You Then, Me Now

by Nick Alexander

  She felt numb as she looked at those words. Because the situation suddenly seemed hopeless to her. Even if the police didn’t turn up to drag her away, surely whatever she’d had with Leif was now broken? Surely the horrific events of the day and their joint cover-up left no opening, no breathing space for love.

  At the thought of Conor’s body inside the cold, mangled car, she felt nauseous and returned to the bathroom believing that she was going to be sick. But nothing happened. There was no sickness; there were no more tears. Conor was dead. Leif was gone. She just felt cold and shaky and as alone as she ever had.

  ‘Nothing happened that night, or the next morning,’ Mum said. ‘Nothing at all. I’m sure they must have found the car pretty fast; there were tourists everywhere. But perhaps it took a while to work out who he was, or to find out where he’d been staying. I don’t know, really.

  ‘I thought very carefully about what to do next. The people in the hotel knew there was no love lost between us, so I didn’t make a fuss immediately. But in the evening I made myself look as pretty as possible and casually asked the desk clerk if Conor had booked a table for dinner. When he told me that he hadn’t, I asked if he’d seen anything of him.

  ‘He asked me about my passport. So I told him that I’d found it. I played the dipsy woman card and batted my eyelashes and apologised for troubling him with it. It had been in my handbag all along, I said. Something like that, anyway.

  ‘The police arrived when I was eating dinner. I could see them from where I was sitting. They showed the guy on reception Conor’s driving licence, and he pointed out where I was sitting. They crossed the restaurant to join me. Absolutely everyone was staring.’

  ‘You must have been terrified, weren’t you?’ I asked.

  Mum nodded. ‘I was,’ she said. ‘But I felt numb, too, from the shock, I suppose. And from lack of sleep. But I was fully expecting them to accuse me of something and lead me away, so yes, I was scared. I was petrified.

  ‘One of the policemen, the younger one, addressed me as Mrs O’Leary. So I told him that, no, my name was Ryan. I asked if something had happened to Conor. I was very aware that I needed to avoid overacting. I was terrified I’d over- or under-do it all, and he’d sniff out the lie like your grandmother always did when I lied to her.

  ‘He asked me if he was my boyfriend, I think. And I answered vaguely. I said “sort of” or something like that. I told them it was a holiday romance. And I asked why they wanted to know. I asked if something had happened.

  ‘“He’s had an accident,” the younger one said. “I’m very sorry but he is dead.” I don’t think his English was good enough to be subtle about it. I started to cry, which was perfect really. I didn’t even have to force it. I cried from relief that they didn’t seem to suspect me of anything, and I cried for Conor, too. The policeman’s words had made the whole thing seem real. It’s my fault, I kept thinking. If I hadn’t pushed him . . . And so I sat there in the middle of a crowded restaurant with tears rolling down my face.’

  ‘It’s weird that they did it in public,’ I commented. ‘Telling you something like that.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mum said. ‘Yes, I know. Eventually they led me to the room and I braced myself for some difficult questions. But there were none. They packed up all Conor’s stuff in his suitcase, which felt weird. They were ever so polite, showing me each item and asking if they could take it all. They asked if I wanted to see his body, too, and I started to cry again just at the thought of how bashed up it must be after that fall. I think my tears made them feel embarrassed, because after a brief conversation in Greek, one of them told me that it wouldn’t be necessary.

  ‘They asked me if I wanted to deal with things, or something like that, and at first I didn’t know what they meant. I’m not sure quite what words they used. Their English wasn’t brilliant and I was crying a lot. It’s all a bit blurry. But in the end I understood they meant the body, getting it home, all that stuff. They said they’d already been in contact with his brother – I had forgotten he even had one – and the thought of his poor brother brought on a fresh flood of tears. I asked if I could leave the next day – I had a flight booked, remember – and they said that of course I could, which was totally unexpected. They just asked if the hotel had my home address so they could contact me, and I lied and said that they had. It seemed a reasonable enough mistake to make under the circumstances. And then they left.’

  ‘Just like that?’ I said. ‘No statement? No fingerprints? Nothing?’

