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I survey the room. Aliki must be a smoker, there’s an ashtray full of butt ends on the table next to the bottle of brandy and a whiff of tobacco in the air. To say it feels a bit surreal being in the home that Daniel once shared with his family is an understatement. I shouldn’t have turned up like this, but he left me with no other choice. Aliki is the only person who can answer my questions.
Getting to my feet, I take in the cluttered room. Two piles of old magazines and newspapers tower near the door like uneven pillars; ornaments and photo frames fill every conceivable space, and there’s at least twenty shopping bags sitting on the hearth of the fireplace.
I mosey over to the photographs that line the cigarette-stained magnolia wall, and gaze at them as if they were exhibits in an art gallery. I’ve always found family photographs fascinating, the history, the adventures. It’s such a pity that we carry all our photos on our mobile phones these days.
I peer at them closely. Some date back to the early century, undoubtedly Aliki’s clan, Greeks usually have large families. A section of the wall is packed with photos of Connie – baby photos, nursery and school photos, pictures of her on holiday with mates, modelling shots. It’s like some sort of shrine, if I’m honest, and slightly eerie. A recent one, taken at a Race for Life event, catches my eye. She’s arm-in-arm with another girl at the finishing line. They’re wearing pink costume wigs and silly grins. I’m impressed. I wonder how much they raised for the charity. I keep meaning to sign up for an event. A 5k walk or something. I’m sure Loulou and Tina would join me. If I asked nicely.
On the sideboard, more photos of Connie and Lily fill the space, none of Daniel, well they are divorced. But then right at the back, I spy a picture of a young Daniel and Aliki. I reach out for it, it bashes against another photograph, the ripple effect knocking several neighbouring frames in succession. Great. I’ve only been here five minutes and already I’m causing chaos. I glance over my shoulder nervously as I prop them all back up haphazardly, the centrepiece safely in my left hand.
“That was taken in our dancing days,” Aliki says, returning with two tumblers and a bowl of nuts. The sofa hisses under her weight, inflating the seat next to her. I study the photograph to the backdrop of brandy glugging into tumblers. They look like a couple of Strictly contestants. Aliki’s in a short, sparkly little number and Daniel’s wearing a red satin shirt, open to the waist and tight black trousers. He actually looks pretty hot. And my God! Aliki looks bloody amazing, so slender, so fit.
“I didn’t know Daniel dabbled in dancing.” It seems like there’s a lot about him I don’t know.
“Dabbled?” Aliki laughs heartily. “We were regional champions back in the day, three years on the trot. No one could match our Argentine Tango.” No wonder Daniel walks with such grace. She takes a swig of brandy and winces. “This is strong stuff, but good. Here.” I take the tumbler from her hand and sit down next to her. “Yiamas.” Our glasses clink, crystal.
I can’t believe that Daniel’s ex-wife and I are sitting here sharing a drink together. It does feel a bit Fatal-Attractioney. “Excuse the mess,” she groans, grabbing a handful of nuts. “We’re decorating upstairs.” Ah, so that’s what it is. Why didn’t I think of that? “Of course,” she goes on, munching on the nuts and gesturing at the photograph, “Daniel managed to keep trim by exercising, unlike me!” I follow her eyes to her round body. “Too many Koubes and Lokmathes, I’m afraid. I love my food, as you can see.” She’s very self- deprecating. I’m beginning to warm to her.
“You’re not overweight.” I throw her a nervy smile. “You have had a child. I know it was close to thirty years ago, but still.”
She raises her eyebrows. It was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know why I said it. I’m nervous. “Anyway,” she says brightly, “what can I do for you?”
Swallowing hard, I get straight to the point. I was at Daniel’s flat waiting for Connie’s delivery. I had a look at some photos in an envelope, just to pass the time. He came home unexpectedly, caught me, and went into a rage. We rowed and I ran out of his flat.
