‘Mimi, bring your tablet in for Kyria Bambaki, would you?’
After a shaky start, I got the hang of typing my words on the tablet.
Where is she?
‘You mean your daughter, Zoë?’
I nodded, dabbing at my tears with a tissue.
‘I went to see Anna just before she passed away. She was my cousin, you know. Zoë was with her.’
I gasped. He’d seen my daughter! My grown-up daughter. Did he shake hands, hug her, kiss her cheeks? I felt myself turning inside out with emotion.
He paused and sighed. ‘Neither of them know the truth, Sofia, and I thought it was best to leave it that way, at least while Anna was alive. Near the end, Anna said she would like to see Zoë. Her sister telephoned London, and Zoë came straight over. She returned to London after Anna’s death, where I believe she is happily married with two children.’
Filled with the greatest joy and sadness, I tried to take it all in. I did not have the strength to travel to London, and I could not speak English. My darling daughter was well and happy, and what more could a mother ask for? Of course I longed to hold her once before I died, but that was pure selfishness.
I reached for the tablet.
Please describe my daughter for me. I have not seen my child since she was a little girl.
He nodded. I closed my eyes and, with the lawyer’s help, I built an image of my girl.
‘She’s quite tall, perhaps five eight. Dark, curly hair, as you would expect, past her shoulders, I think, but clipped up the way you women do. Beautiful features, even without make-up. Perfect skin. Full mouth. Medium nose. Brown eyes with gold flecks.’
Markos’s eyes. I’d seen eyes like that recently, but I couldn’t remember where. Rodakis continued.
‘Slim, but not skinny. What I believe are called “child-bearing hips”. A very eloquent talker as I remember. Stylish, even when dressed casually. Despite her intense grief, she looked very beautiful at Anna’s funeral. Everyone wanted to know who she was.’
I found myself smiling.
*
The time had come to end my search for the baby I had given away all those years ago. My love for our child had never died; I remembered every moment we had spent together, and recalled Markos’s tears as he held our daughter, moments after her birth. His words came back to me: She will have life and freedom, Sofia. And it seemed his prophecy had come true.
What more could we ask for, Markos? I’m so tired, my love. Can I give up this search?
Wherever Zoë is, she is still our child, Sofia. Nothing can change that. You are free, my darling.
Finally defeated, I wept with the futility of it all, and with my tears, I felt a great weight lift from me.
Once I’d pulled myself together, I decided the time had come to end this search and go back to my little room in Athens. I would leave immediately after the carnival. Mr Rodakis and his daughter watched curiously as I pulled an odd assortment of things out of my travel bag. The shawl, my half of the wedding ring, Spyridon’s gold locket, a crumpled nursery painting and a brown envelope. I placed these things in a line on the desk and thought I should write a letter to Zoë. There was so much I wanted to say. But then I looked at the brown envelope that Markos had given to me and, remembering the contents, I considered it was enough.
I tapped a message on the tablet:
I am giving up my search for Zoë. If she ever gets in touch with you again, please give her these things.
Then, relieved of my life’s baggage, I got to my feet and left the office.
*
Back at the harbour, while walking past the fort, I slipped a hand into my pocket and rolled the sea glass between my fingers. I reminded myself that although there was no clue as to what it had once been, it was unique, changed, but still a thing of beauty and value.
In a shady corner under a tree near the fountain, in Talos Square, I rested on a bench. The public swimming baths were nearby. I could get a shower, much needed after my long walk from the lawyer’s office. On my travels, I usually bathed in the sea, but it would be nice to wash the salt from my long hair. Sometimes, people left shampoo or shower cream behind, and such a luxury added to my pleasure.
A couple of children ran about the grassed square in their fancy-dress costumes. I wondered if the children in England dressed up for carnival week as they did in Greece. Had Zoë been a fairy, Cinderella, or perhaps when she was older, Athena, or a pop singer? Had Zoë’s children, my grandchildren, dressed up too? I hoped so.
My thoughts drifted back to Markos. Closing my eyes, I recalled standing at his graveside, singing my heart out.
