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Songbirds(92)

Author:Christy Lefteri

‘I couldn’t go in, Mr Yiannis . . . feel too worried. I make up stories of what has happened to Amma. Maybe she is trapped underground like my baba was. Amma told me the story about Baba. Will you tell me true things from now on, Mr Yiannis, because then my brain make up other things?’

‘Of course,’ he said.

‘My grandmother want to know any more information. She is in the other room on the bed. She has been crying.’

‘OK, Kumari,’ he said. ‘Listen to me carefully and remember that I’m here any time if you or your grandmother need to speak to me.’ Yiannis hesitated as I returned with a jug and three glasses on a tray, placing it on the coffee table. ‘A woman has been found in a lake here on the island,’ he said.

I stood behind him out of the glow of the screen. Kumari remained silent at first, then with a shake in her voice, she said, ‘Is the lady in the lake alive?’

‘No.’

‘Could the lady in the lake be my amma?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I’m sure it’s not.’

Once again there was no response for a while.

‘You think it might be Amma. I know you do,’ she said. ‘Because if you thought it was definitely not Amma you wouldn’t tell me this information. You are telling me to . . . prepare me. Isn’t that right Mr Yiannis?’

‘Yes, Kumari.’

Then she was gone.

Yiannis sat without moving, staring at his own reflection in the dark screen. I took a step forward and placed my hand on his shoulder.

The doorbell rang.

I left Yiannis sitting there and went to let Tony in. It was strange to see him out of the booth. He was much taller and wider than I realised and he walked slowly and heavily, like a bear.

He sat in the armchair opposite Yiannis and I poured him a glass of water.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ I asked. ‘A coffee or tea? It’s quite a long journey from Limassol.’

‘No, thank you, Petra,’ he said. ‘And thank you for your kind hospitality.’

I smiled faintly and sat down. We both stared at him and he hesitated before speaking.

‘I wanted to come and tell you before it comes out in the news.’

‘They’ve identified the body?’ said Yiannis. He was perched at the edge of the sofa and I noticed a tremor in his hands as they rested on his knees.

‘Yes, they have.’

‘It’s Nisha?’

‘No,’ Tony said, and I heard Yiannis exhale. ‘Allow me to finish,’ said Tony. ‘The woman has been identified as Rosamie Cotabu. Petra, you might recognise the name. She was one of the women I told you about during your first visit.’

I nodded and glanced quickly at Yiannis, who was looking more agitated than ever, rhythmically rubbing his right temple.

‘Rosamie Cotabu,’ Tony repeated slowly. ‘Would you mind if I light a cigarette?’

‘Not at all,’ I said, and got up to bring him a saucer that he could use as an ashtray. By the time I returned from the kitchen he had lit the cigarette and the smoke was swirling amongst the light of the fire. I could see that Tony’s hand was shaking too as he held the cigarette up to his lips, taking three long, hard drags so that the ash drooped from it. He moved his hand carefully to the saucer and allowed the ash to drop in there.

‘I have a friend in the police force,’ he said, glancing at me. ‘He’s junior in rank so he had no power to launch an investigation, but he’s been useful in getting information.’

I nodded and sat down.

‘Rosamie Cotabu,’ he said, ‘I told you about her didn’t I? The one who worked for a man who was physically abusing her.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I remember.’

‘She went to the police for help, but they told her to leave Cyprus if she wasn’t happy. Nobody helped her.’ He paused and with heavy eyes took another drag of smoke before stubbing out the cigarette. ‘I knew Rosamie wouldn’t run away. I knew something was wrong. Why didn’t I do more?’ He lifted his arm and dropped it down onto the arm of the chair like a dead weight. He took another cigarette out of the box and held it between his fingers but did not light it. ‘Oh,’ he said smiling now, ‘What a joyful girl she was! She had so many friends. She said I saved her life.’ At this point Tony began to cry, like a sudden storm; tears broke out of him and he apologised again and again through stifled sobs.

‘I’m sorry, Petra. I did not come here to be a burden on you,’ he said, composing himself, lighting the cigarette, taking in the smoke as if it would save his life.

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