by Nadia Marks
Nadia Marks
One Summer in Crete
Contents
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
Part Two
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
Acknowledgements
Between the Orange Groves
Prologue
For my cousin Christina
Part One
1
The music was blasting out from the CD player, filling the room with its catchy rhythm. Calli far preferred to listen to her favourite tracks on her old sound system, rather than on her mobile. She cherished her collection of CDs amassed over the years and couldn’t bring herself to throw them out, much to James’s irritation.
‘You’re cluttering up the place with last century’s technology,’ he would complain; James liked to do things his own way, but when it came to music she didn’t care. She had them all categorized and in alphabetical order, allowing her to wallow in nostalgia whenever she had the chance to play them; when they were together it was usually his choice.
That morning she had been sitting in front of her state-of-the-art computer for the past few hours, editing a batch of photographs for her latest commission and singing along to old favourite hits as she worked. Her voice, loud and clear, merged with the girl singer of Ace of Base. She liked their music – it was played often in her parents’ house when she was growing up. This part of her work was very much to her liking: sifting through the images and choosing which ones to use. Writing was a different matter, demanding far more concentration and no distractions. She was a good writer, but she always struggled with her spelling and had to focus all her attention on the storyline and how best to put it across, so her rule was strictly no music during that stage of a project. As a photojournalist she saw everything in images. Taking pictures was instinctive – the words always followed later, after time to reflect.
The story she was working on that day, which had influenced her choice of music, was for a Sunday newspaper supplement. The theme was teen parenthood, focusing on young fathers. She had spent a couple of days interviewing and photographing six lads aged between sixteen and nineteen who had unexpectedly found that their girlfriends were in the family way. With the exception of just one boy, all had embraced fatherhood with relative ease and apparently without regrets. The experience had been a revelation for Calli. She marvelled at these young men and their commitment to parenthood and sense of responsibility. She herself, at a similar age during her first year at university, had feared she might be pregnant and remembered the panic that had set in, followed by relief after the discovery that it was a false alarm for her and her then boyfriend. Under no circumstances would she or the boy have wanted a baby, unlike the song she was now singing along to. In fact, Calli mused, she had spent all her adult life panicking at the thought of pregnancy and the restrictions that it would bring into her busy life. James, her partner and the man she loved and had lived with for the past ten years, felt as she did; a baby had no place in their London metropolitan life.
‘When will you two be getting married?’ one of her Greek aunts had asked them while they were visiting family in Crete one year soon after Calli and James had moved into a flat together. ‘It’s time to start thinking about having some babies soon, no?’ the aunt carried on.
‘We’ve only been together for a few months,’ Calli had protested, horrified at the prospect of children.
‘That’s plenty of time,’ the aunt replied. ‘Besides, you’re twenty-five or six now, no? You’re not so young anymore!’
‘For goodness’ sake, Auntie, you make me sound ancient.’ Calli threw her arms in the air with mock despair. Her own mother never pressurized her, but her Greek aunties were always quizzing her.
‘You might not feel ancient, koritsi mou, my girl,’ the aunt continued, ‘but your eggs soon will be. You are only born with so many of them and if you don’t start using them soon they will go off and be no good anymore!’ All Calli could do was laugh at her aunt’s gloomy prophecy.
‘I’ll take a chance on it,’ she replied, still laughing. But James had considered the aunt’s questioning inappropriate and rude. ‘None of her business,’ he had said grumpily later. Calli, being half Greek herself, knew her aunt’s comments were not unusual. In their community, when people made a commitment to one another, marriage and babies inevitably would soon follow. ‘It’s cultural, you see,’ she told James. ‘She wasn’t trying to cause offence, she was just being her typically blunt Greek self!’
But that was then, and this was now, and Calli was no longer twenty-something but thirty-five, and for the past few months she had often found herself thinking about her aunt’s words and wondering how those eggs of hers were holding up. Everyone around her seemed to be having babies; several of her friends had embarked on their second pregnancies and whereas a year or two ago she had never entertained such an idea for herself, she now found it had begun to preoccupy her. Perhaps, she thought, it was time to have a conversation with James: see how he felt about the subject instead of brooding over it on her own.
‘I am not going to say that you should have a baby,’ Eleni, Calli’s mother, had said to her a few years earlier when the subject of having a family came up. ‘It’s up to you to decide and something you do because you want to, not because you have to, or because anyone else pushes you into it. It’s your decision, Calli mou, but I won’t say that a grandchild wouldn’t be wonderful!’
‘How do you know that you want to, or that the time is right, Mum?’ Calli asked, looking at her mother for answers.
‘I don’t know, you just do!’ Eleni replied. ‘For some people the time is never right – there’s always something to get in the way. Maybe you are one of those women, with your career and busy life. But if you discovered yourself pregnant and you felt happy about it, then I would say that’s when you know that you want to and that the time is right for you . . . I certainly did when you came along without my planning it.’
