‘I didn’t bother to pursue the matter. I was happy to see the house where I was born but I didn’t imagine for one moment that there would be anything of my mother’s still inside.’ She patted the box on her lap. ‘I’ll treasure what you have brought me to the end of my days.’
She opened the box and took out the watch, with its open, inviting face and heavy leather strap. She rubbed it between her fingers as if imbuing into herself the touch and feel of the father she had never known. ‘My mother mentioned the watch sometimes. She thought that he had been wearing it when he was taken, that it was lost with him. It was very precious to him, something passed down to him from his own grandfather. I can only assume someone else found it in the house and put it in the box.’
Sophie wondered if Mileva would know and then dismissed the possibility. She hadn’t seemed to have any knowledge of what was on the bureau or in the box. It seemed most likely that the Serbian man who’d owned the house before her husband had put it there.
‘And what about your life, Jelena?’ Ton’s question was direct, his tone enquiring but not demanding, interrupting Sophie’s thoughts. ‘It has been a good one? A happy one?’
Jelena pointed to the sitting room walls on which hung numerous photographs of her sons and their wives and children.
‘Oh, my life has had its troubles, too, but overall I can’t complain. I have my three boys: Pavle who lives here …’ she paused to smile gratefully at her youngest child ‘… Marko in a small town to the north and Filip in Novi Sad. I have four grandchildren with another soon to make an appearance. Unlike many, I have enough money to get by.’ She indicated the clothes she was wearing, her elegant linen suit. ‘I earned a good salary as a seamstress, and built a solid business. Wedding dresses, mostly, plus of course the bridesmaids’ dresses and outfits for the mother of the bride. I was able to sell for a tidy sum when I decided to retire.’
Ton looked admiringly at her clothing. ‘You still sew for yourself, I take it.’
‘Oh yes. I make my own clothes and I’m afraid I can’t stop sewing for my granddaughter.’
At this, Pavle burst out laughing. ‘Ivana has so many clothes we had to move house to accommodate them all.’
Jelena frowned. ‘You are exaggerating,’ she protested. ‘You moved house because of the new baby!’
Pavle nodded appeasingly. ‘OK, you’re right. But still – my daughter is most definitely the best-dressed six-year-old in town.’
Jelena suddenly fell quiet, her demeanour taking on a look of sorrow. When she spoke, her voice was full of regret. ‘Now we can laugh again, and look forward to the future. We hope to join the EU, soon. But the sadness we all hold, the blot in our past, was the war after Tito died. I can never understand what happened to turn neighbour against neighbour, friend against friend. We are not violent people and yet the violence was appalling.’
Sophie felt Ton’s hand holding hers flinch. She had found out more about the Balkan wars, quietly researching for hours on the internet. She knew now not just of the atrocities of Srebrenica where he had been a reporter, but before that the suffering of Sarajevo, Mostar … The names floated before her eyes. It was these spectres he had been trying to exorcize by returning to the region. How he had come to be walking down the bay road on that summer’s afternoon. She hoped he had managed to banish his ghosts rather than continue to be haunted by them as Jelena had been on Mamula.
The shrill ring of the doorbell startled them all. Pavle looked at his phone.
‘Four thirty already,’ he said, ‘it will be my wife after collecting Ivana from nursery.’
He stood up and something about his action made Ton and Sophie follow suit. ‘I will have to go now,’ he explained. Protectively, he patted Jelena on the shoulder. ‘And I think my mother is getting tired.’
‘Oh,’ tutted Jelena, with a dismissive shake of her head. ‘I’m fine. But if you are leaving we have to stop as there will be no one to translate.’
‘It’s OK,’ interjected Sophie, hastily. ‘We should absolutely be getting away. We’ve taken up enough of your time.’
Pavle had gone to let his wife and daughter in and suddenly they were in the room with that rush of noise and life and vitality small children bring with them.
‘Baka!’ cried the little girl, running across the room and throwing herself onto her grandmother’s knees. Hurriedly, Jelena placed the box, which she had been holding all this time, onto a side table and then pulled Ivana onto her lap.