CHAPTER 39
ZOË
Crete, present day.
THAT AFTERNOON, ZOË TOOK MEGAN to Granny Anna’s cottage, but they found it empty and the outside defaced with graffiti. Black swastikas, KKE daubed in red and hammer and sickle signs spoiled the flaking outside walls. The door was unlocked, but they had to put their shoulders to it because grit had blown under the doorjamb.
Inside, although covered in months of dust, the contents seemed undisturbed. Great-aunt Calliopi and Granny Anna had clearly spent much of their time on crocheting and embroidery; the cushions, curtains, tablecloths and bed linen were all handmade. A shelf of painted plates surrounded the room and, at the far end, stood an enormous bed, the honey-coloured wooden spindles supporting an embroidered canopy above the mattress. Against the back wall, in the cave-like sleeping area, another shelf was laden with handmade linen. Garish icons adorned the walls; their solid-gold haloes glinted in the dull light. Plastic flowers in yellowing cut-glass vases, and varnished seashells, were displayed atop the mismatched furniture.
Above a bow-fronted walnut sideboard, the 3-D silver foil image of New York’s Empire State Building made such a bizarre contrast. Next to this, adding to the surrealism of the room, a cream plastic relief of Rembrandt’s Last Supper hung in a resin frame of fairies and bluebells.
‘This is soooo cool!’ Megan said. ‘I’d completely forgotten what Granny Anna’s looked like inside. Nobody could actually make a place like this. It’s a museum packed with generations of personal memorabilia. Can you take lots of photos while I go to the loo, Mum?’
The bathroom was a small, brick cubicle outside. A faded brocade curtain hung in the doorway and inside, the corners were lost in a candyfloss of cobwebs. The smallest room, lit by a bare bulb, contained a peach toilet with no lid or cistern, just a bucket of stale water beside it. Over a small washbasin was a well-worn tap. Burnished brass showed through the chrome. From this, a cheap rubber hose and showerhead looped around a nail in the wall. Drainage was a round grid in the floor.
Outside, the olive grove and the garden were overgrown, and although the place should have had an air of abandonment, it was vibrant with colour and wildlife.
Morning glory tangled through a lemon tree near the door. The purple trumpets were a startling contrast to the vivid lemons and white, waxy blossom. Zoë plucked a couple of the dark, leathery leaves and passed one to Megan. They snapped them, inhaling the zing of citrus oil.
With their backs to the graffiti, Zoë sat with her daughter on the patio bench, a white-painted scaffolding plank on four cinder blocks. They rubbed the citrus oil onto their ankles to keep away mosquitoes. Zoë gazed over the tousled garden and spotted a brilliant-green lizard with a yellow throat waddling along a stone wall. The reptile stopped to stare at them, bobbed its head a couple of times, then disappeared over the other side.
‘Did you see that?’ Megan whispered.
Captivated by the moment, they sat still, wondering what would appear next. Cicadas sawed through the silence, building to a climax, then suddenly fell quiet. Moments later, the insects started again with the solitary call of the ringleader.
At the gate, a sunflower taller than either of them hung its heavy head as if staring at its roots. On the patio table, which was nothing more than a painted cable reel, stood a blue wicker basket full of mor
e sunflower heads.
‘Granny Anna ate sunflower seeds like you eat crisps,’ Zoë whispered. ‘She loved them.’
They stared at the giant seed-heads with delicate shrivelled petals. A blue tit flew in from the lemon tree and artfully plucked a seed from the spiralling centre, cracked it and feasted on the contents. Another joined it, then another. The tiny blue, yellow and black birds skipped back and forth like pixies in a fairy tale. Striped seed husks were scattered among dried petals on the tabletop.
‘It’s so beautiful and undisturbed,’ Megan said quietly. ‘Makes me feel a little drunk – do you know what I mean?’
Zoë nodded.
‘I want to come here and write poems and paint, Mum. I feel like it’s shimmering inside me – the ability, I mean, the need to do something.’ She met Zoë’s eyes and blushed. ‘Take no notice, I sound completely mad.’
