As we pull up outside departures, the clouds that gather at the peaks of the Peloponnese have tumbled down the mountainside, creating a wispy fog in the air. The sunshine is desperately trying to break through but failing. My bones feel heavy at the thought of being wrenched away from Methoni and Theo. All I have lost and all that I’ve found.
My final days in the village sped by too quickly, with me choosing to bury into a fantasy rather than deal with the inevitable painful conclusion. Nights stretched into the early hours, talking, making love, sharing our deepest feelings, heartaches and anxieties. As if we didn’t want to let another day pass, drawing it out for as long as possible. I barely moved from Theo’s bed, apart from picnics and expeditions on the boat. The stillness of being at sea so early in the morning, waters calm with barely a ripple and the simplicity of snaring sardines. Circling slowly round and then pulling the net tight like a purse. Like he was showing me what our life could be like together, pleading with me silently to make the choice.
Tasha and I had one brief, terse call since our fight, but it wasn’t our usual easy exchange – it felt fake. I need to face her and work out this wedge that’s grown between us. She’s tried to brush off my genuine desire to be out here with a breezy ‘Everything is better with feta!’ – which further irks me after our cross words – still dismissing my feelings for Theo as a holiday romance. Even more frustrating is the element of truth within her flippancy, which bubbles under my skin. How can Theo and I be anything more?
I know she suspects grief is blemishing my ability to think clearly, but I’m no closer to solving my quandary despite how much Theo has tried to convince me in our last days together. There’s always a sacrifice, a compromise, something to give up in order to have what you want.
I look over to Theo in the driver’s seat and reach for his hand. Tears automatically fill my eyes and spill down my face. Now the day is here, I’m inconsolable.
‘Hey, Sophie mou.’ He brushes away as many tears as he can, but they’re coming thick and fast. ‘This isn’t the end, we find a way. I will see you in a few weeks when you come back for holiday again.’
I lean my face into his hand, soaking up his warmth, the smell of his skin and the feel of his touch. It seems like the end of something, rather than the beginning I’d hoped for. I look up to him and reach for his face, running my fingers into his hair.
‘You’ve brought me back to life, Theo. I didn’t know how to love; my heart was so damaged. But you …’ My words catch as my tears fall heavier. ‘You have given me so much and you’ve let me love you, trusted me with your heart.’
He looks down sadly, as if he doesn’t believe I intend to return.
‘I’ll be back in eight weeks; it’s not long to wait,’ I reassure him.
Even the thought of a day without him seems like an eon. I plan to return at the end of June to audition Greece properly to see if I could slip into life here. It may help me to reach a conclusion about how to make this work. Or not.
He gets out of the car to pull my bag from the back seat and I step out into the damp misty air. I watch him, absorbing his every movement, committing it to memory. Our first kiss on the terrace, when we made love for the first time in his bed and the countless times since. I hardly went back to my little villa on the hillside, save to pack for today. My limbs feel like lead and I can’t summon the urge to move.
His arms wrap around me and I press tightly into his body. This is too painful, extracting myself from a safe place that took me so long to find, and it wasn’t even what I was searching for.
If I can’t be with him in Methoni, then we can’t be together at all and I’m not sure I can give him what he wants to make that possible. It feels like I’m bound to repeat our parents’ history and we’ll hurt each other, destined to live regretting what couldn’t be.