The Telling Time : A Historical Family Saga Read online

  ‘Really?’ Luisa stares at Nikola. Her mind races and all she can think about is how stupid they’ve been. ‘Where’s his tata? On the farm?’

  Nikola jerks his head towards Kosta. ‘We don’t talk of him.’

  ‘Come,’ says Kosta, gesturing for them to follow. He leads them down the hallway, past the kitchen, and flicks a light on in a small bedroom. Luisa lets go of her breath upon seeing their packs propped in the far corner, to the side of a wide bay window. ‘See, all good,’ says Kosta, patting his stomach.

  High up by the ceiling, the wallpaper peels away in places but the wooden floorboards gleam. Luisa smiles. She wonders whether they use methylated spirits, like Mum does, my secret weapon. Heavy brown curtains hang either side of a lace screen and two single beds are lined up with just the narrowest gap between. Luisa knows which bed will be hers — the one furthest away by the bay window. She prefers a wall alongside and it makes no difference to Bex.

  ‘We go to the cafe now,’ says Nikola. ‘In the town.’

  Kosta smiles and stretches his bear arm to drape it around Nikola’s shoulder. Luisa and Bex exchange looks. Luisa feels conflicted but maybe it will be safer with others than alone in this house in the middle of nowhere.

  ‘Five minutes to freshen up?’ says Bex, holding up her hand, her fingers spread. ‘See you back in the lounge?’

  ‘Yes. Good,’ says Nikola, turning to leave with Kosta.

  Once they’ve gone Luisa crashes onto her bed. Bex sits beside her.

  ‘What job starts this late?’ Luisa whispers. ‘And what’s with the dad?’

  ‘Not exactly the story they spun us,’ says Bex. ‘Those poor women! What a crap life having to go to work now. I’m embarrassed they had to run around after us. Come on, though. It’ll be a chance to party with the locals.’

  ‘Don’t expect too much.’ Luisa is still annoyed that Bex decided for them about going out. ‘Do you think we should bail now? Go back to that hotel?’

  ‘Don’t be so paranoid. They’re harmless. Really. And Nikola is gorgeous, don’t you reckon?’

  Luisa shakes her head. Typical. ‘I did give him a second glance,’ she says. This conversation feels so unreal.

  Bex nudges Luisa with her shoulder. ‘Impressive! About time Mike’s knocked off his perch. Come on, then. We better get ready.’

  They change into their jeans but Luisa feels as though she has lost all control. Her mind races, wondering why Nikola and Kosta are friends since their personalities seem so different. There’s the age gap too, but perhaps she should cut Kosta some slack. It’s clear he’s had a rough time with his dad. She peers in the mirror, scrunching her spiral curls. She could do with freshening up, but a smear of lipstick will have to do. She doesn’t want to over-do it and give these guys the impression she’s made an effort.

  A wave of emotion catches her by surprise. Being in Yugoslavia among these strangers, the women on the street, Kosta’s mother with her manicured hair. It cuts at her heart. Luisa has lost the opportunity to meet Baba Ana, Mum’s mother, Luisa’s lookalike. She tried forging a connection with Baba on the phone but the combination of her thick accent, together with all the static and gaping time lapses, conspired against them. All that’s left are Baba’s birthday and Christmas cards — second-rate substitutes for what might have been.

  ‘What?’ Bex says, leaning in close to apply a touch of eyeliner. She’s wrapped the pretty scarf she bought in Turkey around her neck too, the one Luisa had spotted first.

  Luisa lets it go but the thought gnaws: if Mike was here, it would be so much easier.

  The streetlamps cast a warm glow over Bitola, and the sharp grey lines of the buildings seem softer, less austere. The damp air clings to Luisa’s face. It isn’t raining but fine droplets of mist dance in the suspended pockets under the streetlamps. She tails behind the others, crossing the pot-holed road to the cafe, a plain square building with huge windows stretching close to the pavement streaming with condensation.

  Kosta pulls open the heavy door. Here we go, thinks Luisa as a blast of hot air slaps her in the face. She’s wedged behind Kosta but can just see over his shoulder through the layers of smoke clutching the air like clouds, suspended over the Formica tables. The room heaves with men, drinking, laughing and shouting. A sole middle-aged woman wearing a bored expression seems to be responsible for the bar. An old-fashioned tape-deck blares beside her, competing with the cacophony. Kosta signals he’s going for some drinks.

