Page 44 of The Silent Sister

It was mid-afternoon when Eléni arrived in Argostoli.

The sun was still high in the sky, so the intense heat reflected from the paved streets and pale-rendered buildings.

She was glad to walk along the shady side of the road as she searched for the small hotel where she was to stay for her first two weeks.

Eléni placed her suitcase down on the pavement to take a rest. Her stomach churned with both excitement and nervousness as it dawned on her what she was doing.

She was in a foreign country, her first trip abroad and, more than that, her first trip on her own.

Because she’d had her speech problems in the past, her parents had always protected her.

Overprotected her, perhaps. She’d been happy to be a day student at Cardiff Art College rather than share a flat with other students.

She thought of how different they’d been with Bronwen.

Although she was younger, her sister had been to more places on her own and done more things than she’d ever done.

But it wasn’t their parents’ fault — she hadn’t wanted to be independent.

.. until now. She smiled to herself. Bronwen had never travelled alone and she’d never been to Kefalonia.

The wide street emerged onto a large square surrounded by restaurants and bars.

The smell of coffee wafted in Eléni’s direction as she passed tavernas bustling with people sitting outside and chatting away.

Vibrant clusters of magenta bougainvillea tumbled over wooden pergolas, and large earthenware pots full of white pelargoniums divided each bar area on the pavement.

Her hotel was tucked up a side street. The glass doors were set back from the pavement under an arched overhang that provided shade to the reception area inside.

Hotel Athena . The square reception area was flooded with light under its glass-domed ceiling.

Eléni approached the desk where a smartly dressed man attended to some paperwork. He looked up.

‘May I help you?’

‘ Nai . I have a room booked in the name of Eléni Beynon.’ She was glad of her command of the Greek language. All thanks to her mother.

After being told of the housekeeping rules and breakfast times, Eléni was handed her door key and given directions to the lift. Her room was on the second floor.

Eléni’s hand shook as she put the key in the lock.

What am I going to discover about my birth family?

What would have happened if I’d stayed and been sent to the orphanage?

She was filled with guilt as she thought back to the family row that had taken place when she’d just found out about Cassia and Tom taking her away from this island.

They were convinced they’d done the right thing.

And maybe they had. Eléni had been horrible to them all and the look of hurt on their faces as she’d flung her insults and accusations at them would stay with her for ever.

She’d thought things would never be the same between them and it was all her fault, but after reading her mother’s letter she hoped she could make it up to them.

The tiny room was dark and cool inside. Eléni opened the blue wooden shutters and the door onto the balcony.

For a moment, she stood resting against the metal railings and drank in the view.

Over the tops of the terracotta-tiled roofs stretching out before her, she had a view of Argostoli harbour in the distance.

Even from that far away, Eléni could see the sea was a deep teal colour in the afternoon sun.

Well, this is it! It’s what you’ve worked so hard for, every penny. Let’s hope it will be worth it.

She walked back into the room. A hand-embroidered counterpane covered the bed that was pushed up against the wall opposite the double doors to the balcony.

Clusters of silver-green olive leaves interspersed with blue-black olives had been meticulously stitched on the white linen coverlet edged with lace.

It reminded Eléni of the tablecloth her mamá had embroidered that came out every time they had visitors.

She unpacked her case and filled the wardrobe and chest of drawers with her clothes and belongings.

On the rattan bedside cabinet, she placed the precious sketchpad she intended to fill while she was here.

As well as pen-and-ink sketches, she would write accounts of what she did every day to share with her parents and sister on her return.

And she would return. Her wild threat to leave home and never go back was an empty one.

After unpacking, Eléni left the hotel behind to walk through the square.

All the buildings had been rebuilt since 1953.

They were modern in design and most were just two storeys high.

She’d read how they’d been constructed with certain specifications to strengthen them in the event of further earthquakes.

Again, her thoughts went to her mother and what she would think of the new town.

Following the street map she’d picked up at the hotel reception, Eléni made her way down to the harbour.

At every turn, she looked up at the street signs in the hope of finding the one now imprinted on her brain.

Byron Street. None matched the name her mother had written down.

She crossed the road and continued walking along the quayside.

