Among the Olive Groves Read online

  Once they had dried, they pulled on their clothes and reluctantly returned to the cove. After securely tying up the boat, they jumped onto their bicycles and started the long and tiring journey back up into the hills.

  ~

  Elena and Angelos continued to defy Loukas, meeting up in secret whenever they could. They explored the whole island, from Keri in the west, to Agios Nikolaos in the north. One hot and sticky day, they decided to cycle to Vrahionas in the mountains. The weather made for a tiring climb, but it was worth it. At the top they could see for miles across the island they called home, to the mainland in the east and to Kefalonia in the north.

  “I feel like I am queen of the world up here!” Elena exclaimed, holding out her arms and spinning. “I can see so much and my kingdom goes on forever! Bow down Angelos, and worship your queen.”

  Angelos laughed at her exuberance. Playfully, he pretended to doff his cap and bowed.

  “My queen. I am your loyal subject.”

  “Good. Now as my loyal subject, pass me my lunch. I am hungry!”

  Angelos unfurled a battered old rug he had found in the closet at home and lay it out on the ground, motioning for her to sit. After opening the small basket, he passed her some bread and olives. They ate hungrily, and washed it down with some wine, before lying back on the blanket and staring up at the clear bright sky.

  “Do you ever want to marry, Angelos?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I am interested. Now answer the question.”

  “Sometimes I do. Other times I look at my parents and think that I would rather not. I do not think they are very happy and I would hate to end up like them. What about you?”

  “Yes, I do want to marry. I want a strong man. Someone who loves me for me and for the same things I believe in. I do not want a man for his money or possessions. I want a man for him.”

  “And have you found him yet?” Angelos asked hopefully.

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” she said with a shrug.

  “That is no kind of answer, Elena Petrakis!”

  She laughed. “I know, but I have not decided if the man I want is worth marrying.”

  Angelos felt his heart flutter. He wondered if it was him she was talking about or another man. He desperately hoped it was him. He would give anything to be able to make her his wife, but sadly he knew too much stood in their way. His father would never agree. If he found out they were still friends he would be furious. Why was life so hard?

  “What are you thinking, Angelos?”

  “Nothing.”

  The sun had moved across the horizon, and he knew they should make a move. It was a long bicycle ride back to their homes. While packing up the basket, Elena suddenly grabbed his wrist and a fleeting look of worry passed across her face.

  “Promise me you will always be there for me, Angelos.”

  “I promise. You know I will.”

  He watched as the relief washed over her face, brightening her eyes once more. But it did not hearten Angelos; instead it left him with a mix of fear and dread. He should not be making promises he might not be able to keep.

  ~

  The hot and hazy summer slowly turned to early autumn, bringing cooler temperatures and thunderstorms. Angelos and Elena bravely sat on Xigia Beach watching as forks of bright hot lightning hit the sea, between great rolling cracks of thunder that rattled the earth. They had both been warned by their parents to take shelter when the storms hit, but they were both too young to listen and felt they were invincible. Nature’s storm ranted and raged in the skies above, reminding those who lived on the island that it was she who was ultimately in charge.

  When Angelos could get away, they continued to swim in the sea, splashing and laughing together, enjoying the movement of the water around them. They ran hand in hand, through the olive groves, hiding behind trees, jumping out on each other and falling to the ground in fits of laughter. They cycled mile upon mile, racing each other, weaving chaotically along roads, feeling the thrill of the speed as they went down some of the steeper hills. Both of them knew the island so well that they were able to sneak through fields, woodland and back roads to avoid being seen. Angelos was worried about being caught by his father or one of his father’s friends, but the island was good to them and helped them to keep their secret.

  Towards the end of September, islanders were woken in the middle of the night by a low rumbling sound that steadily increased in volume. The ground violently shook and pitched, shattering glasses, cracking building walls and splitting the earth. They were used to earthquakes but this one was bigger than normal and it sent Zakynthians running from their homes with fright. Elena’s family slept outside for the next week, too frightened to stay indoors in case another earthquake came and brought the house down upon them. Elena was so worried about Angelos. She wanted to run to him, to check he was okay, but she knew it was not possible. She just had to wait and hope. Good news finally reached her a few days later when she learned he had escaped with only a few cuts and bruises.

  As the earth returned to normal, the olive harvest arrived. Angelos found his time with Elena limited. He was reduced to working long hard days, assisting his father and the labourers to help bring in as much fruit as they could. Sometimes while he was shaking branches to release dozens of the small oval fruit, he was sure he could hear the far off lilting sound of Elena singing. It carried to him on the breeze. No one else seemed to notice and he wondered if it was his memory playing tricks on him. Or was she really there, hiding nearby watching him, cat like, stalking her prey, her green eyes glinting with mischief? He held onto the thought of seeing her soon and it got him through the long backbreaking days.

