The Art of Becoming Homeless Read online

  Michelle starts and turns to see the young man in the orange t-shirt, who has twisted round to face her from the seat behind, their benches back to back. He pulls at his t-shirt across his shoulders, straightening the neckline, and sips from his own coffee cup.

  Michelle wonders if he is going to be a problem. She mutters a ‘thank you’ and lifts the book slightly higher, turning the page. Conscious now that she is being observed, she takes a drink of her Styrofoam cup for something to do but finds it has all gone.

  ‘You want another?’

  Michelle continues to study the guidebook as if she hasn’t heard.

  ‘Hey lady! You want another coffee?’ Out of the corner of her eye she can see his broad smile, his tight face muscles pulling extra little twists upwards at the corners.

  ‘I’m fine, thank you.’ Curt but not impolite. What if she has to call the authorities? Who do you call on a boat? She begins to read about the ancient theatre at Evedaros.

  ‘You are alone?’ His hand rests near her arm. Uncomfortably aware of the proximity, Michelle shifts in her seat. He appears not to notice.

  Trying to be. It is on the tip of her tongue but she can’t bring herself to say it, can’t force herself to be rude. Darting a look around the deck she cannot see anyone in uniform who could help her. A cluster of cigarette butts marks the spot that the deck hands have now departed.

  ‘I am meeting a friend.’ Keep it polite, best not to upset him. It’s not a lie; she will be going to Juliet’s house when the meetings in Athens have concluded, and besides, she certainly doesn’t want to talk about work. The sun is shining, and she is on a boat in Greece, heading for an island. Work can wait till Monday.

  ‘Ah, you have a friend. Is he Greek?’ He hasn’t stopped smiling; he is enjoying himself.

  Now that is definite fishing. He slips from the ‘harmful’ category back to the ‘annoying’.

  ‘It’s a “she” and no, she is English.’ There, that should be the end of the conversation.

  ‘Oh English, yes, she lives here in Greece, alone.’

  Michelle is not sure if this is a question. Either way this is not a conversation she wants to have with a stranger.

  ‘Do you mind if I just read my book?’ She smiles to soften the edge in her voice. He raises and lowers the hand on the back of the bench, a gesture that offers her whatever she desires. ‘You haven’t remembered yet, have you?’ He says it quietly, granting her the choice to ignore him.

  The next page displays a photograph of clear sea and sky and endless sand. Why has she waited so long to experience the sun? She continues on the facing page with the language.

  She mouths the next words under her breath.

  ‘Ena Mousaka, mia salata, one salad, salata, mia beera, parrots claws, parakalo.’ This page is all about food. She flips to the next to see what is to come, and finds another picture, this time of people working in an office, wearing stripy tank-tops, knee-high boots, and miniskirts circa nineteen-seventy.

  She lets out a little laugh and leans back. Only a week and she can look forward to spending some time with Juliet, talking, laughing, swimming. Warmth, sun, fresh air, and al-fresco dining. Wine! She should buy some when she goes, arrive with a bottle.

  Michelle stands to stretch her legs, wanders past the pecked-at plastic bag, now blown into a corner, and stops at the handrail to look down into the water. The spray the boat creates mixes with the sun, producing glimpses of rainbows that live and die in a heartbeat. Looking up, she takes in the sea, which spans the entirety of her vision.

  ‘The sea is very big, isn’t it?’ His voice is playful. He settles beside her, like an old friend, and she stiffens. Standing next to her, he is taller than she had imagined, the lithe suppleness of youth apparent in his every movement. She looks down and sideways at him. The muscles in his thighs show through his jeans. His belt buckle is ridiculously large, an eagle with its wings spread, some writing in the middle.

  Turning her body slightly, she looks in the other direction. A gull glides past at eye level, so close, it turns its head slightly, looks right at her.

  ‘You still don’t remember me, do you?’

  ‘Look, please stop. I am not a fool and you are no longer a boy.’ She scans his face. His skin is the colour of a chestnut, his eyes brown, so dark she cannot tell where iris ends and pupil starts.

