Hauptmann Ernst visited our house last night. He was with Jürgen Bergmann and Hans Schmidt. They were very noisy, and it was just like two years ago when it was the Apokries festival and Lydia’s papa and my papa had too much Metaxa. They were behaving exactly the same, so I knew the German soldiers were drunk. Hans Schmidt was even singing!

  It was quite late, and I was doing some colouring in my bed before Mama told me to go to sleep. Maria was lying on her bed, too, but she wasn’t talking to me, as per usual. Dimitris was out somewhere with his friends, also as per usual. There was a banging on the front door. When I looked out of the window, I saw Jürgen Bergmann and Hans Schmidt leaning against one of the olive trees. Both of them were smoking. I could see the lit ends of the cigarettes’ bright orange, and I could see their faces a bit and especially Jürgen Bergmann’s white teeth every time he laughed. Maria came and watched them next to me. I asked her if she was Jürgen Bergmann’s girlfriend, but she told me to shut up and mind my own onions.

  From downstairs, I could hear Mama talking to Hauptmann Ernst. He was probably asking for more eggs as they are his favourite. His voice sounded very loud, and that was when I realised he was actually in the house and not just standing on the doorstep. And Mama’s voice was loud, too, and she didn’t sound very happy with him at all. She was shouting at him in Greek, and he was answering in German, so I don’t think either of them were communicating very clearly with each other. And then there was a loud thump, and Mama made what sounded like a scream, although I’ve never heard Mama scream, so I wasn’t sure. But suddenly I felt very scared. I told Maria I wanted to go downstairs and see what was happening, but she dug her fingers really hard into my arm and said that if I didn’t stay where I was, she would hurt me even more.

  So I stayed at the window, and Maria went to the top of the stairs. I tried to concentrate on watching Jürgen Bergmann smoking and laughing but I kept on hearing Mama. She was in the room below with Hauptmann Ernst—we’ve only got one room downstairs—and the ceiling is not very thick, which is good when I want to hear what her and Papa are talking about but sometimes bad, like when Lydia and me are playing our secret games upstairs and don’t want anyone to know. This was one of the bad times because it sounded like Mama was crying a bit and Hauptmann Ernst was lifting up something really heavy, like maybe helping Mama move the dresser and chairs around because he was grunting and sounding really out of breath.

  I put my hands over my ears and looked down at Jürgen Bergmann, and he looked up at me and pointed me out to Hans. They both waved, and then Jürgen Bergmann pulled some funny faces. But I didn’t want him to pull faces, I wanted him to go inside and tell Hauptmann Ernst that it was time to go because my mama didn’t sound very happy at all, and he’s had enough eggs from us for this week—we’re running out ourselves.

  Vagia, May 7th, 1942

  Mama has not been very well since Hauptmann Ernst came and has stayed in bed for two whole days. She’s never done that before, but Dimitris says she has eaten something mouldy which has made her sick. Maria says it is so bad she doesn’t want me to go into Mama’s room in case I catch it. So I do her some nice drawings, instead, of the tortoises we looked after when we went to stay at Auntie Agatha’s in the summer. Maria is looking after me, which is horrible because Maria is always grumpy and a rubbish cook.

  I’m staying away from Dimitris, too, because he’s even grumpier than Maria, and usually he’s so nice to me. Apparently, Dimitris won’t catch Mama’s sickness because he spent ages in her room last night. They were whispering, so I couldn’t hear, but I could tell Dimitris was talking about the German soldiers. The dresser is still in the same place in the sitting room, so Hauptmann Ernst must have been moving something else. The old wooden chest maybe, that’s quite heavy, although it is still against the wall, so maybe they changed their minds and moved it back again.

  At least Dimitris has stayed at home for the last two nights, which is nice. And he even made some lokma with lots of sugar that he got from one of his friends in Aegina town. After that, I sat on his lap and he read me a story before bed. I’m a bit old for stories, but I didn’t mind because he does funny voices and makes up silly things that the characters don’t actually say in the real version of the books. I asked Dimitris if he knew how the heart worked, but he just laughed and said no, not really. He said if he knew that, then he’d have a girlfriend by now. I’ve decided when I’m old, I’m going to be a teacher so that I know lots of stuff.