  ‘I don’t think they were very good policemen, really,’ Mum said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Or at any rate, they certainly weren’t very suspicious. I suppose from their point of view a known drunkard had driven off a cliff. Maybe it happens a lot.’

  ‘And you flew home the next day?’

  Mum nodded. ‘I flew home.’

  ‘And they never contacted you?’ Leif asked.

  Mum shook her head. ‘Never. I mean, maybe they tried to, but no. The only person who ever contacted me was Conor’s brother. He phoned about a week after I got back. He’d got my number from Conor’s phone bill, or something. He wanted me to go to the funeral. Well, he wanted to invite me, at least. I’m not sure he cared if I actually went.’

  ‘Did you go?’

  Mum shook her head. ‘No. I felt terrible, honestly – I felt sick about it. But I was too scared of getting tangled up in it all. Of having to explain things to people. It seemed safest just to lie low, you know? He didn’t ask for my address or anything. And he never called again. So that was the end of that, really.’

  ‘That must have been hard, though,’ I said. ‘His poor brother. He must have been really upset.’

  ‘I think it must have been a lot of hassle for him. You know, getting the body back and everything. But I honestly got the feeling they weren’t close. And he didn’t seem surprised. He asked me if Conor had been drinking, actually. And when I said yes, he explained that he meant was he drinking in general, not just on the night of the accident. So I told him the truth, that yes, he’d been drunk pretty much all the time. And he said a strange thing. He said it was because of the home. Something like that, anyway.’

  ‘The home?’

  ‘Yeah. I asked him what he meant, and he said, “Oh nothing. Just shit that happened when he was a kid.” That’s the only phrase I remember clearly. Shit that happened when he was a kid. That’s what he said. I remember Conor telling me that he’d grown up in care, and from the little his brother had said, it sounded like he’d maybe not had a very good time of it.’

  ‘Maybe he got abused or something,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe,’ Mum said. ‘I can’t say it didn’t cross my mind.’

  ‘And the letter?’ Leif prompted. ‘My address?’

  ‘Well, that’s like I said,’ Mum told him. ‘I’d tucked it into the lining of my suitcase. It seemed a bit . . . what’s the word? Incriminating, that’s it.’

  ‘How so?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it linked Leif to me, didn’t it? And it sort of showed that I hadn’t been in love with Conor, too. It provided a motive, as they say, for a fight. That’s how I saw things, anyway. So I tucked it into the lining. There was a split in the satin at the back, and I hid it in there. Otherwise they probably would have delivered my suitcase to Leif in Norway. It was his address, after all.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

  ‘And you were pregnant,’ Leif said. ‘When did you know this?’

  ‘Well, I had some . . . Tell me to stop if this is too much information, OK? But I had some spotting. Quite regularly, actually.’

  ‘Spotting?’ Leif repeated.

  ‘It’s when you bleed, just a bit,’ I explained, because Mum was looking embarrassed. ‘Like at the beginning of your period, only lighter.’

  ‘So I thought I was OK, you see?’ Mum continued. ‘I thought my period was mucked up, which would hardly have been surprising, under the circumstances. But I thought I
was safe.’

  ‘You didn’t want me?’ I asked, feeling genuinely hurt.

  ‘No, it wasn’t that, sweetheart,’ Mum said. ‘But if I had been pregnant, which of course I was – only I didn’t think I was – God, I’m not explaining this properly, am I?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘Keep going.’

  ‘So, if I’d realised straight off that I was pregnant. Or if I hadn’t believed that I had proof that I wasn’t, then I would have definitely taken a pill to . . . you know . . .’

  ‘Abort me,’ I said brutally.

  ‘But it wasn’t you then, was it?’ Mum said. ‘It was just the beginning of a baby. The seed of a baby. Potentially Conor’s baby. And I definitely didn’t want that.’

  ‘But you had spotting,’ I said. ‘So you didn’t. Well, thank God for that.’

  Mum sighed. ‘Sweetheart,’ she said gently. ‘Try to understand.’

  ‘I am trying,’ I said. ‘This is me trying. Carry on.’

