The Island of Missing Trees(18)

‘Sure.’ Kostas put the suitcases on the floor and headed towards the kitchen.

Suddenly finding herself alone with this boisterous stranger, Ada felt her shoulders tense.

‘Now tell me, which school do you go to?’ Meryem asked, her voice chiming like silver bells. ‘What is your favourite subject?’

‘Sorry, I better go and help my father,’ Ada said and bolted from the room without waiting for a response.



In the kitchen she found her father filling the kettle.

‘So?’ Ada whispered as she approached the worktop.

‘So?’ echoed Kostas.

‘Aren’t you going to ask why she’s here? There must be a reason. I bet it’s something to do with money. Maybe my grandparents died, there’s some dispute over inheritance and she wants to get my mother’s share.’

‘Ada mou, take it easy, don’t jump to conclusions.’

‘Then ask her, Dad!’

‘I will, sweetheart. We will. Together. Patience,’ Kostas said as he placed the kettle on the stove. He arranged teacups on a tray and opened a packet of biscuits, realizing they were running out. He had forgotten to go shopping.

‘I don’t like her,’ Ada said, chewing her lower lip. ‘She’s totally over the top. Did you hear what she said about my baby footprints? So annoying. You can’t just barge into the house of someone you’ve never met and straight away expect to be all lovey-dovey.’

‘Listen, why don’t you make the tea? The teapot is ready, just add water. Okay?’

‘Fine,’ Ada said with a sigh.

‘I’ll go and chat with her. Take your time. No pressure. You can join us whenever you want.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Come on, Aditsa, let’s give her a chance. Your mum loved her sister. Do this for her.’



As she waited for the water to boil, alone in the kitchen, Ada leaned back against the worktop, thinking.

You’re so beautiful, her aunt had said. Just like your mother.

Ada remembered a drowsy afternoon the summer before last. Beds of petunias and marigolds painted the garden a rich orange and purple, and death had yet to touch the house. She and her mother sat on reclining chairs, their feet bare, their legs hot in the sun. Her mother was biting on the end of a pencil, solving a crossword puzzle. Sipping lemonade by her side, Ada was writing a school essay on Greek deities, but she was finding it hard to concentrate.

‘Mum, is it true that Aphrodite was the prettiest goddess of all the Olympians?’

Brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, Defne glanced at her. ‘She was pretty, yeah, but was she nice, that’s another question.’

‘Oh! She was mean?’

‘Well, she could be a bitch, excuse my language. She was no supporter of women. Her feminism score was pitiful, if you ask me.’

Ada giggled. ‘You speak as if you know her.’

‘Of course I do! We all come from the same island. She was born in Cyprus, from the foam of Paphos.’

‘Didn’t know that. So she’s the goddess of beauty and love?’

‘Yup, that’s her. Desire and pleasure too – and procreation. Although some of that was attributed to her later, through Venus, her Roman incarnation. The earlier Aphrodite was more subversive and selfish. Under that beautiful face was a bully who tried to control women.’

‘How?’

‘Well, there was this young, brilliant girl called Polyphonte. Clever, headstrong. She looked at her mother and she looked at her aunt and she decided she wanted a different life for herself. No marriage, no husband, no possessions, no domestic obligations, thank you very much! Instead she would travel the world until she found what she was looking for. And if she couldn’t find it, then she would go and join Artemis as a virgin priestess. That was her plan. When Aphrodite heard about this, she was incandescent with rage. You know what she did to Polyphonte? She drove her to madness. Poor girl lost her mind.’

‘Why would a goddess do that?’

‘Excellent question. In all the myths and fairy tales, a woman who breaks social conventions is always punished. And usually the punishment is psychological, mental. Classic, isn’t it? Remember Mr Rochester’s first wife in Jane Eyre? Polyphonte is our Mediterranean version of a deranged female, except we didn’t lock her up in the attic, we fed her to a bear. An uncivilized end for a woman who didn’t want to be part of civilization.’

Ada tried to smile but something inside prevented her.

‘Anyway, that’s Aphrodite for you,’ Defne said. ‘Not a friend of women. But yes, pretty!’



When Ada returned to the living room carrying a tray laden with teapot, porcelain cups and a plate of shortbread biscuits, she was surprised to find it empty.

Setting the tray on the coffee table, she glanced around. ‘Dad?’

The door to the guest room stood ajar. Her aunt was not there, just her suitcases, thrown on the bed.

Ada checked the study and the other rooms, but her father and aunt were nowhere to be seen. Only when she returned to the living room did she notice that, behind the thick curtains, the French windows on to the garden were unlocked. She pushed them open and stepped out.

Cold. It was piercingly cold and dimly lit. One of the lanterns must have gone off. A pale glimmer from the sliver-moon fell on the stone path. As her eyes adjusted to the shadows around, she made out two shapes nearby. Her father and her aunt were there, under the falling sleet, despite the approaching storm, standing side by side where the fig tree was buried. So peculiar was the sight of their silhouettes huddled together against the night that Ada recoiled.