Secrets of Santorini

by Patricia Wilson

  Pacing the footpaths, I realised if I didn’t deal with this right away, there was a chance I’d change my mind. I pulled my mobile out, called the clinic, and asked if they could fit me in right away.

  *

  A protest was taking place outside the Well Woman Centre. I jostled my way through. The crowd of banner-waving anti-abortionists called out as I hurried up three stone steps and banged on the imposing mahogany door. I stared at the brass plaque. Yes, I had the right place.

  A crackly voice reached me from a small speaker set in the doorframe. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Irini McGuire,’ I said into the mesh. ‘I have an appointment.’

  Behind me the noise grew. The mob had picked up my name. ‘Irini McGuire, you can’t go inside there and murder your baby,’ a woman’s voice yelled.

  The thought that one of my pupils or their parents might see me there added to my distress.

  A man’s voice came from behind me. ‘It’s crying for your help, Irini. Don’t you want to hold your baby in your arms? Don’t murder it!’

  ‘Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!’

  I hammered the door. ‘Let me in!’ I gasped into the security microphone.

  Glancing over my shoulder, a bobbing placard that bore the image of a foetus caught my eye. I pressed myself against the door, hoping to melt into it like one of those art sculptures.

  ‘Don’t kill the helpless innocent. It has a right to life, Irini,’ another pro-lifer shouted.

  ‘Murderer! Baby killer!’

  A whirr and click, then the door catch released. I stumbled inside.

  ‘It screams—’ The door closed and I found myself in a high-ceilinged hallway.

  By that time, I was a sobbing wreck. A uniformed nurse ushered me into a side room and placed a box of tissues in my lap. More tissues. Would there ever be an end to my tears?

  ‘You’re all right now. Just give me your name again.’

  ‘Irini McGuire.’ The words jerked out of me.

  ‘Okay, Irini, you can relax now. Do you take milk and sugar in tea?’

  I nodded, grabbing a fist of Kleenex. The nurse left and I heard her voice in the hallway. ‘Maureen, call the station. Those people are getting out of hand again.’

  The nurse returned with tea. I took a sip, scalding hot. The cup rattled on the saucer when I tried to put it down.

  The nurse placed a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t let them get to you. Everything will be fine. When you leave, we’ll let you out the back way.’

  I looked down and imagined my belly distended with the placard foetus curled up, warm, safe, alive. Visions tormented me: my baby’s first cry; its first laugh; a wide-eyed, thumb-sucking face of contentment; first wobbly steps alone; school; puberty; romance; marriage; and grandchildren. The images picked up speed and raced through my head.

  ‘I can’t do it,’ I said. ‘I can’t . . .’

  ‘Listen, it’s your body, and it’s your choice. Don’t let that lot outside upset you. You’ve made a hard decision and you need a moment to settle down. Look, I’ll swap your appointment so you have time to relax. Think about it, okay?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I’ll leave you be for a while. If you need anything, ask young Maureen at the desk.’

  The hysteria ebbed. I took my cup into the hall for a top-up and saw Maureen.

  ‘Are you feeling better? Help yourself to more tea.’

  I imagined having my own teenage daughter, then thought of my own mother and how hard it must have been for her to give me up. I remembered her dreams: the tragic story of Queen Thira and her beautiful daughter, Oia.

  ‘Actually, I think I’d like to get some fresh air. Clear my head. Perhaps you could show me the back way out?’

  I returned to the park. The decision was too big for me to make on my own. I kept telling myself it wasn’t actually a baby yet, more like a microscopic tadpole in its watery jar.

  I had the bare bones of a plan. I would confess to Sofia, ask her forgiveness, and take it from there. I could imagine her nails raking down my cheek and her spittle in my face. If my plan crashed and burned, I still had time to go ahead with the abortion, but I would have caused more distress. Not exactly a great idea. In fact, it was ludicrous, but I’d fallen out with God and couldn’t concentrate on the problem for any length of time.

  I could take a pill, a simple pill, to reverse this life inside me. No one would know. I wanted to take a pill and reverse my mother’s death, shrink the tumour to nothing, banish her heartbreaking dreams and all they instigated. I didn’t think I had ever felt as lonely as I did at that moment sitting on the park bench.