  Before too long, the harvest was over. Autumn had rapidly changed to winter, signaling the end of the year. The island was still as beautiful and serene as ever, but the world beyond was rapidly changing. Angelos and Elena’s quiet and happy existence would soon be gripped by a terror that would take over the lives of millions and change the world forever.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cornwall, England, 1991

  The rugged granite coastline of Cornwall was bathed in bright sunshine. The waves swelled and rushed towards the shore, crashing onto rocks and sand, showing how powerful the mighty Atlantic Ocean really was. The sky was blue, unusually so for late spring, and splashed through with an occasional wisp of white cloud, surprising the residents of Newquay as they woke to a new day.

  Kate Fisher sat in uncomfortable silence across from her parents. The Fishers’ dining room was, as it had always been, an eclectic mix of her mother’s homeliness and her father’s chaotic clutter that had not yet been tidied away. Her mother was always nagging him for it and yet he never seemed to listen. The dining room table was set for three people, something her mother always did whatever the meal-time. Place and drink mats, cutlery and other culinary items graced the surface, sometimes making Kate feel as though she were eating in a hotel. But it was her mother’s way and she had come to accept it.

  The quietness of the room was all enveloping. Kate had no words, and she hated the awkward silences that descended when her parents had something to say but could not work out how to say it. It was worse this time. She knew it was something serious, and she sat wracking her brain wondering what it was that she had done. Try as she might, nothing sprang to mind.

  This time she had not been suspended from school.

  This time she had not run away from home for three days leaving them frantic with worry.

  This time she had not crashed the car.

  Today was her twenty-first birthday.

  It was supposed to be a happy occasion, a time for joy and celebration. So why did her parents look as though someone had died? Impatiently, Kate drummed her fingers on the table. The sound echoed around the room. Her father looked up, startled, like an animal caught in glaring headlights. Taking hold of his wife’s hand, Brian Fisher slowly cleared his throat.

  “Um, well, firstly ha
ppy birthday, Kate.”

  He pushed an envelope across the table and she smiled. She picked it up and tore at the paper. You’re 21! screamed the card’s lurid colours. She opened it and read the simple statement within: All our love mum and dad. No money, no cheque and, by the looks of it, she realised as her eyes quickly scoured the room, no other present either. She felt deflated; it looked like she really had done something grave this time.

  “Thanks,” she uttered, not feeling thankful at all.

  “Right. Well,” her father continued, “We have this, too.”

  Uncomfortably, he pushed a brown envelope across the table towards her. As she went to lift it, he slammed his palm on top of it. Shocked, Kate sat back. What on earth was going on? Her mother looked like she was about to burst into tears, and her father had never been so on edge.

  Was it bad news? Oh god, were they dying or something?

  That was it! They were dying!

  Tightness gripped her chest and her palms became sweaty.

  “Dad. You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

  He buried his head in his hands, not knowing where to start. It was her mother who finally took the reins.

  “The envelope is yours, Kate. But you can’t open it until we’ve explained everything to you. It’s so hard and we didn’t want to do this today, but we have to. We have no choice.”

  Her father raised his head to look at his daughter. Pulling himself together, he continued on behalf of his wife.

  “There’s no easy way to say this Kate, so I’ll just come out with it: you’re adopted.”

  They’re not dying! Thank goodness for that! Kate breathed a huge sigh of relief.

  Wait a minute. What did they say? Adopted? What?

  Quizzically, she looked back and forth from one parent to the other. Had she heard them correctly? She pinched herself on the arm, daring herself to wake up, but she knew from the pain that she was already awake and that the unfolding nightmare was real.

  “Did you just say that I’m adopted?” she squeaked. Time slowed and she struggled to breathe. This could not be happening. It was so unfair. It was supposed to be a happy day. It was her birthday! Why were they doing this to her today?

  “Yes,” her father said apologetically.

  Kate let out a long, deep breath, turning the news over in her head. This explained so much. The reason why she loved her parents but had never felt close to them. Why she looked nothing like them and acted so very differently, so much so that it was as though she were from a different planet. Why Granny Fisher had always been really odd with her and referred to her as that child. To be honest, Granny Fisher had hated everyone, but she had always been particularly venomous towards Kate.

  It all made perfect sense now.

  “I’m adopted?” she asked again with a trembling voice.

  “Yes,” her father repeated.

  “Adopted.” The room swam slightly and she gripped the table for support. Seeing her daughter’s distress, Margaret Fisher reached across the table and took Kate’s hands in her own.

  “We don’t love you any less, Kate. We are, and always will be, your parents, but when we got you, the first decision we made was to tell you about where you came from. We decided that twenty-one was a good age. You have a right to know. What you choose to do with that information is up to you. The contents of this envelope may help a little more.”

  Kate was completely dumbfounded. She stared blindly at the plain brown envelope. Her heart was thudding and she did not know what to do. She had two choices. Tell her parents that it did not matter, she was not interested and she loved them. Or, open the envelope and find out who she really was. Confused, she looked up at her parents.

  Her adoptive parents.

  Adoptive parents.

  It hung heavily in the air around her, weighing down upon her. She was not theirs. She did not belong. She was alone. A rush of anger, hurt and disappointment washed over her like a swollen river bursting its banks.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  Standing, she knocked over her chair and bolted from the room. Moments later the front door banged and Brian and Margaret watched as their only daughter ran down the front path and away from the house as fast as her legs would carry her.

