In front of my villa, I call through the car window to Zino and Christoph.
‘See you soon!’ I turn to Theo beside me. ‘Call me later? Or come over?’
He wraps me in his arms, kissing me with a passion that almost makes my knees buckle. Tasha’s advice to protect my heart is becoming a distant memory. My feelings are surging to the surface and I know he feels the same.
‘Of course.’ He pulls back, stroking my face.
The pang of longing makes my decision to catch up later rather than now almost falter.
‘Later, Sophie mou.’
Every time he says that, a frisson runs the length of my body. He jumps back into the car and they drive away.
Opening up the shutters inside, I find myself smiling. The silly grin of feeling wanted. No strings, no complications, just pleasure … Oh, who am I kidding? There are always strings, but I don’t want to be the arbiter of difficulties for Theo or, more importantly, myself. I push away any thoughts of my trip ending, choosing to exist in blissful denial for now.
Picking up my journal, I sit outside in the early evening sunshine, writing down some of the dishes from the mountainside taverna where we stopped for food. I reach for my phone. I must call Tasha in a moment to fill her in. Looking over photographs of lunch, I select a few for my Instagram, then scroll through the rest. One of Theo and me in front of the amphitheatre. A kissing selfie. Both of our eyes closed, sunlight highlighting cheekbones, glowing suntanned skin. I text it to him, smiling. We look good together.
A sudden knock at the door breaks me out of my couple goaling. Has the universe performed its usual trick of summoning Theo whenever I think about him? With cheerful expectation, I walk to the door and yank it open.
My happiness is extinguished in an instant, like a backhand across my face. My heart feels like it’s been ripped out. I begin to tremble, nausea churning. How is this possible?
Robert.
His face contorts with his attempt to smile.
‘Hello, Soph.’
I know the skewed expression well – the effect of alcohol on his face always registers after a few sips. One eye droops and his focus struggles to fix. But this is the result of more than just one drink.
‘Wh-what are you doing here?’ I stammer, gripping the door for support and blocking his way.
‘I didn’t hear from you and I was worried, so here I am,’ he slurs, grimacing. ‘Shouldn’t enable your location on social media.’
He stumbles a bit, tapping his head like he’s the detective of the century. I curse my stupidity. My smug Instagram posts led him straight to me. I didn’t think to turn the location off on my business account, but despite his obsessive nature and my darkest thoughts, I never thought he’d actually come here for me. He barges past, the door bouncing back off the wall as I’m pushed aside. I flinch as fear clutches my body, rendering me frozen to the spot.
‘You didn’t return my calls or messages. I have to speak to you, Soph. You weren’t that hard to find. I tried to phone you to let you know I’m here … Where is he, then?’
He opens the bathroom door, kicking it shut again, striding into the bedroom, banging and crashing as he goes. My blood runs colder. I posted a picture of Theo on the boat; he knows what he looks like. I begin to worry for Theo’s safety as well as my own. Robert stands in the middle of the lounge, swaying, his eyes ringed with purple from overtiredness and overindulging.
‘What a shithole. This where you’re staying?’
I don’t know how to reason with him, talk him down from his mood that threatens to become a jealous rage at any moment. I can’t provoke him, just hope he calms down so I can get him out of here. The next ten minutes, as I know from experience, will determine the turn things will take. But he can’t stay. I’m not putting up with this. I don’t have to any more – he has no right. I make towards the door, but he lurches at me and I take a step back. He grabs at my wrist and I feel his fingers tighten.
‘Soph, you have to listen to me. We need to talk. Come home. I’m only trying to help as your friend. I know you better than anyone.’
I struggle to release my wrist from his grasp, but I manage to snatch it away, rubbing the red marks he’s left. Panic grips at my gut. He looks down at his feet forlornly, his balance wavering. I don’t feel sorry for him and I don’t feel guilty. I find my voice, hoping to mask any waver that would spur him on to exploit my vulnerability.
‘But, Robert, I don’t know what you’re doing here. I need to be on my own. I don’t have to answer to you any more.’
