She stared at me for a while, as if she was waiting for me to stop chewing. When I swallowed the last bit of orange she tapped the plate with her finger.
‘Have some more.’
I could see that her attention would remain on the plate until I obliged, so I took another slice. She watched me as I bit into it, and as I wiped juice from my chin.
‘Was there anything unusual . . . ?’ I began.
‘My daughter is coming next week from New Zealand. She’s coming to see me from the other side of the world.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ Through the crocheted curtain I could see her maid’s silhouette; she looked like she was bending down to wipe the coffee table, the glow of an orange lamp behind her. She was shaking her head, talking to herself about the old lady, no doubt – unless there was something else that had peeved her so badly that she looked like she had taken a bite of a lemon straight from the tree.
Just at that moment, the bouzouki started playing in the restaurant and the cats, as if on cue, scurried off in that direction.
‘Did she say anything else?’ I said. ‘Nisha, I mean.’
‘No.’
‘Which way did she go?’
She pointed to the right. ‘Then she turned left at the end of the road.’
‘But that way’s a dead end,’ I said. What would Nisha be doing going down there? It only led to the Green Line, to the military base and the buffer zone that separated the Turkish and Greek parts of the island. Nobody went that way.
Mrs Hadjikyriacou was looking up at me, examining me. From her corneas, triangular films of tissue threatened to take over her eyes.
‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know where Nisha is. I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about, she probably just—’
She interrupted me: ‘Just what? You mean to tell me she hasn’t returned?’
I nodded.
‘I presume you’ve tried her phone?’
I nodded again and she looked up to the sky, her silvery eyes restless. She looked so worried that I suddenly had the urge to reassure her.
‘Honestly, I’m sure it will be fine. There has to be a reasonable explanation.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Maybe she went to see a friend.’
‘No,’ she said again. ‘Nisha would never take off like that, even for a day. You must know that. She is an extremely conscientious young woman.’
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.