remain unmoved until the delicate flowers of spring come to life. If she wanted cold and damp, she would have stayed in England. The cat on Toula’s doorstep lifts its head as she passes.

Thoughts of England bring a slight yearning for her boys. Not boys, men! Thomas married now and Terrance, ah Terrance. Will Terrance ever settle down?

There is a couple sitting under the vines at the café, but the other table is free. Juliet makes herself comfortable. When she looks up, Toula is outside her front door, waiting for something or someone. The cat is rubbing itself against the doorframe, making closing the door difficult. Eventually, it slinks into the sunlight to exchange its rubbing post for Toula’s legs, making it possible for her to lock the door. She then begins her steady walk towards the café. Her rolling gait already seems familiar. Toula goes into the electrician’s as she did last week and comes out again after a minute or two. She picks a sprig of bougainvillea and her smile lights up the street as she draws near.

'Hello
Daskala
,' Toula says, half-English half-Greek. 'Or perhaps I say, "
Kalimera
Teacher?" Half-Greek, half-English this time. With a glint in her eye, she invites Juliet to enjoy her play.

'How has your week been?' Juliet asks as they order coffees. Toula hesitates and speaks quickly to the waiter in Greek. Juliet understands all that is said. Toula has ordered
loukoumades
and two spoons.

'My week is the same,' she says, exhaling and deflating into the chair. Straightening again, she puts the bougainvillea into the toothpick holder. Juliet moves her chair a fraction so the vine shades her eyes.

'The
electrologos
no come, the lift no good. Apostolis goes his friend George
stin Athina
, again. George is the architect—my husband’s business partner.’ These two words that she has heard so often in her life roll off her tongue almost without an accent. ‘Now George find buyers for clocks. Apostolis buy and sell clocks now. I stay here, alone. My granddaughter, Katerina, is three.' She smiles as if pleased with her long speech.

'George in Athens,' Juliet says.

'That is what I say, George in Athens.'

Juliet wonders whether to press the point. It is not that her student does not know the words in English, it was only a slip. But then, isn't that what these lessons are for?

'Yes, that is what you said, but it came out as “stin Athina,”' Juliet says.

'Oh did I?' Toula is watching the couple on the next table.

'So your granddaughter is three.' Talking about children and grandchildren is always a good way to get pupils to engage. In fact, the most engaging topics for the Greek women she has taught are family, cooking, and cleaning, in that order. With the men, it is politics, women, and gossip, judging by the few she has taught. She moves her chair again. The sun is almost at its height. At least the intense heat of August has passed now.

'Yes, we had invitations to come to her birthday celebrations in London.' There is a sadness in Toula's eye and she takes a hanky from her bag.

'Eisai endaxi
?' Surprised at the sudden tears and with genuine concern, Juliet asks the question in Greek. Toula’s tears colour her sky-blue silk handkerchief the colour of night, the crinkled and parched material greedily soaking the saline.

'Yes, yes,' Toula answers in English, obviously determined to keep the English lesson going. 'It is sad that I cannot go.'

'Why can you not go? What would have happened if you were to go?' Juliet asks. It is another chance to hear Toula's command of the past participle and maybe her future perfect tense.

'It is Apostolis. He does not want to go.' The hanky dabs away at her eyes.

'Go alone?' The words come out before Juliet is aware that she has thought them. They are a reaction to years of being told what she could and could not do by her own husband. Ex-husband. Biting her bottom lip, she wishes she could retract what she has said, or soften the words, make them part of the lesson. But the words are out, and there is no taking them back.

'Alone?' Toula sounds incredulous. Her fingers seek the soft petal of the bougainvillea in the toothpick holder. Her gaze is down the street to her own house, or maybe beyond. Her head begins to shake just a little, side to side as if her neck is loose. Juliet finds she needs to move her chair yet again so she can see Toula's face without being blinded by the sun. From this point of view, it is not the best place for a café.

'Tell me in future tense what you would like to do if you went alone,' Juliet suggests, trying to redeem herself as a teacher.

'Alone?' Toula repeats as if the idea is unthinkable.

Juliet should know better. She has lived in Greece long enough to know that women of Toula's age do nothing alone. They were born into a patriarchal system, raised to be supportive, and encouraged to focus on keeping house and raising children. Travelling abroad is unthinkable. If she goes anywhere without her husband, it will be on a church outing, organised by the
papas
.

'I would go the Big Ben,' Toula says suddenly. Her fingers release the petals and her eyes shine as she looks into Juliet’s. 'Westminster! London Bridge, London Tower!'

Juliet nods in encouragement as Toula winds her tongue around these foreign names.

