Greek Island Escape

by Patricia Wilson

  I pulled away and focused on his eyes. They were wet and shining below his furrowed brow.

  ‘Sofia, they wouldn’t want to see you in the orphanage. Tomorrow I’ll try to find someone to take you in.’

  *

  When Big Yiannis had gone, I went upstairs onto the front balcony and peered up and down the street. My family had to be out there somewhere, looking for me, with their hearts safely in their chests. Perhaps they were in hospital. I wanted to go out and search for them, but the orphanage people might get me. Anyway, I knew I should stay home and wait.

  ‘Is Big Yiannis right?’ I whispered to the night air. ‘Are you in Heaven?’

  Our square stone captain’s house, with its pale blue shutters and doors, had always felt solid and safe to me. Indestructible. Now, I felt intimidated by the high, empty rooms.

  Hit by a stab of hunger, I searched through the larder and found six jars of spoon-sweet. Mama bought the rolled-up orange peel in syrup from local women who needed the money. Charity with pride, she called it. None of us really liked it, and when it took up too much space in the pantry, Mama gave the stock to our priest, who would distribute it among the starving.

  I ate an entire jar, feeling a little sick after. Sadder than I had ever been, I changed into my flannelette nightgown and hung my beloved but dusty dress on a hanger. In bed, the house seemed silent at first, but then noises I had never noticed before snuck up on me. Footsteps, creaking doors, the Bogeyman. Afraid and alone, I pulled the eiderdown over my head and fell into an exhausted sleep.

  *

  The next days were a blur. Big Yiannis called in each morning. Although he forced a smile, it did little to hide his pain and grief.

  He checked the food in the larder and took three jars of spoon-sweet.

  ‘I’ll swap them for something, Sofia. You can’t live on this stuff – you’ll end up with the sugar sickness.’

  ‘Have some yourself, Mr Yianni. It’s very nice, but I ate a whole jar last night. I don’t think I’ll ever eat it again.’

  Sometimes, I was afraid by myself in the big house. The strange noises and shadows made me jump. Every day I half believed they might come home. Perhaps they’d been injured, were in hospital, waiting to get better.

  Big Yiannis called every day. He gave me reading and writing to do, checked I had clean clothes and brought food. There was no Christmas, no gifts or church. I missed it all that year. I learned new things instead, like lighting the fire, boiling the eggs that Big Yiannis brought, and washing the dishes and my clothes.

  After the Christmas and New Year holidays, I returned to school and was told to stay back after lessons. The teacher asked me where I was living.

  ‘I’m at home, miss.’

  ‘But who’s looking after you, Sofia?’

  When I told her Big Yiannis was taking care of me until my family returned, she seemed surprised.

  ‘But your mother, your family, they were—’

  ‘They’re in hospital, miss,’ I said, before she could go on. ‘They’ll come home soon.’

  She slumped in her chair, her mouth turned down. Then she told me to wait, left the room and returned with the headmaster.

  That night I slept in the orphanage. Everything I took for granted was changing. Everyone I knew was leaving me. I cried myself to sleep on the lumpy flock mattress. Other children cried too, although I learned later that their tears were not for their parents, but simply because they were hungry.

  CHAPTER 8

  SOFIA

  Crete, present day.

  MY HEAD JERKED FORWARD, waking me. For a moment, I wondered where I was, and then remembered my trip to Crete for the carnival. I sat in Chania’s bus station, looking back on my life, recalling with such dreadful clarity that terrible time when the theatre exploded.

  Memories of joy and pain come back in equal measure these days. At eighty-five, my time on earth is drawing to a close.

  Would I shortly meet God in Heaven? It was such a wonderful idea that my family were still waiting for me in some invisible place, and it had given me great comfort when I had needed it most. But being realistic, was this likely? And who was this God anyway? And what or where was Heaven? I did not want to live on forever in Heaven. I wanted to live on in my daughter’s heart, as my mother had lived on in mine.

  With that thought came the terrible yet uplifting truth. More than anything, I wanted my daughter to know me. The reason I had to find my child was to tell her I had never stopped loving her – and to say goodbye, because only then would I be free. Free to live, and free to die in peace.

