Sitting at an empty bar on the seafront, the opposite end of the village to Theo’s house, the evening is blissfully quiet. The plate of mezze on the table looks delicious and wakes my dormant and neglected appetite. I eat tentatively, not wishing to stir my illness again. Spicy slices of sausage from the Mani region, small sticks of chicken souvlaki with sweet green peppers and a side of potatoes sprinkled with oregano. It’s nigh impossible to order light. I sip my sparkling water from an icy frosted glass, enjoying the descent of peace despite the residual turmoil about Theo bouncing around my heart.
Reflecting on the positive progress of Tasha’s appointment, I remain hopeful that things will turn out differently for Angus and her this time. Harvesting and implantation will proceed as planned when I’m back and a good number of eggs are maturing.
Acting on Tasha’s encouragement to call Tony to ask for the photograph makes me feel a little in control of a quest within which I’m stumbling. He apologised for the delay as he’d been away again but would scan it as soon as possible this evening. I refresh my emails every few moments, but as yet, nothing.
Even with her legs akimbo, the sage advice Tasha dispensed has worked its sense into my thoughts. I plan to speak to Theo whether he wants to hear me or not and attempt to resolve things.
My emotional closure of the Robert situation has sunk into my bones. The normalised abnormal that became our relationship seems so astonishing to me now I have perspective. He controlled my fear so much that I forgot how to be unafraid. But I’ve found my voice and I will be listened to. My statement for the police in London is written in readiness to instigate a restraining order when I’m back home to ensure he stays away. I’m taking charge for a change.
The sea is calm and my eyes are naturally drawn to the pontoon, where Theo’s boat rocks gently in the soft swell. Flashes of our first lunch together at sea, the kástro, the church in Pylos. The lapping water lulls my brain into contemplative meditation; thoughts occur and I let them be before they drift away into the evening.
A few patrons arrive and sit at outside tables, far enough away for me to remain undisturbed. Some are locals, a few tourists. The residents nod and smile at me and I return their polite greeting. I suppose they’ve seen me around at Christina’s or heard about the urchin drama. That seems like a lifetime ago, rather than only a couple of weeks. I want to clear the air with Theo and if it marks an end to our entanglement, then so be it. It’s making my heart hurt even more being without him, my feelings stronger than I’d have wished. But I’m running out of time to discover the whereabouts of Mum’s painting. That’s what this trip was about in the first place and it feels good to resume its purpose.
* * *
‘Sophie!’
I hear Christina’s familiar voice and I turn to see her sitting outside her brother’s taverna. I was so lost in my thoughts walking along the front that I didn’t notice where I was. She’s eating supper where I joined her on my first night here.
‘Please, sit with me. Is like I have not seen you for days.’
I’m unable to resist, such has been the warmth of her hospitality and kindness. I’m easily persuaded by the offer of a small glass with her before I head to find Theo. She wraps her arms around me in one of her welcome bear hugs. Tonight, she’s the colours of the sea: turquoise flowing trousers and a cobalt tunic. Picking up a tumbler from an adjacent table, she pours me a glass of wine. We cheers and she resumes her cigarette that’s smoking in the ashtray. I decline her offer of one, still feeling queasy from my illness.
‘The sad eyes are back, Sophie. I see these on the first day and then it became less. But now is here once more.’ She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. ‘Tell me what has been happening.’
I’m not sure where to begin or what part of recent events to give her. I take a sip of the cool white wine, which turns my stomach, so I put it back down.
‘It’s been a rough few days …’ I begin, about to launch into an abridged version of Robert’s unwelcome visit and the tatters that remain in the aftermath; namely Theo and me. Instinctively, I know I can trust Christina. ‘A man I was in a very bad relationship with, Robert, turned up here and caused a bit of a scene at the villa. Don’t worry – nothing was damaged at the apartment, only things between Theo and me. I’m not sure I can repair them. It was all pretty ugly.’