  ‘OK, I’ll tell you,’ he relents, chuckling. ‘From the village. You were there last Christmas, with some friends. You had chicken and chips at the ouzeri. I was with my baba on the next table from yours and we all joined as one. We raised a glass to British universities. Remember?’

  ‘That was you?’ He nods. Michelle loses her petulance in the delight of the recall. ‘That was such a great day. Juliet was being so funny, and her sons. They were the same age as you, weren’t they?’

  ‘I remember her sons. One was at university, one in banking, I think?’

  ‘I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you.’

  ‘You had a few glasses that night …’

  ‘Oh my goodness, do you remember the fireflies?’

  He narrows his eyes. ‘I remember,’ he chuckles.

  The fireflies glowed gently in the grass, the first Michelle had ever seen. She had stared enraptured as this man—what was his name?—held one of the tiny insects for her to examine.

  She pauses. ‘So what brings you on a one-day cruise to Orino? Your home’s over there.’ Pointing, she changes her choice of direction once or twice. He corrects her and she smiles.

  ‘The strike.’ He shrugs resignedly. ‘You?’

  ‘Like you, this was the only boat going. But then again, the island is new to me. Surely you have been there before?’

  ‘Born there. The village wasn’t my home until I was nearly fifteen.’

  ‘Ah, so you are visiting friends?’

  ‘An old friend, Adonis.’

  ‘I am Michelle, by the way, in case you had forgotten.’

  He nods and smiles, a carefree youthful smile. ‘Dino,’ he replies. Michelle extends her hand. He has a firm grip and his hand is cool, but he lingers in letting go just a bit too long for comfort.

  It is lovely to see him again, but just a small part of Michelle is disappointed that he wasn’t just hitting on her. It’s a long time since anyone has.

  Chapter 2

  They turn at the same time and wander back to the benches. Dino’s enormous bag is pushed underneath, the canvas moulding itself around the metal bench legs, folds poking up between the seat slats.

  He sits. ‘So after the island where do you go?’

  ‘Oh, it’s sort of work and play, I’m afraid. I have an important business meeting in Athens on Monday morning, sorting out a shipping claim. Well, I say “afraid”, but it’s got me out of the office, out of London. And hopefully it will impress the right people.’ Michelle smiles and closes her eyes against the sun. Her head rocks forward slightly, heavy, her neck muscles tense. The meeting will go well, surely ….

  ‘And then?’ Dino asks.

  She snaps out of her negative thoughts.

  ‘And then I go to the village to see Juliet for a week. A real holiday, with sun and wine.’ She smiles and tucks her hair behind her ears. The strands curl around her ears and point to her cheekbones. With the sun so strong, she must take care not to burn.

  ‘You’ve not been many times to Juliet’s then?’ Dino asks. Michelle listens but doesn’t open her eyes. She pictures the bougainvillea that climbs the metal arch of the entrance to Juliet’s house, and the gravel drive beyond.

  Juliet’s single-storey farmhouse, with its terracotta roof, white-washed walls, and blue shutters sits nestled in a garden full of flowers and fruit trees. Split pomegranates that have fallen from the trees litter the ground, and smells of Juliet’s cooking drift from her sparse kitchen.

  She’ll take the holiday regardless of the situation at work. She deserves it. She sighs, then turns her head to look at him.

  ‘I came
out at Christmas, and again for a long weekend in February, but the weather wasn’t like this. Before that … well, I always seem to be working.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. And then there is the house.’ She sighs.

  ‘What has your house got to do with your holidays?’ Dino chuckles as he speaks.

  ‘Well, yes, I see the stupidity.’ Michelle laughs, but then qualifies her position. ‘It’s a crumbling Grade I listed home. It needs work, which needs money.’ At one time it had been her and Richard’s pride and joy, something he chose and together they filled, until it became a cocoon of over-padded sofas and thick tassel-hung curtains. The memories feel bitter. It’s a place where, in the first few years, Michelle imagined there would soon be the laughter of small children. The bay window for family teas, the fireplace somewhere to cosy around in the winter nights. But the room never delivered on its promises. Now the backs of the sofas are faded from the morning sun, and her dreams dissolved alongside the wasted hours spent in choosing the decor, the whole thing a farce that is physically crumbling into the ground despite the amount of money she pours into it. Most of her salary is spent on the house. It is a bittersweet win over Richard.