His head snaps up and his blue eyes although brimming with tears flash with rage, my heart hammers harder, my breathing is shallow with fear. I won’t let him hurt me. I have to stand up to him.
‘But you’re not on your own, you’re with someone else. I’ve seen you.’
My bones ice – jealousy was the cause of one of our previous violent encounters. A meeting with prospective clients that went on longer than I thought. Me arriving home later than planned to find Robert in a drunken rage. Accusing me of being with another man, pushing me off the bed, knocking my head against the wall, bruising my arms, grabbing at me until he eventually passed out. I didn’t warrant that treatment then or deserve this now. We aren’t together – he has no right to know who I spend time with. I choose my words more carefully, speaking calmly and gently.
‘I’m here to have some space from everything, Robert, you know what I’ve been through.’
He slumps down on the sofa. If he were sober, he’d see my relief at the physical distance he puts between us.
‘What you’ve been through?! What you’ve been through? What about me? You cast me aside like I’m nothing, not a care for what we had, our baby, our future. Don’t you think I’m devastated by losing your mum, too? She was like my family.’ He holds his head in his hands and starts to cry noisily. ‘We were all one family. And now it’s gone.’
His shoulders shake as he sobs. Comforting him would give him hope, but I’m not immune to his distress. Of course he’s upset about my mum, but I won’t let him use it as leverage to lure me in.
‘I know it’s hard, Robert, God knows I do. But you can’t be here. It’s not fair.’
He lifts his eyes to mine, and I see genuine pain and hurt. I pull at the shredded skin around my thumbnail and it stings as I make it bleed.
‘I’m so sorry, Soph. Believe me, I’ve never regretted anything more than losing you. That I couldn’t support you through all this. Now, everything is broken. Can’t we try again, please?’ Desperation consumes his face as he begs. ‘Come back. I’ll stop drinking, I promise you. I can change. Only you can help me – I know you want to. You must still love me, even after all I’ve done.’
My brief moment of hesitation infuriates me. Despite the years of hurt at his hands, I don’t want to be responsible for inflicting further pain upon him. I feel vulnerable.
‘I don’t love you. I’m sorry, Robert. You have to leave.’
But there’s no attempt to get up from the sofa. He just sits there, stewing in his maudlin stupor.
‘I’m sorry I scared you last night. I saw you on the dock yesterday evening and followed you both to his house. I waited all night and then when you were walking on the beach. I desperately wanted to talk to you on your own. But I didn’t want him getting involved and I panicked. I didn’t want a confrontation. I just needed to reach you. But instead, I ran away. Just like you have.’
My earlier nausea at the shock of seeing him rises up and I run to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, just making it to the loo. My eyes stream as I vomit, utterly disgusted by the fact that he’d been prowling like some perverted peeping Tom. The figure I saw sprinting down the beach last night, I couldn’t quite make it out at the time, but I didn’t imagine it was him.
My retching stops as I have nothing more to purge and my empty stomach finally settles. I sit on the cold tiled floor, shaking uncontrollably. I can’t scream for help, nobody would hear me. I don’t have my phone. I’m trapped.
I hug my knees and sob silently in fury at my helplessness. I have to make this stop. Put an end to it in a way he understands. I hear Robert opening kitchen cupboards, then the fridge and the telltale clink of a bottle slamming on the side. He’s drinking more.
Eventually, after what seems like an age, everything falls quiet. It can’t have been that long, but I have no way of tracking the time.
A butterfly knocks against the lampshade on the ceiling, then finds its way over to the small frosted window. Pulling it open, I watch as it flies out, flitting up into the sunset sky, finding a pocket of air to lift it far and away. That’s what I need to do. I won’t be confined by Robert again.
I press my ear to the bathroom door. Silence. I slide back the bolt. Each millimetre of movement feels like a loud screech of metal. I’m so angry he’s dared to do this to me. Forcing himself into my holiday, ambushing me, proving all his protestations of change were false. It validates my leaving him. And now it’s time he understands there’s no way back for us. I will not hide in my own apartment like a frightened mouse.
