Page 8 of Villa of Secrets

One windless day, when the sea was flat as glass and sound carried for many kilometres over the water, she heard the motor of an old fishing boat that was too far away to be seen.

It must be them!

She rushed into the shallows, cupped her hands around her mouth, and shouted as hard as she could, ‘Papa, Mama! This way! I am Naomi! I’m here!’ Over and over she repeated herself, jumping up and waving her arms above her head because grown-ups probably saw further than children. They’d realise the island they were sailing past was Rhodes, and they would recognise her and be filled with joy at seeing her. She imagined them so full of laughter they’d rock the boat, glad they weren’t lost at sea any more.

Her father would push the long, wooden tiller and turn Elevtheria towards land, happy to return from their safe haven after such a lengthy journey.

A neighbour must have caught her racket and told Bubba. The old lady scurried down the shore, straight into the water. ‘It’s not them, Naomi. It’s not your Mama and Papa.’

‘Listen, Bubba! It’s Papa’s boat. The priest said Mama and Papa were lost at sea. They’re trying to come back from their safe haven, but they don’t know the way. If they don’t hear us, they’ll sail right past. Shout, Bubba. Please! Shout!’

Slowly, Bubba shook her head.

‘Please, Bubba! Please! They’re going past. They’ll be gone soon. They might end up on the other side of the world. Shout as loud as you can! They have to hear us, I want them to come back . . . to return home! I’ve been waiting so long, Bubba . . . I miss them so much.’

‘Oh, you poor child,’ Bubba said gently. ‘Your parents are in Heaven, Naomi.’

‘No, Bubba, no! They’re lost at sea. Papas Yiannis said so. Please don’t say those things. I’ve been looking out for them, listening, every single day after school. No, no, you’re wrong!’

Bubba wrapped Naomi in a tight hug and they both cried hard, their bodies shaking against each other. Then, when their tears were spent. Bubba took Naomi’s hand and said, ‘Let’s shout one last time, on three.’

They stood in the water, holding hands, their faces turned to the sky. Together they shouted with every bit of strength. ‘MAMA! PAPA!’

‘I think they heard us in Heaven,’ Bubba said. ‘Come on, give them a smile and a wave, and then we’ll go on home.’

They waved, smiled through their tears, then returned to the cottage in silence.

And all through that time, Naomi now presumed, Bubba had this pistol hidden in the house.

According to Bubba and Papas Yiannis, taking the gun apart and posting the parts separately would not only instigate Rebecca’s curiosity, but also avoid flouting the laws about shipping a firearm. Not that either of them understood exactly what those regulations were.

She wondered how long it had taken them to hatch this crazy plan, and what the hell was Bubba doing with a pistol hidden away. What if her own boys had found it when they were young? She shuddered.

A coach of tourists turned into the airport. The soft light strengthened around her, pale shafts fanning across the sky. Feeling the burn of lactic acid in her thighs, she pushed on.

A Tui plane, wheels down, headlights blazing, seemed to skim the distant treetops on its runway approach. The noise filled the air. Naomi reached the traffic lights, turned, and headed back to Paradissi. At this rate, she’d get to the post office before it opened.

The sun rose above the horizon and glittered off cars and windows. Naomi’s shoulders warmed and her elongated shadow undulated over the tarmac before her. At least her silhouette appeared tall and slim with long, long legs. She watched her shadow, swinging her hips a little and rejoicing in the illusion of a model-like figure, until she almost bumped into a lamppost.

‘Look out!’ Manno shouted, raising his fat arms. He shook his head and turned to unlock his kafenion door.

‘Morning, Manno!’ Naomi replied, laughing at her own stupidity. ‘Nice shirt!’ she said, nodding at the garish parakeets and palm trees that covered his mammoth belly.

She took a turn around the village square while Manno gathered scattered chairs and tucked them neatly under his pavement tables. ‘Come for coffee,’ he called.

‘Later!’ She grinned and waved.

‘I’ve another bag of ouzo bottles for you.’

‘Bravo, thanks again!’ The small, retro carafes were perfect for her witch-hazel toner, and they were free.

Opposite the kafenion, the grocer’s door opened. Stick-thin Savvas stretched his neck and peered around the square. Gangling and mantis-like in his leaf-green overalls and thick round glasses, he threw a wink at Naomi before pulling hessian sacks off crates of fruit and veg.

Both men stopped to watch Katarina come out of the hair salon and clean her window. They exchanged a glance before continuing to study the shimmy of her buttocks as she buffed.

‘You’re being admired,’ Naomi said, marching past.

‘Same every morning,’ the hairstylist replied. ‘I polish my glass; they ogle my ass.’