Zoë shook her head. ‘You’ve always had a way with words. I know you used to write songs and plays when you were a child – and when I see you juggle, I know you’d be amazing on a stage.’ She delved into her oversized, cluttered handbag and pulled out a small package. ‘This is for you. I bought it at the airport when I was going up to Manchester.’
Megan undid the gift-wrap and stroked the A5 book full of blank pages.
‘It’s perfect, Mum, thank you. The best present I’ve ever had.’
Zoë glanced sideways at her daughter and smiled.
*
It was clear that Aunt Calliopi had not lived at the cottage for some time. When Zoë phoned Mr Rodakis to make an appointment, she asked about her aunt.
‘I’m afraid Calliopi had a stroke not long after Anna died,’ he said solemnly. ‘I’m sorry to say they turned off the life support last week. I tried to call your landline in London but there was no answer. That’s one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you.’
*
Back in town, they had just ordered iced coffee at a pavement café when Zoë’s phone rang. She saw Frank’s number and felt her heart flip like it hadn’t in months.
‘I missed a call from you earlier,’ Frank said. ‘How’s the search going?’
Zoë breathed in deeply. ‘Frank, I’ve found her.’
She heard a gasp, then a long moment’s silence on the other end of the line.
‘At last. I always knew we’d find her. Tell me she’s okay . . .’ His words were husky, emotional.
Zoë tried to keep her voice steady. ‘She’s sitting opposite me right now. We’re in Crete.’
‘In Crete? What . . . ?’ Frank’s voice broke. ‘God, I’ve missed her. I’ve missed you too, Zoë. Please, come home – both of you. Josh is driving me mad, and . . .’
Zoë stood up, and walked a few feet away from the table. This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have in front of Megan right then.
Zoë held her breath. ‘Look, Frank, there’s something I have to ask you. Megan said that she was at a party the night before she left and that she—’
‘She told you?’ Another long silence, then, ‘Is that why she ran away? Zoë, it’s been eating me up for months, but I gave my word not to tell you because she didn’t want you to judge her. I put myself in a difficult situation. If I didn’t keep my word and honour my promise, how could I ever expect her to do the same?’
‘She said she saw you with another woman.’
A moment’s silence. ‘Did Megan think I was with somebody? It was a fundraiser, an art auction with a party after, but I knew they were a pretty wild crowd – you know the sort of thing, you’ve been to enough of them with me in the past. They work hard, but they play hard too. Bearing this in mind, I didn’t want to go alone. You were busy with your new partnership deal and couldn’t go, remember?’
Zoë had vague recollections of trying to work through the contract she’d been offered.
‘A colleague of mine offered to accompany me, but after a few drinks, well, it was clear raising funds for the refugees wasn’t the first thing on her mind. Very embarrassing. She’s moved on, thank God. Don’t tell me Megan thought I was up to no good? Good grief!’
Zoë felt her shoulders drop.
‘Listen, Zoë, these last few months have been a terrible mistake . . . Walking out on you and Josh – it’s something I’ve regretted more each day. We’ve had a trial separation and I’ve never been more miserable. I went to the solicitor’s yesterday and cancelled the petition for divorce. I can’t live without you, Zoë. I want to come home, go back to how we were.’
Zoë was almost speechless. ‘After all you’ve put me through? You’re the one who walked out just when I needed you most, Frank. It was you who filed for divorce!’
She had raised her voice too much and saw Megan turn and stare at her from the table.
‘You drove me out, Zoë. I’m not blaming you, but you did. We were both so fraught about Megan leaving, we did nothing but hurt each other.’
Zoë sighed. ‘What happened to us? Why are we blaming each other? We were so happy once.’
‘I still love you.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Oh, Frank.’ She looked back towards the table and saw Megan’s wide eyes. ‘Frank, this isn’t the time or the place.’
‘I know, I know. You said Megan’s there? Can I speak to her?’
Zoë crossed the café quickly, flipped the phone on to speaker and placed it on the table before Megan.