  Max

  I should have put the book aside sooner and turned out the light earlier. Knowing Henry, the following day is going to be all-consuming, requiring my brain to be firing on all cylinders. And time spent away from the book might help lend some perspective, as the slim volume certainly packs a punch. Nonetheless, I continue reading well into the night.

  The first few pages are straightforward, written by a Greek journalist, who gives a summary outline of the German occupation of Aegina during World War Two. It contains nothing I don’t already know, having spent much of my childhood on the island and explored the numerous lookout posts with Georgios.

  The remainder of the book is made up of various first-hand accounts of life under unwelcome German rule. Before I turn in for the night, I read a fascinating section written by a young Greek chap, barely out of his teens, who had a German mother and thus spoke the language fluently. He was therefore widely employed as a translator by the occupiers, especially during the first few months when they were setting up camp and negotiating supplies with local businesses. How much choice he had in the matter of assisting them is unclear. Of course, the verb ‘to negotiate’ implies mannered financial transactions. Reading between the lines, he suggests the interactions were frequently more hostile, and the Germans basically took what they fancied. But he had free rein exploring the new German bases, and part of his account lists the rank and names of all the officers with whom he came into contact while stationed at the naval base in Tourlos and in the makeshift headquarters in Aegina town.

  And this is where I begin to pay closer attention. One of the names listed, a junior officer it would seem, was named Bergman (without the extra ‘n’, so I don’t know if it is a misspelling) which is interesting, although he never mentions him again in his entire writings, so I’m guessing he was fairly insignificant. Both Bergman and Bergmann are reasonably common German surnames, but it does start me wondering whether this Bergmann could be the beginning of the story I’m seeking. The Manolas family have disliked mine for more than the numbers of years I’ve been alive—maybe it goes back as far as the second world war. I’m going to have to read on to find out.

  *

  If a random selection of people were asked to define the role of the venture capitalist in modern western society, answers would probably range from ‘no idea, it’s something to do with making money, isn’t it?’ to ‘they take failing companies, strip them of their assets, and then sell aforementioned assets at vast profit for themselves.’ I’m hoping the latter cynical viewpoint is entirely a misrepresentation because I’m praying they also stump up vast wodges of cash to hapless individuals like me who present them with crazy ideas.

  “So, I do have a few questions for you, Max,” says Henry gravely after I outline my pie-in-the-sky plans for the development of the old civic building in Aegina town. Yes, that’s right. I’m going to persuade a bunch of rich, savvy people—Henry and Charlie’s boyfriend Guy especially—to give me enough money to turn the old town hall on Aegina port into Greece’s number one luxury holiday destination. How hard can it be?

  Henry has done some back-of-a-fag-packet calculations while I’ve been talking, and I’m trying to read them upside down. Yikes, each sum seems to have a hell of a lot of zeros following the pound sign. I brace myself for one of his withering looks and a tedious lecture on European economics and how it relates to individual financial prudence.

  “How much capital do you personally have to invest, Max?”

  I hand over copies of my latest bank and investment statements, hastily printed off by my accountant. Henry seems quite impressed, but he shouldn’t be; for all my attempts at maintaining a playboy lifestyle, I work bloody hard and took his advice about employing a trustworthy accountant right from the start. More to the point, I don’t have any time to spend my earnings.

  This meeting is going much better than I anticipated; Henry is a complete pussycat.

  “Do you have any knowledge of the hotel business, Max?”

  “Apart from staying in lots of them, er…no.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of the night club business, Max?”

  “Apart from performing in hundreds of them, er…no.”

  “Do you have any knowledge of the restaurant business, Max?”

  “Apart from eating in thousands of them, er…no.”

  “Should I bother asking if you have any knowledge of the health spa business, Max?”

  “Er…probably not, Henry, no.”

