The Island of Missing Trees(31)

The Castle


London, late 2010s


All morning, watching the storm working itself into a tempest, Ada stayed in her room. She skipped breakfast and lunch, snacking on a packet of popcorn she found in her school bag. Her father checked on her twice, but each time she sent him away under the pretext of doing GCSE coursework.

Later in the afternoon, there was a knock. Sharp, insistent. Opening the door, Ada found her aunt.

‘When are you going to come out?’ Meryem asked, the gleam of her evil eye bead necklace catching the light from the ceiling.

‘Sorry, I’ve got things to do … homework,’ said Ada, emphasizing the last word, which she knew had a calming effect on grown-ups. Once you uttered it, they always left you alone.

Except it did not seem to work on her aunt. If anything, she seemed upset. ‘Why would English schools do this? Look at you, locked up in your room like a prisoner at such a young age. Come, forget about homework. Let’s go and cook!’

‘I cannot forget about homework, you are supposed to encourage me to study,’ Ada said. ‘And besides, I don’t know how to cook.’

‘That’s fine, I’ll teach you.’

‘I don’t even like it.’

Meryem’s hazel eyes were inscrutable. ‘That can’t be true. Come, give it a try. You know what they say, if you find a happy village, look for the cook.’

‘Sorry,’ said Ada flatly. ‘I really need to go.’

Slowly, she closed the door, leaving her aunt standing in the hall with her accessories and proverbs, fading like yet another family photo on the wall.



The year she started primary school, Ada caught the school bus back home every afternoon. It stopped at the end of her road. Always arriving at the house around the same time, she would find her mother waiting for her in front of the garden gate, her eyes locked on nothing in particular, the tip of a slipper tapping against the fence, as if to a melody only she could hear. Rain or snow, Defne would be there, outside. But one day in mid-June, she wasn’t.

Ada got off the bus, carefully balancing on her palms the artwork she had made in class. She had built a castle out of yogurt pots, lolly sticks and egg cartons. The towers were cardboard tubes, painted vivid orange. The surrounding moat, rendered in chocolate wrappers, glowed in the setting sun like quicksilver. It had taken her a whole afternoon to complete the piece, which she was eager to show her parents.

No sooner had she entered the house than Ada paused, arrested in her tracks by a song playing in the background, way, way too loud.

‘Mum?’

She found her mother in her parents’ bedroom sitting on a bench by the window, cupping her chin in her hand. Her face was pale, almost translucent, as if drained of blood.

‘Mum, you all right?’

‘Hmm?’ She spun round, blinking fast. She seemed confused. ‘Sweetheart, you’re here. What time is it?’ Her voice sounded indistinct, slurred. ‘Here already …?’

‘The bus dropped me off.’

‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry. I just sat here for a moment. I must have lost track of time.’

Ada could not take her gaze off her mother’s eyes – swollen, red-rimmed. Gently, she set the castle on the floor. ‘Were you crying?’

‘No … just a bit. Today is a special day. It’s a sad anniversary.’

Ada drew closer.

‘I had two dear friends. Yusuf and Yiorgos. They used to run this lovely place, a restaurant. Oh, the food was amazing! You could fill your stomach just with those delicious smells.’ Defne turned towards the window, the light from the sun falling on her shoulders like a gold thread shawl.

‘What happened to them?’

‘Poof!’ Her mother snapped her fingers like a magician who had just pulled off an elaborate trick. ‘They disappeared.’

For a moment neither of them said a word. Into the silence Defne nodded, resigned. ‘So many went missing in Cyprus back then. Their loved ones would wait, hoping they were alive, held captive somewhere. Those were horrible years.’ She thrust her chin into the air, pressed her lips together so hard they took on a sickly pallor. ‘People on both sides of the island suffered – and people on both sides would hate it if you said that aloud.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the past is a dark, distorted mirror. You look at it, you only see your own pain. There is no room in there for someone else’s pain.’ Noticing the confusion on Ada’s face, Defne tried to smile – a smile as thin as a scar.

‘So did they have ice cream in this place?’ Ada asked the first thing that came to mind.

‘Oh, you bet. They had fabulous desserts but my favourite was oven-roasted figs with honey and aniseed ice cream. It was an unusual mixture of flavours – sweet, pungent, just a bit tart.’ Defne paused. ‘Did I ever tell you about your grandpa? He was a chef, did you know that?’

Ada shook her head.

‘He was the head chef at a famous hotel – the Ledra Palace. Every night they had great dinner parties. My father used to make this dessert for the guests. He had learned it from an Italian chef. But I knew how it was done, and I told Yusuf and Yiorgos. They loved it so much they added it to their menu too. I was proud but also afraid that my father would get wind of it. I was worried about a stupid pudding! So naive, the things that trouble us in our youth.’ Defne winked as if imparting a secret. ‘You know, I never cook. I used to once. I stopped.’