Paddling in the sea again after what seems like a lifetime stuck in a hospital bed is the purest tonic for my aching body. Despite the monstrous tan line I’ll get around my plaster cast, just feeling my toes in the sand and hearing the waves lap the shore lets healing radiate into my broken bone and the rest of me. Truly a moment to count blessings and a fortunate escape from another heap of grief. Unusually for me, I’m not stockpiling major anxiety. Instead, I feel wildly optimistic, garnering strength from injury, determined to enjoy every second of this pregnancy and make every moment matter with Theo.
I knew Methoni had changed me, but this is quite the transformation, for us both.
While Theo is working, I redouble my efforts to learn Greek. I take coffee with yiayia to have a truly immersive language lesson, relying heavily on mime or my translation app to get us both through. She has further warmed to me, yet I notice her tempered exasperation at my inability to master the intricacies of filo pastry. I’m one arm down – you’d think she’d have sympathy. I have no idea how she’s going to react to our impending arrival, but in our determination to break the pattern that’s gone before, nobody will keep us from our life together with our baby.
Sitting outside at Theo’s house, or what will officially be our home when I next return, I call Tasha. Theo kept her updated on my condition, long conversations mainly consisting of her grilling him for every detail and demanding he convince her he’d never hurt me.
As our video call connects, she launches into a frenzied rant.
‘I’ve been out of my mind with worry! If this is how it would be if you lived there, going days without checking in, sending Theo to phone me and do your bidding, then I retract everything I’ve ever said about being supportive. Now, I shall return to questioning your moving abroad simply because a holiday romance has stuck!’
‘Excuse me, we are not going down that road again and for your information, I’m out of hospital, as you can see.’
Her face falls, instantly guilty as I brandish my weighty plaster cast as evidence of the drama.
‘Sorry. You know I don’t like being out of control, and not being able to speak to you properly has driven me mad. If I could have got clearance from the doc to fly out, I would have. Are you OK? Is the baby all right?’
‘Would you please calm down! Yes, I’m all good, apart from the arm and a super collection of bruises – and the baby is absolutely fine.’
‘God, Soph, you must have been terrified. I’m so sorry.’
‘The weirdest thing is, I feel much less anxious now about the pregnancy, despite falling down the stairs. I know it’s meant to be.’
She winces in sympathy, as if imagining the moment of impact, of which thankfully I have no recollection.
‘We both have to learn not to be uptight. Easy to say, impossible to do, but at least we have a pep talk on speed dial, when you’re not unconscious in a hospital, of course. Please don’t do that again. And even though he clearly adores you, Theo’s command of English is questionable. I don’t think he understood most of what I said on the phone, nor I him.’
‘Stop it! He speaks beautiful English – don’t be such a cow. Look, I won’t fall out with you about this, but for the very last time’ – her earlier mock scrutiny has left me mildly affronted, but she is right to do so as my oldest friend, because I’d be doing the same if it were reversed – ‘even before I knew about the baby, I was considering moving to Methoni. Because I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.
‘I can’t go on reaching out to you for advice to help me make every decision. I’ve been lost and floundering, I know, questioning my judgement because of what happened with Robert. But I’ve never been surer or seen things clearer. You also urged me to move here before I’d arrived at a decision myself. So, calling my relationship a “holiday romance” ends now.
‘If the worst were to happen, I have Mum’s house in London, and I’d always be able to re-join my business with Tiff. If not, I can start again. I’m nothing if not resourceful and I can pay my own way. I know I’m incredibly lucky to have a cushion from Mum’s estate, and not be financially reliant on Theo, which gives me choice.
‘Tasha, I love him – more than I could ever describe – and he makes me so happy. It’s not about giving up my ambition for the sake of a man; it’s about making a dream come true that I didn’t know I wanted. On paper, it must seem like the most bonkers idea, but you have to believe me, I know what I’m doing. You have my full permission to say “I told you so” if it all goes wrong. But it won’t. So the matter is closed.’
I don’t blame her for mentioning it again, albeit supposedly in jest at the start of our conversation. She’s only ensuring I’m making rational judgements that aren’t marred by grief, knowing if it fails, she’d be picking up the many thousand pieces that remained of her friend.
She seems satisfied at my response, miming a zip across her mouth, and we move on to gossip about someone from school who’s trying to become a food influencer.
I feel strong and sure. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. Being in charge seems alien, but it is the new me. I’ll make Tiff chief of my business and hand it over to her in all but name remaining as a silent partner. Now, I need to turn my attention to what on earth to do for a living when I move to Greece.
* * *
During my days in Methoni, Grigor and I fall into an easy cordiality. Gone are the stares of shock, although sometimes I catch him looking at me, but I know that’s about Mum. We sit together on their rock and chat effortlessly, watching Theo cross the bay in the boat. He tells me about his time fishing, the history of naval conflicts past, Greece in days gone by, excursions he and Mum took in the summers.
I smile when he shares glimpses of their times together, secret vignettes they kept hidden for so long that he relays with such poetry. In many ways it’s special to have more to discover about my beloved parent. The idea of unpeeling layers of someone I loved so dear has replaced most of the anger or guilt that lingers. I know that will shift in time. And time is what I have in abundance when I’m here permanently.