  She opens her eyes. Dino has slid down the seat, ankles crossed in front of him, hands across his stomach, eyes closed, breathing steadily. She hadn’t realised what a nice face he has the last time they met, with long eyelashes, olive skin, very Greek. He needs a shave. Michelle turns her attention to the gulls hovering by the ship’s funnel, wings spread motionless, only the tail feathers splaying on the right or left to adjust their drift.

  Despite the meeting on Monday and the preparation it will require, Michelle feels as if her holiday has already started. Thoughts of London fade to be replaced with the anticipation of soaking up the sun, chatting with Juliet, putting the world to rights. Michelle imagines pottering in the garden, lazing on beaches, savouring the fresh produce in the street market and drinking wine—lots of wine. There will be no early mornings next week, no negotiating the bustle of the tube or the onslaught of case preparation.

  A flutter in her stomach, her shoulders relax. Something exciting is going to happen; she can feel it. Horizons opening before her.

  An old woman in black stands and begins to pull an oversized suitcase towards the stern of the boat, to the bar selling coffee. Her black skirt is almost faded to grey, her black cardigan, the buttons done up, misaligned so it puckers over her stomach. How can she wear a cardigan in this heat? The suitcase runs on wheels, but she has a difficult time guiding it. Something pink and fine, caught in the hinge as the suitcase closed, sweeps the floor, picking up dirt as it moves, invisible when the case is standing upright.

  Her gaze wanders over people sitting, reading, sleeping, surrounded by luggage.

  In a funny way it’s quite nice to be travelling so light. It reminds her of her first visit to Greece, with Juliet, twenty years ago.

  Looking out across the blue glassy water, Michelle’s gaze follows the thin wake of a small boat. A corridor of white foam.

  ‘You were at school with Juliet?’ Dino asks. She starts, she thought he was asleep.

  ‘Er, yes, we met outside the headmaster’s office, which I suppose was a bit of a prediction that we were not going to be the best of influences on each other.’ Michelle laughs, sitting more upright.

  ‘I don’t understand. Oh, you mean you were there to see the headmaster because you had been naughty?’

  Michelle giggles, the years falling away, her feet pulled in under the bench, toes pointing to each other, she sits on her hands.

  ‘Juliet was sitting, waiting, she had been called in for swearing at a teacher. Her parents were splitting up about then and she was so angry. She swore all the time. I was there for truancy, only a couple of weeks into a new term at a new school. Sometimes the teachers would take so long to explain something, there seemed little point sitting in class.’

  ‘Naughty, naughty.’ Dino teases with a smirk.

  Michelle grins at him and continues her tale.

  ‘“What you here for?” Juliet had said, I remember her as tiny and blonder I think. I replied, “Playing truant, like”. I had a broad Yorkshire accent back then. But, do you know, I felt so tall I can remember I slithered down in my seat so our heads were level.’

  Dino sits up a little so their eyes meet and smiles. Michelle continues.

  ‘So Juliet said “Was you playing or did you mean it?”, or some nonsense like that. Her accent broad Bradford too.’ Michelle laughs at the memory. ‘We laughed so hard the deputy headmistress put her head around the door, looking stern. We tried to hold back our giggles, we must have sat and whispered, trying not to laugh, for another ten minutes before each of us was called in to discover our fate.’

  ‘And your fate was?’ Dino asks, he has slid back down his seat again into a more comfortable position.

  ‘Detention, probably. Yes, that was it, because I remember Juliet was in detention too, that afternoon.’ Michelle pulls her hands from under her and she too slides down her seat, leaning back, her legs stretched out.

  ‘After that we were pretty inseparable. For me it was nice to have someone to talk to so I wasn’t always coming in second to my sister. Juliet spent as much time as she could at my house to avoid the arguments at home, she was often there at teatime. She would say things like ‘Your dad’s right nice, never shouts at your mam.’ Michelle adopts a Yorkshire accent, which makes Dino smile.

