‘You make it look so easy,’ she said, while the people around her clapped appreciatively.
He flashed her a wonky smile. ‘I could say the same about you when you clean wounds, wrap bandages and patch people up in no time at all. I’d probably get sticking plasters all over me instead of the patients.’
Cleo giggled, and in that moment her heart lifted and her body felt so light, she fancied she might take off any minute and soar above the clouds.
Their stolen kiss was still vivid in her mind, sweet, hot and affirming. Whatever happened in the future, whatever her life became, she mused, she was grateful she’d had the chance to experience once again, even if only for a few short moments, what it was like to feel truly desired.
Once night descended, Achilles played his guitar again in the lamplight, by what had become the kitchen tent, where volunteers had prepared supper for the adults.
The smell of cooking made Cleo’s stomach rumble and she realised she hadn’t eaten for many hours.
Leaving her triage tent for a few minutes, she went to fetch herself a couple of pieces of warm pitta bread filled with cubes of grilled chicken andtzatziki.
On her way out, she stopped to listen to Achilles again for a few moments, feeling his music vibrating throughout her body. He looked at her briefly and the world outside seemed to disappear. It was if it was just the two of them, in their own tiny circle of light and warmth.
Even so, he must have noticed she looked pale and tired, because he leaned towards her as he finished a verse.
‘Cleo,’ he said, ‘you’re doing an amazing job. You should get some rest now, recharge your batteries.’
She smiled, thankful for his support, validation and concern. She hadn’t received much of any of them for a long time, and it felt good.
By about 10.30p.m. the camp had started to fall quiet and Cleo felt she could finally slip away and get some sleep at last. She, Tash and Maya were in the same tent and they retired together, snuggling down into their green sleeping bags and closing their burning eyes.
There were no mattress pads, only the hard ground, and the pillows were small and thin. But Cleo was so exhausted, she could have been lying on sharp pebbles and she wouldn’t have noticed. To her, the sleeping bag felt like a feather quilt.
‘I hope there aren’t any aftershocks in the night,’ Tash whispered in the shadows. So far, they hadn’t felt any.
‘If there are, we’ll huddle together till they pass,’ Cleo mumbled, barely conscious.
Maya let out a loud snore, then went quiet. Tash said something else but Cleo didn’t hear. Her heart rate had dropped, her weary muscles had relaxed and her brainwaves had slowed right down. She was soon in a deep, dark, delicious sleep, devoid of any thought, sound or sensation.
11
She woke at dawn the next morning feeling remarkably refreshed and alert, given how long she’d gone without rest in the twenty-four hours before.
After a quick breakfast of pitta, cheese and strong coffee, she resumed her place in the triage tent and the day stretched on in a rhythm of labour and laughter.
More relief workers arrived, including a doctor and three more nurses. As the roads were submerged, the doctor had arrived from the next village on a mule – much to Cleo’s amusement.
She continued to work tirelessly, disinfecting cuts, calming frightened children and checking dressings. Her voice never wavered, even when the ground trembled faintly beneath them now and then, like a cruel reminder of what might still come.
Outside the tent, Henrietta and Mark were pitching in with the emergency services and the villagers, helping to set up temporary shower facilities, as well as portable toilets. Katerina was there, too, determined to do her bit, despite the fact she was half the size of most of the others and at least twice their age. Slowly the chaos was settling into something resembling order.
Cleo noticed Tash gravitating towards the families who’d lost their homes. She fetched water, found new clothes and sometimes just listened.
There was something about her that invited trust, Cleo decided. Perhaps it was the warmth in her eyes, or the way she never tried to hurry people.
At one point she sat near the triage tent, beside a young mother rocking a baby who wouldn’t stop crying.
She began to hum a slow, soothing tune and gradually the baby quietened, the mother’s shoulders eased and a small circle of calm seemed to form around them.
Tash seemed to be blinking back tears, but kept humming. Later, Cleo heard her say to the mother it was a tune she used to sing to her husband when he couldn’t sleep during his illness.
The mother squeezed Tash’s hand and said in halting English, ‘You have good heart.’
‘I thought it was broken,’ Tash replied. ‘But maybe I was wrong.’
As Cleo continued to treat patients, doing her best to greet each one with a smile, it crossed her mind that she, Tash, Maya and Achilles weren’t just survivors, they were helping to support the shattered community. Somehow, they were managing to find courage, skill and strength in their own way, Tash included.
