Theo isn’t responding to my video calls. We’ve exchanged a handful of messages over the last few days. Although heartfelt, I don’t know if his heart is in this any more, nor mine. Tasha’s on bed rest for the foreseeable and will be allowed home in a couple more days after several further scans and tests, but all is as well as it can be.
I’m drained, emotionally and physically. Discovering I was pregnant, packing to visit Theo, cancelling my trip and Tasha’s bereavement have wrung me dry. Replaying Tasha’s speech, which gave me permission to leave, I’m still wrangling over what to do for the best.
‘A large iced decaf sugar-free vanilla almond milk latte, please.’
I place my coffee order and resign myself to the fact that my complex drink choice is sadly the least complicated element of my life. The shop around the corner from the hospital is packed this lunchtime.
Angus is back on shift in A & E. It’s his way of dealing with it, to throw himself into work, and I understand. Perhaps I should have gone back to work after Mum instead of filling time by looking for things to plug the gaping hole she left in my life. And becoming obsessed with finding her painting. But if I didn’t embark on that mission, I wouldn’t have met Theo. And I wouldn’t be pregnant.
I buy a selection of cakes and sandwiches for Tasha, along with her favourite iced peach green tea. Outside, the usually busy Fulham Road seems quieter. I long for my little corner of the Greek mainland, feeling the pull to be with Theo. The heaviness of London and the remnants of the past weigh me down. But in Methoni, my shoulders drop as my bones are toasted by the constant heat, warmed with love.
Walking along the main road, my head is in Greece and my heart floats groundlessly in between. As I get to the final stretch towards the hospital, the pavement slowly seems to clear and I get the unnerving sensation of being watched. I pause and try to reassure myself; I’m being daft. It’s just worry about Tasha.
I instinctively turn round to look behind me. My eyes land on a familiar figure. I stop still, my body desperate to run, but my muscles seize in shock. He’s the last person I expected to see, nor wished to see again. Legally, he can’t be this close, and yet, Robert is walking towards me.
I raise my chin high, preparing for whatever version of his nonsense he’s about to inflict. I’m unarmed, only ice-cold drinks and a bag of pastries as weapons. As he nears, my mind travels to our last meeting two months ago in Methoni, when I reached my place of closure with him. Since then, he’s been served with a restraining order and injunction, which he is, apparently, happy to ignore.
My pulse quickens as he stops a few metres away from me. I just want him out of my way and out of my life. I will not compromise myself for him again.
‘Soph … I’m so pleased to see you,’ he starts, the colour rushing to his cheeks. ‘This isn’t ideal for what I need to do, but chance seems to have intervened and presented the opportunity, since I’m not supposed to contact you.’
He’s showing his nerves and babbling, which is unusual for him, like the bravado has been stripped away. Given his behaviour in Greece, sheepishness is the least he should display.
‘Have you been following me?’ I shout, deliberately creating a scene. ‘I’m calling the police.’
‘Please, don’t. I need to make amends with you.’
‘Just leave me alone. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I need to make amends as part of my programme. To anyone I’ve wronged.’
I’m taken aback, gradually absorbing what he’s saying, that he’s sought help for his problems after so many years. I’m speechless; he’s finally addressing what ruined our life together.
‘I’ve caused you irreversible pain as a result of my addiction. There. I said it. I’m an alcoholic.’ He takes a deep breath, searching for the strength to continue, uneasy in his new sober skin. ‘I can’t take back the years of hurt, the appalling way I treated you, tried to control you, but I can only offer my wholehearted apology. Which will never be enough to undo what I’ve done.
‘There is no way, I’m afraid, for me to make that right. But I acknowledge my behaviour, how it caused you such damage emotionally and physically, and I’m getting help in therapy. I haven’t had a drink since I got back from Greece.
‘Seeing you happy out there, I wanted to rip it apart, stop you from having anyone in your life if you wouldn’t have me. I’m embarrassed at my behaviour. Therapy has made me realise what a monster I was to you. I don’t expect your forgiveness, just hear me when I say I’m desperately sorry. And I want you to be happy. I now know and accept that isn’t with me. I’m so sorry, Soph.’
I’m bewildered and stunned. The words that I longed to hear for so many years have little bearing on my heart. I’m glad he’s getting help. It may prevent another woman from enduring the abuse I did.
‘I don’t know what to say. You can cross me off your list of amends. You’ve said your piece, but it doesn’t alter the damage you caused, nor does it excuse your behaviour. I’m glad you’re sober and I hope you find your version of happiness. Now, you have to let me find mine.’
I turn and walk away, mystified at how much Methoni has given so many people in my life. All of it unexpected, unknown and unforeseen. I don’t look back but continue striding forwards – a cleansing clarity finally sweeps indecision from my mind.
* * *
‘It was as if he said everything I wanted him to say years ago. If he had, we might still be together.’ I shudder at the thought. ‘But what I do know is that part of my life is over and done with. If he stays sober, good for him. If not, it isn’t my problem and won’t be again.’
‘Well, that is quite the turn-up. How did he look?’
I take a bite of cinnamon Danish and consider Tasha’s question.
‘Awkward, like he’d landed in a new body and was figuring out how it worked. I suppose that’s exactly what he’s going through.’
‘And you felt …?’
‘Nothing. Not even pity – just goodbye, it’s over.’
