30
The scent of things to come
Thessaloniki, June 1983
The moment Eleni hung up the phone, it was like reality hit her in the face. She had indeed taken the aspirins, thirteen little white pills swimming slowly down her oesophagus and into the lining of her stomach. Suddenly, she was struck by how alone she was in the house. She spotted her lunch sitting on the kitchen table untouched; a covered plate with a piece of crusty bread wrapped in a napkin next to it. Her stomach gurgled. Was it her imagination or had this gurgle come along with some soreness, a warning of worse pain to come?
The silence hit her like a deafening noise inside her head. She was utterly alone, she and her body completely vulnerable to the little pills. She lifted the handset in an almost robotic motion and diall