  I pulled the baby shawl out of my bag and started to crochet.

  CHAPTER 9

  ZOË

  Manchester, present day.

  ‘GO ON, TELL ME WHAT you want,’ Zoë said to the girl who had been caught with Megan’s bag.

  The girl stared out of the office window. Her shoulders lifted and dropped.

  ‘Can you get me out of this place?’

  ‘That’s impossible if you refuse to give your name.’

  ‘And if I do, what’s gonna happen?’ she mumbled.

  ‘First, tell me if you know Megan, if you’ve seen her.’

  They had reached a stand-off. The girl chewed her thumbnail, then bobbed her head once.

  Zoë fought to keep her voice level. ‘Prove it. Tell me something Megan said.’

  ‘She’s got a brother, Josh. She hates you, but she hates her dad more. She ran away because she found out something bad about him. Something really bad. And he found out something bad about her, too, and after that she didn’t want to see any of you lot again.’

  Zoë frowned. Something bad. Something bad about Frank. What did all this mean? If Megan had found something out, something about her dad, or if he’d known something about her, if they’d had some kind of row . . . This didn’t make any sense. Surely Frank would have told her about something like this, something that might have explained why Megan had run away? They were supposed to be a team. They were supposed to trust each other.

  Using all her restraint, she said, ‘Excuse me a moment,’ to the girl and went over to the door. She needed to get away, to compose herself, to make sense of what the girl had said.

  One thing above all stuck in her mind. She’d known Josh’s name. That meant she must have known Megan.

  She knocked on the door, heard the key turn, and then found herself in the corridor facing Colin.

  ‘I just need a moment to think,’ she explained.

  He nodded and stepped into the room.

  After a few moments, the solicitor approached from down the hall with a tray of paper cups and a can of Coke.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Zoë gave a small nod. ‘It just got a bit much. I needed a little space.’ She sighed. ‘It’s been a difficult day. I was so sure we’d finally found Megan.’

  Zoë felt sick with tension. Concentrating on the progress, she reminded herself that Megan was alive, that Megan had met the girl she had just spoken to, and that Megan had acquired a passport. That alone proved her daughter was taking care of herself. They’d also found a family photograph in Megan’s bag, which meant Megan still thought fondly of them all, and contradicted the girl’s statement.

  ‘I need more time with the girl,’ Zoë said suddenly. ‘Will you give me another twenty minutes alone with her?’

  June Tree paused.

  ‘Please, June,’ Zoë said, changing tack, fine-tuning her ‘meek and mild’ channel like her mother with an old 1950s radio, aiming for the right spot. ‘It’s been months of worry and prayers and tears and, finally, there’s some hope. This is the closest I’ve come to finding Megan. Don’t take it from me. I will tell you everything she says, and I’d be so grateful.’

  The corridor was empty except for the two of them, and a few tense seconds hung in the air.

  Then June said, ‘Okay, against my better judgement – another twenty minutes, but no more. I’ve got another client
waiting.’

  ‘Thank you. I understand the pressure you’re under – been there myself.’ Their eyes met. Zoë touched her arm. ‘It’s a thankless job, but it’s worth it.’ June nodded. Zoë followed her across the corridor.

  Back in the room, Colin sat with his arms folded. A form and a pen lay before the girl.

  June nodded at Colin, then spoke to the girl. ‘You’ve got twenty minutes to help Mrs Johnson. Make the most of it.’

  The moment they closed the door, Zoë sat at the table, pulled the form towards her and lifted the pen.

  ‘At least tell me your first name. I can’t help if you don’t exist, and we haven’t much time.’

  Sullen, the girl stared at Zoë’s hand.

  ‘Come on,’ Zoë said. ‘If I don’t give them something, they won’t let me help you. Just tell me your name. What harm can it do?’

  ‘Emily.’

  Zoë nodded encouragingly as she wrote on the form. ‘Emily what?’ She kept her eyes lowered.

