THE RETURN FROM LESBOS from the novel: Prayer to Aphrodite.
Balmy evenings were spent strolling along the seashore, occasionally finding some secluded cove where they could make love undisturbed; or sometimes the couple would just gaze up at the clear night sky as they lay down together on the sands. On one occasion two days before the end of their holiday Amy tried to count the stars. "You'll never do it," said Clare, there are more stars in heaven than all the grains of sand on all the world's beaches."
"Clever clogs - who told you that?"
"It was my Uncle Bernard. He was into Astronomy - Stephen's got his old telescope. Who knows? He could be up there somewhere looking down at us right now - they say there's a new star in Heaven every time someone dies," she said thoughtfully.
Clare, in spite of her new found attachment to Amy remembered her promise that she would emulate Sappho and pray to Aphrodite, Goddess of love, that Rachel would return her affection, but she still had no intention of mentioning it to Amy.
One sultry afternoon the two women hired a car in the hope of discovering some more of the island, further away from the immediate vicinity of their hotel. They found the remains an ancient temple at Agia Paraskevi. "Oh, this looks interesting " Clare said, knowing that Amy too, who considered herself a Grecophile, would be happy to explore it and marvel at the accomplishments of a bygone civilisation.
Stopping a while to take photos and enjoy the rural landscape, far from the usual tourist haunts, they shared a simple picnic lunch of bread, wine and some feta cheese purchased from a roadside store. Clare then headed off on her own under the pretence that she wanted to take further photographs.
"Don't be too long, it's a long drive back, remember, and it looks like there's a thunderstorm brewing up over there." Amy said, pointing to the threatening black clouds drifting in from the coast. "I'll sit in the car and read the map."
As soon as Clare arrived at the ancient holy site she uttered her prayer as intended. It wasn't perhaps as poetic as Sappho's but at least it was spoken from the heart.
It began to rain rather suddenly and Amy, wondering where Clare had disappeared, was about to go and look for her, when she appeared at that moment, soaked to the skin.
"What on earth were you doing all that time?" she said curiously. "Were you praying for the rain to stop? It says here that this temple is supposed to be dedicated to Apollo the Sun God" she laughed, waving her guide book in the air.
"Oh, no, it wasn't that particular deity I was praying to." Clare said with a secretive smile.
On another lazy afternoon by the pool, Clare, lounging beneath a sunshade, composed a short poem in blank verse. She felt that writing rhyming verse was sometimes too arduous a task. The poem was, as were all her poems, written for Rachel. She scribbled it down on the back of a postcard; deliberating afterwards whether to actually send it, even sticking a stamp on it and writing Rachel's address underneath:
FORSAKEN
You have forsaken me;
I, who have loved you.
But you will never admit to it.
You just say "I'm busy" when I call,
In the forlorn hope that one day,
You can find it in your heart to forgive.
Was my love a crime for which I shall be eternally punished?
Should I say something, lie to you perhaps?
Deny my love, tell you it was all a dreadful mistake,
And can I have our friendship back?
Grovel at your feet and say "I'm not a lesbian."
The long leisurely days on the sun-kissed isle passed rapidly and Clare forgot about the postcard, until it was time to pack. "Have you seen a card with a stamp on it, addressed to Rachel?" she asked Amy, hoping that she hadn't put it in the hotel postbox box along with her own correspondence.
"No, but if you had a stamp on it I'm sure some kind soul, will have popped it in the box for you."
"That's what I'm worried about, you see I wasn't sure I really wanted to send it." Clare said sheepishly. "I wrote it the other day when I'd had a drop too much retsina, if you know what I mean."
"Oh," said Amy for want of a better word, and then after a long pause, "I suppose it's in the lap of the Gods then, whether she receives it or not."
The flight back to England was pleasant enough, and for much of the journey Clare wondered what would happen between her and Amy once they were home. They had had a wonderful fortnight together in every sense of the word but whether there would be any real permanency to their relationship once they returned to the realities of every day life, only time would tell. But, for the moment at least, Clare was happy.
