My Map of You Page 4

  ‘I won’t keep you,’ Rupert sounded a bit put out. ‘I just wanted to check everything was okay with us, you know, after this morning?’

  ‘It’s totally fine.’ She forced herself to smile in the hope that he’d hear it in her voice. ‘I’ve actually just booked some time off.’

  ‘You know I’d come with you if I cou—’ Holly waited as she heard him put his hand over the receiver and speak to someone else. ‘Sorry, darling, I’m snowed under here. Can I call you back later?’

  He hung up before Holly had a chance to reply.

  ‘What’s up?’ Aliana had, of course, been listening in.

  ‘Oh, nothing – Rupert just saying he’ll call me later. He’s having dinner with his parents tonight,’ Holly added, feeling guilty at her failure to keep the resentment out of her voice.

  ‘But that’s so sweet!’

  Holly stared at her blankly.

  ‘I went out with this bloke called Mike once. He worked in sales, or something. I never really did find out. Anyway, we were together for over a year and I don’t think he ever even told his parents that I existed. I bet Rupert talks about you non-stop.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Holly’s guilt level was rising like an over-egged soufflé.

  ‘Of course! Seriously, Holly, men can be really weird about the whole parents thing. The fact that he sees them at all is a very good sign.’

  ‘That’s true, I suppose,’ she allowed.

  Aliana opened her mouth to retort, but Fiona chose that moment to sweep across and hand them each a folder containing all the product information for the new summer clothing range. There was enough in there to keep them busy until the end of the year.

  Thursday, 12 April 1984

  Sandypants!

  I can’t believe you went to Zakynthos without me! That is OUR place. But I suppose it’s only fair. I feel like I’ve been on holiday for ever. I’d like to say something deep about India helping me to find myself, but all it’s really helped me realise is that you should never sniff at running water and a decent meal. If I eat any more rice, I swear I’ll die of boredom halfway through eating it. Are you planning to stay on the island for a while? Are you working over there? What’s happened to the house back in Kent? Sorry, I know, too many questions. Please write back and tell me EVERYTHING. Right now!

  Love you loads,

  Jenny Bear xxx

  5

  Holly wrapped her fingers around her paper cup of coffee and stared out across the tarmac. From her position in the main lounge of Gatwick Airport, she could see seven planes, situated at regular intervals along the length of the departure gates. The sky into which each of these huge metal beasts would soon soar was a deep blue, but a smattering of clouds lay across the west corner, as if someone had spilled a bag of flour and run their fingers through the mess. In just under two hours, Holly would be flying up, through those clouds, to begin her 1,400-mile journey to the Greek island of Zakynthos.

  It was a Saturday morning and the terminal was fizzing with the excited hum of holidaymakers. Holly watched as a stag party trudged past her and headed into a bar. The groom was wearing a pink tutu and matching fairy wings, a plastic wand clutched in his hand.

  Despite the fact that Aliana was constantly joking with her about a possible engagement, Holly didn’t sense that Rupert was on the verge of proposing. On the contrary, he had quite a measured and sensible approach to big life decisions. And if there was one thing she really despised, it was surprises. You couldn’t prepare for a surprise, or plan what to say, or how to react. She was terrified of being caught unawares and letting her guard down. If Rupert suddenly dropped down on one knee, she had no idea how she would react – whether she’d be thrilled or absolutely terrified.

  The stag party had just been joined by a gang of girls on a hen do, the bride-to-be festooned in L-plates and sporting a headband with a large rubber willy hanging off the front of it. After a certain amount of encouragement from his mates, the groom stepped forward and put his mouth round the end of it, causing both parties to scream and bellow their approval.

  Rupert had insisted on accompanying her as far as Victoria Station that morning to wave her off on the Gatwick Express, pressing a Greek phrase book into her hand as a little going-away gift. Her flight back to London wasn’t for another two weeks, and this would be the longest they hadn’t seen each other since they’d got together.

  Despite his constant assurances that he was totally fine with her going alone, Holly could tell he was nervous about the prospect of letting her go. He’d been making a lot of half-hearted jokes about her running off with a Greek waiter recently, which was, of course, a ridiculous notion. She doubted that anyone in the whole of Greece, let alone just one small island, could offer her anything better than Rupert could.

  In the week since she’d received the letter, Holly’s nightmares had returned with aggressive regularity. When she’d finally shrugged off the Insomnia Troll last night, she had woken up a few hours later, shaking and drenched in sweat. Thankfully, she hadn’t actually cried out during her sleep, so Rupert remained blissfully unaware of her recurring problem. She couldn’t tell him about it anyway, because telling him would mean unscrewing the lid on the memory of the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to her. As her mind wandered back to it now, Holly shivered.

  She realised that her coffee had turned cold and tossed it into a bin, then spent the next hour wandering aimlessly around the shops, picking up perfume testers in duty free and treating herself to a new pair of flip-flops. As her departure time crept nearer, Holly’s hands started to turn clammy with nerves. She had no idea what she was going to find when she got to her aunt’s house – well, it was her house now, she reminded herself – or how she was going to feel when she got there. For the millionth time, she felt a surge of relief at the fact that she was making the journey alone.