  ‘By the time I realised – because I had a couple of bouts of spotting a few weeks apart – I was more than eight weeks pregnant. And almost the second I realised, your grandmother worked it out too. I’d been weird ever since coming home, of course. My moods were all over the place because of what had happened. I was depressed, I think. And I kept bursting into tears. But then I got morning sickness, and it all just fell into place.’

  ‘I remember you crying when I was little,’ I said. ‘Was that because of what had happened?’

  ‘Sometimes it was. More often than not it was because I couldn’t get in touch with Leif. I mean, I knew he was your father by then. So I was devastated. For both of us. He was the only good thing that had ever happened to me and he was out of reach. I was sick with it. But sometimes it was for Conor. Sometimes it was the horror of that night. I used to have nightmares about it. About the fight and about that damned sheet of paper.’

  ‘And what about Gran?’ I asked. ‘She must have gone apeshit.’

  ‘Apeshit?’ Leif queried.

  ‘It means mad. Angry. My gran was religious.’

  ‘Yes, she was very religious,’ Mum said. ‘And a bit mad, really. And yes, she went batshit crazy. She kept slapping my face. And she locked me in my room for two days. I had to pee in a vase. She kept dragging me to confession, too. I just used to make stuff up. I wasn’t telling them what had happened.’

  ‘Did she want you to get an abortion?’

  ‘No!’ Mum said, laughing at the ridiculousness of the idea. ‘No, you must be joking. That would have been the biggest sin of all. No, she wanted to send me to some awful place in Ireland to have the baby, like we were still in the fifties or something. She wanted me to hand the baby over for adoption as soon as it was born. I heard her discussing it with the parish priest. That’s why I ran away.’

  ‘To Margate.’

  ‘Yes, to Margate. Your Aunt Abby had moved there to be with Winston, her boyfriend. They had this mouldy flat overlooking the telephone exchange where they put me up for a while. I stayed there a couple of months, I think. And then I slowly sorted myself out.’

  ‘Did you ever think about adoption?’ I asked. ‘Did you ever consider it?’ The idea that if my grandmother had had her way, I’d have been handed over to some random family, was terrifying to me.

  ‘Look,’ Mum said. ‘I’m not going to lie to you. Not now. Not now you know everything else. So if I’m being honest, I’d have to admit that if I’d known I was pregnant, and because it might have been Conor’s, I’d definitely have taken a pill. And if I’m telling the truth, I kept the adoption thing in the back of my mind as a bit of an escape route. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope, you see. Not financially, or in any other way, really. I was still very immature. But when you were born, you looked so much like Leif. And it was just out of the question. I was still hoping to find him somehow, and I just couldn’t imagine telling him I’d had his child and given it away. And I wanted you too. I loved you, almost immediately. I loved you like I’ve never loved anyone, sweetheart. You know that.’

  ‘And now you did find me,’ Leif said. ‘And you made a good choice, because I will be very angry if you tell me I can’t meet lovely Becky.’

  ‘Yes,’ Mum said, her mouth smiling while her eyes still looked sad. ‘Yes, better late than never, I suppose.’

  I asked then if we could go out there. I asked if they would show me where it happened. ‘Or would that be too gruesome?’

  Mum shrugged. ‘I can’t say I’m keen,’ she said. ‘But I suppose if you really want to. What do you think, Leif?’

  Leif shook his head. ‘I don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I go there every time. I don’t know quite why. For the memories, I think. For the bad ones and good ones. For Conor, too. To pay my respects.’

  EIGHTEEN

  LAURA

  It turned out that Leif, too, had rented a scooter, so we decided to ride out there together. He had to return to his room for the keys and then we all met up in the car park at street level.

  Becky rode alone and, for old times’ sake, I rode pillion behind Leif. I had a huge lump in my throat the whole way there.

  We parked up next to an air-conditioning shop that had sprung up in the middle of nowhere, and locked our helmets in the top cases of the bikes and started to walk out towards the cliffs.

  The narrow lane, which had been a dust track all those years ago, was now covered with smooth tarmac which shimmered in the heat, but even though it was hot, I kept getting the shivers. The two unfinished houses now had windows and people living in them, though even now, one of them still had metal spikes sticking skywards, ready for one-day-there’ll-be-another-floor.

