CHAPTER 41
MEGAN
Crete, present day.
BACK AT THE APARTMENT, MEGAN watched her mother’s face as she opened the old metal box. Mum’s hands trembled as she lifted a brown envelope and placed it on the table.
‘Why don’t I make us a cup of tea, Mum? We’re both hot and tired, and it’s been quite an emotional day.’
Her mother blinked at her, and Megan could see surprise in her eyes.
‘Look at you,’ she said. ‘You’re all grown up. I’d love a cup of tea, thanks.’
The words swelled in Megan’s chest. It seemed strange that such a small gesture could impress her mother – and yet she knew it wasn’t the sort of thing she’d ever done at home. She smiled and kissed her mother’s cheek.
‘Listen to me, Mum, it doesn’t matter what we find out. I love you, okay? So does Josh, and I believe Dad does too, no matter what’s happened in the past. Promise me you’ll talk to him, please?’
Someone knocked the door. ‘Anyone home? Gary and Jeff here!’
Megan’s spirits lifted, glad of some moral support. She dreaded the idea that her mother might start crying or something. As much as she felt they’d made progress, things were still a little awkward between them.
‘Hi, come in!’ Megan called, throwing the door open. ‘We’re having an exciting moment. Mum’s about to discover stuff about her parents. It’s all a big mystery.’ She glanced at her mother and saw her shoulders drop. ‘Oh, God. I’m sorry, you’d rather be alone, wouldn’t you, Mum? I didn’t think.’
Zoë nodded. ‘Actually, yes, if you don’t mind, boys.’
They both shook their heads. ‘We’ve been helping with the carnival floats all day. Now we’re going on the roof for a beer – just came to invite you along.’
‘Very kind, thank you,’ Mum said. ‘Megan might be up shortly.’
When they had gone, Megan said, ‘Sorry again, of course you don’t want strangers around right now. I’ve got a lot to learn, Mum, but I am trying.’ She glanced around the floor, feeling awkward. ‘I’ll make the tea while you read the letter.’
Her mother dropped her head to one side and smiled in a proud sort of way, and Megan smiled back, overwhelmed by the need to give her mum a hug.
Megan concentrated on the welcome tray. They’d bought the travel kettle, coffee and sugar sachets earlier – the first time in ages they had done anything together. What were the right words to comfort and support her mother? She had zero experience of dealing with her parents in a grown-up world. For the past few months, she had thought of no one but herself.
She could change – she knew she could – but she hoped her parents could be forgiving when she made mistakes along the way. She had a lot of growing up to do.
She glanced over her shoulder as she waited for the kettle. The letter was trembling in her mother’s hand, and the silence seemed dense in the room. As Megan dropped teabags into the mugs, she heard a sob. Should she give her mother space, or another hug? Confused, she hesitated, then flicked off the kettle and went to her mother’s side.
Megan could see her mum was reading down the page. She pulled a chair to her side and squeezed her shoulder. Her mum got to the end of the letter, folded it in half and slipped it back into the envelope. It was all right. She would give it to her to read when she was ready.
Megan watched as she delved into the box and pulled out a dusty black beret with a narrow leather trim. She stroked it, her eyes brimming. When she ran her fingers around the inside, a tightly rolled piece of red paper fell out. They stared at it, and when Mum unrolled it, they saw it was filled with tiny Greek letters.
Μην με ξεχάσεις ποτέ, αγαπημένη μου. Όταν βγει ο ήλιος, πες καλημέρα και να με σκέφτεσαι. Όταν σηκώνεις το ποτήρι σου, να λες το όνομά μου. Και πες στο λατρεμένο μας μωρό, τη Ζωή, πως θα την αγαπώ για πάντα.
‘I wonder what it says,’ her mum murmured.
Megan reached for her mother’s phone, opened Google Translate and tapped in the letters.
The app answered her question.
Don’t ever forget me, my darling. When the sun comes up, say good morning and think of me. When you raise a glass, call my name, and tell our precious baby, Zoë, I will always love her.
Mum’s tears brimmed. Megan tried hard to stay strong, but her tears were close, too.