Megan’s eyes were full of questions. ‘Dad, it’s me.’
Even from across the table, Zoë heard his gasp before he responded.
‘Megan!’ A pause. ‘Are you all right? Your Mum said—’
‘I’m fine, Dad. I’ve made such a mess of things. I didn’t realise how much you both cared.’
‘Never mind. Oh, thank God, thank God! Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Dad, I’m so sorry, really – I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble. I thought . . . Well, perhaps I misunderstood everything.’
He sighed into the phone. ‘Look, I’ll call you back in a few minutes,’ he said huskily before ending the call.
Megan’s jaw dropped. ‘I didn’t expect him to be so upset, Mum. I feel terrible. I’m so ashamed to have caused all this distress.’
‘Neither of us have stopped loving you, Megan.’
She thought about Frank. All she had been thinking about these last few days was how angry she was with him. He’d known more about why Megan might have run off than he’d told her. It had only now occurred to her just how guilty he must have felt all these months.
For so long she had been thinking about how he’d left, just when she needed him most. But she had pushed him away, just when he needed her, too.
‘Megan, I should have told you before. Your father and I – I’m sorry, but we’re living apart.’
‘What? No, Mum, that’s crazy. You can’t split up! You and Dad love each other. I know you do.’
‘He moved out,’ she said, and couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice.
‘But that’s nuts!’ Megan’s face fell. ‘Was it because of me?’
‘No,’ said Zoë softly. ‘It was because of me. I drove him away. And you’re right, we do still love each other. I think we do. Perhaps, when we get home, we can try again.’
*
Later that afternoon, after Megan had had another long phone call with her father, she and Zoë got a taxi to the solicitor’s office and climbed the steep marble stairs to the first floor. The solicitor was an old man, and it was his granddaughter who now ran the business. Zoë learned from the granddaughter that despite his eighty-five years, Mr Rodakis insisted on going into the office for a couple of hours every day and continued to take care of his old clients.
‘Ah, Mrs Johnson? Please, take a seat. I’m very sorry for your loss, both your mother and your aunt. What can I do for you?’
‘Please, call me Zoë. You sent me a letter saying you wanted to speak with me about an investment my mother made. I’m quite surprised, Mr Rodakis. M
y mother was almost penniless when she died. She hardly managed on her small pension, so I sent her a little money each month to help. I don’t think she had any investments. She would have told me.’
‘Not Anna, no, but . . .’ He hesitated, and shuffled his papers. ‘There is something I have to tell you, Zoë. Anna Despotakis was not your biological mother.’
Zoë stared at him, incredulous. ‘What are you talking about? Of course she was.’
‘There are some things you don’t understand about your past. Your parents are not who you thought they were.’ He sighed. ‘I have kept this secret for a long time – your biological mother wanted it that way. She came to our office in Heraklion many years ago to make financial arrangements for your education. She paid money to you and to Anna for many years, in order to make sure you were always well provided for. Our offices have moved twice since, and now we practise under my granddaughter’s married name, so your biological mother lost touch. When I sent you that last letter, the investment had just matured, but I had no way of contacting your biological mother. It was only very recently, when she saw the announcement of Anna Despotakis’s demise in the paper, that she got in touch with us again. She was here this very morning. She left a letter from your biological father, and a few items of personal significance. She wants you to have them.’
‘B-but,’ stammered Zoë, ‘I don’t understand. How is this possible? Why did nobody ever tell me?’
‘Your biological mother wanted to protect you, to keep you happy – and Anna, too. You see, Anna really believed that you were her own child.’
Zoë blinked disbelievingly. ‘But how could Anna not know if she and my father had adopted me?’
‘You weren’t adopted. The circumstances of your birth are quite sad, but if you have time, I’ll tell you what happened.’
*
Once the solicitor had voiced the facts relating to her birth, Zoë sat in stunned silence. She felt Megan press her hand as she tried to imagine this woman who had given her away, and everything she must have suffered through the decades. Zoë had searched for Megan for little over six months; she could hardly imagine her own mother’s heartbreak after a search that went on over many decades.
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