  ‘These were still being built, back then,’ I explained to Becky as we passed them. ‘They didn’t have windows or anything.’

  ‘Your mother wanted us to live in one of them,’ Leif said. ‘Do you remember, Laura?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, it wasn’t one of these. It was one right on the edge of the cliff. It was a house you could only see when you got right to the edge.’

  The day was hot, but a breeze was blowing, a breeze that got stronger the further we walked. And the sky was deepest blue. It may be true, as Leif’s ex-wife said, that Santorini is blue everywhere, blue every day. But the nature of that blue changes. On some days, particularly hot, windless days, it’s a hazy, baby blue. But on windy days, like that day, it is deepest sapphire blue, sometimes almost a Klein blue. It seemed a sad, melancholy kind of blue to me that day.

  It was a long walk to the cliff edge, even further than I remembered, and about halfway there Becky asked why we hadn’t ridden. The road, after all, was perfectly smooth.

  ‘I like to walk,’ Leif told her. ‘I like to use the time to remember.’

  I think we all knew what he meant.

  When we reached the cliff edge, I discovered that three huge concrete blocks had been placed there to mark the end of the road.

  ‘So this is where it happened?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, scanning the area for landmarks. ‘These blocks weren’t here, obviously.’

  ‘No,’ Leif said. ‘They put these here just after. I came back the next summer and they were here.’

  ‘You came back the very next summer?’ I asked. ‘Weren’t you scared about the police?’

  ‘Sure,’ Leif said. ‘But I was more scared of never seeing you again.’

  I scanned the horizon once more and pointed to a house in the distance where it clung, as if by magic, to the cliff face. ‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘That was the house I wanted to live in.’

  ‘Maybe we still can,’ Leif said. ‘If it’s for sale.’

  I almost burst into tears at those words. But by pretending to myself that he’d been joking, I managed to keep it together. I just about kept my emotions in check.

  ‘So run me through it,’ Becky said, casting around. ‘If it’s not too hard for you, that is?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘No, it�
��s fine. You know most of it anyway. And it was so long ago. It feels a bit like a film I saw or a story someone told me, these days.’

  ‘I know that feeling too,’ Leif said. ‘But it wasn’t, was it?’

  ‘No,’ I agreed. ‘No, it all really happened.’

  Becky was looking at me expectantly, so I steeled myself and continued. ‘So we were here, looking at the sunset. We stayed until it was dark.’

  ‘Kissing,’ Leif said. ‘Good things happened here, too.’

  ‘I’m sure Becky doesn’t want to know about the kissing part,’ I said.

  ‘Only, I do,’ Becky said. ‘Because that’s where I came from. Well, what came after the kissing.’

  ‘No, you came from what happened before the kissing,’ I told her. ‘Before we got here. Nothing to do with this awful place. Anyway . . . we kissed. And then Leif told me that his boat was the next day. I was really upset about that.’

  ‘Your flight was only one day after,’ Leif pointed out.

  ‘That’s true. Mine was in two days’ time. Just like now, in fact.’

  ‘You are leaving the day after tomorrow?’ Leif asked.

  I nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Anyway, we had just agreed to stay in touch. I was going to visit Norway.’

  ‘I wanted to show her the fjords,’ Leif said.

  ‘He wanted me to live on the fjords, but I said they’d be too cold and rainy. I wanted to live here in the sunshine.’

  ‘The fjords of Santorini,’ Leif said.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I remember that . . .’ I said wistfully. ‘And I was going to show him London. You said you wanted to visit London, didn’t you? And that’s when Conor turned up and everything turned horrific.’

  ‘The road was very bumpy,’ Leif said. ‘And very dark. We are worrying he will drive off the cliff. But he stops right there. Where the blocks are.’

  Becky walked past the blocks to peer down at the sea. Because I was worried that she might slip, I asked her to come back. When, as ever, she ignored me, I joined her and took hold of her hand. Leif joined us, too, taking her other hand, and with the wind in our ears, and my hair blowing madly around, the three of us looked down at the sea below where it was crashing on the rocks.