Meltemi

The sun was different here. It burned her skin and scalded her dry eyes. She didn’t mind so much, but Amy was conscious all the time of its effect on little Mattie. He was so pale and small. She plastered him in factor 50 and draped a light scarf across the hood of his buggy when they went outside. It had seemed like such an exciting prospect when Tony brought up the idea earlier in the year. She would still be on maternity leave and he – a  newly-made-permanent teacher – would have the long summer holidays to spend some quality time working on their true pursuits, her writing and his music. They rented a cheap villa near a remote Cretan hillside village. The expectation of a long summer on a  sun filled island seemed incredibly enticing. 

In fact, it was humid and uncomfortable. The house was dirty and the pool  unusable, half empty and clogged with dead leaves and dead or dying insects. The beach was miles away by road, made only marginally shorter by a trek across a dusty track for miles before you reached the main road and its lonesome bus stop where busses might or might not pass from time to time. Amy was no longer charmed by the capricious Greek approach to timekeeping. At the airport on the day of their arrival, a surly customs official had taken her passport, mumbling ‘you wait five minutes’ before disappearing behind a door for half an hour. Mattie woke, forever hungry and tired, and bawled. Tony had already moved on through the gate ahead of them. People looked at her and wondered what she was doing here alone with a child she obviously couldn’t pacify. Amy wondered too. 

At night she was eaten by mosquitoes, despite the creams she’d brought with her. Amy was careful to ensure that Mattie’s cot was completely covered by a fine cotton cloth that she’d found in a cupboard and took great care to wash thoroughly by hand in the chipped enamel bath. Surrounded by dust and decay and stifled by heat, conscious always of her own sweating body, she became obsessed with cleaning. She scrubbed the shower tray when they arrived and took regular cold showers every day after that. 

After a few days they hired an old scooter from a neighbour, to make food  shopping trips possible. The old man was helpful but couldn’t speak any English; still they managed to come to an agreement and handed over a small amount of money. It was all they could afford. Amy didn’t want to drive the thing, didn’t trust herself with it, so it became Tony’s by default. Some afternoons he’d take his camera and a bottle of cold water from the fridge and set off up the side of the hill. To look for inspiration, he said. Amy knew that he was getting away from her and Mattie, but mainly from her.  

After all the fuss he’d made about transporting his guitar – insisting on assurances  that it would be safe in the airplane’s hold – he hadn’t played the thing once since they arrived. But Amy was no better. She’d brought her laptop and two unfinished stories she’d been working on, but she hadn’t even taken it out of its case. The days passed quickly but at the same time they felt endless. The only respite came just after sunset when Mattie had finally settled, when they’d finished eating and they sat outside with glasses of red wine in their hands. The air was warm, there was no breeze, and the table was lit by three candles and the pale light falling from the French doors onto the terrace. The incessant racket of cicadas filled the silence between them. They had four more weeks of this to endure. 

It was on the morning of their fifth day that Amy cried for the first time. The sun scorched the weed-ridden flags of the terrace and they huddled, sweating, in the small kitchen, eating sliced pear and dry bread, sipping sour coffee. Tony opened the fridge and filled a small bottle with cold water from a five-litre jug. He took his camera from the cluttered table top and kissed the back of Amy’s head as he passed on his way out to the scooter. That was when she broke down. There were no tears at first, just a muted whimper, followed by a snort. Mattie started up then and soon both were crying freely. Tony stood in the doorway for a moment looking from one to the other. 

‘Jesus,’ he said. ‘What now?’ 

As she cried, Amy wondered what else she had done to provoke such a question.

‘I’m just going out for a while,’ he said. 

She didn’t look up at him, but in her mind she could see the figure he must have  cut quite plainly: unshaven, dark hair tossed, white t-shirt over black football shorts and flip-flops. His legs tanned already, while hers were just blotched red from sunburn and insect bites. His was the body of a careless young man, a guy who could drink beer until late and function on a few hours sleep, who could eat all sorts of fast food and crap but never put on weight, who could sleep on serenely while his son cried before the sun rose. Amy hated him then. She felt duped. 

