Mother met me at the station when I came home for the Christmas vacation and, since my coat was loose and bulky, only noted that I looked strained around the eyes, and suggested an eye test before Term resumed. But once home there was no way of hiding it. As she took my coat to hang it up, her eyes fell to my curving stomach. Before she could say a word, I took her arm and said, ‘Please come and sit down, Mother. As you can plainly see, I have something to tell you.’
It took a long time and several cups of tea before she stopped crying. Eventually, she put away her handkerchief and said, ‘This is quite dreadful, and I know you must feel dreadful, having to admit such things to me. I admire you for having the courage to say what you’ve said, but I am bitterly disappointed in you, Olivia, bitterly. And now I need to go and lie down’ and she went slowly upstairs, leaving me to curl up on the sofa and sob.
We went through the motions, next day, of eating breakfast and washing up. But once that was out of the way, we were forced to converse.
‘Have you thought about what you will do,’ she asked, ‘because I’m afraid there is no question of your living here with a baby in tow. I have only just begun to rebuild my life after your father’s cruelty, and I will not accept another blow to my standing in this town.’
I explained that the Prof was allowing me to carry on studying, and that there would be a nurse to help immediately after the birth, so that I could take my exams.
‘That woman! I trusted her to look after you.’
‘She’s been very good to me,’ I replied defensively, ‘and very understanding.’
‘Understanding! I suppose in her bohemian world young women have babies out of wedlock quite regularly.’
The idea of the Professor living in a bohemian world was so absurd as to make me smile.
‘How dare you laugh about it! Where is your sense of shame?’
‘I’m not ashamed, Mother,’ I retorted, and realised suddenly that that was the truth. ‘I loved a wonderful young man, and I am proud to be having his child. I’m sorry that my situation brings you such shame, but I am not ashamed. Not at all!’
She collapsed on to a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands. ‘How are you going to manage after your exams? How are you going to support yourself?’
‘I shall have to find a job which pays enough for me to employ a nurse.’
‘And where will you live?’
‘I shall stay on at the flat, I suppose.’
‘And what sort of a life will you have, with a baby to bring up on your own?’
‘I don’t know. But I shan’t be giving it up for adoption, if that’s what you were going to say.’
‘Oh, Olivia! I had such hopes for you!’
‘I never intended for any of this to happen,’ I said quietly, ‘but since it has, I am going to build a life that allows me and my child to be happy together.’
There was an unspoken agreement after that; the subject would not be raised again, although my Christmas present from my mother was a cheque, with the words, ‘I imagine that this will be more helpful than anything else I could give you.’
I had been invited to meet my father in a restaurant for lunch the day after Boxing Day. I had thought of cancelling but, after the scene with my mother, I had developed a degree of hardness about my situation, and I thought now that I should go, should tell him my news, because he was another potential source of financial help after all. I would have to forego my pride on this occasion, for the sake of my baby.
He cried, too. It was appalling, sitting in a restaurant watching my father unravel before me. Then he pushed an envelope across the table and walked out, leaving me to explain to a none-too-happy waiter that we would not, after all, be having lunch. But the envelope contained a cheque, so I raised my chin and walked outside with as much dignity as I could find.
Maureen and I moved into the flat in early January. I had very few personal belongings to bring because my mother had made me feel I was not entitled to take anything. Maureen’s family, however, who knew nothing of my situation, thought it very brave of us to be living independently of College, and had sent her up with saucepans, a kettle, a box full of groceries, towels and bedding.
It was very cold because the heating was provided by a metered gas fire, which we quickly realised we could not afford to keep feeding, but apart from that, we loved our little place. We would sit at night, wrapped up in blankets, wearing gloves and bed socks, studying together. We sat at either side of an old pine table to write our essays and fortified ourselves with frequent cups of tea. Since I was alone all day in the flat, I would do any necessary housework and then study. When Maureen delivered the lecture notes to me, she would take over the domestic chores while I caught up with the work I’d missed.
My pregnancy seemed to be progressing satisfactorily. I had stopped being sick and I felt very healthy. My due date was proclaimed and I was booked into the local hospital for the birth. Maureen promised that she would be there with me when it happened. The Professor sent me a note with the details of a nurse who was to be contacted once labour had started and I attended regular antenatal classes, trying not to focus on the fact that I was the only woman who didn’t have anyone accompanying her. I tried not to look at the couples who held hands as we practised our breathing. I received no further contact from my father, and only short, generic notes from my mother, hoping that I was looking after myself and eating properly.
My due date arrived and nothing happened. Nothing happened the next day or the next. I had been told that first babies often came late, but I was starting to panic that the birth would coincide with my Finals.
I was in our corner shop buying milk when my waters broke. Mrs Chakri immediately took charge, calling her husband in from the storeroom at the back and telling him to bring their car round.
‘Give me your mother’s phone number,’ she said, ‘A woman needs her mother at this time.’
It was easier to comply than to try to explain. But I also asked her to phone the College and get a message to Maureen.
