London and Greece, the Nineties
The day David was born, Artemis felt, for the first time since she arrived in London – perhaps for the first time ever – that she had an ally; someone with whom she would side, and who would side with her, through anything. David, with his serious dark eyes and his quiet adoration of his mother, emboldened her and gave her purpose. It was as if the moment she became a parent, she understood her place in the world. From then on it would be him and her against everyone and everything. Until the day she died.
In the months that followed the birth, her body returned to a version of herself that she respected, with its soft, yielding curves. As time passed, Artemis started to carve out a routine for them both, between the library and the playground and the grocer’s in South End Green. In doing so, she felt herself taking ownership of a piece of the city that suddenly felt as though it belonged to her. With David’s tiny hand cocooned in hers, London made sense. Previously daunting and unnavigable, the Heath became her and David’s secret garden, an oasis within the bustle of the city. In the days and sometimes weeks Clive spent away for work, she would roam the paths with the buggy, David taking his first steps on the pavement by Parliament Hill tennis courts.
Even the big rattling house with its emerald-green carpets and heavy Victorian furniture shifted in her mind from being Clive’s home to the epicentre of their family life. At the kitchen table, she would spread out a large oilcloth and cut potatoes into shapes, watching David’s eyes light up as she helped him squelch the misshapen blocks into a palette of brightly coloured paints, lurching his fist across to the paper, creating amateur masterpieces to show to Daddy when he got home from work.
She never resented it, the long hours Clive spent at the office in town or the meetings with Jeff after he started getting more involved in the business. The regular travelling for work only cemented her belief that their roles were delineated and equally valid. When he was home, Clive would throw his son scraps of attention, marvelling over the flecks of colour in a picture he’d made, pointing out tenuous patterns (‘A dog?’ ‘A hedgehog?’ ‘A tree?’) and David would shake his head, giggling with increasing glee at every erroneous suggestion.
For the first time, Artemis was happy. Despite the uncertain start in the city, her and Clive’s life together was good. The foundations that for so many years had been broken, finally felt solid.
The year David turned two, Athena also had a baby back in Greece, a tiny girl with her father’s eyes and thick black curls. The women cried as they watched their children side-by-side when Artemis went to visit, taking David to see her parents for the first time.
‘She looks just like Panos,’ Artemis laughed.
‘And she is about the same amount of use around the house …’ Athena retorted.
‘Sweet Maria. How is Panos?’
Athena seemed to bristle at the sound of Panos’ name on her friend’s tongue. ‘Useless.’ She paused, and then asked, ‘And how is Clive?’
There was a slight strain in her voice.
‘Clive is well,’ Artemis said, focusing her attention on the children. ‘He sends his love. Hopefully he can come out next year, when things die down a bit with work.’
‘Sounds like it’s going well with the business.’ Athena’s voice was tight, the jealousy seeping through the space between the words. Artemis knew Panos’ lack of meaningful income was one of the bones of contention between the couple.
‘It is,’ Artemis replied, non-committal. ‘He’s doing more work abroad. He and his business partner, Jeff.’
‘What’s Jeff like?’ Athena asked.
‘I’m not sure.’ Artemis didn’t feel like talking about him. Right now she wanted to focus on Athena and the baby. ‘He’s … well, he’s married, for one,’ she said lightly.
‘Shut up, so am I.’ Athena feigned hurt.
‘I’m joking. You’re a good couple, you and Panos. I know he’s not—’
‘Not what?’ Athena snapped defensively. Her twisted loyalty was part of her make-up. She could say anything about anyone, but woe betide anyone else speak ill of someone close to her.
Baby Maria winced at the sound of her mother’s raised voice. Artemis leaned forward and stroked her head. ‘You have such a beautiful daughter,’ she said, changing the subject.
‘I know,’ Athena replied, her voice mellowing. ‘She is beautiful. I don’t deserve her.’
It was an uncharacteristic display of self-flagellation and Artemis took her friend’s hand.
‘Don’t be stupid, of course you deserve her. And I’ll tell you something else, she and David are going to be great friends.’ Artemis beamed, looking up and meeting Athena’s eyes.
‘Yes, they are,’ she replied, squeezing Artemis’ palm. ‘They will look after each other. Who knows, one day maybe they’ll fall in love and we can wear matching hats at the wedding.’
‘I hope so,’ Artemis smiled, turning as Maria cried out, alarmed by something in her peripheral vision that neither of the women could see.