The knot of nerves in my stomach is not indigestion, although that is almost constant. Making our way along the beach after my twelve-week scan in Kalamáta, we’re to have lunch with Grigor and yiayia to share our news.
The baby is growing well and the reassurance of hearing the galloping heartbeat and rushes of life on the sonogram is welcome for us both after our scare. We’ve chosen not to find out the gender and any worries we had have been allayed by Doctor Galanos, who is keeping a close eye on things. The most concerning issue remains the reaction of Theo’s father and yiayia.
I know Theo is tense about it. Aside from the fact that we aren’t married, and his family is incredibly traditional, there’s the threat of arousing additional emotional torment for his father.
The day is unusually overcast but still warm, which feels strange, having quickly become accustomed to blazing summer sunshine and soaring temperatures each morning. We walk hand in hand along the water’s edge.
Clouds are gathering in a line across the horizon. Theo stops and points to the sky.
‘Postman clouds, this is what I call them, delivering a change in the weather.’
The puffs of darker grey line up neatly in a row, one behind the other, stretching across the bay. Brushing aside the sense of looming dread or reading into the timing of a possible omen from the meteorological gods, we press on, sand like fine caster sugar under our shoes.
‘Good weather, or bad?’ I ask, wondering if nature is in cahoots with portent.
Theo shrugs in answer to my question and I mock his unclear response.
‘Well, that was deeply informative, thank you.’ I stop him again. ‘What if they disown you and don’t acknowledge our baby?’
He places his hands on my shoulders and fixes me firmly with an assured look.
‘Sophie, my father learns much from the past and I know yiayia has, too. Remember, she was the one who told us is time to make new footsteps on our beach, and so we are. Right?’
He searches my face for agreement and I nod.
‘Sophie mou, no more worries. They accept you are to live here with me, so this is our choice.’ He strokes my head, calming me with every movement.
We’re near the end of the stretch of beach where we must turn up to the house.Glancing down to Mum and Grigor’s rock, I see a butterfly sitting there. Opening and closing its wings, revealing teasing glimpses of its colourful markings.
‘Look,’ I point, and as Theo turns his head, the creature lifts into the sky, flitting up and over the water, hovering dangerously low over the tideline. ‘Do you think it’s a sign?’
He leans in and kisses me. ‘Yes, is a sign. We are not alone, whatever happens today.’
* * *
This is not the time for morning sickness to show up at lunchtime. I’m picking at my food, trying to keep nausea at bay. Pretending to enjoy every mouthful I force down, I catch Ioulia regarding me suspiciously. Familiar with my voracious appetite for all things food, she has acute women’s intuition; she knows something is up.
Theo is compensating for my lack of vibrancy and is doing a good job as far as Grigor is concerned, but he isn’t fooling yiayia. I take my good hand from the table and squeeze his leg, pressing him to get this over with. Everyone apart from me has a clean plate and Theo knows I can’t bear any further delay. I’m aware I won’t understand exactly what he says, as he needs to do it in his native tongue, so I sit patiently, my hand holding on to his.
As I listen to him speak, I catch the odd word: éngyos, pregnant, haroumenos, happy. I risk a glance around the table. Ioulia is transfixed by what her grandson is saying, her expression revealing no definitive reaction either way, the ultimate poker face.
Grigor sits back in his chair as if winded. Nobody speaks.
I stare down at the remains of my lunch, gleaming salad leaves, pieces of flaked sea bream clinging on to the skeleton.
Ioulia laughs in a sudden burst, breaking the silence wide open. She clasps her hands to her chest, then crosses herself, leaving a hand on her heart. Pushing up from her chair with great effort, she reaches for Theo and kisses him on each cheek, then makes her way round to me. I exhale in relief and look at this small, powerful woman whose opinion means everything in her family as she says in Greek:
‘You have both chosen each other and make a new life together. I thank God for you, Sophia, for making my Theofilos blessed.’
Grabbing my face, she kisses me on each cheek, then the customary pretend spitting in my hair. I feel manhandled with affection and manage a smile, relieved to have her blessing. The weight of carrying our secret is lifted.
‘Efharistó polí, Ioulia,’ I say.
She grabs my arm, my skin pinched in her bony fingers, and says in Greek with immense sincerity that touches my heart: ‘Sophia, you are family, is yiayia now for you.’
