The Island of Missing Trees(32)

A new song started in the background. Ada tried to pick up the words in Turkish – and failed.

‘I’d better go and wash my face,’ said Defne and rose to her feet. As she did so she nearly lost her balance and lurched forward, managing to right herself at the last second.

Ada heard the cracking sound of yogurt pots crushed underfoot.

‘Good God, what did I just do?’ Defne bent over, picking up the crumpled cardboard tubes. ‘Was this yours?’

Ada didn’t say anything, fearing that if she opened her mouth, she might burst into tears.

‘Was it your schoolwork? I’m sorry, darling. What was it?’

Ada managed to say, ‘A castle.’

‘Oh, sweetheart.’

As Defne pulled her into her embrace, Ada felt her whole body tense. She hunched as though crushed by something invisible for which she had no name. In that moment she detected the smell of alcohol on her mother’s breath. It didn’t resemble the wine her parents ordered when they all went to a nice restaurant or the champagne they popped when they celebrated with friends. It was different – acrid, metallic.

It smelled sad.



Later in the afternoon, Ada left her room, feeling hungry, and shambled her way towards the kitchen. Her aunt was there, washing dishes in the sink, her wrists deep in water, watching what looked like a Turkish soap opera on her phone.

‘Hi.’

‘Uh?’ Meryem jumped. ‘You scared me!’ She lifted her hand and pushed her thumb up into the roof of her mouth.

Ada studied her quizzically. ‘Is that what you do when you’re scared?’

‘Of course,’ said Meryem. ‘What do the English do?’

Ada shrugged.

‘Your father’s checking on the fig tree again,’ said Meryem as she turned off her phone. ‘Out there in the storm! I told him it’s too cold to go out, the wind is bestial, but he didn’t listen.’

Ada opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. Grabbing her favourite cereal, she poured some into to bowl.

Frowning, Meryem watched. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to eat that bachelor’s dish?’

‘I like cereal.’

‘You do? They all smell like chewing gum to me. Grains are not supposed to be like that. There’s something wrong with them.’

Ada pulled up a chair and started eating, though she was now hyper-aware that the cereal had a funny sweet air about it. ‘So did you learn how to cook from your father? He was a chef, wasn’t he?’

Meryem stood still. ‘You have heard about Baba?’

‘Mum told me – once. She wasn’t sober, if you must know. Otherwise, she never spoke about Cyprus. No one does in this house.’

Returning to her washing-up, Meryem was silent for a moment. She rinsed a mug, placed it upside down on the draining board and asked cautiously, ‘What do you want to learn?’

‘Everything,’ replied Ada. ‘I’m sick and tired of being treated like a child.’

‘Everything,’ echoed Meryem. ‘But no one knows that. Neither me, nor your father … we only grasp bits and pieces, each of us, and sometimes your bits and pieces do not match mine and then what’s the use of talking about the past, it’ll only offend everyone. You know what they say, keep the tongue in your mouth a prisoner. Wisdom consists of ten parts: nine parts of silence, one part of words.’

Ada folded her arms. ‘I disagree. One must always speak up, no matter what. I don’t understand what you’re all so afraid of. And besides, I’ve been reading about it myself. I know there was a lot of hostility and violence between Greeks and Turks. Brits were involved too – we can’t ignore colonialism. It’s obvious. I don’t get why my father is so hush-hush like all this is some kind of secret. He doesn’t seem to realize that everything’s on the internet. People my age aren’t afraid to ask questions. The world has changed.’

Meryem pulled the plug out, watching the water gurgle down the plughole in restless circles. She wiped her hands on her apron and smiled a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. ‘Has the world changed that much? I hope you are right.’



Holding the trampled artwork in her palms like an injured bird, her mother had talked about Cyprus that afternoon, telling her things she had never mentioned before.

‘I was born near Kyrenia, my love. I know of a castle, just like the one you built, except mine was high upon rocks. They say it inspired Disney. Remember Snow White? The wicked queen’s home surrounded by wild bushes and terrifying cliffs?’

Ada nodded.

‘This castle was named after a saint from Palestine – Saint Hilarion. He was a hermit.’

‘What’s that?’

‘A hermit hides away from the world. He is not a misanthrope, let’s clarify that. A hermit does not hate human beings, he likes them actually, he just doesn’t want to mingle with them.’

Ada nodded again, though as far as she was concerned nothing was clarified.

‘Saint Hilarion was a traveller. He went to Egypt, Syria, Sicily, Dalmatia … then he arrived in Cyprus. He helped the poor, fed the hungry, healed the sick. He had one big mission: to stay away from temptation.’

‘What’s temptation?’

‘It’s like when I give you a chocolate bar and ask you not to eat it until the next day, and you put it in the drawer, but then you open the drawer, just to check if it’s still there, and you think, “Why can’t I take a bite?” And you end up scoffing all of it. That’s temptation.’