‘Darling,’ she exclaimed, covering her granddaughter in kisses. ‘How good to see you. How was nursery?’
As Ivana spilled forth what seemed to be a detailed description of her day, Pavle introduced Ton and Sophie to his wife Lena, who had brown curls that reached almost to her waist and warm, brown eyes. All thanked each other again, then it was time to take their leave of Jelena herself. Seeming to pick up on something in the atmosphere, Ivana fell quiet and watched with an air of grave fascination as first Sophie and then Ton bent to kiss her grandmother and wish her well for the future.
***
Outside, it was stiflingly hot. The immaculate front garden was home to a variety of plants in well-ordered rows, including some towering giant sunflowers that Sophie had somehow failed to notice in the nervous excitement of their arrival. Their gleaming, black-centred faces were turned away from her and Ton, towards the sun that was gradually dropping in the western sky.
On the back of the bike, Sophie rested her head against Ton’s shoulder. He reached around and lightly placed his hand against her waist, a sign that he understood.
‘Poor Dragan,’ she whispered. ‘Poor Mira and Jelena.’
It was the first time either had spoken since they left the house. There had been nothing to say, nothing of any import, anyway. Sophie breathed in the smell of leather and Ton’s own, now familiar musky male scent. He made no move to go, allowing her to have her moment, sharing it with her.
Sophie heard voices behind them, coming from the direction of Jelena’s house: Pavle and Lena talking between themselves, the high-pitched twitter of little Ivana’s chirrups rising above their chat and sailing through the still air towards Sophie and Ton.
‘Let’s go,’ she murmured in Ton’s ear, then straightened herself up and put on her helmet. ‘It’s time to go home.’
Chapter 29
As soon as Sophie walked in the door of the stone house she sensed a change in atmosphere.
‘Something always happens when I go away,’ she remarked to Ton, looking suspiciously around the kitchen as if hoping to find the source of her discombobulation. She picked up various items from the table – a picture book in Polish of Tomasz’s, Irene’s spectacles, a spanner presumably belonging to Frank – and put them back down again.
Ton laughed. ‘I think you have an overactive imagination.’ He wandered to the door and looked out across the road. ‘Your geraniums are soldiering on,’ he commented wryly. ‘Though your instructions to keep them watered must have fallen on deaf ears. They’re parched.’
Arming himself with a large can of water, he went out to see to the poor wilting plants. Sophie stood, one arm across her body and the other resting on it, her chin upon her fist. Something was up, of that she was sure.
She leafed through a few envelopes on the shelf by the door. An electricity bill and a water bill. She never got any post and she wasn’t really expecting any – except possibly a response to her application for the English teaching job at the international school by the marina. There was nothing that looked like it could be that.
They’ll email, anyway, she said to herself as she made her way upstairs. But she hadn’t had any emails, either, so resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to be asked for interview. She was surprised at how downhearted she felt about this, a disappointment that was tinged with a hint of fearful anxiety. She hadn’t realized precisely how worried she was about the prospect of her money running out and having
to give up on Montenegro and slink back to England with her tail between her legs, having failed in the venture that everyone had perceived as madcap in the first place.
Lost in thought, Anna was almost upon her before Sophie noticed her. The two friends embraced and then Anna asked Sophie about the trip. As she was talking, Sophie was conscious of the particular brightness of Anna’s eyes that day, and her air of barely suppressed excitement.
Finishing her story of Jelena, and a brief summary of all they had learnt about Dragan’s fate, Mamula, and what had become of Mira, Sophie stood silently looking at her friend for a few moments.
‘So – what’s up this end? There’s something strange about you. Did you sell some more pictures?’
Sophie couldn’t think of anything else that could make Anna so animated, except perhaps for some achievement of Tomasz’s.
‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ replied Anna. ‘But that’s not what I’m dying to tell you.’ Her voice had risen in tone and now emerged as a high-pitched squeak.
‘There’s going to be a wedding in these parts!’