‘Wow.’ She shakes her head as surprised as I at his supposed transformation. ‘I’m relieved for you, and it sounds like that’s the end of it. Clearing the way for what comes next.’ She pauses, raising her eyebrows. ‘Speaking of …’
She offers me half of her lemon drizzle cake. The scent of citrus invades my memories, transporting me to Greece and into Theo’s arms.
‘Of what comes next? I hadn’t come to any real conclusion until ten minutes ago. Seeing Robert, ironically for him, has made me certain I need to follow my heart and concentrate on my future. Our future.’
I hold my tummy, thinking about all I’ve been through with this little one already.
‘You mean my massive monologue the other day had absolutely no effect?!’ she laughs, chomping down on the sponge cake.
‘Of course it did, but today was the extra nudge I needed. I will always be there for you, wherever I am. But I can’t have regrets, wondering what could have been. Mum didn’t get to live her dream of true love, but I can. I’d be an idiot to let that pass me by. It’s just taken me a while to realise. I’m going to go to Greece as soon as I can to tell Theo about the baby. Then if that goes well, I’m going to move there.’
Tasha squeals, then sniffles a little, opening her arms to me.
‘That is the best news. We’ve both got little ones inbound, which means properly getting ourselves together.’
‘Tell me honestly, how are you, Tash?’
She sighs, untangling from our hug.
‘I’ve had a lot of time to think, trying to come to terms with what’s happened. I just feel so frustrated at what a failure I feel. Because when all this doesn’t resemble perfection, it’s like you’ve let everyone down, including yourself. But I’m fed up judging myself by some imaginary standard. The number of embarrassed faces and tuts of disappointment when I’ve mentioned we did IVF is astonishing, like it’s shameful. No wonder so many people keep it a secret. And we all know what damage secrets can do, don’t we?’
‘Oh, we do!’ I scoff. ‘And if we’re going to get used to being apart, we have to promise to talk openly about everything. No secrets.’
She nods in agreement. ‘Of course. The only thing that will make it bearable is you being happy. And that’s all we can ask, isn’t it? That we find the light bits among the dark. As someone quite fabulous once said to us, “you can’t have a rainbow without rain, but you also get sunshine”.’
I laugh at her quote. ‘Who made you so wise?’
‘Your mummy and the little baby Jesus!’
* * *
Later that night, I fill up bin liners to throw out Mum’s lotions and potions. It feels like properly clearing the decks. If I do move, perhaps in the future I’ll rent out this house and be happy to let others walk the floorboards, carving out their lives with this as their home. But for now, I want it left as it is. Not as a shrine or a melancholic tomb of memories, just an empty shell, waiting for its new purpose when the time is right.
I texted Theo as soon as I returned from the hospital with the most special of messages:
I wanted to make my sentence into an elegant haiku to complement the special poem that bonded us, but I was too impatient, so fired off my non-poetic message as soon as I got back to the house. He called immediately, overjoyed that I’d reached a decision … again. The tension and strain between us could disperse, for now.
We’ll be together again in a couple of days, my flight rebooked by an exasperated airline representative. What happens next, how he reacts to my news, is in the lap of the gods.
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in Mum’s empty walk-in wardrobe and place my hand on my tummy, cradling the place where a bump will begin to emerge. I briefly fantasise about closing then opening my eyes and in the reflection, Mum will be there, smiling at me in the glass. With my eyes shut, I conjure up her image and her face appears in my mind’s eye. I know what her advice would be and has always been. To follow my heart wherever it leads.
Thank you for being the best Mum I could ever have wished for, my friend, my inspiration, lunch chum and shopping buddy. But you gave me so much more than that. You built a safe and joyful world for me that will always be emptier without you in it every day.
I’m doing my best to find my way through this, and I know you’re with me. I just wish I could see you one more time, not just in dreams or half-imagined visions, just to look into your eyes and tell you I’m OK. And to know that you’re happy, wherever you are.
Thank you for leading me to Theo. You’d love him and say he was beautiful. I never understood what you meant when you described some men as beautiful, seeing them with your artist’s eye. But now I do. He is, inside and out, and he loves me.
And then there’s this little one. You’re part of this baby; I just wish I could watch you be the most spectacular grandmother. But they’ll always know about their granny Lyndsey, hear all about you, see your paintings on our walls and that special one on Grigor’s. Whatever happens with Theo next, Grigor will always be in my baby’s life, I promise you.
I’m sad and sorry you couldn’t tell me about him. I’m trying my best not to be disappointed or angry. But I know you truly loved him, and he really did deeply love you. He still does. It hurts my heart – I feel so guilty and responsible that you felt unable to be together, choosing me instead of leaving our life in London. You endured such hidden pain for so long. I now understand if it weren’t for that suffering, I wouldn’t have this incredible future to journey into. I take with me love, the sacrifices you made for me, and the force of motherhood that’s greater than any other power.
I love you. I will always be your little girl, and you will always be my darling Mum.
A single tear falls from my closed eyes, making its slow descent across my skin. A myriad of scenes plays through my mind: the two of us together across the years, laughing, dancing, holding each other tightly. I drape my memories on the vacant hangers in the wardrobe, filling the rails with moments that I pluck from our past. Lunches, dinners, trips out, holidays. Smells and textures invade my mind, sun cream, grassy meadows, an ice-cold glass of champagne, crispy skin on a roast chicken, the saccharine powder from a travel sweet tin.
I slowly turn round and walk towards the door. One last look. It’s empty. All that was here is gone. I leave the little room, smiling to myself, despite my tears. I finally close the door to my mother’s wardrobe.