He came back into the room and stood beside her. She could feel his warm breath  on her neck, making her even more uncomfortable. He put his hand on her arm, but she still didn’t look at him. She’d ignored his advances again the night before, but she didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she leaned over the cot, her hand stroking Mattie’s tear stained fat cheek. 

‘It’ll be better when the other’s get here,’ he said. Then he left. 

He didn’t come back for lunch or dinner. It was almost night when she heard the  whine of the old scooter coming up the dust track. She’d already fed Mattie and put him down for the night. She’d eaten as much as she could which wasn’t a lot and was sipping a glass of red wine. She could tell he’d had a drink. 

‘You shouldn’t be drinking and driving,’ she said when he cut the engine.

‘It doesn’t apply over here,’ he said. He wandered inside, emerged with a glass and poured himself a drink. 

She wondered vaguely where he’d been and who he’d been with but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of asking. 

‘When who gets here?’ she asked. 

‘What?’  

‘You said it will be better when the others get here?’ 

‘Oh yeah,’ he said. ‘I meant to say. Mark and a few others are coming later this  week, just for a few days. They’re on their way to Hersonissos.’ 

She was in the kitchen making up her version of sangria while the others sat out on the  terrace. She wasn’t sure which was worse: sweating in the stifling heat of the kitchen or sitting out in the razor-sharp glare of the afternoon sun having to listen to Tony and Mark swap stories.  

‘It’s always a competition with those two.’ Emma was standing behind her.

Amy had only met Emma once before, on a night out at a restaurant in town when  she was due to give birth at any moment. Amy spent most of that night excusing herself to go to the loo. On one occasion she interrupted Emma as she was finishing a line of coke in an unlocked cubicle. Emma was smiling at her now the way she had done on that  occasion – eyes wide, teeth bared, glowingly healthy but somehow fragile also.

‘You’re so lucky!’ she said, bending over Mattie’s cot. 

‘You think so?’ Amy asked, hearing a touch of resentment in her words and  feeling guilty on Mattie’s account. 

‘God, yeah! He’s such a little cutie!’ 

Amy handed her a jug of sangria and some glasses. 

‘Do you mean Mattie or Tony?’ she asked. 

Emma considered her question for a moment, then laughed easily. 

‘Funn-ee!’ She took the jug and glasses from Amy and as she turned to leave,  shook her head and said: ‘I like you, Amy! You’re so funny!’ 

When she’d gone, Amy leaned in over Mattie’s cot to check that he was still  sleeping. 

‘You hear that, Mattie?’ she whispered. ‘Your mother is so funn-ee!’

She stood in the French doors and looked out at the group on the terrace. Tony  and Mark were talking over each other while Emma and Robert looked on. 

‘Hey, Amy! Come and have a drink with us.’ Tony stood up unsteadily and pulled  a chair close to the table for her to sit. He poured her a glass of sangria from the jug.

Emma smiled at her while Rob studied his phone. She was conscious of Mark’s  eyes following her as she moved across the terrace.  

‘Is Mattie still sleeping?’ Tony asked. 

Amy nodded, thinking that Tony’s concern was just an act for his friends.

‘So, how’s the writing going?’ Mark asked.

Amy hated this kind of question. 

‘Oh, you know, up and down…’ 

‘Yeah, I do,’ Mark said. ‘I was stuck completely on a song for over a year once,  you know. I kept trying to force it. But it just doesn’t work like that. I moved on, did  something else, then bam! it just came to me then, how to finish it out.’

Tony was nodding. 

‘The brain is always working, even when you’re not consciously trying to do  something – the brain is amazing!’ 

Mark poured himself and Tony a shot of ouzo. 

‘You want one?’ he held out the bottle to Amy. 