‘Gosh, how wonderful.’ Sophie sank down onto the bed. ‘But – no, don’t tell me who’s tying the knot, let me guess.’ She put her head on one side as if in deep contemplation. ‘Got it! Irene and my fisherman?’
‘Of course not, you dopey cow!’ Anna laughed, going along with the joke at the same time as becoming more impatient with it. ‘It’s me! Me, me, me.’
Sophie, half-laughing and half-crying, got up and threw her arms around Anna. ‘I’m so delighted.’ She choked back the tears. ‘But – it can’t just be you. There must be someone else involved. So …’ She paused. ‘I suppose I have to hazard a guess that it’s Frank?’
Anna had always been able to do surprising things and she was definitely a fast worker. When she had decided to have Tomasz, it had been done and dusted in a matter of weeks – clinic signed up for, sperm donor chosen etc. etc. – no umming and aahing for Anna once she had made her mind up. But still, to be joining herself in holy matrimony to the man who, only a few weeks before, she had declared was nothing more than a fling, was a tad surprising.
‘Yup, you got it.’ Anna sighed with a totally uncharacteristic dreaminess. ‘Frank is indeed the object of my desire.’
And he’s got a power drill, Sophie nearly said, giggling to herself, but didn’t. ‘I’m so happy for you, Anna. But – I wasn’t sure how serious it was between you; you gave out that it was nothing more than a dalliance, a flirtation. An extended holiday romance. In fact, you said that’s what it was.’
She was teasing, but also serious. Anna had never given the impression that marriage was on the agenda. And certainly not with Frank. But then, the more it sank in, the more right Sophie knew it was. Frank and Anna were perfect for each other – Anna fiercely loyal but needing Frank’s deadpan sense of humour and realism to counterbalance her more flamboyant ideas; Frank steadfast and true, but needing an anchor, the stability he had never had in either childhood or adulthood. Sophie hadn’t really noticed it or thought about it because she had been so wrapped in herself, her own grief and sadness.
Anna pulled a face of mock horror. ‘Holiday romance? We’re not just here on holiday, you know.’
Sophie stuttered slightly as she eventually replied. ‘No! No, of course not.’
‘I know I said it wasn’t serious but – well, I guess I was just flannelling in case it didn’t work out.’
‘Flannelling is one word for it,’ joked Sophie. ‘Lying would be another.’ She was still trying to take it in, that Frank and Anna would be united for ever. She couldn’t believe that she hadn’t been more involved, hadn’t helped Anna in the making of such a decision. But then again – Anna had always been spontaneous, as well as frighteningly single-minded and independent. Not for the first time, Sophie wished she could imbue some of those qualities into herself.
‘We’ve already set the date for two weeks’ time,’ continued Anna. ‘But don’t worry. As soon as Frank’s finished the attic we’ll move up there. It’ll be perfect for us.’
The attic was to have two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a sitting room with kitchenette so that Sophie herself could live up there with some degree of privacy if at any time she decided to run the rest of the house as a B&B or small hotel.
‘All four of us.’
‘Four!’ Everything Sophie was saying at the moment seemed to come with an exclamation mark. Who the hell was moving in up there with them? Sophie loved the house full of people and something always going on but felt that she, Ton, and Irene, as well as Anna, Frank, and Tomasz were probably enough for the time being.
‘Yes. It’s a shotgun wedding – because I’m pregnant.’
‘Pregnant!’ There goes another exclamation mark, thought Sophie, as her mouth fell open in astonishment. She recalled all the times she had told her students to use such punctuation sparingly, if at all. She needed to listen to her own advice sometimes. Sophie threw her arms around her friend once more.
‘That is absolutely amazing. Fantastic news. I’m so, so happy for you – and excited.’
‘Well, you know me, Sophie. I’m seizing the day.’
‘Like you always do,’ agreed Sophie, giving Anna another hug.
‘You only live once,’ muttered Anna, dreamily, her eyes fixed on some faraway spot. And then, realizing what she had said, clapped her hand to her mouth and flushed red with embarrassment.
