Page 49 of The Silent Sister

After their dinner watching the sunset, Eléni and Simos met most evenings.

He would call for her at her hotel after he finished work.

Usually, they went for a drink and something to eat in one of the tavernas along the harbourside.

On other occasions, they went in the other direction to the central square, which was always buzzing with tourists and locals.

On one occasion, Eléni stopped about three quarters of the way along Elpizō Street.

She looked up at the number etched in the glass panel over the door of the offices.

Number twenty-five. She shivered. A strange sensation hit her.

It was not quite a memory, but more a feeling of déjà vu that she couldn’t explain.

Yes, she had already walked down this street but that was before she’d known it had been the location of her family home.

‘Eléni, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’ Simos took Eléni’s hand.

Her throat tightened when she tried to speak.

‘I think I’m standing on the very spot where my parents and grandparents were killed.

Where my baba rescued me.’ She closed her eyes and saw an image of herself as a little girl sitting on an old lady’s lap as she sang to her.

Close by, a man with scant white hair and a full drooping moustache accompanied her with a haunting melody on a mandolin.

‘I can’t imagine what it feels like. We will find your uncle. I’m sure of it. It will be okay.’

Eléni nodded and they continued the walk to the square where they found a taverna with spare tables. She didn’t feel hungry — her mind kept returning to the image of the couple who she assumed were her grandparents and their song reverberated in her head.

‘Sorry. Just a Greek salad for me tonight.’

‘You’ve had a shock, I think. It is very understandable.’

After their meal, they took a different route to the harbour.

Taverna Xénia was busy, but now they were regular customers the waiter led Eléni and Simos to the room upstairs where there was a free table on the wooden balcony above the quayside.

Below them, three mandolin players played traditional Greek music.

‘It’s Wednesday, so there’s always live music,’ said Simos. ‘They are good, eh?’

Although her grandfather’s playing of the same instrument was like an earworm in her head, instead of sadness, Eléni was proud she’d had the good fortune of being loved by two families — her birth family and the one who’d brought her up in Wales.

She would write to Cassia, Tom and Bronwen, and thank them.

She looked across at Simos and realised they had spared her from the awful experiences he’d had as a child.

Without thinking, she reached across the table and placed her hand on his.

Instead of pulling it away, he turned his over so that they were holding hands.

Anyone watching will think we’re a couple sitting listening to romantic music.

When the song ended, they broke hands to applaud along with the other customers.

‘I wondered if you were free to visit Fiscardo this weekend. I can’t spend any more work time on your case, I’m afraid, but my weekends are my own.

’ Simos brought out the same piece of paper with the addresses of men with the name of Kostas Koulouris.

‘We’ve got these three to check on. One lives just outside and the other two are in Fiscardo itself. ’

‘ Efcharistó . That would be wonderful. Then if we don’t find him there, I have to assume he’s moved from Kefalonia or, worse, that he’s passed away.

I have my aunt’s address just a short distance out of Fiscardo.

If we have time, would you mind if we went there too?

’ The earlier melancholy that Eléni had felt as she’d stood by her former home had now completely lifted, first with the beautiful mandolin music and now with the prospect of spending a whole day with Simos.

‘Of course. I’ll pick you up at the hotel on Saturday morning. Say nine o’clock.’

* * *

The next few days dragged. She’d written to her parents and sister as she’d planned and had told them how she’d stood on the very spot where she’d once lived and how the street where Cassia had also lived had been renamed.

She’d told them about Simos and how helpful he was being by assisting her in her search for her uncle Kostas.

. . . Simos helped me find my birth certificate.

My name is I?ánna Eléni Mouzakis and I’m two years older than you thought I was.

Like me, he was the only one of his family to survive the earthquake.

But unlike me he was sent to an orphanage in mainland Greece.

He had a terrible time there and cannot talk about what happened.

You were right, Mamá! You saved me from what Simos went through by giving me a happy childhood.

I’m so ashamed about how I’ve treated you and Baba.

You, too, Bron. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

I hope you will forgive my bad behaviour.

You risked so much to get me out of Kefalonia.

We still haven’t found Theíos Kostas, but Simos is sure we will. I’ll write again soon. I’m missing you all and will be home before you know it.

Love from Eléni Xx

She’d been living at the hotel for over three weeks and her money was running out.

On her way to post the letter, she called in at Xénia’s.

July was fast approaching and in August, the town would be overrun with tourists arriving for the twentieth anniversary of the earthquake.

Because it was her and Simos’s favourite taverna, they knew her by name.

‘ Kaliméra .’

‘Ah , Kaliméra , Eléni. What can I do for you?’ Kyrios Panas was all smiles when she entered the coolness of the bar. A couple of local men were playing cards at a table in the corner, surrounded by a fug of smoke from their strong cigarettes.

‘I wondered if you could do with extra staff. I noticed how you seem to be getting busier and I’m going to extend my stay in Argostoli. If you have a room I could rent, it would be even better, parakaló. ’

The bar owner nodded his head. ‘It is true, we are getting short of staff. I was going to advertise so you read my mind, I think.’ The man smiled.

‘But do you have any experience of working in a taverna — waiting tables, pouring drinks, clearing up afterwards? The hours are long. And how many days or evenings were you thinking of?’

‘Maybe four days and three evenings.’ She couldn’t believe she was being asked to choose her working hours.

She told him how she’d worked at the Metropole before coming to Kefalonia, and was used to dealing with customers and money from her time at the craft shop.

‘I can’t do tomorrow as I’ve arranged to go to Fiscardo with Simos, sorry. ’

‘Picking your days and you haven’t been offered the job yet.

’ The bar owner pretended to look cross.

Eléni’s cheeks burned. ‘Eléni, I tease. Yes, I will give you a week’s trial to see how you get on.

How about evenings starting at six o’clock on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, then all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

Beginning this coming Sunday, starting at ten o’clock until six o’clock?

But I’m afraid there is nothing here to rent.

There is only one free room in the taverna and it must be kept for the tourists. ’

‘ Efcharistó . That’s good. I will look for a room to rent that’s cheaper than the hotel.’

She wasn’t surprised the full days were at the weekend when Simos didn’t work, but at least she had four free evenings to meet up with him.

Before she started working, she had the trip to Fiscardo to look forward to.

She wondered what sort of reception she’d get from Theía Eugenia.

Her mother had told her she’d not heard from her sister because she’d not returned to Kefalonia to visit their mother before she’d died.

Would her aunt be happy to see Eléni? Now she knew they weren’t related by blood, perhaps she should call her Eugenia or even Kyria Papadatos.

That’s what her mamá had written on the note with the address she’d given to her.

But it seemed too formal somehow. She had vague recollections of a warm, smiling woman with her own little girl, who’d looked after her when her mother had worked at the market.

She remembered the sweet honey smell of baklavá baking in her aunt’s kitchen.

The longer she’d been in Kefalonia, the more distant memories were surfacing.