She shook her head. 

‘I’m so jealous of Amy,’ Emma said. ‘Mattie is such a cutie!’ 

Rob looked up from his phone. ‘No offence, Amy, but babies all look the same to  me.’ 

‘None taken,’ Amy said, and she smiled at Rob who looked backed down at his  phone. 

‘No, man, no,’ Mark said, turning to Rob. ‘My sister has two kids, a boy and a  girl, and from a really young age they each had their own little personality.’

‘Whatever,’ Rob said without looking up. 

No one spoke for a moment. Amy couldn’t bear the heat of the sun. 

‘I don’t know how you can sit out in this,’ she said. ‘I’m going inside for a while.’  She left her drink untouched on the table. 

‘What the fuck is the matter with you?’ Tony had followed her into the kitchen. He was whispering but in such a way that everyone could probably hear him. 

‘Nothing,’ she said. 

‘Jesus! You wanted to come here too!’ he said. ‘Why can’t you just try to enjoy  it?’ 

Mattie woke then with a whimper. Amy could sense his hunger and set about  getting his bottle ready. She’d stopped breastfeeding after a month of trying off and on. She just couldn’t manage somehow and both she and the baby grew more frustrated. Tony told her it didn’t matter either way. But she cried when the public health nurse  visited and she confessed her failure. The nurse didn’t seem to care too much either. Now Mattie latched on to the bottle meaningfully, sitting in her lap, kicking his legs, careless that he was bruising her thighs with his heels. 

‘You know, this was supposed to be time for us too,’ Tony said in a low voice. He  bent over her chair, touched her waist and stroked the skin of her bare arm softly.

‘It’s not my fault,’ Amy said. ‘You know I’m not ready for that yet.’ She shifted  in her seat and for a moment Mattie lost his grip on the teat, moaning until Amy placed it  in his mouth again. ‘And anyway,’ she said, ‘you invited all these people…’

‘These people? They’re our friends,’ he said. 

He went back outside. She could hear chair legs scraping across flagstones. They  were standing up, perhaps getting ready to leave, Amy thought. 

‘We’re going to town!’ Emma put her head round the door. ‘Come on!’

‘I don’t know,’ Amy said, ‘Mattie’s having his bottle.’ 

‘We can wait,’ Emma said. 

Tony sat in the front of the old Renault 4 beside Mark and Amy sat in the back with Mattie in her arms between Emma and Rob.  

‘She’s a great old car,’ Mark said as he turned over the engine. He struggled to  find reverse, the car barking in protest as he forced the gear stick to the right and back.

The heat was intense in the car. All the windows were open, and Amy tried her  best to shield the sun from Mattie’s face. No one spoke. Rob took out a cigarette, but Emma reached across Amy to remove it from his mouth before he could light it.

They parked at the edge of the village under some pine trees and stood out on the  cobbles. Tony opened the hatchback and took out the buggy. Amy lowered a sleeping Mattie into the buggy and pulled the scarf as a shade across him. There was no one around. 

‘Mad dogs and Irishmen,’ Rob said, lighting a cigarette. 

‘Is there a bar? There must be a bar,’ Mark said, setting off on his own.

Emma followed after him, then Rob, then Tony. Tony paused to look back at  Amy. 

‘What are we doing here?’ she asked. 

‘Nothing, just passing the afternoon, looking for a bar, maybe something to eat.’

‘That’s not what I mean.’ Tears were coming again but she managed to keep them  back. 

Tony looked away for a second. The others were no longer visible, moved off  onto another street.  

‘I mean, why did we come here for the summer?’ Amy asked. 

‘I dunno. For a break, I suppose. Something different.’ He looked at his shoes.

She said nothing for a while. The heat was stifling. There was no breeze at all.

‘I don’t think I can take much more of this,’ she finally said, and she pushed the  buggy off in the direction the others had walked. Tony followed a little way behind her. She didn’t look back.  

