Songbirds(9)

She picked up a slice of orange, brought it to her lips and, seeming to remember that she didn’t want any, tore it up into sections, throwing the pieces on the ground for the cats when they returned.

Then she reached out and placed a sticky hand on my arm. ‘Petra,’ she said, staring at me hard, like she was trying to see me through a thick mist, ‘there is something not right here.’

*

I returned home and checked on Aliki. I found her sitting on her bed in the dark. She was in her pyjamas and sipping a mug of warm milk, which she cradled in her palms. Her school bag was at the foot of the bed and her uniform was hanging ready, on the back of her chair by the desk. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought Nisha had been here.

‘You’ve eaten?’ I said, and Aliki glanced at me over the mug and nodded. ‘You’re OK?’ Again, she nodded.

I went over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. That’s when I noticed that the black cat with the different-coloured eyes was sleeping on the bed beside her, at first glance just a gleam in the moonlight, its shiny black fur oily in the darkness. I was about to say that she knew very well that cats weren’t allowed in the house, but, anticipating my admonishment, she quickly said, ‘Monkey has had a tough day. He needs some tender loving care.’

‘You’ve named him Monkey?’

‘Look at his long, bent tail. I think he swings from trees.’

I smiled. My clever girl. I backed out of her room and closed the door.

But I was on edge. I couldn’t shake the feeling of Mrs Hadjikyriacou’s hand on my arm, her insistence that something was amiss. I peered out of the window to see that she had gone inside, the street now dark and empty.





7

Yiannis

I

N THE MIDDLE OF THE night, Seraphim and I drove out to a beach in Protaras. Once a week, during the autumn migration, he and I would go out to sea to catch birds. These were our most lucrative hunts. We drove to the east coast in Seraphim’s van. Although it was cold in the early hours, Seraphim had his window wide open and drank in big gulps of air. He always did this as we approached the water. I hardly spoke. I couldn’t stop thinking about Nisha. I tried to imagine where she might be, but my mind met only darkness. I had tried ringing her many times but her phone was switched off.

The villages around us were quiet, only one light was on in a house on a hillside. Soon I could hear the waves.

You see, I thought you were a different person.

It was Seraphim who had got me into poaching. Seraphim was in love with money – but I’d be lying if I didn’t say the same about myself. Once upon a time, I had been an executive at Laiki Bank. I lived in a luxury apartment on the other side of the city – the sparkly, fashionable district. My grandfather was a farmer in his former years, and a park ranger thereafter. My ancestors lived the rural life, farmers and shepherds who worked the land. Father was determined that I would make it in the world. He encouraged me to study hard so that I would climb from the soil to the stars!

And, of course, I did. The banker’s life was appealing, stable. I would be financially secure, rich even, and wouldn’t have to rely on the weather and the seasons, like my fore-fathers had. At least this was what my father told me. I hadn’t realised then that the financial world had its own storms and droughts.

Before the financial crisis of 2008, Laiki Bank was booming – it was set to become the European investment vehicle of Dubai’s sovereign wealth fund, and it played a pivotal role in the island’s financial services industry, welcoming fresh-faced Russian entrepreneurs who arrived with cash-filled suitcases then set up companies on the island, run by local lawyers and accountants. At one point, bank transfers between Russia and Cyprus were astronomical. Laiki had even handled the affairs of Slobodan Milosevic. His administration moved billions of dollars in cash through Laiki in the 1990s in spite of UN sanctions.

I loved to tell these stories at swanky dinner parties – people were always impressed. Teresa, my wife at the time, loved that sort of life. She would never have married me if I’d followed the life of my grandfather. Our story was a simple one: she worked at Laiki’s rival bank, we met, we fell in love.

But Laiki got into fatal trouble because of aggressive expansion into Greece. The balance sheet was overstretched and then the global financial crisis hit and everything went wrong. Laiki was placed under administration and I lost my job, my savings, my wife – in that order. But while the humiliating turn in the bank’s fortunes reflected Cyprus’s deeper troubles, the turn of events in my life shone a light on the black hole that existed at its centre.

*

The van rattled along a dirt path. Seraphim began, as usual, to hum an old children’s song. He always hummed this rhyme as we approached the water, something that harked back to the days before the war. But the memory was too buried for me to retrieve it and I never asked him.

‘You need to loosen up,’ he said now. ‘I’ve told you so many times, come down to Maria’s with me – I’ll get you sorted. Last night I was with the Filipino girl again. She’s very sweet, you know. If it wasn’t for my wife I think I might fall in love.’

I remained silent, staring out of the window, watching the approaching opaque darkness of the sea and sky.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ Seraphim asked, flicking his eyes towards me. He was about two years older than me and, in spite of all his money, dressed like an odd-job man no matter the occasion. He was a small, dark man with large hands, his hair was mostly uncombed and was receding at the front. Usually unshaven, he reminded me of the rats that live in the sewers along the banks of the Pedieos River. He was married to a Russian woman called Oksana, whom he spoke about often and fondly; but most nights he visited the bars in old Nicosia, searching for the women who had to find another way to make ends meet – as he put it. Nice Romanian, Moldavian, Ukrainian girls – not too expensive – Sri Lankan, Vietnamese, Nepalese maids. Women who came here to make money, one way or another – as he put it. As if he was doing them a favour.