Just one more trip home and then I’ll live in Greece. I gulp at the thought, but I’ve already alerted a removal and shipping company to my timeline so I can get things going as soon as I land in London. This trip out here is going by too quickly, with days being used up in the hospital. But the consolation is that I will be back before the end of summer. Forever.
* * *
I slip into a new version of life; slotting into place like I’ve always been here. Sometimes Christina cooks me lunch and I her, Christoph comes for dinner and we barbeque outside almost every day. I’m truly happy and nesting, even though I’m supposed to be taking it easy. Each day when Theo comes in from sea, there’s something new for him to discover at his home. A cushion or a throw from an antique shop in Pylos, a vintage collection of glasses or sets of bed linen. A few feminine additions to his former bachelor pad and properly equipping the kitchen for all the entertaining I plan to do.
I start to tend Theo’s garden, creating herb and vegetable plots marked with tall bamboo canes. I sow seeds and propagate tiny plants with difficulty, my arm still in its cast. But our fully stocked garden larder will be something to behold when it takes root with the year-round growing climate.
While weeding a much-neglected patch of land adjacent to the house, I stop for a breather on a stone bench, enjoying the baking sun on my skin. It’s scorching every day now and will remain so through the autumn and warm beyond into winter. My eyes trace the stonework on the dilapidated lofts and barns that make up the perimeter of the property. We could be entirely self-sufficient here with vegetables, chickens, perhaps a goat and Theo’s fish supply. The outbuildings are hardly used, some for nets and crab pot storage, but the rest are filled with junk. No doubt home to rats and lizards galore, sustaining the stray cats’ food source.
Pushing my weight into one of the wooden doors with my shoulder, I manage to coax it open. It’s a struggle with my plaster cast and the hinges are rusted almost shut, but I force my way in. The flap of wings alerts me to several pigeons nesting in the rafters, their droppings evident on the stone floor. I see the roof is missing several tiles, but the bones of the building seem solid. Standing in the cool, airy space, the beginnings of an idea start to form.
I don’t intend to move here and not work. The unhelpful judging voice in my head that remonstrates with me for having an expensive private education, building a business then stepping back from it to be a mother is silenced. I am literally cooking up a plan.
As the creative side of my brain goes into overdrive, adrenaline begins to pump around my body. I can’t wait to see what Theo thinks. Although, he’s become used to me being at the house when he comes in from sea, falling into a conventional and traditional pattern. But that will all change if I get my way and I’m unclear if it’ll bring out the orthodox caveman in him or not. There’s only one way to find out.
* * *
I place the dish of steaming hot pastitsio, a kind of Greek lasagne, in the centre of the table and Theo begins to serve. With my cumbersome cast, I manage to carry the large bowl of rocket and beetroot salad. It’s dressed in a light balsamic glaze with shavings of parmesan. When Theo catches my eye, I still get butterflies and we remain in the early relationship throes of excitement, despite the speed at which this has all happened. It’s like being on an all-day date, waking up and discovering more about each other.
I look down to my healthy wrist that has the agate bracelet Mary Vasiliou gave me ‘for protection’ and it spurs me on to tell Theo about my earlier idea. I lift my fork to eat, then change my mind, resting it on my plate as I take a deep breath, hoping to sell my plan.
‘Theo … I had a very brilliant thought today.’
‘Mmm …’ he says between mouthfuls. ‘Yes …?’
‘You know the loft and then the main big barn? Well, I wondered at some point about whether or not I could use them for work. After the baby.’
He helps himself to a large serving of salad, frowning, wondering what I mean. I continue to expand.
‘I thought that if we converted the big barn and maybe the smaller ones into accommodation, the long loft could be a kitchen classroom and I could teach. People could stay and I can give them cooking lessons. Obviously, I can’t do any normal catering out here, so I’ll bring Sophie’s Kitchen to Greece but as a food school. I got so excited about working again, having a purpose that’s just mine.’
He thoughtfully considers my suggestion, taking another mouthful of food.
‘This will be your home, Sophie, and if this is what you want and it makes you happy, then of course, let’s do it. It has always been a dream of yours to have a cooking school, I remember you telling me this. So, we make your dreams come true.’ His eyes glimmer, catching my excitement. ‘I could bring fish for your pupils and you cook. Is like our first date but for guests.’
My face breaks into the biggest smile and I get up to hug him, trying to avoid clunking him on the head with my cast, as I have done several times since I got back from hospital.
I kiss him gratefully. ‘Thank you for believing in me.’
He kisses me again, deeply, wrapping his hand in my hair.
‘You make me believe in love, Sophie mou. I think you can do anything you want.’
The thrill at creating a life here with him and now a potential business venture crystallises my future. I have a purpose beyond being a mother, which I absolutely cannot wait to be. But I can carve out a nook of my own, create something from scratch as I did before in London. Bubbles of ambition ping around my tummy, but a lurch of hunger tears me away from his side and back to my plate. This baby is making me think of food more than I normally do. And I love it. I just hope Theo’s family love the idea of our new addition.