‘This is terrible. I am sorry. Tell me – he is your boyfriend, yes?’
‘No! We separated over six months ago. But he won’t let go and followed me here.’
I feel crushed that I’m even having to deal with this. It troubles me to think of Theo ruminating over any suggestion that Robert and I are still together, after what he thought he saw.
‘Theo has misunderstood things. He overheard Robert talking about my baby,’ I continue. The sting of having to say those words and the unhappiness behind them steals almost all of my reserve. ‘I lost a baby when I was pregnant. Last year. But still, it’s painful, and Theo doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want a family, as you know.’
She nods and drags on her cigarette, stubbing it out. Smoke rises from the table, almost an incense smell from her tobacco, which reignites my lingering nausea. A sadness washes over her face.
‘I know this pain very well. I had a child that died also. The birth was with much difficulty. He was born asleep. The doctors make mistake and he did not live.’
It’s my turn to comfort her and holding her hands in mine, I look into her eyes that are glazed with tears.
‘Geórgios, he was named. The day we said hello, we must also say goodbye.’
I can’t imagine living with such excruciating heartache. The cruelty of reaching full term, the danger points passed, only to have every hope dashed when those moments should have been filled with elation. The very worst pain.
‘I am so sorry, Christina. That’s the most terrible thing to happen.’
‘It was agony like no other. No parent should bury their child. But I have my son, Alexander, and a big family – Christoph, my nephew, many others … I am lucky. But Geórgios will always be my treasure in the sky and in my heart.’ She smiles forlornly and lifts her glass. ‘To the babies who have angel wings too soon.’
It’s the most moving and poignant toast. I feel gratitude that she trusted me with her precious story. There’s grief all around, hiding at every turn, some concealed under years of pain, others fresher but the damage everlasting. Every one of us has a suitcase of sadness to unpack.
The remains of her dinner glisten. Oily residue snags in the flickering candlelight, which casts a warm glow over the tableware. I look at Christina and smile sadly at her.
‘Thank you for telling me about your baby boy, Christina. It takes such courage to talk about these things. So many people keep it secret.’
‘He is always part of my family, as now are you, so he is yours, too. If I share this sorrow with others, it becomes less and less with the years that pass. And you understand this. You will always be a mother to the one you lost.’
Across the water, clouds begin to gather, visible in the moonlit night. The air thickens with humidity and a low growl of thunder echoes far out to sea. Christina wipes her eyes and changes the subject to something slightly less painful.
‘And what will you do of Theo? He bring no fish for the taverna this past two days. Nobody has seen him.’
The news that Theo has forgone work shocks me. I feel dreadful about how things were left between us, but the evidence he’s reacting badly too confirms the urgency for our conversation. Tonight.
‘I haven’t been very well, but I’ll speak to him and make things right.’
‘Is clear you care for him. Christoph tells me Theo feels much for you also. If is worth the fight then you find a way. I tell you before that Theo is difficult with emotions. He has been hurt and he hurts those around him. I fear there is no more room for pain in his heart. And yours. Be careful for both of you.’
Whether or not this is another warning, I’m set on making him listen to my side. How that affects things between us is out of my control. But if his judgement is clouded by what’s happened in the past rather than who I am, then it’s not meant to be. I excuse myself from the table to visit the bathroom. I spot Christoph by the bar waiting on an order. He immediately breaks into a smile and throws his arms around me.
‘How is my girl?’ He untangles my arms and scrutinises my face. ‘Hmm, doing as well as my friend, I think. How we can fix this?’
‘Have you spoken to Theo?’ I ask, tentatively probing for a deeper sense of how he is.
‘Only by message. He doesn’t want to see anyone or work. Is only souvlaki for taverna menu, just the meat. We have no fish. Please make him be happy so we can all have the sardines!’
