Sofka Zinovieff - Putney

She arrived at work energised and warm. Locking up her bike, she waved at some drivers standing outside the minicab company on the other side of the road. Jelly was already in and, as Daphne came through the door, mouthed ‘Morning’ from her desk where she was making a phone call. ‘Good morning, Angelica Frank here from Hellenic Heaven.’ They had a loyal, if ageing clientele who appreciated the ‘bespoke’ touch when searching for villas or cruises in the Ionian Islands. None of them would guess that this groomed professional with strawberry-blonde curls, azure eyes and perfect skin had once had a ferocious heroin habit. And they would certainly not imagine that Daphne had originally been Jelly’s sponsor at a Hackney branch of NA. They had spent some long, testing nights together.

Computer on, shuffle some papers, listen to phone messages. She did all this without thinking and forgot to write down the details of the messages. It was hard to summon any enthusiasm. As soon as Jelly was off the phone, she’d give Daphne a list of tedious tasks. There was just time for a quick message to Jane.

Good morning, Janey

Thank you for taking the risk and coming. I loved seeing you again after so long. I feel we have so much to say. Shall we concoct a plan?

Lots of love, D

This burgeoning friendship looked full of promise to her, as though their distant past gave it extra heft and value. Over the years, she had fallen out of touch with a number of friends, especially after Libby was born, and while she’d once been close to Jelly, the daily grind of following her orders at work had eroded that. Given Daphne’s potential for calamity, she had to admit she did pretty well out of the agency, even if it was dull as congealed porridge. Her boredom sometimes had the urgency of an unbearable itch, but she usually had some sewing squirreled away in her bag. Today, there were some small pieces of fabric to stitch in quiet moments – yellow, silken sunrays, which would pierce the clouds in Putney .

‘See if you can sort out our listings for Corfu and Paxos today, OK? We need to know if the Thalassa apartments are going to be available.’ Jelly was striding about in heeled boots. ‘We’ve already got so many bookings there, you’re definitely going to have to be around as back-up.’ Apart from a salary, Hell provided another advantage. Each summer she spent several weeks in an unused flat or even a small villa, so as to be on-hand for clients. Libby went along too. They had fun, even if morning beach trips and afternoon siestas were liable to be interrupted by someone calling about a septic tank overflowing. There were occasional disasters that required the police and even the British Consulate in Athens – an elderly woman who had died on a yacht or a husband who had scarpered. Daphne had heard Libby tell Chloe that she had already lived in seven different homes around London by the time she was twelve, not to mention dozens of places in Greece in the summer. Well, nothing wrong with seeing a bit of the world.

It was during recent Hell-subsidised, ‘working’ summers that Daphne realised she had completely recovered from Constantine. She no longer broke into a feverish cold sweat when she thought of him. Memories of his cruelty no longer gripped her like migraines. She gradually regained her affection for Greece from before her marriage, and a couple of times she and Libby went to Aegina to stay with one of her three maternal aunts who had taken over the family’s holiday house.

Occasionally, the secret trip with Ralph would flash into her mind, provoking a physical quiver of excitement. After their Greek journey, he had written Ithaka , a piece for orchestra and six bouzoukis. It was based on their time together, he said. On the sense he’d had of arriving home when they got to the island – like Odysseus after his long voyage. It was all about his longing for her. ‘I couldn’t call it Daphne on Aegina ,’ he laughed. ‘But that’s what it is.’ He and his music were part of her. The notes had fused with her growing body. Travelling to Greece with him was also something that had formed her. It was internalised, essential as bone marrow.

The early-morning sun was already turning savage as the taxi hared down Syngrou Avenue towards the silver glare of the sea. Ralph held her hand, tracing patterns and beating gentle rhythms she imagined were some tune he was remembering or creating. A lack of breakfast and the smoke from the driver’s cigarette were making her queasy and she was nervous at the potential for mishap in the plot to use her grandmother’s house on Aegina.

They tried to get the story straight in case her relations got in touch: they would say that Jane had been travelling with them on the Magic Bus and had left to join her family in Corfu. Daphne had rung Yiayia from London. They still weren’t quite sure of the dates, she told her, but would it be all right if the three of them went to Aegina? It would be for a couple of days. Yiayia was unconcerned. ‘Just contact kyria Lemonia and she’ll leave a key under the stone.’ She herself would be in Crete with relations and would see Daphne later in August. They were all to meet up on Poros, where Aunt Athena, the oldest of Ellie’s three sisters, had a house. Daphne experienced a mix of guilt, dread and pride from her involvement in this web of deception and adultery. She wondered whether it was technically adultery. If not, it probably soon would be.

It was still before eight when they reached the port at Piraeus and their ferry was not due to leave for half an hour. A salty breeze brought whiffs of ship’s fuel and rotting rubbish, but even the less appealing odours summoned memories of other summer departures and expanded Daphne’s spirit. This time, the familiar anticipation of sea travel was combined with the dangerous elements of love and desire – a new game of joy and pain that was so intense it sometimes frightened her.

They sat on a bench under a dusty tree, legs pressed together, and she looked at him, wondering if she could ask what would become of them. She longed to discuss this incredible thing that was happening, but Ralph never tried to analyse their relationship. There was no attempt to put it within a larger context or make sense of it. They just existed. The secrecy and the lack of vocabulary to describe what they were doing made it all the more powerful, as if the concentrated emotions were never diluted by being spoken about or revealed. Even Jane (the only person who knew something) was hardly sympathetic to the subject and Daphne avoided confessing more than necessary.

Daphne bought koulouria from an old man standing unsteadily by his barrow and they ate them, shedding crumbs and sesame seeds on their clothes. A dusty, mustard-coloured dog dragged itself over and sat staring at them, close enough to be obvious, but far enough away that it couldn’t be kicked. She threw pieces to their observer, which caught each one with an accurate snap and trembled with anticipation for the next. A couple of itinerant salesmen meandered up touting cheap sunglasses and plastic cigarette lighters in unusual shapes. Daphne copied her mother’s reaction by holding up a hand, raising her eyebrows and making the ‘Tsssst’ sound for ‘No’. Surprisingly, it worked and they drifted away.

After being allowed to board, they established themselves on the ferry’s upper deck, placing their belongings under a slatted bench and spreading out along its length. Seagulls looped and flicked between the two blues of sea and sky. On leaving the port, the ferry let out a large hoot and Daphne screamed, nuzzling into Ralph’s side, holding on in mock terror longer than the real fright lasted. She wanted to be engulfed, swallowed up, to never let go. It hurt, even if she would not admit that to him.