A church bell sounded, and they moved toward it without speaking, she pushing the sleeping child up streets that grew steeper and steeper as they climbed. They passed vacant houses and half-built ruins before they came to narrower streets where the buildings were off-white in colour with mahogany doors inlaid with obscure glass and protected by wrought iron. Any shops they passed were closed. A digital display outside a shut pharmacy showed 41 degrees. The sound of the bell grew louder as they climbed and then it stopped suddenly without warning. Amy heard its toll repeated in her head as  the sun beat down on her while she pushed the buggy. At last, they reached the end of the  road which opened out onto a pleasant square. There was a church, a brilliant white structure, the doorway and windows outlined in cornflower blue. Ranged around it on all  sides were three bars with tables and chairs placed across the space under the shade of  cypress, plane and olive trees. At a far table Mark raised his hand to beckon them and  Emma came over and took the buggy from Amy and wheeled it to where the others sat.

‘Isn’t it beautiful up here?’ she asked. 

Amy said nothing but took a seat at the table between Mark and Rob. She didn’t  want Tony to talk to her. He was already well on the way to being drunk and soon he  would start up as he always did. Why does she ignore him? Why does she not let him  touch her? Why does she give all her time to their child and none to him? He knows she is unhappy, but he is unhappy too. She has the power to make things good again, if only she would let herself. It was pathetic. He had no idea, and she hadn’t got the words to tell him. The overpowering fear she felt for her child, her own inadequacy stalking her day in day out, to say nothing of the pain, the memory of pain, the ongoing physical discomfort. She felt she might sink below the table and just sleep.  

‘Can I take him out?’ Emma asked. 

He was still sleeping but Amy nodded anyway. She wanted to warn Emma not to  brood, but how could she? 

‘Oh, what a gorgeous boy you are!’ Emma darted a look at Mark who smiled at  her. 

A waiter came and they ordered food and drinks.  

Amy’s Black Russian, fuelled with extra vodka, left an after taste of petrol. Mattie  seemed happy on Emma’s lap even as she ate one-handed. Mark talked as usual, teasing Emma about the baby, but for once Tony said little. Amy avoided eye contact with him, choosing instead to chat with Rob. 

‘You’re another musician, I suppose?’ she asked. 

‘God, no!’ Rob said. 

‘So, how do you fit it in?’ 

‘Nothing better to do, I suppose. I grew up with Mark, so I’m used to his bullshit.’

‘But why are you here?’ 

‘I took a year off work to go back to college, now I’m not so sure. Mark said he was travelling this summer, so I thought I’d tag along.’ 

‘It must be great to be so free,’ Amy said. 

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you?’ 

Rob got up and walked into the middle of the square. The sun was beginning its descent and was hidden behind the top of a plane tree. He took his phone out and  photographed the front of the church.  

‘Take one of us, Rob!’ Emma called across the square to him. 

Rob looked at them and then turned back towards the church, snapped another  photo and strode away down the hill. 

‘He’s such a shit!’ Emma said. 

‘Don’t mind him,’ Mark said. ‘He’s always been like that.’ 

‘Where’s he going?’ Amy asked. 

‘Who cares!’ Tony said, sitting down beside her. 

‘It’s late,’ Amy said. ‘We should really go. Mattie will be due another feed soon  and he’ll need changing.’ 

‘Did you not bring the bag?’ Tony asked. 

‘Did you?’ 

Amy hurried off down the hill with Mattie far ahead of the others. Rob was waiting at the car, sitting on the bonnet, smoking another cigarette.  

‘I think I need to get drunk,’ he said. ‘Really proper drunk.’ 

Amy took Mattie from his buggy and Rob folded it up for her without being asked. 

‘You see, I can be helpful.’ He smiled at her for the first time. 

She started to cry then. 

‘Jesus, don’t cry, Amy. Please.’ 

He offered her a tissue and she dried her eyes.

‘The others are coming now,’ he whispered. ‘Are you okay?’ 

