Antonis approached the chest of drawers and picked up a frame that had been put face down on the surface. It was empty, the photograph removed, and it was the same for another. The blank frames were like darkened windows. It was clear that Manolis had gone.
Antonis sat for a moment on the edge of the unmade bed. The notion that Andreas had killed Manolis did not appear to be correct, but he now accepted that Manolis’s disappearances at midday had probably been to see Anna. He had always hoped that their liaison was nothing more than a rumour, but he had known Anna long enough to realise that she was perfectly capable of behaving this way.
Shortly afterwards, he left the house and drove to Plaka. He did not recognise what he was feeling, but realised that it was not grief for Anna. It was almost as if a burden had been removed from him. There was no one to mock him now. Perhaps his pride could finally mend.
Manolis had driven down the long hill towards the main road to Iraklion. With virtually everything he owned on the seat beside him, he suddenly thought of his precious lyra. It was still hanging on the wall of the kafeneío. It had been his constant companion for so many years and his most beloved possession, and when he reached the junction where he might have turned left to reach Plaka, he hesitated. Perhaps he would go and retrieve it.
On every level the idea was absurd, and with reluctance, he dismissed it. His priority now was to catch a boat.
The ferry for Athens left Iraklion in the early afternoon, and it was already ten. He put his foot down on the accelerator and took the bends like a man with nothing to lose.
Chapter Five
MANOLIS CAUGHT THE ferry with just a moment to spare, having dumped his truck in an alleyway. He left the key in the ignition. Someone could help themselves to it. He did not care who.
The boat was very crowded, with many people returning to Athens after a few days on Crete for the August holiday. Manolis noticed a group of former leprosy patients. He was now familiar enough with such disfigurements. He knew that they would have been in Plaka the previous night and would have been witnesses to what happened.
Among the group were Papadimitriou, the former island leader, Solomonides, the editor of the newspaper, and Kouris, the engineer. They sat in a huddle talking quietly as if trying not to be noticed. All of them had been instrumental in transforming Spinalonga into a thriving community. Now they were returning to Athens to try and resume the careers at which they had excelled almost two decades before. It was obvious that other passengers on the ferry were keeping clear of them, as though there was an invisible barrier around them.
Manolis spent most of the passage on deck. He had not slept for more than twenty-four hours, but he wanted to think, and the fresh air and the throb of the engine helped keep him awake. Anna was constantly on his mind, in every breath, in every thought.
His time in Elounda had been the longest he had spent in one place during his adult life. Anna had held him there, a willing captive. He did not care what happened next. It had simply been instinct to flee.
The ferry stopped at several small islands on its journey north, and a handful of new passengers shuffled on at each one. Some waited on deck to wave goodbye to people, but the smell of diesel was overpowering and eventually drove most of them inside. Manolis remained alone, staring down at the rolling waves as the day turned to night. The sky was black and the waves were dark. They were one vast continuous expanse. Beneath him was a void that seemed to be inviting him in. Nobody would see, nobody would know. He would simply slip beneath the surface. Now that Anna had gone, he would be a loss to no one. Perhaps Antonis and their paréa, their gang, would miss him. But not for long.
At that moment, he saw a slight glow on the horizon. A chink in the blackness. The chink grew and began to let in the light, and after a while the light glowed orange.
Day was breaking. Slowly and surely, the flat line of the sea’s surface was replaced by the contours and shadows of land. As the boat made its steady progress north, the irregular shapes of Attica’s mountains began to emerge through the early-morning haze, and eventually the grand buildings on the seafront came into view. Piraeus was close to the city of Athens, but had its own identity.
A while later, the huge vessel was steered into port. There were thirty minutes of intense activity and noise: the roar of the engine going into reverse, the deafening grinding sound of the anchor chain being lowered, shouts, instructions, swearing. There was a sense of panic and urgency, but this was just another day’s work for the men running this way and that bearing ropes as thick as their arms.
A crowd of people waited for the boat to dock, and Manolis observed that many passengers were now on deck waving enthusiastically to friends and family below.
It reminded him that there would be no one to greet him. Nobody even knew his name here. It was six years since he had left the mainland for Crete. He had fallen under the spell of the island’s exceptional beauty, enjoying everything it gave him, from mountains to plateaus to crystal seas. During that period, he had not hankered after his former, more urban existence, and was more than satisfied by the limited social life of Elounda. He had only visited Iraklion, the capital city, a handful of times, and then it was just when Andreas sent him on errands.
The thriving and bustling city of Piraeus was spread out before him now, teeming with activity and probably opportunities too. He would think about his plans later, but for now, weak with fatigue, he just needed somewhere to lay his head.
It would be easy to find somewhere to stay. As well as those greeting loved ones, there were others who stood ready to ensnare the disembarking passengers, holding up clumsily written notices: Rooms for Rent; Lodgings for Ladies Only; Pension – Clean Sheets!
Manolis tried to bargain with one or two of them, but they would not budge on price. He knew how many notes he had in his pocket and had a strict limit.
Knowing that the best way to negotiate was to feign disinterest, he began to walk. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that a woman had fallen into step with him. She had red-tinted hair and reeked of cheap perfume and hair lacquer, but there was something about her that he liked. In her younger years she would have been his type, with her full lips and rouge overenthusiastically applied.
‘If you want an easy-going landlady,’ she said cheerfully, as though they had already started a conversation, ‘that’s me.’
‘Are you close to the docks?’ he asked.
‘Couldn’t be closer,’ she laughed, revealing a missing tooth. ‘Unless you were on board ship.’
‘How much is it?’ enquired Manolis casually.
‘Four hundred and eighty a week,’ she answered. It sounded as if she had just made up a figure.
Manolis did not respond but continued to walk with her along the waterfront. He would need to see the place before he agreed.
It was already midday when they finally reached the woman’s pension, but in the dim light, he noted a well-kept entrance and a vase of silk flowers on a table in the hallway. It seemed clean enough too.
A girl hurried past them on her way out.
‘See you later, Theía,’ she said in a sing-song voice.
‘That’s Elli,’ said the landlady. ‘My niece.’
Manolis registered long dark hair and a waif-like frame.
‘She works at that grand zacharoplasteío on the seafront,’ added the woman proudly, referring to a huge pastry shop that Manolis had noticed when he walked by.