Being Shirley Read online

  “I am not in a rush. Look—” He pointed over to the group of kids, some of whom had produced packed lunches which they tucked into with relish. Others were in the kind of deep discussions that only adolescents can have where you think they are solving the problems of the world but really they are deciding what to wear to the mall that afternoon. The odd diligent looking one was busy taking notes. They were obviously a good bunch, Annie thought. Mind you, there wasn’t much chance of any of them mincing off for a sly cigarette because there was nowhere decent to hide around here unless you were a skink. To emphasise his point, the man she assumed was their teacher sat down on the rock next to hers and crossed his tanned legs with their fine coating of downy black hair. He looked at her expectantly.

  Ten out of ten for persistence, Annie thought as she decided he was a persistent chap who also happened to have a nice smile and kind eyes. Given that she would never see him again, what was the harm in telling him why she was here? He’d probably think her mad anyway. With a curious sideways glance at him, it was the kind eyes that decided her. They were the colour of hot chocolate and she was partial to a hot chocolate before bedtime.

  “Alright then—” She licked her lips and realised her mouth was dry again. She unscrewed the lid from her water bottle and took a sip before she launched into the reason she had been sitting in front of the Herodes Atticus, listening to her iPod and crying without even registering she was doing so. “My sister died when I was eleven.” As she looked over at him to gauge his reaction, she saw sympathy flash across his strong features and she carried on swiftly. “Her name was Roz, and she was a lot older than me. By the time she moved out of home, she had got into drugs in a big way. They took over everything she once was.” A chill coursed through her despite the soaring temperature and she rubbed at both her arms for a moment. The fine hairs stood on end. “I don’t like to remember that side of her. I like to hold on to the way she was before because that was who my sister really was and she was gorgeous, you know, before all that ugly stuff.”

  He nodded and looked at her appraisingly.

  “No, I mean she was really gorgeous. She had long reddish-blonde hair, big blue eyes, and I was so jealous of her. I used to think we couldn’t possibly have the same parents, not with my mop.” She touched her hand to her hair self-consciously before she continued. “She had this way of wrapping people around her finger, too.” Annie shrugged the strap of her singlet, slipping off her shoulder as she did so. “The saddest thing is the waste of it all because she could have been anything she wanted if she hadn’t gone down the track she chose—and she chose it—nobody made her take the stuff. That’s what I have always struggled with really. The fact she did it to herself.”

  The man took his hat off and ran his fingers through thick black hair a tad too long so that it curled out at the nape of his neck. “I think the problem with the young is that they don’t think about their tomorrows. You have a saying, I think?”

  “Six-foot tall and bulletproof.”

  “Something like that, yes. They think that these bad things happen to other people, not to them.”

  “True.” Annie’s voice was wistful as she looked at the honey-hued arches below her. “The one thing I remember her really wanting to do, though, was to travel and for as long as I could remember, she’d had this thing about Greece—the Greek islands. On her bedroom wall there was a gorgeous print of Santorini, and I have this memory of her playing the video of the Yanni concert held here. She’d just stare up at that print with a faraway look on her face. Of course, I didn’t know then that she was probably stoned.” There was irony in the short laugh she gave.

  “Yanni?” The mention of the New Age musician caused those thick dark eyebrows of his to shoot up but he let her carry on with her story.

  “Yes, she had a real thing for him. I didn’t get it; I mean, he doesn’t do it for me.” Annie shuddered and then pulled the strap of her top back up where it belonged. The skin under the smattering of freckles on her shoulder was turning pink. She rummaged in her bag for her sunscreen and squeezed a dollop into the palm of her hand. “I can’t be doing with a long-haired man in white trousers,” she muttered as she rubbed the cream onto her shoulder. “But Roz, well, I think she saw past the trousers.” Realising how that sounded, she added, “Not literally, of course.”

  “No, of course not.”