  As soon as the plane was airborne, Holly ordered herself a large gin and tonic and tried to concentrate on her new book. When it came to picking a title, she always went for the darkest crime thrillers she could find – a fact that Aliana found hilarious. Holly had lost count of the times she’d come back from lunch to find a colourful romance on her desk and Aliana’s hopeful face grinning up at her. She had delved into a few, but always found the central characters totally alien – she simply couldn’t relate to them.

  The man sitting next to her had dozed off and a string of drool was stretching from the corner of his mouth to the newspaper in his lap, which he’d folded open at page three. The grin of the dead-behind-the-eyes girl proudly displaying her assets was being slowly obliterated by saliva. Holly turned away and took a gulp of her drink. Most of the passengers seemed to be either families with very young children, retirement-age couples, or groups of twenty-something girls and boys. Blessedly, the stag and hen parties that she’d encountered in the airport had clearly headed somewhere else for their final days of freedom.

  With a growing sense of unease, Holly realised that she’d read the same paragraph five times over and reluctantly abandoned her book. Taking out her aunt’s letter, she decided to read it one last time.

  Dear Holly,

  You won’t remember me, but I think about you every day. I was there the day you were born and saw you every day until you were five years old. If you’re reading this letter now, I’m sorry to say that I have passed away. I don’t know if your mum Jenny ever talked about me, but my name is Sandra and I’m her sister. Or I was, I guess. I know that she died when you were only eighteen, and I’m so very sorry for your loss. I was worried when I didn’t hear from her, but I’m ashamed to say that a combination of cowardice and hope stopped me from finding out the truth until recently. I hoped that she had simply forgotten me, given up on me, perhaps. It was all I deserved, in the end.

  I know you must have so many questions. Questions about me, about your mother, about why I never got to see you grow up – but I fear I have run out of time to answer those questio
ns. I am hoping that if you come to Zakynthos, to the house where it all began, then you will find some truth in the wreckage that I have left behind.

  I am so sorry that we never knew each other properly, Holly, and I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.

  All my love,

  Sandra

  PS The key is under the pot.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we will shortly begin our descent into Zakynthos. Please return your seats to the upright positions and fasten your seat belts.’

  The man with the drool jerked awake as Holly stuffed the letter away, wiping her eyes and snapping open the plastic blind covering the window.

  The sun was starting to sag sleepily in the sky, and the view of the island was nothing short of stunning. She gazed down at the light reflecting off the ocean, letting her eyes travel along the coastline and over the irregular shapes of the mountains rising up in the distance. As the plane turned to the west and headed for the runway, the surface of the water seemed to rise up towards her at an almost alarming rate. Looking across to her left, Holly saw the famous Turtle Island that she’d read so much about over the past week. Situated a few miles off the coast of the mainland, the mass of land really did look like a turtle emerging from the sea, and Holly could hear other passengers making appreciative noises as they also noticed it for the first time.

  Squinting back down at what she could now see was a long, sandy beach, Holly thought she could make out the shapes of holidaymakers, making the most of the final few rays of the day. For the first time since a brief rush when she’d woken up that morning, Holly felt excited.

  Zakynthos airport was eerily quiet after the mayhem of Gatwick, and Holly and her fellow travellers appeared to have been on the final flight of the day. Aside from two Greek immigration officers, one of whom gave her a small wink as he handed back her passport, everyone else seemed to have gone home for the day. There were only two luggage carousels, so Holly chose a spot close to the exit and waited for her case to trundle out.

  Two girls, who looked about eighteen, wandered over and stood next to her.

  ‘We’ve gotta, like, go straight out on the strip tonight,’ the shorter of the two told her blonde friend. They were already dressed for the climate in microscopic denim hot pants and brightly coloured vests, plastic sunglasses nestled firmly in their hair.

  ‘You better not shag that barman again like you did last year,’ the blonde replied. ‘You took the bloody key and I had to sleep on a sun lounger.’

  ‘Chill, woman,’ came the reply. ‘I’m not shagging no barmen this time – that last one gave me crabs.’

  This was met with a hoot of laughter, not just from the small brunette, but also from a group of boys standing within earshot.

  ‘Whatever. You always say you’ll never and then you always do,’ her friend retorted.

  Holly wondered what it must be like to be allowed away on holiday alone at their age. Her own teenage years had been hijacked by her mother’s deteriorating health and eventual death. Plus, she’d never really had that many close friends, and certainly no spare cash. After losing her mum, Holly’s priority had been scraping enough money together to feed herself and pay the bills; there wasn’t anything left over for indulgent holidays.

  She’d been staring into space and missed the first circuit of cases. The two girls had just dragged their vast, pink suitcases off next to her when she spotted her own small, nondescript case making its jaunty way round. She had tied a blue ribbon to the handle before checking in, and she was comforted to see that it had survived the journey. Snapping up the handle and gathering up her handbag, Holly headed outside into what felt like an actual blanket of heat.