After a long silence, Megan got up to make the tea. When she finally turned and placed the drinks on the table, she realised her mother had waited for her before investigating further. It was a considerate gesture.
‘I love you, Mum,’ she said.
‘And I you, darling.’
Their eyes met and they smiled at each other for a moment. It was no big deal, really – and yet Megan felt changed, as if in that second, her mother had welcomed her into the adult world.
Mum returned her attention to the box. ‘Let’s see what else we have in here, shall we?’
The rest of the box seemed to be filled with knitting, but when they spread it on the table, they realised it was a pale lemon triangle of crocheting, unfinished, the last loop still around the crochet hook.
‘That’s bizarre,’ Megan said. ‘I wonder what it is.’
‘It’s a baby shawl. I guess it has significance. Perhaps it was for me, her baby.’
At first, they thought there was nothing more in the box, but then Megan noticed a bump in the cardboard lining.
‘Look, something’s gone underneath.’
‘Pass me a knife from the drawer, Megan.’
Mum poked at the paper until it lifted, and they found what looked like half an ivory ring.
‘It’s got writing on it. What does it say?’ Megan asked.
Her mother peered at it. ‘On the inside, it looks like my name, Zoë, which means Life in Greek – I know that much. Granny Anna told me a long time ago. I wonder if it said Eleftheria on the other side. That means Freedom, my middle name. I guess we’ll never know. There’s a date on the outside.’ She took it to the window and examined it in the bright sunlight. ‘Two weeks after my birthday. I wonder if it’s a wedding ring. Maybe that’s when they got married.’
‘So romantic,’ Megan whispered. ‘I want to write all this down, the great love story of my grandparents. It would make a great play – or a song, maybe. It would suit a song.’ She peered into the box. ‘Look, there’s something jammed into the corner.’
Her mother prised it free with the tip of the knife.
‘It’s a little locket.’
She eased the small gold heart open with the knife. Inside was a sepia photo of a long-haired boy, but what made them both gasp was the Che Guevara beret on his head.
‘Oh!’ murmured Zoë. ‘Perhaps it’s a photo of my father, your grandfather – look, he’s wearing this same beret. He’s so young. I wonder if the photo was taken around the time they first met.’
They sipped their tea in silence, until Megan said, a little timidly, ‘All this has made me want to see Dad. I thought I wanted to stay here, Mum, but I’m desperate to go home to Josh and Dad, at least for a while.’
Her mother smiled. ‘I miss them too. We’ve got so much to put right. Come on – the travel agent is open until nine. Let’s go and see if there’s any last-minute seats – and we can pick up a couple of giros for supper on the way back.’
They freshened up and walked into the city, entering the first travel shop they came to. Three women sat at their desks in the empty shop. Two were painting their nails. The other spoke to them in Greek.
‘Sorry, do you speak English?’ Mum asked politely.
‘Should do, I’m from Blackpool,’ the woman said, with a laugh. ‘Married a lazy Greek for my sins, over thirty years ago. Shirley Valentine, eat your heart out.’
The three of them grinned at each other, though Megan couldn’t say why she thought it was so funny.
> ‘We wondered if there are any last-minute flights to London, say tomorrow or the day after?’
‘Sure – the planes are half-empty going back. Everyone’s coming in for the carnival and staying for a long weekend.’
Megan looked at her mother, and beamed.
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ she said. ‘Soon as possible.’
The woman tapped her keyboard. ‘Noon tomorrow?’
Mum nodded.
‘Passports, please.’
Megan handed hers over proudly, glancing at her mother, who was rummaging in her cluttered handbag. As the assistant opened Zoë’s, a slip of paper fell out.
‘Is this important?’ the assistant asked.
Mum peered at it, frowning, then she shook her head.
‘I don’t think so. An old woman gave it to me on the ferry from Athens. What does it say?’
‘Ψάχνω την κόρη μου, γεννήθηκε στις φυλακές Κορυδαλλού την 1 Νοεμβρίου 1972.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Mum said.
‘Ah, sorry: “I am searching for my daughter, born in Korydallos prison, Athens, 1 November 1972”. ’
Megan gasped. ‘Mum, that’s your birthday!’