She nodded. 

They drove in silence all the way back to the villa, the windows wide open to cool  the air in the car and to remove the smell of Mattie’s soiled nappy. When Mark parked,  Rob got out and fetched the buggy from the boot for Amy. 

‘We’re going on to Malia for the night.’ Mark spoke out the open window to no  one in particular.  

‘Sorry, Amy,’ Rob said, and he got back in the car. 

Amy stood holding Mattie with the folded buggy at her feet while Mark turned  the car around. The sun was low now, blinding, and she couldn’t see Tony’s face  properly, but he was sitting erect, looking forward while Mark struggled to find reverse  again. It seemed like ages before he managed to turn the car around. She watched it make its way along the dusty track towards the main road.  

Amy realised that she was crying again. She held onto Mattie, perhaps a touch too  tightly, and he began to sob as well. Her face was wet, and she was conscious of a light breeze now that was new to her. She let herself inside and stripped the baby and ran a bath for both of them. She lay for ages in the tepid water with Mattie lying on her stomach and let the day outside darken into night.  

She dozed and woke with a start, banging her elbow off the side of the bath and  waking Mattie. She dried and dressed herself hurriedly, leaving Mattie on a towel on the bed while she prepared his final bottle of the day. The house seemed quiet with just the two of them and when she’d finished feeding him, she put him down to sleep. 

She poured herself a large glass of wine and drank it down like water. She poured another and took it out onto the terrace. The trees were agitated by a new wind that had risen out of nowhere, carrying sand across the scrubland, stinging her face and eyes. She went back inside and shut the door. The house made noises that she’d never heard before. The fridge hummed and the floorboards groaned. She thought the roof was lifting off at one stage. The furniture on the terrace rearranged itself. She couldn’t help thinking there  was someone outside, and she began to feel afraid. There was a whistling – the wind  through the electrical wires outside or coming through the cracks in the doors or windows. Then a banging, like a gate swinging on its hinges – but there was no gate. She  went to the bedroom to check on Mattie but he was sleeping. Still the banging came. She  went out to the kitchen again and switched off the lights. There was something moving  on the terrace, a person, a man. He was picking up the chairs that had blown away and  stacking them away into a corner.  

She opened the French door. 

‘Tony?’ 

The man turned to her. It was Rob. 

‘I thought you were a ghost!’ she said. 

‘I’m sorry,’ he began. ‘I just thought you might need some company.’ He walked past her into the unlit kitchen.  

‘Mattie asleep?’ he asked. 

She nodded. 

‘You want a drink?’  

‘No, thanks, I’ve had enough,’ he said. 

She sat down at the table and took up her glass of wine.

‘I hitched a lift,’ Rob said. He was standing in the middle of the room. ‘That  wind, it came out of nowhere, man. Meltemi, that’s what the guy called it. Happens every  year supposedly.’ He laughed. It sounded wrong. 

‘Are you alright?’ Amy asked. 

‘Me? Yeah, I’m good.’ 

‘Why did you come back?’ 

He turned towards her in the dark room. She stood up to flick on the lights, but he  put out his hand to stop her. 

‘Don’t!’ he said. ‘Just leave it as it is.’ 

His voice was different, as if he found it hard to make the right sounds to carry off  a believable version of his speech. Amy was nervous, not sure if she should sit back down. 

‘Maybe you should just lie down on the couch and sleep,’ she said. ‘It’s been a  long day.’ 

‘I… just don’t know anymore,’ he said. The words came slowly. He started to cry, his hands loose by his sides as he stood in the middle of the dark room. ‘You’ve been so  nice to me… I just can’t do this anymore!’ He was sobbing freely now, shaking his head,  his shoulders rising and falling in waves. 

‘It’s okay,’ Amy said. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she had  nothing left to give. She stood beside the table in the dark. She couldn’t see him properly. ‘It’s okay,’ she said again. 

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