Arriving at Gatwick, Clare seemed to sense straight away that something was wrong. "Jenny's there, waiting behind the barrier." she said apprehensively, pointing her out to Amy. "I wonder what's up, I told her we'd make our own way home from the airport."
Had Mike perhaps left home and taken the children with him? Was everything all right with Jenny's baby? Endless scenarios flashed across Clare's mind except the real one. Picking up their baggage hastily from the carousel Amy took control of the situation. Sensing Clare's panic she said, "Come on then, there's only one way to find out."
As they drew closer they saw that Jenny was still pregnant; at least that was one worry which could be forgotten. "What is it Jenny? Why are you here? Are the kids Okay? " Clare said in one long, almost inaudible garble, knowing for certain now, by the look on her sister's face that all was not as it should be.
"Yes, they're all fine they're at home with Mike," Jenny explained, her voice choked with emotion. "But I had to come and collect you. I was going to phone your hotel in Lesbos but I didn't want to spoil the last few days of your holiday, Oh, God I'm so sorry to be the one to tell you Clare, it's Rachel - she's dead."
The words barely had a chance to register in Clare's mind before everything become a swirling blur of colour. Her legs crumpled beneath her and the continual sounds of the busy airport faded away to nothingness as she fell silently to the floor.
"Oh my God, she's fainted!" Jenny gasped, slapping Clare gently across her colourless cheeks, trying to bring her round, while Amy went to alert one of the airport staff.
Clare came round almost immediately and then the tears began to fall. "Please tell me it isn't true... please... Jenny, please..." she begged hysterically, grasping her sister tightly by the hand; although she knew full well that no amount of pleading could ever bring Rachel back.
"I only wish it wasn't, Clare." Jenny said softly, searching for words of comfort but realising there were none. An airport official ushered the three of them to a private room where they could sit quietly for a while, away from the constant noise of the main arrival lounge. A nurse was summoned to check Clare's condition and they were brought tea and biscuits.
Jenny felt guilty because she'd been the bearer of the unfortunate news, "I'm sorry Clare, perhaps I should have waited until you arrived home but the funeral is tomorrow and if you want to see Rachel to say your goodbyes it will have to be before 8:00 this evening ...I thought you would want to see her."
"Yes... of course... funeral... tomorrow... see her before 8:00 tonight." Clare replied through a haze of disjointed thoughts. She tried to listen and comprehend, but doing both seemed far too arduous a task and she found herself repeating Jenny's words until she was certain their meaning had registered.
Amy remained silent throughout, thinking this the best course of action under the circumstances. Although She hadn't known Rachel, she felt sad at Clare's loss and realised that the devastating news had brought the happiness of the past fortnight to an abrupt end.
Once Clare regained her composure, the hot, sweet tea reviving her somewhat, she began to ask Jenny all the relevant questions. "Wh... what happened to her?" she said in an unsteady voice, "and when?"
Jenny explained the dreadful event as simply as possible using more or less the same words that Rachel's sister had chosen on Tuesday morning when she'd phoned. "She just drank too much on Monday night, went to sleep and never woke up again."
It was what Clare had feared would one day occur to the friend she dearly loved; a scenario she'd tried her best to prevent, but Rachel, too stubborn to accept help, had eventually fallen foul of her own addiction. It had all been so predictable, like the Titanic on collision course with the iceberg; the warnings had been there all along, but went blatantly unheeded.
Clare sobbed in Amy's arms and then hugged Jenny too, finding some comfort in being with the two people who really understood the depth of her grief. " Oh, Jenny... I just knew this would happen eventually, but I was powerless to stop it.. she never listened to me... refused my help - what could I do?"
"Nothing, Clare, you couldn't have done anything to prevent Rachel dying. when it comes down to it, she was her own worst enemy."
Clare's tears fell more rapidly now, as she remembered what she'd been doing on Monday night... it had been the evening when she and Amy had gazed up at a dark, velvet sky, studded with all the familiar constellations and she'd wondered if Uncle Bernard was perhaps looking down at her.