“Yes,” she says once I’ve stopped talking, “Daniel said. He rang not long ago, just to say he won’t be taking the kids out for pizza, after all.” Kids? Connie’s nearly thirty. I can see that she’s spoilt rotten by both parents. “He also mentioned the fallout.” The phone trills in the background and my heart skips a beat. I hope it’s not him.
“It’s just that he acted so out of character, went into a complete rage and over what? A few crumpled photographs and a couple of Connie’s childhood drawings. I mean, you of all people know what he’s usually like. He really took me by surprise, do you know what I mean?” I pause but she doesn’t say anything. “I shouldn’t have gone through his things, I know, but…” I falter, deciding quickly that she doesn’t need to know about my quirky tidiness, particularly as her place is so chaotic at the moment.
She takes a big glug of air; her large chest rises and falls. “He said you were reading his stuff, Audrey. His personal things.” She doesn’t look at me when she says this.
“No,” I insist, shaking my head. “I didn’t read anything personal, I promise. I just saw a few photographs and the sketches, that’s all.” I cluck my tongue, irritated. “I didn’t even want to go there in the first place.” I complain, twirling the amber liquid in my glass clockwise. I take a large sip. It burns my mouth, then slides down my throat, awakening each fibre in my body. The way I feel right now, I could down the whole frigging lot in one. But I don’t want Aliki to think I’m an alcoholic. “If only you’d gone there as planned this never would’ve happened,” I say dryly.
“Gone where?”
“To Daniel’s flat.” There’s a hint of confusion in her eyes. “You know, to wait for the delivery?” I frown at her now. “Connie said she asked you first but you had a last-minute emergency.”
“Aliki, mou.” There’s a gentle tap at the door and then Despina’s face peers around it. She’s holding the phone. “Telephono.” Aliki frowns, sticks her hand out, fingers erect and gives her wrist a quick, sharp twist. I know what that hand gesture means, “who is it or what’s up”. I picked up a few Cypriot gestures from Maria, Mum’s cleaner, when I was in Cyprus.
Despina covers the mouthpiece and whispers, “Ei poutana.” Now, I think I stayed in Cyprus long enough to know that the word poutana means prostitute, and I do hope she’s not talking about me!
Aliki gives her a puzzled look, “What poutana?” I cover my mouth, squeezing in a laugh. How many sluts does Aliki befriend?
“Afti ie shillobelli,” Despina whispers.
Aliki looks at her mother blankly, then glances at me. “That means mad bitch, by the way. My mother has such a way with words.”
“Ie Kalamarou,” Despina hisses.
“Oh Mamma,” Aliki says in exasperation, “tell Melina I’ll call her back in half an hour.” And with pursed lips the old lady rocks her head from side to side (something Maria would do behind her supervisor’s back when she was narked with her), and walks off mumbling into the phone. “Sorry, that’s my brother’s wife – Mum’s not that keen.” She rolls her eyes, “I bet you picked up a few swear words in Cyprus.” I smile and tell her that I did – poutana being one of them. “Melina had a brief affair with a colleague a few years ago. Mum can’t forgive her.”
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, they got through it. Besides, my brother Vas is no saint, he had it coming.” She sucks her lips in. “But people are always quick to judge the woman, aren’t they?” I give her a thin smile and a little nod. I’m not sure what else to say.
“Melina? That’s Greek isn’t it?” My stomach gives a low rumble; I reach out and help myself to some nuts. Aliki pushes the bowl closer to me, telling me that Melina is from Greece. “Same difference, isn’t it? You speak the same language.”
“I can’t understand a bloody word she says,” she grumbles. “They speak Modern Greek whereas we speak Ancient Greek. Nah, we just stick to English, much easier. Anyway,” she continues briskly wiping her salty fingers on her legging-clad thighs, “where were we? Oh yes, the delivery.” Her eyes close briefly. “Sorry, you caught me off-guard. I’ve a mind like a sieve nowadays – menopause. But, yes, I had a last-minute appointment with a client.”
She’s gone a bit red. I wonder if it’s the brandy or if she’s lying. I don’t challenge her. I haven’t got time for mind games.