  Michelle remembers feeling less enthusiastic about her home life. More often than not she would grab at Juliet’s sleeve, pull her back into the street and with a rattle of coins in her pocket would persuade Juliet to stay out, have chips on the street, even missing a meal, anything felt better than going in for tea.

  ‘Coming second to your sister?’ Dino asks lazily.

  ‘Oh, what’s going on?’ Michelle looks behind her, hearing excited voices, to see a little old lady in black wagging a finger at a tall man who is trying to wipe the arm of her cardigan with a serviette. His other hand clutches a Styrofoam coffee cup. He makes soothing noises as the woman becomes increasingly agitated. Dino pays no attention, he closes his eyes.

  Michelle wonders if it will come to blows. The woman is beside herself and looks like she might easily whack the man with her handbag. Instead the old lady cackles, the man smiles, they approach the bar together and order something. Her suitcase is left blocking the aisle.

  ‘Completely incomprehensible people,’ Michelle mutters to herself. But another coffee is a good idea. She notices that Dino’s eyes are still closed, his mouth dropped open slightly, so she slips past him toward the bar.

  Dino opens his eyes, just aware that he was muttering in his sleep before he awoke, but he cannot remember what he was saying, or the dream.

  ‘You alright?’ Michelle asks.

  ‘Yes.’ But he doesn’t feel great. He wriggles his body to gain some comfort, but the bench is ungiving. He pushes himself upright and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands.

  ‘You were talking in your sleep.’

  Dino sighs. It is a deep, long sigh. He cannot find his smile. ‘It was a nightmare about what is to come. I have to go to see my Baba. It is going to be bad.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t sound so good.’

  ‘No, that is why I say it is going to be bad. He will kill me.’

  ‘Oh, I got you coffee, one of those cold ones.’

  ‘Frappé.’ He takes the cup from her, stirs the straw through the ice and then sucks for a moment before adding, ‘Too sweet.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She grins.

  ‘Sorry. Thank you, kind Michelle.’ He smiles now.

  ‘So, why will he kill you?’

  Dino’s gaze fixes on the seagulls bobbing on the water. ‘Because he has paid and I have studied—English university.’ His eyes flick to Michelle’s face, she nods. He has no desire to talk about this.

  ‘So?’ Michelle asks.

 
Dino glances at her, her look so compassionate that he continues; ‘After I finished my studies I did what he said. I got a job in London. But at the end of each day I would go home and cry. I mean literally cry.’ He looks at her to check her reaction. Michelle frowns. He continues, ‘All day locked inside walls with no windows. It was sucking out my soul, and then I would go home to a tiny room that I didn’t want, that I was paying so much money for, so I quit.’ He stops to take a breath. ‘But now I must tell my Baba.’

  Michelle is speechless for a moment, more shocked by the number of words he had said in one go than the content. He is waiting for a reaction.

  ‘Quitting a job is no reason to kill someone.’

  ‘Ha!’ It is short and sharp. ‘You do not know my Baba. Years of oranges sold for university, farmhouse not fixed so tuition fees are paid. Now he will kill me.’

  ‘But quitting your job isn’t throwing what he has done for you back in his face. You can get another job, one that you prefer, perhaps.’

  ‘Go back, he will say. London, England is good place he will say. All I can see is a life working in a box, with just enough money to rent another box to live in. England is cold. Here is my home.’ Leaning forward he rests his forehead on his hands, elbows on knees.

  ‘Ah, so you want to come back here, and he wants you to stay there, you mean?’

  He doesn’t say anything. He might be crying. Michelle reaches out, her hand hovers over his back, ready to soothe, comfort. He jerks up suddenly; she whips her hand back, hoping he hasn’t seen.

  ‘He thinks he can make my life.’ His face is set hard in anger, his eyebrows arching slightly, softening the effect.

  ‘So get a job here?’

  He sniffs, Michelle hands him the serviette that came with her coffee. ‘Thank you,’ he mutters.

  ‘You?’ he says brightening a little. ‘Do you work?’

  Michelle looks in his eyes, flecks of gold dancing in the dark irises. She smiles at his resilience.

  ‘Within windowless walls, having my soul sucked out for the last twenty years.’ She quotes his words cheerfully, but her chest suddenly feels tight. She hangs onto her smile.