No amount of reading prepares you for labour. Neither the manuals nor the classes even come close to describing the pain. I had somehow persuaded myself that an intelligent woman who knows exactly what is happening and why, would sail through labour in complete control of herself. But when the time came, I was just another sweating, screaming mother-to-be, begging for more gas-and-air and squeezing poor Maureen’s hand so tightly she was black and blue for days afterwards. On and on it went, hour after hour, until I was reduced to begging for a Caesarian, which made the nurse smile grimly.
‘Oh no, my dear, you’re going to do this the hard way.’
Maureen was in tears. ‘I’m never going to have a baby, never. They should show films of this to schoolgirls. There’d be no more illegitimacy. Oh, damn, Olivia, I didn’t mean –’
But I didn’t care what she did or didn’t mean, I just wanted this to end. I was screaming with no restraint when I heard the one voice I longed to hear, ‘Hang on, darling. It won’t be long now.’
My mother was standing in the doorway. I held out my other hand to her and howled, ‘Mummy’, just like a child who’d scraped her knee. She sat down across the bed from Maureen and wiped my face with her handkerchief. So, together, the three of us saw labour eventually come to its natural conclusion.
When they gave him to me to hold, I saw the tiny Christos nose and his little rosebud mouth, and just like that I forgot the hours of agony. We were all crying – me, Maureen and my mother. When he opened his eyes and stared at me, I felt a physical shock, as if he had just claimed my heart. It was even more overwhelming than the moment I first saw Christos. It seemed as if everything that had happened was meant to be – the ecstasy of love, even the agony of loss, had all been worth it to produce this tiny human.
At visiting time mother was back with flowers, a cashmere shawl for the baby and a pretty bed jacket for me. She took Christopher in her arms and the look on her face to
ld me that I would not be needing the maternity nurse after all.
She sold the house in Basingstoke and bought another in a village just outside Cambridge, with a garden for Christopher to play in and a bus stop outside the door to enable me to get to College. Although I didn’t get my First, I got an Upper Second and the Professor persuaded the Dean that in the circumstances I should still be allowed to take an MA.
We got along famously, the three of us. Mother was a doting grandmother and Christopher was a charming, delightful child who kept us both amused and exhausted. Maureen was his godmother and a frequent visitor. I never saw my father again. I heard that he and Susan had had a child and moved to Weybridge.
*
‘Nan!’ Alexa comes into the courtyard waving. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Yes, thank you. Have you?’
‘It was so interesting. I’ve got all these postcards, look, and I bought this for you.’
She hands me a reproduction of a jug, miniaturised, with a cream glaze, red sprays of barley and a pair of erect nipples just below the spout.
‘I couldn’t resist it, Nan. It’s to do with fertility, right?’
‘It’s the sort of ewer used when making offerings to the goddess,’ I reply. ‘Very important in Minoan culture.’
She has bought postcards of the frescoes found in Akrotiri. ‘My favourite is the young man with the fish. Isn’t he gorgeous?’
‘He’s known as an adorant. He’s making an offering of fish to the gods. We know this because he’s naked, and Minoan males are never shown naked unless in the act of adoration.’
‘I love his blue hair. How cool is that?’
I laugh. ‘I think it’s a priestly headdress, actually.’
‘Do you know, Nan, I think I’d like to do my Dissertation on Minoan Art. You’d help me, wouldn’t you?’
Alexa has just finished her first year of a History of Art degree, so it is perhaps a little early for her to be choosing her Dissertation subject, but I am delighted for Christos’ sake to think she might specialise in the art of Crete and Santorini.
‘You’d have to spend a lot of time here and in Crete.’
‘Well, that would be no hardship. I wonder if I could get a summer job at the Museum? I could show the English-speakers around or something.’
‘There are people I know who might help with that, but I’ll make no promises until I’ve spoken to them.’
‘If I did come back next summer, would you come with me, Nan? I’d be glad to have your advice and you could help with research and … I think I’d be pretty lonely here on my own.’
I am touched that she wants me around. ‘I doubt that you’d be lonely for long, Alexa. And it’s far too early to be making such plans, but we will think about it. You would need to improve your photographic skills and brush up your Greek.’
But I am already thinking of places to take her and books to buy for her, feeling excited about a project which would keep me in Santorini and close to the memory of Christos. Leaving the island is always a painful experience, knowing he is here and wondering if I shall return, whether I will live long enough to return.
‘Nan,’ she says hesitantly, ‘you haven’t finished telling me your story. I don’t want to pry or upset you too much, but I do want to hear about my father.’
I patted her hand. ‘You have a right to know, Alexa. Just be patient with me, because telling you is like living it all over again.’
‘Did you and Christos split up because you were expecting a baby?’
‘No, no. Christos would never have left me because of that. He never knew about the baby.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible! What happened?’
I try to find words to explain it to her. I still have difficulty explaining it to myself. Did I do the right thing? Or did I let the priest persuade me? Would it have made any difference if I’d chosen differently? And, more importantly, did I do what Christos would have wanted?