It feels as if I’ve been holding my breath throughout lunch. Now, finally I have ultimate acceptance from the ruler of this family, yet there’s one corner of the table that remains silent. As Theo and I beam at each other and yiayia continues to dance on the spot at the prospect of a great-grandchild, the three of us turn to seek Grigor’s reaction. He’s holding his face in his hands, his elbows resting on the table. I glance at Theo urgently, looking for help. His response wasn’t the one I was most afraid of, yet now, unexpectedly, I am.
Theo moves tentatively around the table to his father’s chair to ask him if he is OK. ‘Óla endáxi?’
It’s more than clear that everything is not all right, but placing his hand on Grigor’s back seems to bring him out of his stupor. As he slowly lifts his head out of his hands, I see tear tracks on his face. His green eyes glisten with moisture and he smiles up at his son. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, wipes his eyes and stands.
‘Nai, gie mou, óla eínai endáxi! Kalítera apó endáxi! Syncharitíria!’ I understand his delighted response: yes, my love, everything is OK. Better than OK. Congratulations!
He switches to English, for my benefit, ‘Sophia, Theofilos, you make me pappoús.’
He heartily shakes his son’s hand, then pulls him into the tightest of hugs. I can see Theo is taken aback – possibly this is the most physical affection they’ve shared in years. They break apart and Grigor slaps his son on the back with pride and gratitude. He turns to me and steps forwards slowly. Regarding me carefully as if choosing his words, he takes my hand, sandwiching it between his. There’s joy, but traces of pain in his face as he brings his gaze to meet mine.
‘Sophia, is most precious gift you carry. Is more special because of what runs in your heart and your baby’s.’ His chin begins to tremble as he tries to hold back the tide of emotion. ‘Your mother would have such joy in this. She, I am knowing, would find much pride in you.’
It feels like our circle has joined; the pattern of history set for change. I know he continues to grieve for all he has lost, but he’s making space for what comes next. We all are.
Theo comes towards me and puts his arm around my shoulders proudly, rubbing my arm in reassurance that his family is thrilled at our news. Ioulia says something to him I don’t catch. I turn to Theo, asking for the translation.
He laughs, shaking his head. ‘She says, now will Sophie please eat something.’
* * *
‘So, it’s official – and no doubt smoke signals were sent up the second we left, which means we don’t have to go round telling everybody, because I expect that job is already done,’ I say, filling Tasha in on the lunch summit and the high-octane emotion. We compare notes on lumps and bumps, the ever-evolving shape of our bodies, and I show her the latest sonogram printouts and she shows me hers.
‘Soph, we simply must make a pact we won’t become a pair of dreary mothers who only post baby pics online and have nothing else to talk about but our kids. Deal?’
‘Deal,’ I reply, holding up my glass of juice and taking a gulp. ‘But now I do understand how all-consuming this can be. It’s all I think about and the challenge I have right now is combating all the superstitions. Apparently, it’s bad luck out here to get the baby anything before it arrives. I’ve got a nursery to kit out. So do tell how I’m supposed to do that without invoking the evil eye or dark demons.’
‘Surely it must only apply to gifts – you’ve got to get a crib and changing station at least.’
As she stands up to reach for her drink beyond the screen, I see her blossoming bump fighting for room through her top. It’s the most wonderful sight and one we’ve waited so long to be able to see. Although there will always be sadness about the twin who didn’t make it, there’s much that remains to celebrate. The special names attributed to both of our losses are special and beautiful; mine a ‘rainbow baby’ and hers a ‘sunrise baby’.
‘Tash, look at you. Literally blooming.’
Aside from my own burgeoning belly just two weeks ahead of hers, I remain so deeply delighted this is happening for Angus and her.
‘Blooming massive,’ she retorts. ‘And only going to get worse. Here’s to being demanding, swollen bitches!’ She raises her glass of cordial. ‘Good luck, Theo and Angus. You’re going to bloody well need it!’
As she stops laughing, I ask gently, ‘Do you absolutely promise me you’re doing OK, Tash?’
She puts her drink down and looks at me, taking a moment to answer.
‘I do. I’m taking a leaf out of your book. Letting fate and destiny take charge. It got us our baby eventually, we just had to keep keeping on.’
I know she’s thinking of what should have been but wasn’t.
She continues, smiling sadly, ‘And I’m glad we did. Even though I’ll always be a mother of two with only one to show for it. But then it’s the same for you, Soph. But at least we each will have one. Some people wish for it their whole lives and don’t even get that. Our little sunrise baby, that’s what it’s called when a twin survives and the other dies – although it feels more like a miracle. Our babies fought so hard to stick around. And I’m so grateful. They will always have each other, just like we did when we were growing up, and like we always will.’