  She knew that Greece was a hell of a lot hotter than the UK, but she’d never felt as if she was being literally bathed in warmth before. She found herself smiling immediately; her shoulders relaxed and her senses opened up to drink in this strange new environment. Even the tarmac felt toasty through her shoes as she wheeled her case round to the boot of a taxi and she continued to smile as the driver stowed it for her.

  He was a head shorter than her, with wiry grey hair, cracked skin the colour of builder’s tea and tatty jeans. Jeans! How could anyone bear to wear denim in this weather?

  Fishing the address of her aunt’s house out of her bag, Holly handed it over and smiled apologetically as he squinted in confusion.

  ‘Hotel?’

  Holly shook her head. ‘Just a house, I think. Sorry, this is my first time – I haven’t been here before.’

  ‘Ah!’ This seemed to please him. ‘First time Zakynthos? First time Greece?’

  They were pulling out of the airport car park now and Holly’s eyes widened as she took in the mountains, the fields of wild grass and the gnarled-looking trees that were flitting past the window. ‘First time in Greece,’ she confirmed.

  ‘You are alone?’ he asked, as if this was highly unusual.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied carefully. ‘Just me.’

  ‘No husband?’ There was a cheeky edge to his tone and Holly found herself smiling again.

  ‘Nope, just me.’

  It occurred to Holly, as they drove past white-walled tavernas, half-finished buildings in various shades of dark gold and souvenir shops, that it might not be the wisest idea to tell a strange man in a foreign country that you’re a girl travelling alone. You certainly wouldn’t do it in London – she barely made eye contact with taxi drivers back home. But then, there weren’t any alarm bells going off in her head. This man seemed genuinely friendly and legitimately interested. Holly had always trusted her instincts, and right now they were telling her that she had nothing at all to worry about.

  As they navigated the narrow roads, passing banks of mopeds, goats and small groups of tourists as they went, the bubbles of excitement inside her began to pop with dread. She hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about what she might find at her Aunt Sandra’s house. Would anyone have been in and cleared anything out? Would there be mouldy food, dirty sheets and any other manner of horrors waiting for her? As the taxi took another turn and started up a steep hill, Holly realised that she hadn’t even thought to pick up any food or water. She hoped this house didn’t end up being too remote.

  They rounded another corner and Holly saw a flash of what looked like a small supermarket next door to a bar. Her driver picked up the piece of paper she’d given him with the address and nodded to himself.

  ‘Here,’ he told her, pointing through the windscreen. ‘The car cannot go.’

  Peering through the glass, Holly saw a low wall ahead of them with an opening that led to a narrow stone path. About 100 metres further along, were what looked like two small houses, both of which had no lights on that she could see. Taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and met her driver by the path, her case already removed from the boot and balanced up against the wall.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, handing over a twenty-euro note and refusing any change.

  ‘In Greece, you say efharisto,’ he told her, before giving her arm a friendly squeeze and returning to his car. Holly watched as he drove away, trying to ignore the drunken butterflies having a violent rave in her stomach. ‘Come on, woman,’ she scolded herself. ‘Let’s get this done.’ Taking her case in one hand, she stepped off the road and made her way along the smooth, flat stone of the path.

  There it was: the house that had always been in her life. The house that had meant so much to her mother that she had carried a keepsake of it with her until the day she died. Despite the warmth of the evening, Holly felt a shiver run through her and prickles of anxiety start to wrap around her guts, like barbed wire pulled tight.

  It felt familiar, yet at the same time frightening, and as she stood looking up at the darkened windows, Holly found she was unable to move any closer. She’d spent the past week thinking about this moment and how it would play out. She knew that coming here would feel strange, but she hadn’t been prepared for the weight of emotio
ns that were now fighting their way to the surface. It was just a house, for God’s sake – how scary could it really be?

  Very.

  Forcing her eyes down, she spotted a large pot lurking in the shadows under the front porch. This must be the pot from the letter – the one hiding the front-door key. Taking a tentative few steps forward, Holly forced down the bubbling waves of anxiety and pushed the pot to one side. The key was there, shining brightly against the stone tiles.

  What if the place was filthy and full of cockroaches?

  What if her aunt’s clothes still smelled of her?

  What if she was about to open the door into a past she wasn’t ready to see?

  Holly’s hand shook as she watched it extend out towards the lock. There was a small click, and she was in.

  Her first thought as she flicked on the light switch was relief that she could smell disinfectant rather than decay. And any fears she may have had about opening the door into a hoarder’s paradise were immediately allayed, because the space she was looking into was largely clear of clutter.

  Dropping her bag beside her, Holly took a very deep breath and stepped further into the house. She felt so much like an intruder. Her brain was telling her that this was her house now, and that she should feel at home here, but her heart was determinedly doing its best to hammer its way out through her chest. This had been someone’s home – someone who knew her, but who was also a total stranger. Now that she was here, it seemed unbelievable that she should be. It was all too much to take in, and Holly’s eyes began to speckle with black spots.

  Glancing round in desperation for something to hold on to, her eyes grazed over the open-plan space, taking in a table and chairs, a sofa covered with a yellow blanket, a low coffee table and a large vase of pink flowers.

  What the hell was a vase of flowers doing here?

  Someone must have been here in the house. Someone must have put them there.