  Annie glanced sharply at him, unsure whether he was laughing at her or not but his face, despite the light dancing in his eyes, was grave so she continued. “She heard something in his music. It was like it penetrated the haze of the drugs and spoke to her. I know that sounds weird and almost spiritual I guess, but then that’s what Yanni’s all about.”

  “Yes.”

  “It wasn’t enough to make her stop taking the drugs and follow her dreams, though. In the end, it was a car accident that did it. She drove her car into a tree.”

  His arm touched her forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “But still it hurts, I think.”

  “It’s being here. It was something I needed to do.”

  “You came by yourself—that is very brave.”

  “No, I’m not brave. I came with Carl.”

  “Carl—he is your boyfriend?”

  Annie smiled. “No. He’s not long broken up with his boyfriend and he is desperate to pay a visit to Mykonos.” The island was known as a gay friendly holiday destination.

  “Ah, I see.”

  “He was Roz’s best friend, though—mine now and we have been there for each other over the years. It’s our thing, you see, to get together every year on her birthday to watch Yanni Live at the Acropolis. Sitting here just before, that’s what I was listening to, ‘Aria’ from that concert.”

  “I remember that show. I didn’t go but it was a big deal at the time and now I know why you were crying.”

  Annie flushed. “I didn’t even realise I was but being here in front of the Theatre like this and with that there.” She waved vaguely at the Parthenon perched on the hill behind them. “You must think I am a bit bonkers?”

  It was his turn to laugh. “I have heard stranger things and I think I understand. You came to fulfil a journey your sister should have gone on in the hope that it will give you a sense of her and a sense of peace.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “I think maybe you have come to say goodbye to her and to find your own metaphorical Yanni, yes?”

  Annie’s eyes widened. Until now, she had thought that being here would make her feel close to her sister again—a closeness she had craved for so long. But he was right: this was her way of saying goodbye. She looked at him in wonder. “Do you know I hadn’t been able to put the reasons for this journey into words but you just did it for me? I’ve come to say goodbye to Roz and to find my own sense of Yanni.” She whispered it again as she sat on that Athenian rock with the sun baking down on her. “I’ve come to find Yanni.”

  He smiled. “I have sisters, and I think perhaps it is their influence that has made me more sympathetic to life and things like this, your Yanni quest. I wish you luck finding him.” He gave her a glimpse of that lovely smile of his once more. “Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

  “Of course.” Perhaps there was something in what he said about having sisters, Annie thought as she conjured an image of Tony and his brothers. Sensitivity for others was not a strong point with the Goodall boys and perhaps it was due to the lack of feminine input in their formative years. You could hardly call Ngaire a soft touch.

  “It is a magical place, this Acropolis of ours, you know. This is what I tell my students and now I can tell them it has healing properties, too. Perhaps I should have a lesson on how we all need to find our inner Yannis from time to time.”

  So he was a teacher then. “They might not thank you for it.” Annie smiled at him and felt a pleasant jolt of something she hadn’t felt for a very long time as he smiled back at her. She looked away, unsettled by her reac
tion to him, and they sat in silence and gazed off at the magnificent skyline. As far as the eye could see stretched an urban jungle of flat roofs that glinted with tangled aerials and baked under the Mediterranean sky.

  “Will you stay only in Athens because you said your friend—he is wanting to go to Mykonos?”

  “Yes, he turns forty in a week and a half and he’s decided that’s where the momentous event will take place. We leave Athens tomorrow but haven’t decided which of the Cyclades to head to first.”

  “Ah well, let me decide for you. You must visit Naxos. It is my island and it will welcome you, I promise. It is the most beautiful of the Cyclades.”

  Annie had read about Naxos and it did sound rather gorgeous. “Oh, so you are Greek then? I wasn’t sure. I thought maybe you were from Spain or Italy or somewhere travelling with your school group.” His nose certainly hadn’t given the game away; it was quite an acceptable size with no apparent bumps in the middle of it and his English was superb.