  ‘It’s your turn,’ Emily said. ‘What’re you going to give me?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Money. I’ve got none.’

  ‘Wasn’t there any in the bag?’

  Emily shook her head. A pink braid slid from between her dark curls and hung across her cheek.

  ‘So, Megan had no money?’

  ‘Oh, she had tons of fucking money,’ Emily said. ‘Almost all she needed.’

  So, she had definitely seen Megan! Zoë told herself not to get carried away. She had to concentrate on the girl.

  ‘Needed for what?’

  ‘The money for a plane ticket to get to her granny in Crete.’ Emily chewed her lip. ‘It wasn’t in her bag though, was it?’

  She’s planning to stay with her granny in Crete?

  ‘Megan’s grandmother died two months ago.’

  Emily’s mouth fell open. ‘Oh . . . she doesn’t know. That’s dead sad. She said her granny was ace. The best friend she ever had.’

  Zoë’s heart squeezed with sadness. She pulled a twenty from her purse. ‘That’ll cover a lot of answers, so talk. Where did Megan get the money?’

  She placed the cash on the table in front of Emily, who snatched it up, stuffed it into her bra and shrugged again.

  Zoë recalled the teenage prostitute case from that morning’s court. Keeping her voice level, she asked, ‘Was she soliciting, Emily? You can tell me. I simply want to find Megan and help her.’

  Emily blinked. ‘No, she never! She got the money juggling on the streets.’

  The girl at the lights!

  Zoë’s concentration slipped. Her dream of finding Megan seemed imminent and the anticipation overwhelmed her. Had she seen her without realising it? Surely not? She would recognise her own daughter. She had to believe that.

  ‘Describe her. Please.’

  A crooked smile flickered across Emily’s lips before her guarded look returned.

  ‘Megan’s skinny with dark curly hair, same as mine. She wears camouflage pants and, when she juggles, a red velvet jacket. She has an eyebrow stud.’

  ‘How long have you known her?’

  ‘A week,’ Emily said.

  ‘If I get you out of here, do you promise to take me around the places where Megan juggles?’ Zoë sensed this was a mistake – but nothing else presented itself.

  Emily nodded rapidly. ‘Swear down!’

  ‘Let’s fill the form in and see what we can do.’

  They battled over the form until Colin and June returned.

  Zoë had: Emily X, no fixed abode. On the next three lines, it read: no previous offences, a date of birth making her seventeen, born in Manchester.

  ‘Let’s hope it’s enough, Emily,’ Zoë said, before handing the form to Colin.

  She was still thinking over what Emily had said. What if Megan really had found something out about Frank, something bad? Perhaps he’d got himself into a messy situation at work, or perhaps there was another woman. After all, his secretary had taken Zoë’s place at functions on many occasions. And she always seemed slightly hostile when Zoë called her husband. Surely that couldn’t have been why Megan left. Surely she’d have spoken to them, like the adult she nearly was. There had to be something else.

  Startled by the silence of the room, she realised they had stopped talking. June, Colin and Emily stared at her.

  ‘Sorry, I missed that,’ she said, unaware of what had been said. ‘Look, would it be possible to have Emily released into my custody?’

  June appeared shocked. She and Colin exchanged glances, and then left the room to discuss the situation.

  ‘They ain’t going to let me go ’cos they’re sure I’ll scarper,’ Emily said. ‘They’re not stupid.’

  ‘And will you?’ Zoë asked. ‘If I get you released into my care, am I just making trouble for myself? Because, let me tell you, if you run, I would be in the most awful trouble. I’d lose my bail money and could lose my job. That means I’d end up losing my house. I have a son to consider. On top of that, I wouldn’t have money to keep searching for Megan. I could be prosecuted for perverting the course of justice, and so on.’

  Zoë was making it up as she went along, but soon realised she wasn’t far off the mark. Fraught with fear and hope, she tried to get a grip on reality. The girl would almost certainly try running once she was free.

  Emily chewed her lip. ‘What’s gonna happen? I’m scared. I don’t wanna be locked up.’ Her tears rose and she blinked at Zoë, her eyes pleading.