  A woman, holding hands with two children, walked towards me. As they drew level, one of the little girls swung around.

  ‘Good morning, Miss McGuire,’ she sang, and I recognised Tiffany O’Leary, class know-it-all. She broke from her mother’s hand, dashed towards me, and gave me an affectionate hug. ‘Will you come to my party on Saturday, Miss McGuire? It’s at McDonald’s at three o’clock, miss. I’ll be seven and we’ll have balloons and everything.’

  ‘Tiffany, come on!’ her mother cried, grabbing the child’s hand. Turning to me, she called, ‘Sorry!’ as she tugged her daughters away.

  Tiffany swung around and waved.

  Oh God! I don’t want an abortion!

  But logic told me it was the sensible thing to do. Have the termination and continue with my life like nothing had happened. Yet the conviction that I had to tell Angelo, and then make my decision, gathered strength. I could still return to the clinic on Monday. I tried to be rational. If Sofia and Angelo were sorting things out, and he tried to be a better husband, perhaps Sofia would agree to adopt the baby. After all, it was Angelo’s child, and Michalis’s half brother or sister, and Sofia did say she wanted another child, but couldn’t.

  But then I’d lose the modelling contract, the money, everyone’s respect, and the school might not want an unmarried mother as religious teacher.

  My plan was nuts. I walked past the travel agent’s, turned, and went in.

  ‘How soon could you get me to Crete?’ I asked.

  ‘When would you like to go?’

  ‘Now?’ I had no time to lose.

  *

  After a quick call to Paula while in the travel agent’s, I learned that Sofia was still in Crete, and also the location of the Rodakis villa. Thirty minutes later, boarding pass in hand, I occupied a taxi speeding towards Dublin airport. Me and my impulses – this was a lunatic’s plan.

  The Cretan sun wasted itself on me. I took no pleasure from its warmth as it dipped towards the horizon. At the villa, I found Sofia looking well, surprised, but happy to see me. I got the impression she was lonely in her big house surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. She wasn’t sure of her husband’s whereabouts, and clearly curious about why I was there. We walked through the French windows, towards their swimming pool.

  Sitting under a gay umbrella halfway between the pool and the house, I watched her son, Michalis, dive-bomb into the water. A good-looking boy, a lot like his father. This was going to be difficult, and suddenly my strategy had no logic at all. So long as I kept my mouth shut, I could change my plan, return to Dublin, take the pill, and that would be an end to it.

  Sofia broke my thoughts. ‘Big energy,’ she said. ‘Is likes he never away from homes.’ She looked into my face. ‘Why you here, Irini?’

  Michalis shouted in public-school English, ‘Watch me, Aunty Irini! I can make the biggest splash ever.’

  I forced a smile and nodded. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Is about husbands mine?’ I caught a spark of fear in her eyes.

  ‘I . . . Oh, Sofia. Sorry, I’m so stressed.’

  ‘You wants lemonade?’

  She seemed eager to end the conversation and get away from me.

  I nodded and she went indoors. Michalis continued to show off. On returning, Sofia seemed embarrassed again. ‘Irini, yous remember what I say
of husbands mine?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Please, yous forgets now. He try hard to be goods to me. I no want hims to leave.’

  Our eyes met, hers full of hope.

  ‘See beautiful ring he gives.’ She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers, a diamond flashing in the sunlight. ‘Bigger love he say has for me now. What I do? I tries to be good families for Michalis’s sake.’

  What was I doing? ‘I understand, Sofia.’ I gulped the drink.

  ‘You like more lemon?’

  ‘Efharisto,’ I said, remembering the word.

  She smiled, pleased I’d used Greek. I realised I liked her. How could I tell her I’d had a one-night stand with her husband, got pregnant, and wanted to offer the baby to her for adoption? It was all whizzing around in my head, as if I couldn’t hold on to the idea long enough to say the words in a logical order. This was a stupid plan and I could hardly tolerate thinking about it. I should go back home, take the damned pills, and that would be the end of it.

  For a moment I was angry. How dare Angelo wreck my life, change everything without a thought? Leave me in this mess. But, like my relationship with my parents, I was responsible too. I must stop blaming.

