Page 91 of Summer in Greece

Shelly shrugged. ‘I’m hoping to learn that from the tapes. What do you know, Dad?’

‘Now that would be telling. Gertie wanted you to hear the facts from her, so you have to wait.’

DJ grinned, loving Gordon’s mischief. He turned to Shelly. ‘Tell me about your holiday, Mum.’ His eyes flicked to hers, testing the word again.

‘Wreck diving, wildlife and travel photography, and chill. Diving’s my passion. The Greek seabed’s littered with ships, and I’ve visited quite a few – but I only discovered the wrecks of Kea recently. To tell the truth, I was going to cancel. Worried about Dad, you know?’

‘Sounds exciting. Look, if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep an eye on Gordon.’

‘Aye, don’t talk about me like I’m not here!’

‘Sorry, Gramps.’ DJ’s smile turned to a frown and a distant look came to his eyes. ‘Don’t I remember you saying my dad wanted to be a diver?’

‘’Ere, he doesn’t know what happened, does he, Shelly?’

Shelly shook her head. The room tilted. She struggled to speak. ‘Yes. David was teaching me to snorkel,’ she muttered closing her eyes. In an instant, she could see him through her mask, her scream weird in the snorkel tube, then she realised she was holding her breath. Startled, she filled her lungs and then groaned as the past flooded through her. ‘It was a long time ago, DJ. A year in my life that I’d rather forget.’ She went over to the window and stared into the darkness so her father and son could not see the lie, or the tears. With the tips of her fingers, she blotted the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes. She felt them watching, and the silence behind her said they’d caught the quiver in her voice.

*

The next weekend, Shelly gazed through the windscreen, her thoughts miles away. She had a small suitcase of holiday clothes and a large suitcase of Gran Gertie’s memorabilia in the boot. She had worked hard to get Gertie’s nurse’s uniforms washed and ironed in time for the trip. Was she making a mistake, giving the family history away? After all, if things went south with Harry . . .

She turned to touch the arm of her driver. ‘DJ, it was really good of you to stay the night, and run me to the airport on your way home. She tapped her forehead and shook her head. ‘It’s all happened so fast, I’m still reeling. Amazing that you had the courage to track me down. I thought hearts only broke with sadness, but my heart’s completely shattered by happiness. Thank you.’

She sat in the passenger seat of DJ’s battered Beetle. Next to her feet was an odd sock that clearly needed a wash, and scattered around that, some small change, one and two pence coins mostly. Between the seats, a burger box stuffed with rubbish told her he had hurriedly tidied the car in her honour. She smiled, recalling her student days, then glanced at the fuel gauge.

‘Call in the next petrol station and let me fill her up.’

After a gentle argument and the rationale that a taxi would have cost more, they arrived at the airport with almost a full tank. Shelly persuaded DJ to stay and have breakfast with her before she went through passport control and he continued to Cambridge.

‘I understand that you want to know about your father,’ she said. ‘It’s only natural. The thing is, I find it very difficult to talk about him. Although I was terribly young, I loved him very much. I still do in a way. He took away all my anger and self-blame about my mother’s death. I would certainly not have made it through to university if he hadn’t guided me back on track.’ She lowered her eyes and smiled. ‘We adored each other.’ She paused and quietly reminisced.

‘What happened?’ he asked.

Shelly swallowed hard. ‘There was an accident. A terrible accident that happened abroad. I lied to my dad, he thought I was on a school trip. We went to a Greek island called Paros. David was going to teach me to dive. I hadn’t even used a snorkel before. I was so excited, mostly because I felt I’d grown up and that somebody loved me. You know how it is? I thought I was invincible. I guess it’s the same for all teenagers.’

DJ nodded. ‘I’ve been there.’

‘Where, Paros?’

‘No, believing I’m invincible. Just growing out of it; realising I don’t know everything and if I don’t swot like hell, I won’t get my degree.’

Shelly smiled sympathetically. ‘God, it’s so hard, isn’t it? Everyone reaches that point when it’s tempting to throw the towel in, DJ, but believe me, it’s worth the slog in the end.’

‘Sometimes, the pressure’s astronomical, and I’m convinced I’ll fail my finals. It’s easy to understand why people drop out. I mean, it sounds so wimpy, but hell, nobody knows . . .’

‘I know. I did it, and you’re my son. I’m damned sure you can do it too. I’m sure you’ll be fine come exam time. But you know what? If you fail, it’s no big deal. You can do it again. Don’t beat yourself up over it, just do your best.’

‘Thanks.’

Her thoughts spooled back to that Greek holiday. ‘I told you about the bracelet, didn’t I? The one my mother was going to collect when she was hit by the car.’

He nodded. ‘You did.’

‘Well, your dad, his friend Simon, and I stayed in the most beautiful little village in the world, Naoussa, on the island of Paros.’ She realised she was holding her wrist. ‘Although that bracelet had taken my mother from me, it sort of brought your father to me as well. How could I know it would take him away too?’

The dangerous point of the story loomed. She strengthened herself by breathing steadily, staring at the table. Everything seemed to be linked in a way that she didn’t understand. Sometimes, she felt if she could only comprehend why it all happened to her, then the pain would go away. After a moment she found she could speak again.

‘I never took the bracelet off, even slept and bathed with it on. It was a solid hoop and a real struggle to get over my hand. I don’t know if it was the tanning oil I’d slathered on or the cool water, or a combination of both, but the bracelet slipped off while your father was teaching me to snorkel, on that first day.’ With her hand on her chest, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘Sorry, it’s hard to say, even after twenty years.’