Chapter Six
Each day the men took the Ariadne out, but the sea was still unsettled and the usual fishing grounds were not yielding much, so each day they ventured further away from Santorini, hoping to have better luck elsewhere. This made their trips longer and they returned exhausted and unhappy with their meagre catch.
Flour for the bakers normally came from Fira on donkey carts, and the paths were still blocked, so bread was unavailable. Meat was in short supply. It was difficult to find enough to eat from the vegetable patches which had survived. The tomato crop, not yet fully ripe, had been damaged by the earthquake and many of the Oians were talking about hard times for months to come. The relief promised from the Army seemed to be concentrated on Fira, which made the Oians angry.
No-one was angrier than Stavros. He made his displeasure clear when Niko and Christos showed him what their catch amounted to, bellowing at them to try harder, to find new fishing grounds. Or did Niko want his wife and child to starve? He spent his days prowling the town, looking for news or gossip about the Army’s progress. Dissatisfied with what he could find out, one day he announced that he was going to Fira to see for himself. His wife pleaded with him not to go, for it meant walking most of the way over paths that were still unrepaired and dangerous. But Stavros had never regarded his wife’s opinions before, and his sons and son-in-law knew better than to argue. So he set off, leaving his wife and daughter weeping and wringing their hands. I was merely a by-stander to the drama since Stavros rarely spoke to me. He had made it clear at our first meeting that he disapproved of Christos marrying a foreigner.
It was three days before he returned and his mood had not improved. He wasted no time in calling a meeting of those men he regarded as reliable and they gathered in Stavros’s front garden, shooing the women away into the house. So we did not know what was going on until we heard Christos’ raised voice. I rushed outside to greet him, disregarding Stavros’ shout of annoyance, so relieved was I that my love was back from his trip safely. I found Christos facing a circle of angry men.
‘Christos, what’s going on?’ I asked, anxiously.
‘Go inside, Olivia, this is not a place for you,’ was his reply, but his eyes never left the faces of those who encircled him.
Bristling, I glared at him. ‘Don’t you treat me like a Greek wife! I want to know what’s happening!’
He looked at me then, and spoke more gently. ‘You must not interfere here, Olivia. This is men’s business.’
Shaking my head in fury, I marched back into the house, where the other women were huddled in an anxious group, appalled at my effrontery but agog to know what was going on.
Irini took my arm. ‘Olivia, come and sit down. You must not make my father angry. Christos is not polite to shout like that in my father’s house.’
‘Why is Niko not helping? And Dimitrios? I thought they were Christos’ friends.’ I was furious that they were allowing him to be bullied, no matter what the issue.
‘Perhaps they do not agree with Christos. Perhaps they think my father is right.’
‘Right about what? What is it all about?’
Irini shook her head and turned away. The other women lowered their eyes, and muttered together.
For the first time I felt unwelcome. I was a foreigner, and whatever it was that was causing the uproar was Oian business. No-one would talk to me and I was not allowed to talk to Christos. It was infuriating.
Preparations for the evening meal were beginning and I now knew enough about Greek cuisine to be able to take my share of the work, although my thoughts were anywhere but on the tomato salad. When we have eaten, I thought, Christos and I will go back to the beach and he will explain to me what is wrong.
But Christos was absent from dinner that evening. When I asked where he was Niko shrugged and Irini would not look at me. I went to bed still frustrated, concerned about what Christos would eat and where he would sleep.
Early the next morning I rose and packed some food for him, helping myself to anything I thought h
e would like from the leftovers of last night’s meal, and gave it to Niko. I presumed they would be fishing together as usual.
‘Please, Niko, give this to Christos with my love’, I said, and Niko nodded without looking me in the face.
During that day, I noticed the other women collecting their bits and pieces together, and murmuring to Irini’s mother as they slowly left Stavros’ house. The men, too, had disappeared.
‘Where is everyone going?’ I asked Irini.
‘Oh, they are going to look after their affairs,’ she said vaguely. ‘It is time to …’
‘To what?’
‘To start again.’
I could get nothing more out of her. She and her mother spoke quietly together and then Irini fetched a basket which she gave to me.
‘My mother says please will you go and gather horta for our lunch?’
I could do nothing but nod politely and leave, knowing that I was being got rid of, because since the earthquake there were no wild greens to be found. I walked up to some high ground from where I could see the sea and sat on a rock, thinking about Christos. It seemed to me that it was time we left Oia and make our way to Acrotiri. It was clear that we were no longer welcome at Stavros’ house, and Niko and Irini were embarrassed. I could not bear to see my Christos treated badly. We would leave first thing tomorrow.
I made my way back down into the town to tell Irini of my decision, but as I approached Stavros’ house I was bewildered to see clouds of dust rising from the garden and hear what sounded like demolition work. A pile of household goods lay in the street. More were stacked on a donkey cart tethered a little way away. Irini and her mother stood beside the cart, weeping.
‘What’s happening?’ I cried.
The Santorini Summer Page 7