Today is wet and humid. I push open the door to the cafe, step inside. Mouth- dripping smells fill my nose. Moussaka, pastitsio, warm olive oil. Gerrard's not here yet. I order for both of us and go and sit in my usual space, by the window in the far corner. Watch the rain, watch the day.
The room is high in a branch of the blue sky.
Gerrard arrives. "Why must we always eat here?" He takes off his small round
glasses, wipes away the mist.
"I thought you liked it?"
"I did in the beginning. But every Wednesday for the last six weeks?"
Yanni brings me my salad. His white waiter's apron is to the ground and tied tight around his slim waist. I smile at him. He smiles back. Young, such beautiful black hair, dark eyes and a wide mouth.
"Is okay?" Shy and broken his English.
"Yes, thank you."
He goes.
Gerrard's mobile phone rings. He opens his brief case, takes it out. He can't live without it. In the bedroom, bathroom, out in the garden. He loves it more than himself. I pick up my fork, spear a cube of feta cheese.
Beyond the room, the Aegean sea sparkles, blue and gem like. Out in the street heat haunts the siesta shadows.
"Penny rang this morning," I say when he's finished talking to his client.
"What's it this time?"
"She thinks she may be pregnant."
Gerrard grins. Deep creases furrow the sides of his cheeks. "Welcome, Grandma."
I laugh. "You too."
He rubs his hands together. "I could enjoy it."
"What? Being a grandfather?" I nibble the flesh of a black olive, not yrt at the bitterness around the stone. "I wish they'd taken their time. Got more settled."
"You mean married first?"
I put the olive stone on the edge of my plate, take a sip of restina. "Yes."
Yanni returns. Places a bowl of steaming kefthedes and rice in front of Gerrard.
He stands behind me, the tip of his tongue, wet and warm on my neck.
"Thanks." Gerrard picks up his knife and fork.
"Yours madam. Is it fine?" Yanni asks of me, like he always does, every week.
Fingers touch my bare nipples.
"Lovely."
Gerrard cuts through one of the small meatballs. A negligee of steam escapes. "Trouble is, Lisa. You've always been such a stickler for doing the right thing."
Playing and whispering nude. In the room.
Thou shalt not commit adultery.
How well did I learn the Ten Commandments? And cherish them? And the rest of the bible. Enough to take the Mary Griffin Memorial Award at thirteen. Shy, plump, wearing a hand-knitted blue angora bolero, slaved over by my mother unpicked more than once to get it just right for the big occasion. Up on the grand stage at church to receive my prize, Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Given to me by The Reverend Miller. The cover of the book matched the blue sea of carpet I stood on. And as well my name was engraved on the Awards Board. An example for all to follow. 1957. Lisa MacKay. Written in gold.
I break my chunk of bread in two. Paddle it in the small pool of olive oil at the bottom of my plate.
Gerrard stops eating, looks up. "How about a surprise visit to Penny and Tim this
weekend?
"Mmmm." I wipe my mouth with the paper napkin, push my plate to one side, sip
long at the restina. Rain down the window, rain down the day. I can hardly see the harbour,
the green hills.
Yanni winds his way through the packed cafe, arms balancing dishes, his body brushing against the back of chairs. Forehead sweating.
He kisses my shivering, embarrassed thighs, gently persuading them to open.
I had my first real boyfriend when I was sixteen. Tony Holland. We would neck in the car until the windows were steamed up with our passion. But never anything more than kisses and some bites. Thou shalt not. He went to my church. I would sing to him from the choir, third row from the front. He was so handsome in his dark Sunday suit. I looked like a magpie in the pancake velveteen hat and black-winged choir garment. He was eighteen or nineteen, I can't remember now. After we'd sung to the Lord and said our prayers, then we would drive to Newall Park. It was the best parking place in town. High above the city. Once we had Lena Stephens and Philip Costar right next to us. Everybody knew Philip by his car. Nobody else had a silver Morris. He was always in the park with someone. So was Lena. But never together. When Tony and I surfaced from our heavy snogging session, I saw Lena's bare breasts. They were whopping. She was sitting up smoking in full view. I couldn't stop giggling and half wet my pants.
"You're quiet," says Gerrard. "Worrying about this afternoon?"
I come back to the moment. "A bit."
"Doctor Pearson's the best."
"I know."
Yanni comes close. He smells of sweet aftershave and of sweat. Balancing an empty plate, he stops. "Coffee, please?"
"Yes, that'd be nice." I nod.
Gerrard's mobile phone goes again.
Yanni takes my empty plate, puts it on top of the pile.
The unbuttoning of my blouse and legs. Summer 1962. The beautiful island of Crete. Surrounded by oceans and oceans of blue sea. And freewheeling seagulls.
"Sorry," says Gerrard. "Got to get back. Small emergency." He scrapes back his wooden chair.
Urgent emergency. I giggle.
"What?' he says.
I shake my head. "Nothing. Go."
"Ring me as soon as you know. Promise?"
"Of course."
Tony wanted to get engaged before I went overseas. But I didn't. It wouldn't be fair, I told him. He might find someone else. Then what?" He told me he never would. Never. So long as I saved myself for him. I had for three years already. What was suddenly going to change that?
A dying sunset. Red on red. First time blood. The room is stifling hot. He kneels as he cleans me.
Yanni brings me my coffee. Black and hot. I take up my cup, wrap my hands around its small fat middle. Drink, For this is the blood of Christ.
I am in London, nearly bleeding to death. He is not with me. He is with his wife.
Drink. For this is the blood of your abortion.
I wrote and told Tony I'd fallen in love with someone else. He never replied. I heard some time later he had married another girl from the church. I stayed away from home for years. Far away from the Ten Commandments and the Mary Griffin Memorial Award.
The abortion cost me a lot of money. All my return fare and some more.
I met Gerrard through a friend. Liked him right away. He wanted to emigrate to New Zealand so I was happy to spend hours telling him about home. We got married in a registry office. No fuss, no white wedding. Gerrard is still the same as he was then. Gentle and caring. I couldn't have asked for anyone better. I've never told him about my sin. Never told anyone.
Six weeks ago I found a lump on my breast. At first I couldn't keep my fingers off it. Pressing and prodding the little hard knot all the time. Then I told myself it didn't exist. Had never existed. But I know it's been there for years. Growing like a secret fungus in the dark.
A crowd comes into the already packed cafe. I finish my coffee in one gulp, stand up, freeing my table. After paying, I go to the door. Yanni is close behind me. He opens it. He does the same for all women on their own.
If I close my eyes, it is Him. Same smile, same smell, same way of speaking. My first lover. Over thirty years ago.
I do not know I'm three months pregnant until I've left Crete. I thought my sickness was because I was missing him so much, finding out he was married and my heart breaking. I never told him about the baby. What was the use? He wrote me three letters. Funny back to front English. I replied twice.
"Bye bye," says Yanni.
"Thank you." The door closes behind me. Rain is coming down in buckets. I put up my umbrella, go to the pedestrian crossing and wait for the green light.
I've still got the book, Pride and Prejudice, with its soft blue cover. I must read it
again. It's been so long.