  ‘This way,’ Nikola says, pointing towards a spare table at the rear of the room.

  They weave their way across with Nikola stopping to exchange greetings at nearly every table. Most of the men just stare, but one, an older man, his chin covered with a thatch of white stubble, leaps to his feet.

  ‘’Ello, ’ello,’ he says, bowing deeply and waving his black woollen cheese-cutter cap like a toreador. He clasps Luisa’s hand, pumping it up and down.

  ‘Please. My uncle Boris,’ says Nikola, slapping him on the back. Uncle Boris’ grin broadcasts a gaping hole where his front teeth should be.

  ‘Bootiful! Bootiful!’ he calls as Nikola herds them off.

  Luisa’s face is red-hot when they reach the table. She’s relieved to wriggle out of her sweatshirt but pulls back in disgust when her elbows stick to the tacky table-top. The built-up layers of grime are a vivid reminder of the student pubs at Otago University. Revolting. Kosta leans over to place a jug of beer and glasses down, the overflow adding to the grunge. He shoves the person seated behind him who moves, allowing him the room to sit. Nikola pours the beer and Kosta raises his glass.

  ‘U Zdravje!’ Kosta says, gulping down the contents and slamming the glass down. He pours himself another then reclines in his seat, lighting a cigarette. Luisa takes small sips. The beer’s too bitter for her liking: she much prefers a lighter style. Bex doesn’t seem to mind; she’s already knocked back most of her first glass. Nikola and Kosta lean their heads together, whispering.

  ‘Kiwi girls, they like the good time, no?’ Kosta raises his glass. ‘U Zdravje!’ He slugs back his drink again.

  ‘Cheers!’ says Bex, draining her glass. Nikola refills their glasses. Luisa just needs a top-up.

  ‘So you party on your travels?’ Nikola asks. ‘Here, we love to make fun.’

  ‘Why do you think we’re party girls?’ Bex rubs her fingers and thumb together in the universal money symbol. ‘Not enough of this to go wild but we’ve had some fun nights, eh Luisa?’

  ‘Plenty,’ Luisa replies, with a warning look.

  They haven’t eaten enough today and what they had at Kosta’s was just a nibble. Bex’s face is already colouring close to the shade of her coral T-shirt — not a good sign. But then, she seems to have her sparkle back. Luisa feels torn. Why not relax and have some fun? Ever since Samos, she has felt they’ve been holding back, that things have changed. ‘Tell one of your stories,’ she says. ‘The bathtub girl in New York, or that time we hitchhiked in Turkey.’

  ‘Tell Kosta about your special knife,’ says Nikola, beaming.

  Bex needs no further encouragement, throwing in actions to help. Kosta appears to be all ears and Nikola can’t keep his eyes off Bex. He seems entranced. No wonder, Luisa thinks, the way that scarf makes her eyes pop a brilliant blue. She tries to keep track of how often their glasses are being refilled and makes a point of covering Bex’s glass but she shoos her hand away. Bex seems totally engaged, laughing and chatting, but Luisa can’t get in the mood. Bex throws her the odd pointed look. It makes what Bex said back on Samos — about admiring Luisa and wanting to make changes — seem like filler, just empty talk.

  Luisa’s not sure what to believe but she envies Bex in this situation. It’s not just her spontaneity. Even if Luisa had been interested in flirting with Nikola she wouldn’t have stood a chance; it’s obvious he only has eyes for Bex. Sadness washes over her. These times. This ache. It still catches her by surprise. If only she and Mike were still together. Being princip
led is well and good but she worries she might never get over him. Nikola is cute, but what would be the point?

  Bex snorts with laughter over something Nikola has just said, then leans across to whisper in his ear. Luisa checks her watch: 9.45 p.m. Kosta seems to be contemplating something. Perhaps he’s making the same frustrating comparison between himself and Nikola? A folk song breaks through the din and everyone has started singing. Nikola and Kosta are up on their feet, clapping each other on the back, their voices booming forth.

  ‘Up, up!’ Nikola hauls Bex out of her seat.