  Sofia returned with a jug of fresh juice, then shouted in Greek to Michalis. She turned to me. ‘I tell him five minutes, then beds. Irini, you’s look big troubled.’

  I grabbed Sofia’s hand and saw a startled expression spring to her face. ‘Sofia, you see . . . I had . . . Just the once . . . I didn’t . . .’ I couldn’t get the words out.

  Her mobile rang on the small table between us – divine intervention? I doubted it.

  Sofia pulled her hand away, picked up, and spoke loudly in Greek, her free hand gesticulating wildly, then she hung up and said, ‘My husband’s come. What you wants tell me, Irini?’

  ‘What? He’s here? Your husband?’ I’d just got used to the idea of talking to Sofia on my own. Now what was I supposed to do?

  ‘Yes, husband’s here in ten minutes.’

  Even if I left right now, I’d probably meet him at the gate or on the long driveway to the house. Anyway, I had to deal with this. There would never be a perfect time and I would never have the right words.

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ I said stupidly. ‘Then I’ll talk to you together. It’s difficult, you see.’ I wished I’d never come. Such a mad thing to do. What was the worst thing that could happen? I had two choices: to tell or not to tell.

  Gravel crunched as a car pulled up at the front of the house. The drink in my hand shook so much I had to put it down. I stared ahead, over the pool, into infinity because I could not focus on anything. I heard the patio doors slide open behind me. In my mind’s eye I could see Angelo standing there in his lovely shoes, and my heart melted. I love you, I love you, I love you!

  Don’t cry. Whatever you do, Irini McGuire, do not cry.

  Michalis’s face lit up. He leaped from the pool and ran towards us.

  A voice came from behind me. ‘Ah, we have a guest.’

  I swung around.

  CHAPTER 40

  IRINI

  Crete, present day.

  A BIG, HANDSOME man stood before me, impeccably dressed and clean-shaven. He removed his Ray-Bans and our eyes met. Who was he? I had seen him before, somewhere.

  Dripping wet, Michalis ran to his side.

  ‘Watch the suit, son,’ the stranger said.

  Adoration shone from the boy’s face.

  ‘Eegh, Irini, you’s meeting husband’s mine before?’ she asked and I saw a glint of fear in her eyes.

  Confused, I shook my head. ‘Your husband? No.’ Her shoulders dropped. ‘Sofia, I thought Angelo was your husband.’ I stared from one to the other.

  The man guffawed, reached out, and almost crushed my hand as he shook it. ‘Damian Rodakis. A pleasure to meet you,’ he said, his eyes flicking down, appraising my body.

  ‘Angelo?’ Sofia frowned. ‘No, Damian is husbands mine, Angelo is brothers to Damian.’

  ‘Brother? But in the trailer you said . . . I don’t understand.’ Then I remembered where I had seen him before. In the hotel lounge on the day Mam died. The man who paid for our drinks.

  Damian put his arm around Sofia’s shoulders and stood between her and Michalis, smirking at me, black eyes glinting. Although there was a certain malevolence about him, and despite the size and style difference, I could see a strong family resemblance to Angelo.

  ‘No,’ Sofia said again. ‘Yous makes mistakes, I thinks, and I no speaks the goods English. Angelo looks out for me. Damian is husbands mine, fathers of Michalis.’

  I stare at Sofia while rerunning snippets of conversation in the trailer. I don’t know how I’d misunderstood but suddenly I had to leave. Dizzy with stress and confusion, I jumped to my feet and swung around. Instantly, blackness invaded my head from the corners of my eyes and everything rushed away again.

  Vaguely aware of strong arms carrying me out of the sun, and words growled so low I couldn’t interpret them, I sank into oblivion.

  When consciousness filtered back, I opened my eyes and found myself prostrate in a beautiful bedroom with matching counterpane and curtains. Sofia knelt beside me, frantically patting the backs of my hands. I realised Damian had carried me indoors. I stared about, relieved he wasn’t there.

  ‘Sofia, tell me again, tell me.’

  ‘What yous want? What I tell yous, Irini?’

  Oh, Angelo!

  I wanted to cry, to laugh, to sing with joy.