  “Yes, I am Greek. I was born on Naxos and my parents still live there. But my sisters and I are all here sprinkled about in Athens. The island offers much but when the tourist season is gone,” he clicked his fingers, “there is no work for a history teacher like me.” He glanced over at his students, still engaged in their various activities.

  “You are on a school trip, then—I got that much right?” Annie stated the obvious.

  “Yes, I bring my students here so they can learn their own history firsthand.”

  “It must be wonderful to grow up with such a strong sense of where you came from. That is something we don’t have at home. We are such a new country in that respect.”

  “Yes, it is wonderful but I think it is easy to take it for granted when you are surrounded by it and you see it day after day. This is why I bring them here because it is important that they understand the stories of this place, as well as the facts. When they understand the significance, then I think it becomes special to them for always.”

  He had a way with words, Annie thought. “Could you tell me a story—if you’ve got time, that is?”

  He looked at her, bemused for a moment, and then smiled. “Of course—but only if you tell me what your name is?”

  “It’s Annie. Annie Rivers.”

  “Well, Annie Rivers from New Zealand with the beautiful, fiery hair, I am Kristofr and it is lovely to meet you.” He held out his hand and Annie took it, surprised to find the skin on his hand was rough like someone who worked with his hands and not his words. For a split second, she thought he was going to raise her hand to his mouth and brush it with his lips but he just gave it a gentle shake before he released it. She felt vaguely disappointed but watched, fascinated, as his expression changed. She realised it was like being privy to an actor preparing to go on stage.

  “Herodes Atticus built this theatre in 161BC and commemorated it to his dead wife Regilla.”

  Annie looked at the ruins and imagined someone loving his wife so much that he would dedicate such a piece of architecture to her. The most she’d ever had dedicated to her was the tiny tattoo Tony had gotten of her name on the back of his ankle. Had her name been longer than five letters, he never would have done it and she wondered fleetingly whether he had had it removed yet. She’d heard that the process of getting a tattoo removed was even more painful than getting one in the first place. Given that Tony demanded morphine during the tattooing process and crutches to hobble about on afterwards, she rather thought it would be more likely that he’d wear socks for the rest of his days.

  “Herodes was an orator, an author, and a high priest of the Imperial Cult of Athens. He was also a friend of the Emperor Hadrian.”

  “I see. So he was a bit of a mover and a shaker then.”

  Kristofr laughed and Annie felt pleased. “Yes, I like that expression—a mover and a shaker. But—” His voice dropped an octave. “He was also rumoured to be a murderer.”

  “The plot thickens.”

  “Some say he was responsible for having his wife killed and that he built the Odeon to assuage his guilt.”

  Annie could see how Kristofr would be popular with his students: his voice had a melodic quality to it that, along with the visual reality in front of her, brought the intrigue to life. How lucky they were to have a history class like this. It was so different than the stuffy classroom lectures she remembered, where her mind used to drift off and fantasised about dating the lead singer of the latest boy band to hit number one.

  “In its day, the theatre had stone walls that were three storeys high and the most expensive roof made from cedar of Lebanon timber.”

  Annie tried to visualise its grandeur but in a way, the remains were so much more mysterious and hinted at what it had once been like and added an atmosphere all of their own that perfection would not have.

  “It was used for musical performances and could seat five thousand people.”

  “Wow!”

  “All of which was destroyed by human hand in 267AD.”

  Annie gasped. She hadn’t known this. “Who was behind it?”

  “The Heruli, a Germanic tribe, and so it was left a crumbled pile until the 1950s when it was partially restored. And since then, it has been used to host our annual Athens Festival. That is when it comes alive again with various musical performers like your man Yanni—even Elton John has played here.”

  “He’s not my man and I think I’d rather see Yanni than Elton; his music seems much more fitting for the setting.” Annie wrapped her arms around her knees, which were pulled into her chest. “I’d love to see it all lit up at night. It must be pretty special.”