‘The thought terrifies me,’ the young woman had replied.
But of late Calli’s feelings had become confused. There was a shift, not only in the way she felt, but in her body too. In the past she’d given her friends’ babies a wide berth, making the appropriate noises of approval but keeping her distance. Recently she had felt a softening in her heart whenever someone handed her a baby to hold. Could it be, she wondered, that the overused cliché, her biological clock was starting to tick, applied to her too now, as it had for so many of her friends? She began to observe herself with interest. She became aware that this assignment for the Sunday magazine was having a significant effect on her and had brought to the surface some uneasy feelings.
While sitting in front of her computer reviewing pictures of those young fathers and listening to the interviews she had recorded of them, she began to consider her own life: in comparison, it felt rather empty. She and James, she realized, had been living a life of convenience, a life of indulgence with no adversities or great responsibilities. In contrast to what those teenage boys and their girls were having to deal with, the two of them could be described by some as narcissistic and superficial.
It was quite a harsh discovery, but for the first time in years she was finding herself questioning her choice of lifestyle for the future. She hadn’t really given it too much thought; she went along with a lot of what James wanted. She knew she was something of a people-pleaser, and James needed a lot of pleasing, but she didn’t really mind – they got on pretty well most of the time.
That evening she stopped working earlier than usual and decided to make dinner. She didn’t always bother to cook. If she was working until James came home, then more often than not they would go out to eat. There were so many cool places where they lived or they’d order in – why not? They could afford it and they were free to do as they pleased. Tonight, she wanted to be at home, she wanted them to be able to talk. She decided the time had come for a serious conversation. She needed James’s full attention and she wanted him to be in a super good mood. She would cook something simple like baked fish and salad which was quick and easy to prepare but she would spend longer making his favourite dessert, the one Susan, his mum, made for him that always brought a smile to his face. She was going to make a crème caramel following her mother-in-law’s recipe, which Calli had to admit was pretty good.
‘Always best to make your crème caramel the day before you want to serve it,’ was Susan’s repeated advice to her. ‘So much better, because if you turn your caramel custard out too soon it will stay in the bottom of your ramekins . . .’ Calli didn’t even know what a ramekin was, nor did she care, when she first started living with James, and she was certainly not going to be cooking anything the day before. But she decided that if once in a while she was willing to make James’s beloved dessert, she must ensure at least that she had a few ramekins in case he refused to eat it in anything else. He was quite particular about that. ‘Not that your mother spoiled you or anything,’ she’d tease him. She didn’t really mind, it didn’t happen that often and she made it pretty clear that that was where her housewifely duties and indulgences would end; she tried to leave most of the pampering to his mother. ‘I’ll learn to make your crème caramel if you learn to make me my Greek coffee,’ she bargained.
Calli finished going through a batch of photos and turned off her computer for the day. She walked downstairs to the kitchen in search of her mother-in-law’s recipe.
For a much richer taste add an extra two yolks to the eggs, Susan had added as a footnote to the recipe. Calli started with the caramel custard, thinking that if she made it in plenty of time there would be less chance of it sticking to the wretched ramekins. The thought made her smile; her mother-in-law had little more to weigh on her mind other than making the perfect dessert or three-course dinner. But she, Calli, was different; she was occupied with her work, no time for all of that. She always referred to Susan as her mother-in-law even though she and James had never married. ‘After ten years of me living with her be-loved boy she has earned the title,’ Calli would joke to James, ‘and in any case she’s stuck with me whether she likes it or not.’
She poured herself a large glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and chose a Greek CD from a pile she kept in the kitchen – she found cooking with Greek music in the background inspiring and mood enhancing, and since she was still alone she could listen to whatever she chose. She gathered her ingredients, placed her mixing bowl on the counter and reached for the eggs. She cracked the first four and then separated an extra two as in Susan’s instructions. Watching the golden yolks land softly in the bowl, her mind turned to those other eggs inside her own body.
James sat back on his chair, reached for the bottle of wine and filled his glass to the brim. Calli watched and waited. She had been speaking for some time without interruption while James sat silently listening. That was not how she had envisaged the discussion. What she had hoped for and wanted was a conversation between the two of them, an exchange of views, not for her to deliver a monologue.
Dinner had been a pleasant affair with animated talk full of anecdotal chit-chat and laughter, mainly about James’s day at his law firm; he always liked to take centre stage, be the centre of attention. The crème caramel was consumed with satisfied exclamations and praise. ‘Mmm! Nearly as good as my mother’s,’ he had said, which was approval enough for her – so long as he was happy and enjoyed it, that was fine by her. But after they had finished eating and Calli started to speak, the mood gradually began to change; whereas just a short while ago she couldn’t stop him talking, all of a sudden James seemed to lose the power of speech. The more silent he became, the more Calli continued, nervously explaining how she was feeling of late about her ageing eggs and how maybe it was time to consider seriously what it meant to grow old childless. He sat mutely, listening and watching her. When she stopped, James reached for his wine and gave her a long silent look.