‘Oops. I’m so sorry, Soph. I didn’t th … You know I didn’t mean it like that.’
Tears had welled in Sophie’s eyes but she blinked them back.
‘It’s fine. You’re right. We’ve all only got the one life. Make the most of it, carpe that diem. Time’s winged chariot hurries near and all that.’
She couldn’t resist another literary allusion. Suddenly, she understood what it was that made her do it. Protection. A barrier against the world. Use someone else’s words and thoughts when you are frightened of your own.
Because much though she wanted nothing but the best for Anna, and for all she hoped that her best friend would be happy until the end of her days, Anna getting wed reminded her of her own wonderful marriage to Matt, the love of her life, the man she had expected to become father of her children. Above all, it reminded her of how her own hopes had crumbled into dust the July day that he had died. It was over a year ago now, but at moments like this it still seemed like yesterday.
***
Preparation for the wedding proceeded apace over the next few days. Anna retreated to her studio, which she had temporarily turned into a full-on sewing atelier, and busily stitched away at her wedding dress. She had sent for matching suits for Frank and Tomasz from a tailor her family had used for years in Poland and confided in Sophie that she was hand-making matching waistcoats and ties for them both.
Petar was organizing the transport from the hotel where the marriage ceremony would take place to Prcanj; he had a cavalcade of cars belong to friends and relatives lined up, plus a special surprise vehicle for the happy couple.
Ton, as delighted and astonished as Sophie at the news of the sudden nuptials, would be the official photographer and in addition, he and Sophie were in the garden at all hours of the day and night readying it for the wedding breakfast and subsequent party. A phalanx of friends was flying out from the UK, and Irene had gamely offered to give up her bedroom and sleep on the boat for the duration, freeing up some much-needed space.
To add further accommodation, the goodwill and wide social circle of Sandra and Petar had been harnessed to gather all the put-u-up beds possible so that they could make the large sitting room on the first floor with views over the bay into a temporary dormitory.
Frank, Anna, and Tomasz all moved into one room together and, along with the nearly finished attic rooms, it was decided that no less than sixteen guests could be housed at 135 Prcanj. Everybody else would stay in the many konobas, private lodging houses, and B&Bs alo
ng the bay. Now that it was mid-September the area had quietened down considerably and rooms that would have been impossible to find in July and August were widely available.
With Ton and Sophie busy in the garden and Frank wandering about as if he wasn’t sure what day it was, Irene made herself responsible for the house. She bought extra sheets and pillows; cleaned, scrubbed, and ironed; and fashioned simple curtains for windows that had none with some colourful fabric she found in the market. Stalking Ton and Sophie around the terraces, she earmarked flowers she would pick nearer the time to adorn the bedrooms and from which she would make the all-important bridal bouquet.
One day, Sophie caught her underneath the pomegranate tree on the top terrace, staring intently at its branches and muttering under her breath.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ she asked. Irene looked as if she were indulging in some kind of intense – and uncomfortable, given her awkward posture – religious ceremony.
‘Counting, my dear. Pomegranate juice for cocktails. Don’t interrupt,’ Irene answered in one breath, never taking her eyes off the tree, or rather the fruits clustered within it.
‘Right you are then.’ Sophie shook her head in mock despair and left, secateurs and spade in hand.
Everything seemed to be falling into place until, one lunchtime, Frank burst into the kitchen, his face ashen, his hands trembling. Unusually, they were all gathered around the table, Anna armed with a sheaf of paperwork, spreadsheets, and checklists, Irene making a list of all the bedding she’d mustered and anything still required, and Sophie and Ton recovering from another few hours’ toil in the garden.
‘What on earth’s the matter?’ exclaimed Sophie in alarm, as soon as she registered Frank’s obvious disquiet. ‘Are you not feeling well?’ If Frank was ill, it was supremely bad timing. Sophie’s mind immediately started running through all the possible remedies she could offer him. Paracetamol? Rehydration powders? Irene’s Dettol, still in one of the kitchen cupboards, untouched since the fateful day they had met on the beach overlooking Mamula island?
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