Wish You Were Here. Victoria Connelly

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СКАЧАТЬ tidied around the garden and put all the tools safely away, the sun was setting fast, leaving great violet streaks across the sky and turning the sea indigo. It was a time of day that he loved, especially in the spring when the air was balmy and one could get away with a short-sleeved shirt.

      Leaving the Villa Argenti on his moped, he took a winding mountain road which first descended towards the sea and then climbed steeply. From the top, you could see across the water to a neighbouring island. Milo had been there a couple of times. It was about ten times the size of Kethos and had been heaving with tourists. It made his own dear island seem deserted. Certainly, there wasn’t the notorious rush hour that some places were famous for; Milo practically had the roads to himself when he left work although the occasional stray goat would often force him to slow down and swerve. He’d heard his brothers complaining about their commute in Athens and he didn’t envy them. He always looked forward to his ride to and from home, occasionally breaking into song as he rode, his voice filling the air – not always in tune, perhaps, but always happy. Life was good. He loved his island, he loved his job and he loved his home.

      But he wasn’t going directly home that evening because there was something he had to pick up first. Turning his moped into a narrow road, he drove through a tiny village which ended in a small courtyard where half a dozen hens were pecking around in the dirt. There was a simple two-storey white house that was typical of Kethos. Its windows were wide open and a pair of orange curtains fluttered in the evening breeze and Milo could smell something wonderful cooking.

      ‘Hanna?’ he called as he took off his helmet and got off his bike. ‘Anyone at home?’ he called in Greek as he entered the kitchen but there was nobody about so he went back outside again and spotted a portly woman in her sixties with a huge wicker basket full of white sheets. Milo ran across the grass and took the basket from her. Her round face was red from the exertion.

      ‘Shouldn’t Tiana be helping you with this?’

      Hanna waved a fat hand at him. ‘Oh, let the child be a child.’

      ‘Where is she?’

      ‘In the back room on that computer thing.’

      Milo sighed. Slowly but surely their little island was being taken over by computers and hand-held gadgets. Even the most unlikely of people seemed to have them now and were connecting to the internet with alarming regularity.

      ‘She knows I don’t like her on that day and night. She’s a kid. She should be outside, running up mountains and scraping her knees on rocks.’

      They entered the kitchen and Milo put the basket of washing down on the tiled floor. Two large black cats were asleep on an old leather chair by the cooker and, once again, Milo inhaled the aroma of a fine dinner.

      ‘You’ll stay for something to eat?’ Hanna asked.

      ‘Oh, that’s really kind of you but I’ve got to get back,’ Milo said, thinking of the chores he had to do around the house if he was to keep on top of things. His eldest brother, Georgio, had threatened to visit and Milo wanted to be above reproach if he did show up.

      ‘Suit yourself,’ Hanna said and then left the kitchen and hollered, ‘Tiana!’

      A few seconds later, a ten-year-old girl darted from one of the rooms at the back of the house, her long dark hair flowing wildly behind her as she launched herself into Milo’s arms.

      ‘Tiana!’ he cried, wrapping his arms round her and kissing the top of her head. ‘You okay? Had a good day?’

      ‘She’s had her tea,’ Hanna said, ‘and you look as if you could do with some yourself. Look at the size of you!’

      ‘What?’ Milo said.

      ‘There’s nothing of you!’

      ‘I keep myself fit – that’s all.’

      ‘A working man needs a bit of meat on him,’ Hanna said. ‘Like my boys.’

      Milo thought of Hanna’s four sons. They were all as tall as Greek temples and about the same width too. By contrast, Milo and his three brothers were positively slender although he’d never have thought of himself as skinny. He was just well-toned, that was all. His job and his lifestyle made sure that there wasn’t any surplus flesh on him.

      ‘Now, are you sure you won’t stay for a bit of dinner?’

      As tempting as that offer was, he really had to get home. ‘Another time, Hanna,’ he said with a smile and she waved him from her kitchen.

      ‘I’ve been on the internet!’ Tiana said as they left the little house.

      ‘Yes, Hanna told me,’ Milo said. ‘I don’t like you spending all your time in front of a computer.’

      ‘But it’s brilliant! You never let me use ours,’ she said.

      ‘And for good reasons too.’

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Your beautiful dark eyes will turn square and your brain will frazzle up and die.’

      Tiana wrinkled her little nose. ‘Don’t be silly!’

      ‘I’m being absolutely serious. You should be outside and running around like I was at your age.’

      ‘Oh, you’re so old sometimes!’ Tiana said with a little laugh.

      ‘Maybe I am,’ Milo said, ‘but you should take advantage of that and learn from me.’ He shook his head. He was beginning to sound old even to himself now. ‘Come on – helmet on!’ Milo ordered as they walked towards the moped.

      ‘Do I have to?’ Tiana protested.

      ‘You most certainly do.’

      ‘But I want to feel the wind in my hair,’ she said.

      ‘If you want to feel the wind in your hair, it’ll be a very long walk home.’

      She pouted but then placed the helmet firmly on her head and Milo helped her with the strap. Then they both hopped on and took off. Milo took the roads a little slower when Tiana was riding behind him. He loved to speed around the island when he was on his own, careening around the bends a little too fast sometimes and speeding down the hills towards the sea but he was the perfect rider when Tiana was with him and he never took any unnecessary chances.

      Feeling the tightness of her little hands on his waist, he smiled.

      ‘You okay?’ he shouted and he felt her squeeze his belly in affirmative response. They rode through another village, scattering a group of children who were kicking a football around and then they ascended into the hills before coming to a stop at last.

      Their house was like most of the others on the island: small, square and white but, over the years, they’d put their own stamp on it, painting the three tiny bedrooms, living room and kitchen in cheering yellows and vibrant reds apart from Tiana’s bedroom which – like the bedrooms of almost every other ten-year-old girl around the world – was a symphony of pink. Milo remembered the weekend they’d chosen the pots of pink paint together and had spent two whole days getting just as much paint on themselves as on the walls.

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