'I would go,' a little knot of muscles appears between her pale eyebrows as she concentrates on the grammar before exploding with, 'Speaker’s Corner.' She looks at Juliet for some reaction to these words. 'Speak! Me! Me speak!' The waiter comes out and glances up and down the road, takes a cigarette from behind his ear and, lighting it, ambles to the other side of the narrow road to lean against the building. He stands and smokes, looks up and down the lane. He has an easy grace, as if he is satisfied with his world.

'What would you say?' Juliet is intrigued by this outburst. But Toula now blushes and looks down at her hands in her lap. For a moment, she was free and it was exciting to witness, but now Toula is back in her reality. England has so much to offer women from that point of view, Juliet reflects. The temptation to encourage Toula to follow this dream is great, but Juliet knows this is not her place.

'You do this?' Toula's voice is quiet now, her eyes still fixed on her own knees.

'I do what?' Juliet asks.

'You come the Greece, alone.'

'Yes. I have done this.' Juliet corrects Toula’s phrasing as she pushes herself back in her chair, sitting up straighter. She is proud that she came here alone. There was no Michelle here to greet her. She was the first English person in the village. She knew no one. 'Yes I did.'

'Not to be alone? You find a partner easy. A good one. I know, good for you. Clever. How you say. Charms. No, charmings. My nephew mine.'

Juliet’s mouth has dropped open, and she shuts it abruptly. She cannot pretend to be surprised. Time and time again, the Greek women do not believe that she chooses to be alone. They are always matchmaking, trying to find someone suitable.

'Er thank you, Toula, but…' She begins but Toula cuts her off.

'Did you have fear, when you come—alone?' Toula moves her own chair, as the sun’s progress is now in her face. Her eyes half-close but Juliet can feel the intensity of her stare.

'Was I scared when I came alone? Yes, very. But more than scared, I was angry. Angry at being told what to do with my life all the time by everyone. So the anger outweighed the fear.'

'Out-weighed?' Toula asks for clarification.

'Outweighed. This means the anger was greater than the fear. Its weight was outside the weight of the fear. It weighed more. Do you know any of these phrases, out-run, out-law, out-strip, out-distance?'

'Out-law! Western films.' Toula takes the first sip of her coffee, sucking it quietly through the bubbles on the surface.

'So either it means outside-of, like outside of the law or outside of the number, as in weight.'

'Yes, yes, I see, but I am more thinking about the anger being more than the fear.'

'Oh!' Juliet is not sure what to say and so she takes a drink of her cold coffee. The ice is melting fast. It is sweeter than it was last time, but she is not complaining. The waiter, who had been resting his bottom against the wall, pushes off, glances a smile at Juliet, and returns indoors only to reappear with a plate of
loukomades
with two spoons, which he puts on their table. The couple at the other table pay and leave. There is a sound of voices. The waiter slips back in through the open doors and Juliet becomes aware that there are people drinking coffee inside, too.

'I am angry,' Toula says calmly and the dripping dough ball that Juliet has just scooped onto her spoon falls back into the honey sauce. 'I am angry that he does not keep his promises of places he said we would go. I am angry that he squeeze me out of the business until I am only a housewife. I am angry that the clocks do not all sing at the same time. I am angry that it is good for him to go to stay with George in Athens.' She emphasises these last two words as if to tell Juliet that she has taken on board what was said earlier about her slip back into Greek. 'Whenever he feels like it. But I am meant to stay at home. I am angry that I am not supposed to be angry. This is what I would say at the Speakers Corner.'

Juliet closes her mouth and puts down her spoon to give Toula her full concentration.

Toula

The
anger bubbles. It is a bit like excitement but there is tension in the sinews of her neck, along with a feeling of power. It is not power over anyone, like the power she had over her children until they were of an age to govern themselves, but a power as if she can determine her own future.

'Are you alright?' She can hear Juliet speak but her voice seems a long way away as she looks back towards her house.

How many times has she walked down this street? How many times has she looked at her house? But now it is different, the colours are more intense, heightened, the shadows deeper.

The cat that has recently befriended her is lying on top of an air-conditioning unit by one of the tavernas. It is black with one white paw and long black whiskers. Its coat is sleek, courtesy, no doubt, of the fish tavernas and the many kind strokes of the tourists and the town’s residents. It is one of many strays but it is nice the way it has adopted her for the moment. It is a shame Apostolis objects so much to it coming into the house. In truth, she is a little envious of the cat. It can get up and walk away any time it likes. It can move to another street, or find another old lady. It can feed at one taverna or another. It can befriend whom it likes, stay out as long as it likes, and go where it likes. Even a stray cat has more freedom than she has.

She sighs.

