I hail a taxi, my heart hammering throughout the journey. I feel wretched and can’t help but think if I did move to Greece, the distance I dismissed as a short plane ride away would have stretched like an endless chasm on a day like today. The glacial pace at which the streams of people move in the hospital frustrates me. Dawdling visitors tut loudly as I race past them.
Knocking softly on the door of Tasha’s room, I have no idea what I’m walking into.
I slowly step forwards. Angus is in the chair beside Tasha’s bed. Her long blonde hair is splayed on the pillow, her eyes closed. She looks like a broken angel. I steady my breathing, steeling myself for the unknown, anticipating heartbreak.
Tasha’s eyes slowly open and her face fills with emotion as she sees me, and she begins to sob loudly. Angus sees me standing at the door, inert, tears streaming down my face. He smiles sadly at me and mouths ‘Hi’ as I walk towards the bed, giving him as big a hug as I can muster before sitting down, clasping my best friend’s hand.
My face searches Angus’ for a clue. I stroke Tasha’s cheek, moving the matted hair from her forehead, my other hand squeezing hers.
‘We’ve lost one of the twins,’ Angus starts, his voice choking, ‘but the other …’ He breaks off, unable to keep his pain from sticking in his throat.
I look to Tasha, reaching to her with my heart, which is cracking into pieces for them. She wipes her nose and sniffs loudly.
‘The other one is doing well,’ her breath comes in short bursts in between her words. ‘And they don’t think there’s any need to intervene or do anything. I just have to let my dead baby sit there and my body will absorb it. It’ll have vanished by the time the other is born.’
She weeps with a primitive, base emotion. The pain of a mother who couldn’t protect her child. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard, knowing your baby has died inside you and there’s nothing you can do. Even though it’s so early in her pregnancy, it makes no difference to them. It was a fully formed baby in their imagination and mine, a nursery fully decorated, a name picked out, hopes pinned on the future of who or what they’ll become.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I cry. ‘I’m so sorry for you both.’
Tasha squeezes my hand tighter. The hurt in her face is too painful to stand. Despite the positive news about the surviving twin, she needs time to process this loss. They both do.
‘Thank you for coming …’ Her voice cracks and she’s unable to continue.
There’s nothing else to be said, nor anything I can do apart from be here for as long as she needs me. I can’t go to Greece tomorrow.
* * *
Later that day, as I walk through the long corridors to leave the hospital for a few hours, I hear the muted cries of newborns mewing behind closed doors. Relatives with congratulatory balloons and gifts stream past, oblivious to the silent bereavement concealed in one of the rooms, kept separate from the celebrations.
Outside, as I wait for my cab, I hold Angus’ hand, promising to return in a couple of hours and to let me know if there’s anything they need. We hug goodbye, sorrowful smiles, no words sufficient. I hold my hand protectively in front of my stomach as I breathe in the thick air. The humidity in London is claggy, so different from the dry heat in Methoni, its climate unlike anywhere else in the world.
Methoni. I feel torn in half. I can’t possibly leave Tasha now. She needs me more than ever. I send Theo a message and promise to call him when I’m home. I’ll tell him my plans have changed and I can’t come to him tomorrow. I don’t know if I ever can. Tasha’s loss cuts so deeply into my memory, pain resurfacing from my own worries about my pregnancy and now concern about the remainder of Tasha’s.
I’m trying not to get bogged down in grief and sentimentality. I want my baby to know only good things, not feel my heartache via placental transference. Avoiding my instinct to dwell on what’s no longer here and focusing on what is should shift the balance, tipping the scales towards the future.
But something is stopping me and yet again, I don’t know what to do.
* * *
Mum’s house feels cold despite the cloying heat outside. Walking through the rooms, it seems empty, devoid of life and energy.
I unlock Mum’s studio in the garden. The evocative smell of pungent turpentine. Brushes clagged in paint stuck to the bottom of jam jars, rags scrunched up with clumps of crumbling oil colours. Opening the drawers I find piles of charcoal sketches, watercolour mock-ups and pencil line drawings. All the large, complete pieces have been sent to Arabelle to deal with. These are just doodles and studies.
I flick through them for want of something to do, unable to stop thinking about Tasha, heartbroken in a maternity wing with the ever-present reminder of what she’s lost echoing in the corridors. Although she has a surviving baby who’s healthy, it’s impossible to think about her pregnancy without the tarnish of loss. Something so longed for and the joy we hoped it would bring has been tainted by death, when it should be solely about life. Is it ever possible to have one without the other?