  ~

  Kate ran. Ran, and ran, and ran, pounding her legs on the harsh and unforgiving ground, putting as much distance as she could between her and the house. The streets of Newquay were still fairly quiet, and she passed very few people. If anyone saw her, they would assume she was just another early morning jogger.

  Her rhythm became steady, her breathing deep. Her muscles screamed with pain, but she kept on running, taking her frustration out on the pavement beneath her. With each step, she heard her brain repeat the same word over and over.

  Adopted. Adopted. Adopted.

  She tried to banish the words but they refused to disappear, and instead continued to taunt her with every step. She navigated the town’s winding streets, eventually finding herself up on the rough grass-covered and rabbit-holed clifftop heading to the one place she loved the most: Fistral Beach.

  Keeping an eye on the lone surfer as he expertly rode the frothing waves, Kate thudded down the steps onto the slipway. She felt the ground change as sand flew from beneath her feet. Her momentum continued as she ran past the International Surfing Complex and along the wide arcing beach. The stitch that had nagged in her side for the last few minutes finally became so painful that she had no choice but to stop.

  Standing on the vast shore, she gasped and panted for breath, her lungs aching from the harsh punishment. Sweat ran down her face, mingling with tears. She had not realised that she had been crying. Finally, getting her breath back, she glanced around her and took in the beautiful English seaside town she called home. The long, wide sweep of soft sand, the deep blue pounding waves of the Atlantic Ocean, the stately looking red brick of the Headland Hotel that sat upon the cliffs. The town, the place she had been born. She loved it all. But had she actually been born here? That one statement from her parents turned her world, the world as she knew it, upside down. Was her life really what she thought it was? Or had it all been an elaborate lie?

  Settling herself onto the sand, she crossed her legs and sat staring out across the choppy sea, watching the lone surfer, waiting for him to come to her.

  Her poor parents; she should not have run out on them like that. They must be worried sick. She felt so sorry for them. They were always so protective of her and now she knew why. It must have been dreadful for them, to have adopted her, brought her up as their own, only to tell her twenty-one years later that she was not really theirs. She had to admit that they had their faults, but despite those faults she loved them very much. She would never intentionally do anything to hurt them, and yet she found herself wondering who her real parents were.

  What had caused them to give her up? Where did they live? What did they do for a living? Did they ever think about her and wonder how she had grown? There were so many questions that began to fly unheeded about her head, threatening to overwhelm her and she had no idea how to answer any of them. She had decisions to make but she did not know if she was strong enough.

  “Katie!”

  She looked up to finally see him: her best friend Fletcher Donovan running towards her. He was glistening with dewy drops of water. Small crystals of salt had already begun to cling to his drying skin. The surfboard slung under his arm was thrown to one side as he lifted Kate in one swift movement. He swung her around, making her feel as though she were on a merry-go-round and she instinctively threw her arms out to the side, enjoying the motion. Moments later they crumpled to the sand, giggling, and Fletch planted a kiss on her cheek.

  “Happy birthday, bestie!”

  She could not help but laugh. He always brought out the best in her, always made her feel better, and was such a fun person to be around. They sat back on the sand staring out at the tumbling waves.

  “So
why is the birthday girl sitting alone on the beach?” Fletch could see she had been crying. Something was wrong, and it concerned him.

  She looked up at him, taking in his messy blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes, and the hemp pendant she had given him a few years ago, that still hung around his neck. He had been her best friend since childhood, the person who had always stood by her and been there for her.

  “Come on, Katie. If you can’t tell me, then who can you tell?”

  She sighed. He was right of course. She had to tell someone, and maybe he could help her decide what to do?

  “I’m adopted,” she said, looking up at him. Immediately she saw it. That look. What was it, shock, confusion, fear? She could not quite place it. Was that what her parents had seen in her? Oh god, she hoped not.

  For once, Fletch seemed lost for words, but finally after an awkward silence, he managed to speak.

  “You’re what?”

  Sighing, Kate explained everything.

  “And now you’re here, alone on the beach, licking your wounds while your mum and dad pace up and down with worry.”

  “Something like that,” she groaned. She knew she’d handled it badly, but what was she supposed to have done? Hug them and thank them for such an amazing birthday present?

  “Come on. I’m coming back with you. We can talk to them together,” he ordered.

  “But...”

  “No buts!”

  Fletch dragged Kate up off the sand and marched her back up the beach to the International Surfing Complex, where he hurriedly changed before taking her home to face her parents.

  ~

  Fletch was right. The Fishers had indeed been frantically pacing, going out of their minds with worry. Kate was often unpredictable but they knew this time it would not be so easy to sort things out. Relief washed over them as they heard the front door bang. Kate, followed closely by Fletch, entered the dining room and sat at the table, opposite her parents.

  “Good morning, Fletcher. Cup of tea?” Without even waiting for a response, Margaret Fisher had already begun to pour from the brown teapot sitting at the centre of the table. She poured a second one for her daughter and pushed it towards her with a weak smile.