But who is really holding her back? If a cat can have this freedom, if Juliet can break free from her old life, then so can she, can’t she?

‘I go.' Her head quivers on her neck and she has no control but she doesn't care who sees it.

'Do you not want to finish the lesson?' Juliet seems shocked.

'No! You no understand. I go England. Alone. See Katerina, her three birthday.'

'Oh.'

'I go Big Ben, I go Speakers Corner. I go and I want stay.'

'I
will
go to see Big Ben and I
will
go to Speakers Corner and I
will
want to stay.'

Toula cannot really take in Juliet's corrections with this strange churning inside. Her stomach seems to be turning over and her chest feels like it is quivering inside, but she is not cold. A tension around her temples beats with her heart and her breath comes in short gasps. But she feels light, as if she could dance. Right now, if she never sets foot back into that house, with its shutters all closed up against the sun and the perpetual ticking in every corner, sealed to the world outside as time passes, she would not care! In fact, she would celebrate.

Picking up a spoon, she chases a honey-covered ball of pastry around the plate and when it is caught, she opens her mouth and eats in it one, whole. How many times did her own mama scold her for such behaviour? How many times has she refrained from such behaviour in front of Apostolis in fear of his disdain? Well, she is not a child any more and no one should be able to intimidate her and tell her what to do.

She chews contentedly.

'If you say "I go," it implies you are doing it in the now, but if you say "I
will
go," it implies a future action. One that hasn't taken place yet. There is still the possibility that it might not happen. Whereas "I go" is a done deal, as they say. A completed decision,' Juliet explains.

A 'done deal.' That's a good phrase. When they sold the houses that Apostolis built, he would say to her, as she worked on the budgeting of the next build, 'Never count on the money of the last sale until it is in the bank. The deal is not complete until the transfer is done.’

'So I say it right.' Her voice comes through the half-chewed honey ball. 'I go to Big Ben, I go to Speakers Corner, it is done-deal!' The laughter under her ribs escapes as a chuckle, her head wobbling away by itself. Even her hands have a little tremor to them as she lifts another honey ball to her lips. 'You must be quick if you want some of this, Juliet.' She pushes the dish towards her teacher.

Juliet closes her mouth and picks up her spoon.

Taking a paper napkin from the holder that is behind the bougainvillea in the toothpick holder, Toula wipes her mouth. Things like honey get caught in the creases above her lips these days, and in the downward fold in the corners of her mouth. But she is smiling so much as she wipes that the paper touches her teeth, drying them, making her lips stick and the whole process becomes lot more complicated than usual. When she is satisfied she is not dribbling like an old woman she says, 'So Juliet, my teacher, we change lessons.' The sun is in her face again, the cat—her cat—on the air-conditioning unit jumps down and slinks his way towards them, his white paw crossing over the path of his black paw, accentuating the litheness that all the animals have at this time of year. It is the result of a month of such intense heat. He stops and shakes, creating a cloud of dry dust, out of which he walks with an arrogant attitude.

'Lessons every day now. My English more-better
out-weighs
everything else.'

She must go to the travel agents, arrange tickets. Yes, she can manage that. Call her daughter to tell her she is coming. It will be good to talk to her, maybe it will cement her plans, give her confidence. She must also go into the guest room and take out her winter clothes. It will be so much colder in London. Is all this for real? Is she really planning to go to London? How would Apostolis survive? A naughty voice in her head says she doesn’t care if he survives or not, but the truth is it will be no difficulty for her to arrange for the shops to deliver groceries as usual or maybe… Yes, this is even better: when she goes, Apostolis can stay with George in Athens.

It feels unreal and at the same time more real than anything she has ever done in her life. Her surety comes in equal measures to her overwhelming terror, the two oscillating, pulling her up, pushing her down. The thoughts make her head spin.

'I know we say
pio poli
in Greek, but in English, “more-better” is considered wrong. Use one or the other, but in this case, you don't need either. It makes sense if you just say that your need to learn English outweighs everything else.’

But Toula can only think of making lists in her head.

'Hi guys. Am I too early?' They both turn their heads as Michelle comes up to their table.

Toula looks at her watch. 'Oh, the time is like bird, as the English say.’

‘Time has flown,' Juliet corrects, but Toula is not listening.

'Tomorrow, same time.' It is not a question. Toula points to her watch.

'Oh, okay. Yes, if you are serious.' Juliet smiles but she is also frowning.

Toula does not answer. Instead, she gives Juliet her sternest look. She has never been more serious. After Apostolis has eaten his lunch and he goes into his study, she will slip out again and go to the travel agents. Hopefully, they will not close in the heat of the afternoon like some shops do. Then she can buy her ticket.