Her mother had her hand over her mouth. After a moment, she said, ‘I can’t believe this. The solicitor said she came over for the carnival every year, hoping to find me. Oh my God, Megan,’ she muttered. ‘Perhaps I met my own mother and didn’t even know it was her. Wait! We saw her again at the harbour this morning, giving out her bits of paper. Do you remember? The woman who couldn’t speak. I thought she was begging and gave her some money.’
‘Some? You gave her ten euros, Mum. I saw.’
‘Let’s say I was celebrating in my own way, after finding you.’
The older assistant screwed the top on her nail polish and looked up. ‘You must mean Sofia Bambaki,’ she said with a heavy Greek accent.
Mum gasped. ‘It was her! We have to find her.’
She got to her feet and stared around the room.
‘She was a famous singer long ago,’ the assistant went on. ‘My own mother was a big fan, bought all her records. Sofia lost her voice and was unable to perform for her public, or even speak. Unfortunately, she seems to have lost her mind, too. She’s wandered around Greece for many years, claiming to be looking for her daughter – though by all accounts, she never had a child.’
Mum sat down again and took hold of Megan’s hand.
The travel agent continued. ‘She’s been in here a couple of times, hoping for a cheap ferry ticket.’ She crossed herself. ‘Poor old dear. I think I have one of her notes, too.’
She pulled her desk drawer out and tipped it onto the counter. It was in the same state as Mum’s handbag.
‘Here it is,’ she said, after a moment.
Megan went to the desk and took the slip back to the woman from Blackpool.
‘Ah – it’s not quite the same. I’ll translate: “I’m looking for my baby, Zoë Eleftheria, born 1 November 1972”.’
Megan gasped. ‘That’s you, Mum! The old woman – it was her, your mother! Oh! My! God!’ She scratched her head. ‘I’ll call Gary and Jeff. They’re working with the carnival people. They can put it all over social media. Leave it with me! I’ll find her, don’t you worry!’ She turned to the assistant. ‘We don’t need the flight now, not just yet – but thanks for all your help.’
‘Do you really mean it?’ the woman from Blackpool asked. ‘Sofia Bambaki is your mother? Look, my name’s Pauleen, I’d like to help. My husband’s friends with the guy who owns the Cretan radio station. I’m sure he’ll be interested in helping to find her. Shall I ask?’
Her mum, who had always been the backbone of the family, now seemed in shock. After a moment of surprise, Megan spoke for her.
‘Yes, please do everything you can. My mum’s never knowingly met her biological mother – she didn’t know who she was until today. It would be wonderful if you could help bring them together.’ She unzipped the front pocket of her mother’s handbag and pulled out her mobile. ‘Here, take our phone number, please, and get back to us the moment you hear anything. Honestly, we’re so grateful for your help – all of you.’
She turned to her mother. ‘Look, Mum, let’s go back to the taverna where we had breakfast. She was there this morning. Perhaps the owner knows her and can tell us where she’s staying.’
Her mother nodded slowly. ‘It’s such a shock. I can hardly believe what’s happening.’ She turned to the travel agents. ‘Thank you all so much.’
*
Night had fallen by the time Megan and her mother returned to the apartment.
‘What a day – I’m exhausted! Do you want to go for a beer with your friends, Megan? I’m going to shower and sleep.’ She pulled a twenty from her purse. ‘Here, go and relax if you want.’
As Megan went to take the money, she noticed her mother’s frown, and she withdrew her hand.
‘I don’t need it. I’ve got my own money, thanks.’
If they were to be on equal terms, if she were to prove that she could be an adult, she shouldn’t be financially dependent on her mother. In fact, she promised herself that she would get lunch tomorrow.
Then she hoped they wouldn’t be too hungry.
Mum shook her head. ‘No, sorry, take it. I was just thinking of Emily. I gave her a twenty to get some chips. Then she walked out of the door and I never saw her again.’
Megan pressed her mum’s hand. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right by yourself, Mum?’