They say there's a new star in heaven every time someone dies...
She recalled the exact words she'd spoken when they lay on the beach at Skala Eressos under myriad twinkling stars - the same night Rachel had departed this life.
The three women remained in the room for fifteen minutes, and as soon as Clare trusted her equilibrium once more they gathered up the luggage, thanked the airport staff for their assistance and made their way to station for the next London bound train. It was four in the afternoon by the time they left Gatwick. Clare snatched a few minutes' sleep on the train, a temporary sanctuary for her troubled mind, but then waking suddenly as another train screeched past she found herself momentarily hoping that the news of Rachel's death had all been a terrible dream. She began to cry again as the harsh reality of it struck her a second time. Amy cried with her, knowing the strength of lesbian love and Jenny too, shed a few tears at her sister's loss.
Fumbling in her flight bag for her emergency pack of tissues Clare found the postcard to Rachel which she'd mislaid in Lesbos. It had wedged itself tightly behind a flap in one of the smaller compartments of her flight bag. She read it and began to stare blankly at the picture on the other side; and at that moment she experienced a strange feeling of deja vu.
There was no way Clare could have known this, but another woman, over forty five years before, had also found herself staring blindly at a postcard, in a railway carriage, on the way to the funeral of the woman she loved. That woman was Frances - the Frances of the wartime letters which Clare had discovered in the loft. Frances's relationship with Elisa had also ended with a telephone call and the promise of a postcard, in much the same way as that of Clare and Rachel. Just trivial similarities, perhaps, in a sequence of events, but if Clare had known about them she would have viewed them as more than mere co-incidence.
As the rural landscape began to give way to bustling London suburbs the three women decided to catch a taxi back to Greenford from Victoria station rather than struggle needlessly with the luggage on the tube at the busiest time of day. "Thanks for coming to meet us," Clare said, trying hard to smile in recognition of her sister's thoughtfulness; she realised it must have been difficult for Jenny to travel all the way down to Gatwick on public transport, in her heavily pregnant state.
"That's okay, and don't you worry about the kids when you get back they've been good as gold for me while you've been away, so I don't mind looking after them a while longer."
Time was not to be wasted; getting across central London in rush hour traffic was a tedious process even in a taxi with a driver who was as accustomed to the route as the back of his own hand. "We're only going to have time to dump the luggage at home and go straight to the chapel of rest," said Jenny, glancing at her watch and trying hard not to say anything insensitive. "How long do you think you'll want to stay with her?"
Forever. Clare mouthed the word under her breath, and she felt the tears welling up again. "As long as I can before they close for the night." she said instead.
As the familiar Greenford landmarks came into view the three women realised they would have ample time in spite of the delays incurred earlier. "Do you want us to come with you?" Amy inquired.
"No. it's all right, I'd rather go on my own" Clare said, trying to put on a brave face. Strange, she thought how one day can bring such contrasts. That morning, refreshed from the halcyon days of her holiday, she'd greeted the new day with a glad heart, looking forward to seeing the children again. But now this... she felt she couldn't face them at all now, or Mike either for that matter.
"Amy, can I come back to your place tonight, please? I don't think I can cope with everyone just yet."
"Yes, of course you can," Amy replied, thinking it a sensible suggestion." Another day away won't make any real difference."
"Jenny, will you get my black suit out of the wardrobe and iron it for me if need be?" Claire asked, trying to think practically. "Tell the kids I love them and I'll see them soon."
"Okay, you ring me if you want anything else doing too." Jenny said, pleased that Claire wouldn't be thrown headlong into the rigours of family life after such a shock. "And don't worry about anything - I'll explain everything to Mike."
With all the luggage unloaded and Jenny deposited at Claire's house the taxi sped on to the shopping area in Greenford,. The driver was paid and thanked for getting them there in good time and then Clare and Amy were alone once more. As they passed the main window outside the chapel of rest Clare noticed a familiar figure at the reception desk talking to one of the funeral directors. It was Andrew.