  And so it goes on, all the weaknesses in my hare-brained scheme painfully exposed. I stand corrected; I’m revising Henry’s middle name from Solid to Bastard-Git, and he’s a tiger not a pussycat. He remains impassive throughout, yet my mention of Guy and his tentative expression of interest in the project raises an approving eyebrow. And Georgios, of course, he knows well and has expressed a fondness both for the man and his cooking. He admires most people with a strong work ethic, whether they are digging roads or plotting world domination.

  The day is interminable, and Henry is relentless; at one point, I find myself almost putting my hand in the air to ask if I can go to the toilet. My persistently rumbling stomach he ignores entirely.

  But at the end of ten hours, when I’m just about ready to tell him to forget I ever mentioned my foolish idea, he holds up the notes he’s been meticulously writing, hands them over to me, and says, “This is a list of questions I want the answers to by the end of the week. Come back next Monday, and we’ll decide where to go from here.”

  The old me would have gone straight to the nearest bar to celebrate, got jacked up on cheap cocktails, and then hooked up with an unsavoury but available man and tried to avoid catching a sexually transmitted disease. The new, improved, focussed me? I go home, FaceTime the love of my life, order a takeaway, and get to work.

  Vagia, 10th May, 1942

  Mama is out of bed but still looks poorly. She’s not eaten very much and just looks really sad. I hope I don’t catch it. I think she misses Papa.

  Jürgen Bergmann came to see Maria again last night. He walked here on his own, and she slipped out after tea. She told Mama she was going to see one of her friends from school, but she could have said she was going to the moon because Mama hardly noticed she had gone. I’m not very happy with Maria because she grabbed my arm again really tightly before she left and told me that if I told Dimitris about Jürgen Bergmann, then she would get the big scissors out of the dresser drawer and chop all my hair off! She would as well, so I stayed out of Dimitris’s way, too, so that I don’t have to lie. I don’t know what time Maria came back because I was asleep.

  *

  Dimitris has got bored of hanging around the house and gone into Aegina town to stay with his friends for the night. I wish I could go with him because I’m bored too. Mama still seems very sad and isn’t speaking very much, and Maria is just being weird. So I’m glad I’m keeping this diary because it is giving me something to do, although it is probably very dull to read because nothing ever happens! Imagine if I was an explorer or a princess or even a pirate! At least I would have something to write about every day because I think every day would feel like a new adventure. Vagia is the most boring place in the world.

  Mr Kleftis has given me his atlas to borrow for a bit, so I’ve got a ruler and my crayons and am copying out some of the country flags and colouring them in. I have made sure that each rectangle is exactly the same size as all the others and am writing the name of the country underneath each one. I should have probably started doing them in alphabetical order, but it’s too late now. I’ve finished a whole page of them, and they look very pretty. My favourite flag is the flag of Argentina, which is a country in South America, because it has a lovely big yellow sun in the middle with a smiley face on it. The capital of Argentina is Buenos Aires, but I don’t know how to say it properly.

  Maybe I’ll be an explorer when I grow up, not a teacher. Or maybe a teacher who explores and comes back and teaches everyone else about where I’ve been and what I’ve discovered. So perhaps keeping this diary is good practice for when I am exploring. And I’ll definitely never be a princess. and I shouldn’t think I’ll ever be a pirate either, not unless Mr Kleftis and I get the big boat he wants.

  Hauptmann Ernst knocked on the door when it was very late. I know it was him because I was nearly asleep, but his knocking woke me up and I looked out of the window. Nobody else knocks as loudly as him; his knock is like his voice—angry and sharp. Although he was much quieter this time, probably because Mama let him in without shouting at him first. He stayed for ages. I couldn’t hear him talking much, nor moving the furniture. I really wish he wouldn’t visit.