Lifting piles of sketch pads and replacing the drawings in their drawer, the outline of a russet brown cross peeps out from underneath another sheet of paper. I pull at its corner and see the symbol is attached to a turret leading to a domed roof. Levels of the tower are intricately illustrated like the underskirts of a dress. Shades of autumnal browns add oil pastel colour to the pencil drawing. At the bottom of the page is my mother’s signature and Little Russian Church, Near Methoni: a day with You.
This must be about Grigor. ‘You’. I shake my head as the conflicting emotions of sadness, guilt and anger rise and combine. I want to rip it to shreds.
Why couldn’t you tell me, Mum?
My mind is pulled back to the reason I travelled to Methoni. The painting that dominated my thoughts, the beach where they first met captured on canvas. A multitude of shades of blues and yellows, sea and sand, a lone figure walking along the shore which is, having seen the original, unmistakably, Grigor.
Mum captured the essence of the Greek light, magical and ethereal in quality. Their love is embedded in the paint, swirling in the sea, streaking across the sky in every single swish. They met in between the brushstrokes.
I decide to post the etching of the Russian church to Grigor.
Tasha’s tragedy has changed everything for me and I don’t know when I’ll be able to give it to him in person.
* * *
I call Theo on video while I wait for my supper to be delivered. I’m craving spicy food and have an urgent need for curry. As my call connects and his face comes into view, I feel the swell of love, quickly followed by a fear of breaking his heart. He’s sitting outside on the sofa while I sit on the sofa in Mum’s cosy lounge. I can almost feel the heat of the evening in Methoni through the screen.
‘Sophie mou, how are you?’
‘Pretty tired. I’ve been with Tasha at the hospital all day.’
‘Why, what has happened?’
‘She lost one of her twins. The other baby is OK and not in any danger.’
‘I am sorry I am not with you. This must make you feel worried for your friend and bring back your time of loss of your baby. But I can hold you tomorrow, agápí mou.’
His care and thoughtfulness are not what I’m used to, acknowledging the hurt I was selfishly ashamed to admit to myself, let alone to Tasha. And I wouldn’t, especially when she’s in the throes of her own grief. I smile with sadness and relief that he’s said the right thing aside from the part about seeing me tomorrow.
‘It does bring it all back. You feel like your body has failed. And then you’re always afraid it’ll happen again. And poor Angus. Everyone forgets about the men in this. He must feel hopeless.’
‘You have to be strong, Sophie. We will get through this. And so will your friend and her husband.’
‘Yes, but …’ I take as deep a breath as I can manage. ‘I can’t come to Greece tomorrow.’
He frowns at me through the screen. I long to touch his skin, to smooth the creases I’ve caused.
‘But why does this change? You say she is fine and the baby is well.’
‘Because I need to be here for her. She’s heartbroken and I can’t just leave her. She’s like a sister to me.’
‘But if you are satisfied she is OK, when will you come to visit?’
I sigh – the question I dreaded him asking. When am I coming back? I don’t have an answer to that now.
‘I’m not sure yet. Maybe in a few more weeks – a month or so. I’m sorry, Theo. I know it’s not what you want to hear. It depends how Tasha is. Can’t you come over here for a while?’
He shakes his head, sitting back from the screen. ‘Is not possible. These summer months for me are the busiest. I have to fish as many hours as is light for.’ He looks down and I see the wash of sadness cross his face. ‘You are changing your mind about ever being here, yes?’
‘Theo, I just don’t know …’ I begin to cry. This is not a scenario that should be played out on a screen with half of Europe separating us. ‘You’re like me with no siblings, but Tasha is my only family. I’ve known her all of my life, like you and Christoph. It’s not that easy.’
‘Is easy if you want it to be, Sophie. You make decision to visit and still not deciding to move here or not, and now you go back on all of these things you promise.’
‘I just need more time here, Theo, please.’
He shrugs and says nothing. I know he’s disconnecting his heart, the one that took so long to trust me, and I’m damaging him in the same way as every other woman in his life.
‘Theo, I love you, but I have to make sure everything is settled before I leave England. Please, let me have space.’
‘Sophie, I love you also, this you know. But let me know when you are deciding, or not.’
A bitterness appears in his voice.
‘Please don’t be like that, Theo.’
‘I have to go. Enjoy your food.’
He hangs up before I can say goodbye properly and I’m left sobbing, alone in Mum’s house, the ghosts of grief and lost love swirling around me. I know in my heart I’ve made a mistake, planting even the slightest doubt in his mind that I may not return to Methoni.
But if I was there, I wouldn’t be able to help repair Tasha.
Yet, in trying to fix my friend, I’ve begun to break Theo’s heart, which I promised not to do. And I’m not sure how to put it back together.