Gleaming white vessels of every shape and size were moored along the harbour wall, from luxury yachts to more modest sailing dinghies and painted wooden fishing boats.

The water stretching out in front of her glowed a deep aquamarine and was so clear she saw shoals of small fish wriggling around the hulls of the boats.

‘Damsel fish,’ said a voice. Eléni looked towards an elderly man whose thick white moustache starkly contrasted his tanned, weathered face.

‘You should come back in the morning. Before ten. When the fishermen come back in. The loggerhead turtles meet here then.’ He spoke to her in rapid Greek while hardly taking a breath, but Eléni managed to understand what he was saying.

‘ Efcharistó , I will.’

Eléni strolled along the quayside, stopping to browse the little souvenir shops displaying racks of colourful postcards.

She picked out three — one displaying the harbour itself and two showing Argostoli’s main square.

After paying, she found a bar with tables outside.

An ivory-coloured awning ran the whole length of the bar’s front wall to protect customers from the hot sun.

A middle-aged waiter dressed in black brought her a menu.

‘ Kalispéra .’

She knew exactly what to choose — something that her mamá cooked often.

‘ éna café kai éna baklavá, parakaló.’

Greek coffee was something she’d never tried, as her mother wasn’t able to buy it in Wales.

Eléni had read the Greeks served little cups of the dark, sweet liquid after boiling it up in a small copper saucepan called a briki .

She would have to remember not to drink it down to the layer of sludge settled at the bottom.

While she waited for her order to arrive, Eléni took her postcards and a pen from her bag.

Choosing one with a view of the pristine square in the centre of Argostoli, she began to write to her parents.

Dear Mamá and Baba,

I’ve arrived safely after a long journey.

I was lucky to meet a nice American girl who was good company on the flight.

The little hotel is spotless and situated on a street just off this main square.

I chose this postcard especially for you both to show you how they have rebuilt it.

I am down by the harbour just about to try my first Greek coffee and a baklavá.

I wonder will it be as good as yours, Mamá.

I will write again when I have more news.

Your loving daughter, Eléni Xx

The waiter arrived with her coffee and pastry. The sweet honey taste was just the same as her mother’s, but she could understand why Cassia always complained that the substitute pastry she made with butter was not the same as the crisp, flaky layers Eléni sampled now.

Eléni wrote cards to Bronwen and Gabriella, then sat and people-watched.

There were lots of families enjoying time together.

On the next table to her was a little girl with enormous ebony eyes and glossy black curls framing her little face.

She reminded Eléni of the missing child in the Celtic Chronicle newspaper cutting.

She’d thought there could be no denying it was a photo of her at five years old, but this little girl was identical.

Perhaps the one in the newspaper wasn’t her.

Perhaps the man looking for his niece was not her uncle after all. All she could do was speculate.

Eléni called the waiter and paid her bill.

Wandering along the quayside, she browsed the little shops and then walked back into the centre of Argostoli using her street map to find her bearings.

She’d planned to visit the museum and library early on in her stay so she could find out as much as she could about how Argostoli had looked before the disaster happened.

Walking up the white-tiled main street, she noticed a beautiful, blond-coloured building standing out from the rest. The Greek Orthodox church had a separate bell tower at its side.

Eléni entered through the arched double doors.

Once inside, she gasped. Although her eyes took a few moments to get accustomed to the change in light from the bright sun, she was amazed by the beauty of the carved wooden screen dividing the sanctuary and the nave.

When the door opened as another person entered, the shaft of light showed the true magnificence of the colours and the gilding.

Eléni wandered around the church. A sign told her it had been reconstructed after it had been destroyed during the earthquake and it had been rebuilt across the street from where it had originally stood.

Surprisingly, the bell tower had remained intact.

Although she wasn’t religious, the stillness and peace inside the church had a profound effect on her.

She was drawn to an icon in front of which flickering red candles had been lit in memory of loved ones who had passed on.

Putting drachmae in the slot of a small wooden box, she selected four candles and lit them in turn.

She thought of her birth parents and grandparents who had perished in this very town and of whom she had no memory.

Tears welled in her eyes. Rest in peace, Mamá, Baba, Yiayiá and Pappoú.