I can’t help but laugh and my mind reaches back to the first time Theo kissed my cheek while I was holding the bucket of fish. The ocean and its contents provided a backdrop and props for our encounters. Yet, now the sea is withholding its bounty, punishing the village because of me. Because of Robert.
‘That man of yours who was here, Theo say a little, but Theo is hurt easily and can be jealous. He pretend he is strong, but I know he has feelings for you.’
I almost hang my head in shame at the drama my relationship baggage has brought to this place.
‘Robert isn’t “my man”, he’s a bad guy, but he’s gone from my life. I just need Theo to believe that.’
‘It will be OK. Some men are dangerous and it takes us a while to find this out, yes?’
Dangerous … it was Robert who Mary was warning me about. I had thought the caution was about Theo. Another reason not to listen to anything portentous and to ignore invented signs from spirits.
The ping of the order bell from the kitchen interrupts our chat and he resumes work with a promise to speak more another time. As I walk around the wooden bar, I scold myself for letting spooky imaginings cloud my thoughts. At the time, they suited my vulnerable state of mind. No more. I’m going to find Theo and have this out once and for all, so I can put all of my energy into my last-ditch attempt to find this wretched painting.
I wait my turn for the bathroom cubicle, leaning against a wall. Clattering of pans in the kitchen, the tinkling piped music, low humming chatter of diners. The sounds weave around me, cooking scents invade my senses, the air rich with spice.
A crack of thunder makes me jump and orange forked lightning streaks across the sky over the sea. Goosebumps rise on my arms, my nerves become heightened. The sound of the automatic hand dryer from the bathroom makes me flinch again. Then I see the silhouette of a man in the main doorway of the taverna. He walks slowly towards me, the light revealing his features one by one.
It’s him.
He’s moving from the shadows just like the man in Mum’s painting.
I move back, suddenly finding myself face to face with the staring man, bringing to life the captured image in my mother’s lost work. His eyes widen as he’s confronted by me. They’re green – they seem familiar.
Like the man in the painting.
He visibly starts to express the same depth of surprise and shock that unnerved me during the dancing on my first night here.
‘K-k-kalispéra,’ I stammer, hoping to diffuse his hostile demeanour.
His vivid eyes penetrate mine and he wrings his hands. We remain in an involuntary stand-off and he mutters something I can’t catch. Another crack of thunder blasts through the silence, lightning makes the lamps flicker. He slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a string of prayer beads, clutching them to his chest as if they’ll protect him. Without breaking his stare, he moves away and towards the bar. I realise I’ve been holding my breath, my skin still rippling with cold.
He stops abruptly and opens his mouth to address me. I’m poised to hear the root of his adverse response, my pulse thudding. But instead, he shakes his head sadly. Tears form in his eyes, washing away his expression. Finally dropping his gaze to the ground, his shoulders seem to slump in defeat.
‘Please,’ I say. ‘I need to speak with you. I’m trying to find a painting of my mother’s and I think maybe you knew her. Lyndsey Kinlock? I’ve seen a photograph of you both. Please, will you speak to me? I need your help.’
I’m desperate and the words tumble out as I try to press for a verbal response. But he remains staring at the floor before slowly lifting his head. Tears brim across the whites of his eyes, making them even greener. Again, the echo of Mum’s painting invades my thoughts. The man in her painting in silhouette with flecks of green in his eyes, this man in front of me, pictured near my mother years ago in Athens. Is he the man in the painting?
I need him to answer me. But he turns away abruptly and storms briskly out of the restaurant. I’m stunned into stillness like a statue.
How could I conjure such misery in him and why won’t he answer me? I must find out who he is. Christoph is engaged with other guests, so I rush back to Christina’s table before he vanishes again.
‘Christina, who is that man?’ I point to the disappearing figure, silhouetted as he walks down the road.
His gait is now languid, prayer beads flicking at his wrist, looking down despondently.
‘Who?’ She cranes her neck to see who I mean. ‘Oh, that is Grigoriou. Grigor. He is Theo’s father.’