Read The Olive Tree for Free Online Page B

loosely by her sides. I cannot see her face, but I can see his. And watch as it creases into an expression of
pure joy.
    My heart is beating fast now and I know it’s no longer dehydration. Or malaria. It’s fear.
    Neither of them speak. They stand where they are for what seems like hours, as if they are drinking each other in. He looks like he’d like to drink Mum, anyway. Then his arms
stretch out and he moves towards her and stands in front of her. He takes hold of her small hands in his big ones and kisses them reverently, as though they are holy.
    This is gross. I don’t want to see it, but I can’t help myself looking.
    He finally stops the hand-lip thing, then takes my mother in his muscular arms and embraces her. She is so tiny and pale and blonde against his dark strength that she reminds me of
a china doll being hugged to death by a large brown bear. Her head is thrown backwards at a funny angle against his huge pectorals as he squeezes her to him. His elbow seems to be round her neck
and I only hope her head doesn’t snap off, like Immy’s china doll’s did once.
    Finally, just as I am running out of breath from holding it so long, he lets her go and I gulp in some air. Thank God. No lip-to-lip kissing, because that would have been rank
beyond belief.
    But it’s not over yet.
    He still doesn’t seem inclined not to be holding some part of her anatomy, so he takes her hand again. And leads her towards the vine-covered pergola and they disappear
beneath it, out of my sight.
    Damn! I walk slowly back to my bed and throw myself onto it.
    Who is he? And who is he to
her
?
    I knew, as soon as I saw him standing on the terrace, looking like he owned the place, that he was something. Should I phone Dad? The dad that’s not my dad, but as much of one
as I’ve ever known? I knew he’d eventually come in useful for something one day.
    Surely he wouldn’t be happy about his wife being mauled on a terrace by a big brown Cypriot bear? I reach for my mobile phone and turn it on. What do I say?
    ‘Come NOW, Dad! Mum’s in mortal danger under the pergola!’
    Christ. I just can’t. He thinks I’m a weirdo anyway. I’m fully aware he has no choice but to tolerate me because he loves Mum, and I came as part of the package.
Unfortunately I’m rubbish at most ball games, even though I’m enthusiastic. When I was younger, he tried to teach me, but I always ended up feeling I’d let him down by not getting
into the firsts for anything. And then turning in golden ducks in front of him when he came to watch me, ’cos I was so nervous. Me being good at that kind of thing would have helped our
relationship a lot, but at least he loves Mum and protects her against all the others that seem to want her.
    Like the one currently under the pergola.
    Ironic, really. There was me looking forward to some time alone with her without Dad, who makes me feel I’m always in the way, yet here I am, not twenty-four hours on, wishing
he was here.
    Maybe I
should
text him . . . I check my mobile, then discover I only have eighteen pence credit left, so I can’t. And even if I did, what could he actually do?
    There’s no one else here but me. And Immy, but she doesn’t count.
    So . . . there’s only one thing for it: I shall have to go it alone.
    I will go into battle to save my mother’s honour.

Ψ
Three
    ‘You look . . . just the same.’
    ‘No I don’t, Alexis, of course I don’t. I’m twenty-four years older.’
    ‘Helena, you are beautiful, just as you were then.’
    Heat flew to Helena’s already flushed cheeks. ‘How did you know I was here?’
    ‘I’d heard a rumour in the village. Then Dimitrios called me at lunchtime and said he’d seen a golden-haired lady and a child on the track leading from Pandora, so I knew it
must be you.’
    ‘Who is Dimitrios?’
    ‘He is my son.’
    ‘Of course! Of course!’ Helena laughed in relief. ‘Immy and I stopped on the way to pick some grapes and I saw him,