I fling open the bathroom door, courage spurring me on. The terrace doors are still open, the curtains blowing inwards, and I see my phone out there on the table. The sofa is empty. He isn’t in the lounge. Then I see his feet hanging off the end of my bed and the low growl of snoring. He’s flat on his back, unconscious, holding one of my dresses balled up on his chest. I feel one last tug of sympathy before my anger blasts it away.
‘Robert, wake up. You have to go.’ I shake him firmly.
He stirs groggily, rubbing his bleary eyes, a hangover surely starting to kick in. He holds out his hand to me, but I push it away.
‘That’s enough, I mean it. Leave. Now.’
Tears stream down his face again and my patience to tolerate this has evaporated. I’m not afraid of his reaction any more. He can shout and scream, push me about, it doesn’t change how I feel. I hate myself for hiding in the bathroom, for displaying weakness when he is the weak one, not me.
I march back through the lounge and hold open the front door, watching him struggle to his feet. I’m surprised as he moves towards the door, but as he steps outside, he turns back. I hold the door firmly, standing my ground to ensure there’s no way for him to re-enter my apartment.
‘I’m sorry, Soph. For all of this, for everything.’ He runs his hands through his sandy hair.
I watch as his dimples I once loved so much appear on his cheeks as he tries to smile warmly.
‘I will prove to you that I can change, I promise.’
‘There’s really no point, Robert. What you do or don’t do doesn’t affect me any more.’
‘How can you say that and be so cold? After all we’ve been through together. And our baby. Don’t you think about our baby at all?’ he shouts, raising his voice in despair.
To hear him say those words wounds me. I’m fast draining of all my energy and resolve. He steps towards me, having successfully weaponised my pain, my most defenceless spot. His hands go to my shoulders and pull me towards him. I let him hold me. Somehow, his lips find mine. It takes a split second before my brain catches up with what’s happening.
‘Robert, no.’ I gently untangle myself from his arms, speaking quietly but firmly. ‘Please, you know it’s over – you have to accept that. Go home. There’s no point you being here. I won’t change my mind.’
My heart is thudding in my gut from my assertiveness, yet it doesn’t feel like a victory. His face flashes with fury and for a moment, I brace myself for the palm of his hand, unmoving from my stance. He isn’t used to me standing up to him and it shocks him into defeat. He backs away, wounded, crestfallen, the realisation finally hitting him that it’s finished. He lifts his chin, pride preventing further disgrace.
I watch him walk away as if nothing happened, moving briskly down the path. I exhale with relief and shake my head in disgust. As I touch my lips, I almost want to burst out laughing as I watch the tragic silhouette of my past merge with the distance. There’s no doubt for me that was goodbye. And to ensure it truly is, I’ll file a restraining order with the police in London. I’m done with giving him permission to treat me like this. There’s no way back for him and only forwards for me.
I find myself smiling with liberation as I lean against the door frame, even though I feel tears in my eyes. Looking up to the inky sky, I watch the clouds accept the pastel colours of the day’s end. Turning to go back inside, my eyes catch sight of a figure underneath the large olive tree in the front garden and my empty stomach falls back through the floor.
Theo. I don’t know how long he’s been there, but by the look on his face, long enough. It’s the only time I haven’t been dancing for joy to see him. The smile drops from my face and I take a step towards him.
‘Theo, I-I can explain.’
His jaw is set and his expression hard with wariness and suspicion. From his vantage point, I’m sure it looks bad, the very worst, but I need to tell him what happened.
‘Theo, it’s not what you think. That was Robert, my ex-fiancé. He just turned up here. But I told him to leave …’
Theo’s expression doesn’t alter.
‘Please, it isn’t how it seems.’
Theo takes a step back from me as I move towards him, still digesting all he thinks he’s seen.
‘I came here as I wanted to be with you, but I see you were busy with this other man.’
Theo’s voice is unrecognisable. The soft, tender voice that shared his most private thoughts with me is gone. He is stony, brimming with fury and betrayal. I’ve proved his innate mistrust of women in one mistaken moment.
‘Please, Theo, listen to me. It was him who was in your garden last night. Spying on us.’
I feel sick again, but this time out of anxiety. Theo has reason to doubt me – he can’t even look my way.