‘To be honest, after all that’s gone on, I’d be glad of the space. But if you’d like to stay in, that would be lovely too. Will you take my phone? Just in case you need me. I’ll put the apartment phone number on it – you just have to remember to ask for room eight.’
Megan grinned, longing to know how Gary and Jeff had got on. She had called and updated them after leaving the travel agent’s.
‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll make you a coffee, you must be gagging. Then I’ll find my mates.’
*
The guys were having a beer at a pavement café near the apartment, both thumbing their phones.
‘Hi! How’s it going?’ Megan cried, relieved to see them.
‘Good. How’s it with you? What’s the story behind all this then? Sounds fascinating.’
‘I don’t know all of it myself.’ She sighed. ‘The truth is, I ran away from home months ago, and Mum found me here, when you first saw her. She’s just discovered her mum wasn’t her biological mother, and that her biological mother was this famous Greek singer called Sofia Bambaki who gave her away at birth. But – you could make a film of this, I’m telling you – her biological mother actually spoke to her on the ferry from Athens yesterday. Well, didn’t exactly speak to her, but that’s another story. But neither of them knew who the other one was. Now I’m trying to get them reunited.’
‘Dramatic!’ Jeff said, still typing on his phone. ‘You’re right. Sofia Bambaki was pretty famous – so was her mother. Seems Sofia was in prison for years for writing rebel songs, while the country was under martial law. Her mother was killed in an explosion while singing on stage in the city, at the end of the war.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ Megan said. ‘What a tragedy.’
Gary lifted his phone. ‘Give me a sad puppy-dog look. Nice!’ He took a photo. ‘That’ll go with the story.’
Jeff’s phone vibrated. He picked it up and stared at the screen.
‘Holy shit! Antonis from the carnival put it on a Greek site. He’s got so many replies he can’t read them all.’ He stood up, grinning. ‘Megan, it’s gone viral. Come on, he’s two minutes away.’
They met Antonis at a café bar near the ancient city wall. He shook hands with Megan, which she thought was pretty cool. In fact, she thought he was pretty gorgeous, too, with his almond eyes and sweeping lashes. Weird. She couldn’t remember finding anyone attractive since Simon.
They we
re all deciding what to do next, when Megan’s phone rang.
‘That’ll be Mum.’
‘Mrs Johnson?’ a man’s voice said.
‘No, sorry, this is her daughter. How can I help you?’
‘This is Kreta FM, the radio station. I believe you have an interesting story for us and want help in finding Sofia Bambaki?’
‘Absolutely. She’s actually my grandmother, though I’ve never met her myself.’
‘I wondered if you and your mother could come into the studio tomorrow morning and take part in an interview?’
CHAPTER 42
SOFIA
Athens, 1974.
ON STAGE IN ATHENS’S BIGGEST prison, I was halfway through singing the last record I’d cut with Spyridon when the camp colonel came on stage and stopped the performance with an announcement. The concert was over, and soldiers were to return to barracks. All leave was cancelled and anyone trying to leave the camp would be dealt with severely.
The audience murmured as the lights went up. There were police with pistols drawn at the exits. Back in the dressing room, I asked the other artists what was happening.
‘Who knows?’ one of them said. ‘There’s a media blackout, and a nine o’clock curfew. It’s like the war all over again.’
‘I heard the colonels have been overthrown by a new government,’ another said.
‘Does that mean we’ll be released?’ I asked, thinking at once of Zoë and Anna Despotakis.
The first one shrugged. ‘Possibly. We can hope, I guess.’
*
The following months passed in chaos. Nobody seemed to know what was happening. The colonels were held in that same prison, and each of the many thousands of people they had incarcerated were having their cases reviewed. I was one of them.
Eventually, I was freed and immediately headed for Zacharia.
*
It was eleven o’clock in the morning by the time I reached the bakery’s street. People were buying the last dozen or so of Zacharia’s loaves outside the shop. My heart leaped to see him. He looked older, but his face was still the one I knew and loved.
‘Zacharia! Zacharia!’ I yelled, my arms outstretched as I ran towards him. He dropped a loaf, abandoned his customers and hurried towards me.
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