  “It is, yes, and who knows, maybe one day you will come back here to see it again.”

  “Yes, who knows?” Annie reiterated, missing his quizzical gaze.

  “So you will visit the Cyclades and then you will go home?”

  “No, I have a friend, Kas—Kassia. She is from Athens but her husband was in media work and lost his job when the austerity measures came in.”

  “Sadly, yes, this is a familiar story.”

  “But this is one with a happy ending. They have two young sons and they went back to live with her husband’s mother in Elounda on Crete. She runs a guesthouse there called Eleni’s and it was getting too much for her on her own. I think they have a very nice lifestyle now.”

  “No stress, the simple life—that is what it is about when you live on the islands. They are fortunate to go back.”

  “They are. Spiros—that’s Kas’s husband—is writing a book. He has always wanted to write and Kas helps manage the guesthouse. It is rather idyllic for their children, too, though, I think Kas has a little bit of stress every now and then in the form of her mother-in-law.”

  Kristofr threw his head back and Annie watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down while he laughed. It was a deep rumbly sound and there was something so warm and friendly about it that it made her want to laugh too.

  “Ah yes, the Greek mother-in-law. She is an all too real stereotype, sadly.”

  “Do you have one of your own then?”

  “No, not me. I think perhaps I am married to my job but my sister Athina does. Her mother-in-law—she is very, very bossy, especially in the kitchen. Two women under one roof, with one man and only one kitchen—” He grimaced and it was Annie’s turn to laugh. “It is not, how do you say? A recipe for an easy life.”

  “No, I’d imagine not.”

  “So you will visit Crete. I have heard Elounda is a wonderful place. It is where the rich and the famous like to holiday.”

  “And the not-so-rich and definitely not famous but yes, I want to stay there for a while and see if I can pick up some work.”

  “Perhaps this guesthouse your friend manages will be busy enough that you can work there. That is where you will stay?”

  “Yes. I was worried that we might be putting the family out as it was short notice us coming but Kas was insistent we come to Eleni’s.”

 
“It is the Greek way; she would be insulted if you didn’t. If you don’t mind me asking, how do you know this Kassia?”

  “She was my sister’s pen pal a long time ago and then after Roz died, we struck up a friendship of our own.”

  “Another Greek connection.”

  “Yes. I’ve heard so much about the Bikakis family over the years that in a way I think it will be like going home when we finally get there.”

  “It will be very special, I think.”

  “Yes, I think it will be.” Annie offered him a small smile.

  “When are you due to go home to New Zealand?”

  “I’m not. I bought a one-way ticket. Carl heads home in a month’s time, though. He’s a photographer and has shoots lined up that the money is far too good for him not to go home for. But me,” Annie shrugged, “I’ve not long come out of a long-term relationship and I want to just flit for a while.”

  “Like a beautiful butterfly.”

  She blushed, glad for the partial cover her hat afforded her as she had never been very good at handling compliments. She was spared a reply, though, by the sight of Carl as he swaggered up the dusty track towards them. Kristofr followed her gaze. “That is your friend.”

  “Yes, that’s Carl. He’s not feeling too well at the moment; he has a bit of a funny tummy.”

  “Ah, that is not nice.”

  “No.”

  A voice floated towards them, a question in its tone. It was one of Kristofr’s students, a young man whose frayed jean shorts sat far too low on a set of skinny hips. Kristofr sighed, got to his feet and brushed the dust from his shorts before he nodded at Annie. “I have to go but it was lovely to meet you, Annie, an unexpected bonus, I think.” He tipped his hat. “Thank you for telling me your story. I wish you safe travels and I hope you find your Yanni. Who knows, maybe one day we might meet again.”

  Annie shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. She felt oddly forlorn at the formality of his goodbye after the intimacy of their conversation. “It was nice to meet you, too, and thanks again for this.” She waved the soggy tissue at him as with one last smile at her, he wandered back to his group.