‘We mustn’t build our hopes up, Sophia. If Eléni is buried in there, it’s been over twenty-four hours now. I’m afraid you must prepare yourself for the worst. Why don’t we go back to the shelter?’
Sophia drew her mouth into a straight line, shaking her head. ‘No. Her mother would want me to stay. Poor little thing — she has no one now. She has no other family here, her mamá told me. I’m staying to the end.’
Cassia knew there was no persuading Sophia to leave until the men brought the little girl out... dead or alive. She wouldhave to stay too. She would forgo registering with the Red Cross until this was all over. She squeezed her eyes tight to prevent tears from rolling down her cheeks. She prayed to St Gerasimos to keep them all safe from future tremors and for Eléni to be brought out alive.
Together, the sailors lifted each piece of masonry and heavy wooden joists with care. Something jumped out at them with a screech and scattered dust as it fled the scene.
Tom stepped back. ‘What was that? Oh, a ruddy cat! The noise wasn’t a child then.’
People started to drift away as the hours passed. It was over seven hours since the last two bodies had been retrieved. The pile of rubble diminished as the men filled barrows with what remained of the demolished house. Cassia noticed a smartly dressed man with a notepad in hand across the street from where she and Sophia were standing. He stopped people as they moved away, talking to them and writing down what they had to say.A reporter! How dare he come here to our town, our island, cashing in on our catastrophe!She clenched her fists so hard her broken nails dug into her palms. He crossed to stand by Cassia.
‘Kaliméra, I’m Rhodri Jones, chief reporter from theCeltic Chroniclein Wales. And you are?’ Before the question was out of his mouth, Cassia glared at him.
‘You have no right to be here, watching our suffering! Watching our misery! I have nothing to say to you. Go away! Or better still, put your notepad down and get in there and help those sailors who are looking for a little girl buried under hundreds of tons of rubble.’ She surprised herself at the force of her voice.
Rhodri Jones stood back from her and put up his hands in front of him. ‘Hey, hey, stop. I’m just doing a job I was sent to do. It’s far from invading your privacy. The more the rest of theworld knows about this catastrophe and the devastation on the island, the more help and aid will be sent here. And Iwillhelp if I can.’ He spoke in perfect Greek with a mere hint of an accent. He put out his hand. ‘Can we call a truce, Miss...?’
Warmth travelled along Cassia’s neck. She took his hand. ‘It’s Mrs Cassia Makris. I’m sorry. I hadn’t thought of it like that.’
Tom came over to them. ‘What was all that about?’ He looked at the notepad in Rhodri Jones’s hand. ‘Oh, a reporter.’
‘I thought the same as you. But Mr Jones insists the more the rest of the world knows about us, the more help we’ll get.’
Tom didn’t look convinced. ‘If you say so. Sorry, I came to tell you I think we’re going to have to call it a day. There’s nothing left in there. Will you explain to your friend?’
How am I going to tell Sophia?thought Cassia.
Rhodri Jones handed Cassia his notepad and took off his jacket. ‘One more try, eh, old boy?’
Tom looked exhausted. He and his fellow sailors had been digging non-stop all day.
‘Right. One more.’
The two men left them and began tackling the heap of stones.
It was just Cassia and Sophia left waiting. Time dragged. It was silent apart from the occasional talk of the men working to clear the house.
‘Over here!’ It was the cultured voice of the reporter. ‘We’ll have to be very careful as we lift this piece of wood from under those blocks of masonry. It looks like a door has fallen and then part of a wall.’
‘What have you got?’ shouted Tom.
‘I can see a tiny hand. A child’s hand. Poor little mite.’
Chapter Three
Cassia hugged Sophia, who looked confused. The two men were speaking in English, so she had no idea what they were saying.
‘They’ve found her, Sophia. They’ve found her.’
The old lady let out a scream of pure delight.
Looking at the expression on Sophia’s face, Cassia wondered if she’d been premature in telling her friend the news. What if it was the child’s body they’d found, not the living little girl of whom Sophia spoke so fondly? How was she going to deal with it? She put her fingers to her lips so she could hear what the men were saying.
‘That’s it. You hold her head while my mate and I lift this door away from her chest,’ said Tom. ‘It looks bad, bless her. The wood has splintered and cut deep into her arm. I don’t think there’s any wood left in the wound, though. After three — one, two, three.’
Cassia heard a child’s whimper. Her heart raced as she imagined how frightened the little girl must be.
‘There, there,agápi mou. We’ve got you now.’ It was the reporter’s voice soothing the young victim.