‘You make a fool of me, Sophie, of my heart. I let you in, have feelings for you. This I never do for this reason. I see you with this man who you say cause you pain and yet you kiss him. And I hear him talk of your baby. This child you have I did not know about.’
The hurt drips from his voice.
‘I don’t have a baby, you’ve misunderstood. And when he kissed me, I know it was wrong. I stopped it. This is all a mistake.’
‘If you have a family with this man, then it is wrong of you to be here with me.’ He shakes his head in disgust and starts to walk away.
My frustration mounts at his inability to understand me.
‘Theo, wait!’
But he keeps on walking. This is all unintentional. What was the point of telling Theo about my miscarriage? I’d talked about my mother’s death, he’d shared his painful loss, but why waste the remaining time we had raking through all of our baggage? He isn’t entitled to a share in each part of my past pain. I feel the pinch of anger. I’m being made to feel guilty. I won’t be tried for something that isn’t my fault.
‘Theo, listen to me!’
He stops and looks out towards the sea, anywhere but at me.
‘It doesn’t change who I am with you. Robert doesn’t mean anything to me.’
Theo turns slowly and finally meets my eyes. I want to hold him, to make it better, to tell him how wrong he is about all of this.
‘Sophie, there is never enough time to reveal who we truly are. I thought you trust in me. And I begin to trust you. But I see you with another. You have family together. This I hear him say and for me, I cannot be with you.’
His words are like a cut to the heart. I know what it costs him to trust a woman. His mother abandoned him for another man and through circumstances out of my control, he sees this as similar treachery.
‘But there’s no reason not to trust me. I don’t have a family with him. Robert is a drunk and he’s in my past. It’s over. You have to believe me.’
‘I see this man you tell me is bad and I was ready to protect you, if he hurt you, but then I see you kiss. And you stand there smiling. So it must not be over like you say. I have to go.’
He starts to leave. I feel any remaining fight leave me as tears replace my urge to explain myself time and again.
‘Fine, walk away,’ I call after him, exasperated by his refusal to listen.
The fire that burned between us is dimmed. Whatever this was, it is over. He’s lost his faith in me. I’ve not convinced him, fearful of the strength of my feelings. I’m angry and frustrated. Spitefully, I lash out.
‘It was all pointless coming here, thinking I could find my mum’s painting. All I’ve found is more heartache. I regret ever setting foot in this place.’
Theo turns back, his eyes flashing, glassy with emotion.
‘I am sad you feel that way. For me, I will never regret you being here. Goodbye, Sophie.’
He strides away and I stand alone amid the emotional wreckage, my throat sore with tension, tears streaming. I don’t want this to end. I care about him too much. I shout after him.
‘Theo, I didn’t mean that. I didn’t mean us.’
But it’s too late. He’s deaf to my words, the damage is done. I let him walk away.
* * *
The lowering sun reflects its colours like it’s dismantling the sky. I have no wish to capture this moment on camera, it’s tinged with such sadness. Fading sunbeams collide with clouds that turn the brightest orange, as if they’re on fire. Like the world is being scorched, wiped clean with flame, so new life can begin. Like starting from scratch. Again.
The ups and downs of emotions have all but wrung me out. If only I could cast my feelings aside and wade through the turmoil of grief and nothing else. But it’s all interconnected. Theo and Robert have invaded my mind space and they’ve interrupted the point of this trip: to find Mum’s lost work so I can grieve for her.
I message Tasha.
She’ll be furious about Robert, I know, but I need to speak to someone about this. And she was the only one who knew about the true toxicity in our relationship.
I know this is a solo voyage and she can’t mourn in my place, as much as she wishes she could, or magic away my hurt as I would for her. But if all goes to plan and the gods answer my prayers, she’ll have a little one to attend to soon, and less room to deal with my problems.
Despite my genuine hope and anticipation of joy at her IVF working, a pang of sadness lurks within me at the loss of my own baby and whether or not I’ll ever find someone to experience that with. Theo is perfectly secure with his outlook, not wishing for a family or for children, letting his past shape his future. But despite the heartache of miscarriage, I’m not willing to give up on love and forgo bringing a baby into the world if I can. It’s part of who I am and who I want to become, and I refuse to hide any more. From Robert, Theo, the staring man. Anyone.