"Oh, God! "cried a panic-stricken Clare grabbing Amy by the shoulder before she had a chance to walk through the door. "What if he won't let me see her? What if he knows I love her? He might prevent me from going to the funeral... can he do that?"
"Calm down, don't worry he's probably just making last minute arrangements for tomorrow." Amy replied reassuringly, seeing the fear in her eyes. But she'd heard of this type of incident occurring and hoped for Clare's sake that Andrew wouldn't be that cruel.
Then Clare remembered it had been Rachel's sister who'd rung Jenny with the awful news - not Andrew. And now, as she was about to enter the funeral parlour to bid her friend a final farewell she wondered if there was a reason Andrew hadn't rung her himself. At least Amy was there beside her and whatever happened Clare would not have to face it alone. She told herself to be strong. If Andrew decided he didn't want her to see Rachel and forbade her from attending the funeral, she would accept his wishes, not make a fuss and be content to carry the memory of her friend in her heart.
Clare opened the heavy glass door tentatively and Andrew turned to face her as soon as he became aware of her presence; she was now at his mercy. "Hello, Clare I was hoping you would get here in time," he said in his usual amiable manner, immediately putting her mind at rest. "Do you know about the arrangements for tomorrow?"
"Yes, thanks," Clare replied, breathing a sigh of relief, her heartbeat reverting to a slower pace. She grew much calmer now her fears of a conflict appeared improbable.
"Will you be coming back to the house after the funeral? It'll just be a small gathering of close friends and relatives, you're most welcome to come." Andrew asked as he wrote out a cheque and gave it to the funeral director.
"Yes, I think I'd like that very much."
"Right, I'll be off then, see you in the morning," and with that said, he was gone.
Amy sat down near the reception desk as Clare was shown through to the room where Rachel was. Only a few months had elapsed since Clare had found Uncle Bernard dead in his bed. Now she was about to look upon the face of the woman she loved for the final time, realising then, that apart from the undertaker, she would be the last person ever to set eyes on Rachel.
As Clare entered the room she felt her heart sink and become a leaden lump in her chest - a heart which would remain forever broken. Sprays of fresh flowers were beautifully arranged in crystal vases that stood on small tables throughout the tastefully decorated room. Rachel would have liked it, Clare thought, remembering her friend's keen eye for detail.
On one table lay a box of tissues and an open Bible; on the opposite side of the room was Rachel's coffin, its lid propped up against the wall beside it. Claire read the inscription on the brass plaque:
RACHEL HAMMOND 1952 1997
She traced her fingers over the words and noticed something which had never occurred to her before; all the letters of her own Christian name appeared in Rachel's name too. This was what Clare had always wanted - for them to be part of each other.
Clare's tears began to fall in huge droplets, stinging her cheeks with their saltiness. Leaning over the coffin she uttered her goodbyes, kissing Rachel gently on the lips - something she had never dared to do when Rachel was alive. And now a kiss, stolen in death, was all there was - all there ever could be.
"Oh, Rachel, if I could breathe the life back into you I would," Clare cried in anguish, convinced that somewhere, somehow, her friend was aware of her presence. Clare ran her fingers gently through the long strands of Rachel's dark hair. Something she had dreamed about, but not under these poignant circumstances. Rachel looked beautiful, as if she were still sleeping; and that is how she had died, slipping silently away in the night as she had left the realm of dreams and crossed over into oblivion.
"If only you'd talked to me, Rachel, we could have been good for each other." Claire said, her voice shaking with emotion. She lost track of time and before long there came a gentle knock on the door. It was Amy telling her it was almost 8:00 pm.
"Goodbye Rachel, I'll never forget you and I'll always love you" Clare sobbed, giving her friend one final kiss. Shutting the door silently behind her she ran straight into Amy's arms - the arms of a woman who now loved her as much as she had loved Rachel.