‘Well? Say something, James, for God’s sake!’ she burst out. ‘Surely you have something to add on the matter?’
Still he said nothing. Calli gritted her teeth and waited. Finally he leaned forward, put his elbows on the table, looked her in the eye and spoke.
‘Calli . . .’ he began, his ice-blue eyes never leaving hers. Her heart started to pound. If ever James opened a conversation with her name, she knew that whatever it was she hoped would happen, wouldn’t.
‘Calli,’ he said again and lifted the wine to his lips; he took a sip then replaced the glass on the table, as if in slow motion, before speaking again. ‘I had believed, and correct me if I am wrong’ – his voice an octave lower than usual – ‘I had believed,’ he repeated, his eyes never leaving hers, ‘that you and I have always been on the same page when it came to the issue of parenthood.’ He paused for a second before going on. ‘We, Calli, and by that I mean you and me, not just one of us but both of us, have never wanted to go down that path in life. Correct? Or not?’
The shock of his response made the blood rush to Calli’s head; she was lost for words. This pompous side of James was his least endearing characteristic in her view and the last thing she had expected from him that night. She had observed it at times, but if it was ever directed at her she would cut him short; he knew well enough how she felt about it. He could be quite petulant and difficult and occasionally a little controlling, which Calli put down to his job as a barrister – in her opinion it gave him an air of haughtiness that got on her nerves.
‘Yes, James.’ She struggled to steady her voice. ‘That is correct, but life is fluid and beliefs and feelings can change over the years.’ She took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then continued. ‘And please do not patronize me or try to intimidate me, you’re not in court now.’
She reached for her glass, trying to remain calm before speaking again. ‘The thing is, James, if you were actually listening to what I was trying to tell you, you would have realized that my feelings right now are in transition, which means I don’t know exactly what I want or feel.’ Calli leaned forward to face him directly, disappointment evident on her face. ‘What I had expected from you was respect . . . not this! I expected that you love me enough to engage in a conversation about how I feel and what I think, not just dismiss me without any discussion. We are not children anymore, James, we are grown-ups and that’s what adults do. We discuss things.’
‘I’m sorry, Calli’ – his voice was hard – ‘I am not open to discussion where this matter is concerned.’ His words were directed at her with breathtaking finality. She sat motionless, letting them hang in the air as she tried to take in what he had said. Neither of them spoke for a long while. Then, slowly, Calli stood up from the table, turned around and silently walked out of the kitchen.
That night she slept in the spare room. She needed time to digest what she had heard and wanted her fury to subside before resuming any form of conversation with him. She had never been a woman given to impulses, huge confrontations or hysterics. Throwing crockery and heavy objects around the room at each other was never their way as a couple, although they knew others who had violent arguments on a regular basis. But that night Calli f
eared that if she hadn’t removed herself from James’s presence, he would have run the risk of having a ramekin land on his head.
The next day, sitting at her desk and still brooding about the night before, Calli started to reflect. As she had expected, her fury did subside by morning; she could never sustain anger for too long. Even so, every time she remembered James’s harsh words a wave of resentment washed over her. But then the part of her that always tried to give everyone the benefit of the doubt took over and she began to look for reasons to justify his behaviour. Perhaps, she reflected, these things took time. She might have been thinking about babies lately and ruminating and obsessing about her body and the future, but he hadn’t reached that stage. Surely with time he would be willing to discuss the subject. She had just caught him off-guard with her unexpected change of mind. She always thought that James could be a little immature at times and, like a child, she needed to give him time to think about what she had said. Her mind worked overtime trying to find excuses. To be fair, she finally told herself, he might even have a point: they had always been in agreement about babies. What she needed to do was to step back and let things be, and who knew? Maybe he was right. Perhaps the two of them weren’t cut out for parenthood.
2
She didn’t slip up on purpose; or if she did, the slip was surely subconscious.
They had spent the evening at a wonderful party after an awards ceremony. Calli was nominated for photojournalist of the year and although she hadn’t won, she was highly commended for her work for the Sunday magazine, so celebrations were in order. They did have a glass or two or three too many – she could never resist when champagne was on offer and since they weren’t driving home that night they both indulged. They danced and drank and laughed and it felt like old times.
Over the past few months since their uncomfortable conversation they had both been on their guard, and although they never broached the subject again, Calli felt that while it was left hovering in the ether James might have a change of heart. They continued as before, following the way of life they enjoyed, plus a few more visits to their friends with babies and children, instigated by Calli, sometimes joining them for walks on Hampstead Heath with prams and dogs and toddlers.