  They signal for Luisa to stand too. She’s relieved to feel included, to be participating again rather than sitting back and observing. Kosta encourages them to clap along, and they do their best. Bex beams at her. This feels better, thinks Luisa, draping her arm around Bex’s shoulders. They sway and clap to the music, trying their best to join in on the chorus. Another popular song follows and Bex throws in some dance moves. Luisa follows her lead. Nikola and Kosta, and some of the men at the tables close by, encourage them. It’s fun, even in that confined space, to embrace the sense of freedom she always feels when dancing.

  Bex asks for water when they take their seats again. It’s still stifling hot and the dancing hasn’t helped. Luisa signals for the same. Bex turns her attention to interrogating Nikola and Kosta about their lives here. Luisa helps with the questioning and this feels better, as though she’s on an even footing. They learn that the connection between Nikola and Kosta is through their mothers who were school friends. Nikola’s dad died a few years back and he lives in a small flat with his mother. Kosta has been like a big brother to Nikola. Nothing more is mentioned about Kosta’s father, but his mother and sisters often work night-shifts at the garment factory to earn overtime rates — the bonus money is worth it when they meet certain deadlines.

  ‘Does your mother come out to the cafe?’ Luisa asks Nikola.

  ‘During the daytime. Yes. But our women are different to you western girls.’

  ‘What do you mean? They’d love it,’ says Bex, in all seriousness, patting his forearm, as though encouraging him to think more about the idea ‘You should ask them.’

  Nikola looks sceptical and frowns. Bex places her hand on top of his which Nikola then turns into a game, drawing out his hand and placing it over hers again. Bex whips her own hand from underneath and lays it on top. Challenging him. Laughing. A fast-paced game of who can slap their hand on top the fastest ensues. Bex gives up, dissolving into giggles.

  ‘Stop! Stop!’ she splutters. ‘Enough. You win. Drink time.’

  Luisa feels like thumping her to bring her to her senses. Kosta smirks at Bex then turns to Luisa. ‘You think the same? That my sisters would enjoy to drink here? For me they are best at home.’

  ‘They must get tired of that. Everyone enjoys a change,’ Luisa answers, not quite believing she’s even having this conversation.

  ‘It would make problems,’ says Kosta. ‘Life is different in your country. You are different.’

  A chill runs down Luisa’s spine. Bex will have to watch herself — this doesn’t feel like harmless banter. She tries to catch Bex’s eye, send her a warning look, but she seems determined to ignore her. Again Luisa questions whether she’s reading Bex correctly but it’s as though she’s lost the rational part of herself, her ability to judge and know what’s best. She tries reassuring herself but it’s hopeless. Nikola and Kosta have made their views clear and the TV shows would only perpetuate the myth that western women hold a different set of values. After all, they didn’t hesitate asking them along tonight. Luisa scouts the cafe again. There’s definitely just the one lady behind the bar. She remembers how those men on the street stared. Perhaps it wasn’t just the way they were dressed? Luisa feels like a scarlet poppy in this roomful of men.

  Luisa still feels completely sober when they head back outside at the end of the evening. It’s just after eleven-thirty and the street is deserted, making the others’ laughter feel too loud. Kosta’s mother and sisters should finish work soon, Luisa thinks, relaxing a little. The air stings her face and arms and she scrambles to pull on her sweatshirt. Kosta and Nikola stand to the side, their voices booming, their arms waving. Bex is in her own little world, dancing around, mimicking their movements, not seeming to notice the cold. She skips over to Nikola and reaches up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek. He smiles down and takes her hand. Everything feels out of place. Kosta points in the direction of the car before striding across the road. Bex and Nikola follow, still hand in hand.

  ‘Bex, wait!’ calls Luisa, hurrying to join them and desperate to sound some form of alarm. ‘He’s had way too much to drink! Maybe I should drive?’

  Even as her words spill forth she knows they are pointless. It’s the same at home where the men insist it’s their place to drive. Kosta stands waiting by the car, glaring. What choice does she have?

  ‘Lighten up! We’ll be right,’ says Bex, opening the back door and pulling Nikola in behind her.

  It feels odd climbing into the front seat. Luisa turns to check on Bex, who is snuggled next to Nikola, her head on his shoulder.

  ‘I don’t see any traffic,’ says Bex, holding her hand to her mouth as though stifling a laugh. ‘You?’

