Slowly, Zoë reached for her bag, got to her feet and backed away. Once the oleander was between them, she turned and ran along the path like Persephone from Hades. On reaching Frank, she fell, gasping, into his arms.
‘Hey, calm down,’ he said. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Did you see a snake, Mum?’ asked Megan.
‘How big was it?’ Josh’s eyes widened as he stared back down the track.
Zoë shook her head. ‘No, oh my God, no! It was a, I don’t know . . . a thing. I don’t know what. I’ve never been so terrified.’ She dropped onto a boulder and drank water from a small bottle in her pack.
‘Take your time,’ Frank said gently. He dished out energy bars and told Megan and Josh to stay close.
A guide, checking the route in preparation for the season’s tourists, stopped to ask if Zoë was all right. When she told him what had happened, he stared in the direction of the cave.
‘That was a kri-kri,’ he said. ‘You’re very lucky to have seen one. They’re almost extinct. Did you get a picture?’
Zoë wanted to hit him. Trembling, she covered her face with her hands, remembering those hypnotic eyes. A shiver ran through her.
Megan produced a pack of face wipes from her tote. ‘Here, Mum, use one of these to freshen up. It’ll make you feel better.’
Frank smiled. ‘Good thinking, Nurse Megan.’
For a moment they were all taken back to Megan’s early years, her little nurse’s outfit, and how she loved to stick plasters onto everyone’s imagined wounds.
‘Stay back! Stay back!’ Josh dramatised lifting a halting hand. ‘I remember Nurse Megan sticking one of her plasters over my mouth! Probably my earliest memory.’ His eyes slid around to glance at his mother, checking his comic performance was having the desired effect. ‘You realise my chances of growing a moustache were seriously damaged when that Band-Aid was ripped off? I could sue you for deformation, Nurse Megan. I know a very good lawyer.’ He nodded sideways, towards his mother.
Zoë glanced into Frank’s face, sharing the memory, instantly calmed. Everyone laughed as they set off again, eventually reaching the village of Samaria, where they stopped for refreshments. After the village, the path levelled and became easier. The high cliff walls closed in, and they were forced to cross the river several times using slippery stepping stones. The kids went on ahead and Zoë and Frank caught them up at the highlight of the trek. The narrowest part of the gorge, where the high walls came so close together they could almost touch both sides.
The view was breathtaking. Cliffs rose straight up to a dizzying height. A wooden walkway kept their boots dry above the gushing river. Despite the astonishing surroundings, every time Zoë closed her eyes, she saw those terrifying black and gold eyes and couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder again.
She had nothing to worry about. She was on holiday with her faultless family – her wonderful husband, her clever, caring daughter, her funny, kind son. She had a great job waiting for her back home, a house she loved and a perfect life.
So why did she keep thinking of that creature with its devilish eyes? Why did her mind keep telling her that you could never really tell what was lurking in the dark beyond?
*
In the kitchen of their Victorian semi-detached house, Zoë stared at her reflection in the polished steel as water thundered into the kettle. Had they really been the perfect happy family, just twelve months ago?
Josh lumbered into the room – crumpled T-shirt, heavy lids, clutching a bottle of window cleaner.
‘Morning, Mum.’ He yawned, raked through his curly dark hair and headed for the Nescafé.
‘Josh, you haven’t been using window cleaner on your spots again? That stuff’ll play havoc with your skin.’
He rolled his eyes.
‘Seriously! What if it gets into your system, leads to God knows what – cancer of the testicles?’
‘Mum!’ He threw a don’t embarrass me squint before turning away to mutter, ‘No point in having nuts if I’ve got a face like a pizza.’ He poked his forehead. ‘It actually works. I had a zit coming last night and now it’s almost gone.’
‘Come here. Give your mother a hug.’ She pulled him to her and, ignoring his adolescent awkwardness, squeezed hard before letting him go.
Next door’s dog yapped in their front garden. Was someone walking up the path? The stab of hope from those early weeks returned fresh and sharp. It could be Megan. It was her birthday. If she was going to come home, then surely today, of all days . . . But she hadn’t taken her key. Zoë rushed down the hall, swung the front door open, imagining her daughter in her arms at last.
The postman stared. Zoë guessed her expression was wild. God knows what he thought, her dressing gown open, her cotton nightshirt blown against her body. He took the last two steps forward and offered the post, his arm out, keeping maximum distance.
‘Morning,’ he said, with practised cheerfulness.
Zoë half smiled, knotted the belt of her robe and took the mail.
‘One to sign for,’ he said.
The tickets.
She slipped the manila envelope into her pocket before Josh saw it and signed the receipt.
Of course it wasn’t Megan. It was never Megan.
With a sigh, she closed the heavy oak door and flicked through the mail. Phone bill, what appeared to be a birthday card addressed to Megan, and an official letter from her mother’s solicitor in Crete. She stared at the envelope from Greece, addressed using her full name: Zoë Eleftheria Johnson. Probably taxes, death duties or the solicitor’s bill, she thought. She didn’t want to deal with it, not today. She sat on the bottom stair and opened the birthday card.
It came from Frank’s sister, tactless Judy. The card featured a woman in a frilly apron and a Brylcreemed man in a suit kissing her ear. Don’t whisper sweet nothings, just give me chocolates, said the woman with a speech bubble.
She’s seventeen, Judy, not seventy.
Sadness ached in Zoë’s chest like a dark bruise. She hugged her knees and muttered, ‘Oh, Megan.’
Josh plodded down the stairs, dressed this time.
‘Mum, what’s the matter? Come on, don’t get upset.’
Zoë kept her forehead against her knees and held out the card.
‘Oh, sorry. I forgot. Hell, is it today?’
‘Yes. Your sister’s seventeen.’
‘Right, seventeen . . . Old enough to take care of herself, Mum. Believe me, she’ll be all right. Don’t fret so much.’ Their eyes met, and he glanced away. ‘Honestly, she’ll come home when she’s ready.’ He twitched, lifting one shoulder, the way he always did in an uncomfortable moment. ‘When I’m seventeen, I’m going to get a motorbike.’
A motorbike?
Zoë stared into her son’s face and saw life through his eyes. He knew everything and confidently put her right, but there was always that hint of rebellion. Josh had given up fretting about Megan because he’d convinced himself she was fine. She touched his soft, stubbly cheek and considered her own stupidity, sidestepping what she had to concentrate on what was missing.
‘The trouble is, you still think of us as kids. Look at me, I’m an adult already.’