  Vagia, 13th May, 1942

  Today started out quite nicely and then became a bit nasty. Maria offered to take me and Lydia to swim by the rocks down at Nisida after school. It is our favourite swimming area. but it is quite close to the German base at Tourlos. Since the German soldiers decided to live here, Mama doesn’t let us go there on our own because she says ‘you’ll never know who you might meet hanging around,’ and so we haven’t been for ages. And most of the soldiers we see, apart from Jürgen Bergmann and Hans Schmidt, are often very drunk, so I think it is probably good advice. Men are weird when they are drunk. They say and do silly things.

  Anyway, Maria took us, and she sat by herself on the end of the beach whilst we swam. The sea is still a bit cold at this time of year, but it was such a treat that we stayed in the water for ages until Lydia’s teeth were chattering and my hands were all wrinkly.

  When we got back to the beach, Maria wasn’t on her own at all; she was sitting with Jürgen Bergmann! I don’t know how he managed to find us here. Lydia said they must have planned it, like one of the special club meetings that me and Melia and Lydia sometimes have when we meet up in the woods and pretend to be on a secret spying mission.

  The nasty bit of the afternoon was watching Maria kiss Jürgen Bergmann. Gross! It went on for ages and ages and was really disgusting. Very slobbery. Lydia says she once saw her brother kissing like that but at least that was kissing his wife! I’m not sure I’m ever going to let a man kiss me, not on the lips anyway and not all slobbery like that. It looks really wet, and what if he doesn’t taste very nice? Papa sometimes kisses me after he’s had a cigarette, and it tastes horrible. But at least it only lasts a second; this went on for hours, and Jürgen Bergmann smokes lots of cigarettes! Maria got cross when she saw we were watching them and told me not to tell Mama or she wouldn’t bring us here again. Jürgen Bergmann wasn’t cross at all though. He just laughed and gave us a big slab of chocolate to share, which was nice of him. He has a funny laugh, all German sounding, I suppose, like the noise our goat made when the dog from down the road got into the pen by mistake.

  Jürgen Bergmann seemed happy, so I asked him if he would bring me one of his buttons next time. I think he understood because he laughed again and said he’ll ‘see what he can do.’ That usually means ‘no’ with grownups, but you never know, maybe Germans are different.

  Georgios

  I have no clue what I should wear for a drum and bass DJ set performed by one of Europe’s biggest drum and bass DJ’s at one of Athens oldest afteradika. I was sort of hoping Max had forgotten he’d invited me, but his short text message instructed I was to present myself at the night club around midnight, tell the bouncer my name, and I would be royally looked after. The text ended with a line of kisses, three pink hearts, and a winking face, which makes me wonder whether Max’s phone has been hijacked by a fifteen-year-old girl.

  I settle on black jeans and a faded blue T-shirt with three colourful toadstools on the front. I have no clue as to what they signify, but it’s comfy, and I don’t look like I’ve made too much of an effort. My hair is too long and needs cutting, but I think Max likes it that way, so I’ve avoided my mother’s scissors. I don’t need a coat, as the night air is still warm, and I don’t actually own one anyway. I have no overnight bag either, as I can’t afford to waste money on a hotel, so my plan is to get the first bus back to Piraeus in the early hours and then hang around for the dawn ferry back to Aegina.

  On the boat trip over, I realise I’m bloody nervous. The last few weeks have been so eaten up by work I haven’t had too much time to think about everything, but now that I’ll be seeing Max again in a couple of hours, I’m beginning to wonder whether I’ve made a colossal mistake in coming to the club. Or whether he thinks he has by inviting me. For better or worse, the two contrasting spheres of his life are about to collide.

  My relationship with Agnes fizzled out pretty quickly after Max left. By pretty quickly, I mean I ended it the next morning. None of my girlfriends have ever lasted more than a couple of months, and it’s not surprising really, not now. I’d walked through this sort of stuff like a zombie; I was having girlfriends because that was what all my mates were doing. But if I’m honest with myself, I never truly understood how they could rave about sex like it was the best thing ever, whereas I vaguely pondered whether I was doing it right because I never felt the need to repeat the act very often. While all my mates couldn’t seem to get enough of it, I could absolutely take it or leave it.