* * *
Tasha’s face is the epitome of shock. Her blue eyes wide as she digests what I’ve said. Tears came for both of us as I regurgitated some of the grimmer moments of Robert’s visit.
‘The maddest thing is that during all the hideousness, I finally realised I’m not afraid of him any more. Yes, all right, I may have come to that conclusion hiding in the bathroom, but I was in total denial when we were together. I didn’t see how repulsive his behaviour was. But seeing him out of context in Greece was like shining a spotlight on him. And it was ugly.’
‘I can’t believe him! Well, I can, but who does he think he is? He didn’t lay a finger on you, did he?’
It was so surreal to be having this conversation. But the catharsis in saying all this out loud feels powerful, like discarding a rotten skin and taking back control.
‘No. You’d have been proud of me. I’ve had an epiphany. Maybe Methoni has finally given me perspective to see things clearly. His abuse, whether it was once or a hundred times, is unacceptable and I hate myself for letting so much slide. I know I deserve better and the courage that had deserted me before is now locked in for keeps. I’m filing a restraining order when I get home.’
‘Thank God!’ Tasha shouts. ‘You do deserve better – the best. It’s been so hard watching you go through all that pain, knowing he was mistreating you, but you wouldn’t hear it. It’s like you began to believe that was how a normal relationship worked. Treading on eggshells, afraid you’d upset him all the time. I was furious he turned up at your mum’s funeral, but the gall of him to come to Greece totally hammered and perving outside Theo’s house beggars belief!’
‘Well, things with Theo are over. It’s all a big mess, really.’
‘Theo will come round, won’t he?’
‘I don’t know, Tash. I need space, so does he. Would you be so forgiving if you caught someone kissing their ex, no matter how uninvited that kiss really was? And I need some distance to work out if I want to go plunging back into whatever was going on.’
‘Well, you’re almost half way through your trip, so maybe just leave it – you’ve already been through enough. You’ll have to see what the fates have in store.’
‘Oh, I’ve had just about enough of fate and spirits clouding my judgement. Making me think everything is significant when it isn’t. His tattoo is a classic example …’
‘Now that, I have to admit, is the strangest thing to happen so far in your catalogue of drama.’
‘See, that’s the thing. I came here to find a painting and now look at it all. I still haven’t found it and everything else has turned into a giant bloody epic.’
‘I can’t deny it’s a lot to deal with, but being totally sensible as always, before the next batch of hormones kick in, you’ve dealt with Robert and all the other stuff is sortable. Except the painting. That’s the tricky one. But if you do or don’t locate it, just come home safely. And do get some rest. I love you, but you look terrible.’
It feels good to have someone I can truly share everything with. I’m not alone and I’ll always have her in my life to care and listen without judgement. I only wish we were face to face, not separated by hundreds of miles. But perhaps this is part two of my awakening – learning how to navigate my troubles without relying on Tasha to guide me.
I’m utterly spent. The events of the last eight days have grabbed my strength and squeezed it away. There’s too much unfinished business here: Theo, Mum’s painting … they bubble under the surface of my skin and start to itch. Everything has become so complicated and it’s exhausting me. I’m shivery but hot, and my throat feels swollen. After my call with Tasha, I lie down and close my eyes.
The photograph of Mum with Tony Giovinazzi floats across the inside of my eyelids like a tormenting screensaver. The staring man doing what he does best in the background. I have to find him and I need Tony to email that photo. And why hasn’t Dimitri from the gallery in Pylos called? I feel hot, clammy, like I have a fever. I start to sink into a dreamlike state, disturbed by delirious flashes of faces, people and paintings. They collide in my vision, hallucinations, hounding me for hours and won’t let me be.
Nausea grips me, my stomach cramping, and I stagger to the bathroom, crawling back to my bed for more troubled dreams.
I can’t stop until I have that painting in my hands. Its importance consumes me.
Eventually, after hours of fitful restlessness, I’m swallowed down into a deep sleep. Darkness.