  Sofia, alarmed by my hysterics, called out, ‘Damian, telephono doctor.’

  ‘No, I don’t need a doctor. Please, Sofia, just to be absolutely clear, who is your husband?’

  ‘Eegh, I tell yous, Damian is my husbands. I think yous know this. I talk of him many times.’

  ‘Is Angelo married?’

  She shook her head. ‘You like him, yes? I sees this. I knows the look.’

  Sofia was closing the guestroom shutters when Damian put his head around the door and spoke to her in Greek. Again, I saw the snake-eyed smile, then he said, ‘Your friend will be fine resting by herself for an hour.’ He turned to me. ‘Won’t you, dear? We have to go out.’ Then he ushered Sofia from the room.

  *

  I must have drifted off to sleep – not surprising after all the recent stress and restless nights. I woke in the darkened room, confused for a moment, then I remembered the day. Such a stupid mistake. I slid my hand down to my belly. I’m having Angelo’s baby! But would he ever want to see me again after the way I treated him? He had to, because above all else, I knew for sure that I loved him.

  I slipped off the bed and opened the shutters. The sun had set and dusk spread its calming light over the landscape. Even the cicadas were silent.

  Where had everyone gone? I opened the pine door the very second Angelo barged through it. We collided, rebounded, and then stood, shocked, staring at each other.

  ‘I found you at last,’ he said.

  ‘I thought you were married to Sofia,’ I blurted, unable to hold back.

  His jaw dropped. ‘I’m not married to anybody,’ he stuttered.

  ‘My mistake.’

  He shook his head. ‘You always make catastrophe.’ His frowning smile felt like a balm to my wounds.

  ‘I’m trying to change.’ I slid into his arms. An embrace that I hoped would last a lifetime.

  ‘You came all this way to find out, with no ruined shoes or broken bones?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m improving. How did you know I was here?’

  ‘Paula called. I was in the hotel.’

  I sat on the bed next to him and explained the mix-up. He held me, then kissed me tenderly, veering towards passion. Trembling, I pushed myself away, but still held his hands.

  ‘Irini,’ he said. ‘I understand you want to go more slowly. You were upset about your mother; these things make us behave out of character. And me . . . well, I could not resist you. I’m not made of cl
ay. We can start again. What do you think?’

  I wanted to apologise for doubting him but, before I could speak, Angelo pulled me to his chest. ‘I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want, but I know that I love you.’

  I couldn’t speak for a moment and pulled away from him. ‘There’s something I have to tell you. I have a decision to make.’

  He started to speak but I brushed my fingers over his lips and peered into the eyes that had haunted me for so many nights. I took a deep breath and struggled to tank my emotions.

  ‘What’s making you sad?’ Angelo said. ‘However bad it is, it can’t change the way I feel about you. I want to help.’

  ‘I’m not sad.’ I took his face in my hands. ‘And I don’t need your help, Angelo – but your baby might.’

  He froze, and for a horrible moment I was afraid. I heard a catch in his breath.

  ‘What?’ His eyes widened. He stared at me, then at my belly. His arm tightened around my waist, and with that simple action, my happiness soared.

  I nodded. ‘Yes, Angelo Rodakis, you’re going to become a father. We’re going to have a baby.’

  *

  That night, I stayed at the hotel with Angelo. At daybreak, he pulled open the wardrobe and threw my clothes – a floral skirt with a wide leather belt and a white T-shirt – onto the bed.

  ‘Will you let me sleep another hour?’ I begged, wanting him beside me.

  ‘No, you are in Crete now – we start early and sleep at siesta. Come on, Irini.’ He grinned, pulled my arm, and then flung back the sheet. ‘Get dressed. I’m taking you away for a few hours before you go back. It’s all arranged.’

  I loved the way he fussed me.

  In the car, he taught me some Greek words and laughed at my mistakes. We sped east along the coast, and when the road swept inland, he took a turn-off towards the sea. I watched bulldozers on a distant mountainside load enormous white rocks onto trucks. Bridal veils of dust were caught and lifted by the breeze. Huge vehicles – small in the distance, like amber, mechanical ants – worked methodically on the mountain’s destruction. I wondered how long it would take for nature to heal the wound in the landscape.