  ‘They’ll hold you on remand tonight. It’s too late for an emergency hearing. I’ll try and sort something for tomorrow morning. Make sure you understand. If you cause me any trouble, Emily, or abscond, the police will find you and they’ll lock you up for a long time.’ Zoë studied her face and gave her a moment to consider. ‘You’re guilty of a serious offence. I’m your only way out. If I can get a hearing tomorrow morning, and I stand bail, then you must help me find Megan. Think about it. I’ll do everything I can for you – I’ve given you my word. The rest is up to you.’

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out to answer and recognised Trisha’s number. She moved over to the window and briefly updated her friend. Trisha was silent for a minute.

  ‘Don’t believe her,’ she said. ‘I’ll bet she’s a hard-faced little liar who’s adept at getting around people.’

  ‘I’m too exhausted to concentrate, Trisha. I’d feel better if Josh was with you, or you stayed at our house while I’m here. It would be one less thing to worry about.’

  Her phone beeped. Low battery.

  ‘Josh is at Frank’s,’ Trisha said. ‘He’ll be fine. Why don’t you phone him in the morning? Decide what to do when you’ve slept.’

  ‘My battery’s packing up. I’ll buy a charger and call you later.’

  She ended the call.

  Zoë glanced at Emily. Could this girl really lead her to Megan?

  Emily read her face. ‘God’s truth, I won’t run. Just get me out of here, will you? We’ll find Megan. I know where she goes. I’m your best chance.’

  Zoë longed to be alone with the girl, on neutral ground, and find out everything she knew about Megan. She knew perfectly well that she wouldn’t get any more information out of Emily while they were in the court building.

  When June and Colin returned and took Emily to an overnight holding cell, the girl broke into tears. Zoë watched solemnly, sad that society hadn’t taken better care of this child. Then her tension returned. She was so close to finding Megan, yet still she had no idea where her daughter was at that moment. Or, in fact, the real reason why she had run away in the first place. She tried to write a to-do list in her mind to calm herself. Her next task was to find a bed for the night.

  *

  Zoë bought a phone charger, found a small hotel and booked in for two nights.

  After a restless sleep, she woke, disorientated until the events of the previous day came back. She showered, and dressed
hurriedly in yesterday’s clothes, eager to return to the Civil Justice Centre. After a quick breakfast, she headed for the courts.

  Noon had come and gone before she emerged into the dull day with Emily at her side.

  The girl glanced around furtively.

  ‘Don’t run,’ Zoë said. ‘I can help you. It can’t be easy, surviving on the streets alone – I can’t imagine how lonely it must be, too.’ She knew this was not the time to be soft. She had to set boundaries and insist on them being adhered to. A firm but kind hand was needed. ‘Before we go any further, I wanted to tell you what opportunities are open to you at the moment.’ Emily stared at her, confused. ‘There’s the Runaway Youth Program in Manchester.’

  ‘I won’t run away, swear down.’ Her face was pale with grey circles under the eyes.

  Zoë smiled. ‘Sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. The RYP is to help set you up in a proper job, with a permanent roof over your head. A fresh start. You just scrape inside the age limit to qualify, so it’s something to think about. I can probably get you enrolled.’

  Emily’s eyes widened. ‘You’d really help me?’

  Zoë nodded. ‘First, let’s get some food inside us, buy a change of clothes and find Megan.’

  Now that finding Megan was a real possibility, Zoë was impatient to get going. When they got to the burger place, she had to remind herself that another hour made little difference.

  Emily attacked a Big Mac Meal. ‘This is totally perfect,’ she said to the bun. ‘Totally.’

  ‘Tell me again, as accurately as you can – what did Megan say about me and her dad?’

  Emily froze, the burger inches from her mouth. A slice of gherkin, streaked in ketchup, slithered out of the bun and plopped onto the table. She took a bite of the burger and chewed for a moment before answering.

  ‘Megan said she was at this party, and she found out something bad about her dad. I guess he was there. And that he found out something bad about her, or saw her . . . I don’t know. I guess they had a fight or something, a really big one.’