  Kosta grunts and turns the ignition. The Zastava roars to life, and Luisa stares out the side window trying to ignore the muffled noises from the back seat. She should have made more of an effort to slow Bex down on her drinking. It’s just as well they stuck to beer. The car is so tiny that her shoulder nearly touches Kosta’s; it doesn’t help he’s so broad. When he moves the gear stick, his hand brushes against her leg and she angles towards the car door. He huffs, and she worries again about the impression they are giving these guys. Bex isn’t helping. It’s all gone quiet in the back. Luisa sits rigidly, willing the farmhouse to appear, grateful that Kosta doesn’t appear to have difficulty driving although his breathing is deep, like a snort sometimes. When they turn into the driveway, the house is still in darkness. Kosta cuts the engine.

  ‘Will your mama and sisters be home?’ asks Luisa, still searching for any sign of light.

  Kosta shrugs. ‘I think so.’ He lumbers out of the car and points towards a building looming as a shadow to the side of the main house. ‘They sleep there.’

  Perhaps there is a pinprick of light? When she saw this building earlier she thought it was a long shed.

  ‘This mine house now,’ Kosta says, before striding off.

  Luisa hangs back until Nikola and Bex climb out of the car. The wind is cutting, sharp daggers of ice, and Luisa wraps her arms close to keep in some warmth. Nikola draws Bex close and Luisa follows them, their feet scrunching against the gravel path towards the back porch. It’s where they left from earlier. The kitchen leads off it, and a small bathroom. Luisa excuses herself, relieved to escape into the tiny bathroom. She can’t wait to get into her bed, can’t wait for this day to end. Even so, she has to force herself to walk back inside the house.

  Nikola and Bex are beside the Aga stove warming their hands. Kosta has planted himself midway along the narrow galley kitchen space, leaning against the bench, his feet jutting out blocking the through-way. It’s as though she’s being asked to walk the gauntlet to get past him and down the hallway to their room.

  ‘So, now,’ Kosta says, a smug look on his face. He rubs his hands together and beams. ‘Viski and cards?’

  Luisa is sure he realises it’s the last thing she wants. ‘Not for me, thanks,’ she says, conscious that her voice sounds clipped. She makes an effort to soften it. ‘Hey, thanks for a great night, but I’m shattered. Bex are you ready for bed too?’

  ‘Viski and cards sounds like fun,’ says Bex, grinning up at Nikola. ‘Come on, Luisa, stay and enjoy yourself.’

  ‘I’m knackered,’ says Luisa firmly. ‘Will you be okay, though?’ She wants to give Bex another chance to see reason and opt out.

  ‘I can look after myself. Don’t want these boys mi
ssing my card shark shills.’ Bex giggles and corrects herself. ‘Skills. I’ll be in later. See you in the morning. Sleep well, heh.’

  ‘Okay then. But only if you’re sure?’

  Luisa steps over Kosta’s legs, determined not to stumble. ‘Night, everyone,’ she says, turning back at the door, grateful she got through without incident.

  Luisa’s guilt prickles. She shouldn’t leave Bex by herself with these guys. But she gave Bex the choice and she’s chosen not to listen — just like the other times this evening when she blatantly ignored Luisa. Bex can fend for herself.

  She flicks the light switch in their room and pushes the door firmly shut. Seeing her pack propped in the corner fills her with a strange sense of homecoming, and when she kneels on the bed to draw the heavy brown curtains, this routine of preparing for bed calms her. Rustling through her pack she pulls out her toothpaste — her forefinger will have to be her toothbrush tonight — and the long T-shirt that doubles as a nightdress. After changing, she finds some tissues in her daypack and uses them to spit out the excess paste. Nearly there. She clicks the buttons on her digital watch to set an alarm, then uses the glow from her watch to guide her back to the bed. There’s no way they want to miss that bus. Still, she can’t settle. Will Bex be all right? Florina pops into her head. She wrenches herself back out of bed then inches alongside it until her hand finds her pack and the knife. It may be stupid, but it will help ease her brain. Back in bed she tucks the little red knife under her pillow.

  AUGUST

  Thursday

  Luisa awakes to footsteps, or maybe the door squeaking? She feels groggy, and her mind twists around the question of whether she even managed to nod off. The last thing she remembers is lying curled up, listening out for Bex. The light from the hallway shines in and she glances across. The other bed is still empty and for a split second she’s relieved — this must be Bex coming in now — but it’s Kosta’s bulk, backlit by the hallway light, and his distinctive shambling footsteps crossing the room. Luisa edges herself back against the headboard, her mind still fogged.