by Mandy Baggot
She watched Meg’s expression crack a little.
‘I’m not my mum and I promise, I’m not going to make the same mistakes she did. And you have to trust me with that.’ She sighed. ‘I will always come to you for advice and I will always take your wisdom on board. But my choices have to be mine to make and you have to let me work things out on my own, even if the next consequence might be difficult or not quite perfect.’
Meg was nodding as tears began to fall with force. ‘I know. And I will.’
‘And it’s your time too now.’ She squeezed Meg’s hands again, memories of all the handholding from the past – a grazed knee, someone being cruel at school or not scoring as high as she’d wanted on a test paper – flooding back. ‘You’ve been my real mum and I don’t want to completely sack you from the position but… maybe you should have a little furlough.’
Meg smiled then, dashing the tears away from her eyes with a finger. ‘Is there any government incentive package?’
‘Well, I don’t know about Rishi Sunak, but Lucie Burrows doesn’t want to stop having an excuse to buy chocolate-covered pretzels to go with our tea on Saturday mornings,’ Lucie said.
‘Phew!’ Meg said, pretend-wiping her forehead.
Lucie plucked a napkin from the table and held it out to Meg. ‘There is one other thing I wanted to ask.’
‘Anything, Lucie-Lou, I promise,’ Meg said, taking the tissue and wiping her eyes.
Lucie looked to the mountain foreground, peaks stretching high and wide across the blue sky, and wondered, as the warm sun hit her cheeks, whether it was important to know the answer to this particular question. What would it change? Rita was still gone. Lucie would never know who her father was, if Rita herself had even known. And did Meg even hold any puzzle pieces to make the picture any clearer?
‘Was it an accident?’ Lucie blurted. ‘Did Mum’s drug addiction and recklessness mean she just took too much or…’ She swallowed, remembering how hurt she had felt when Michalis had brought up this subject.
‘Or?’ Meg asked, looking a little bit unsure what was coming next.
‘Did she… mean to die?’ Lucie breathed. ‘Did she think there was no way back to any kind of bearable living? Was she so unhappy because she was so young, with a baby she didn’t want, that she thought checking out was the only answer?’
Meg answered instantly. ‘No.’
It sounded so definite, a statement with no compromise or flicker of any uncertainty in her aunt’s eyes. ‘Absolutely not,’ Meg added, leaving no doubt.
‘But… you said she was lost. That she didn’t seem to have many real friends. And she had me… and that can’t have been easy no matter how much support you gave her. Especially when Nan and Grandad would have been so shocked and upset and disapproving, even if they didn’t mean to be.’
‘Lucie-Lou,’ Meg said, holding both her hands tight again and looking directly at her. ‘The very last time I saw your mum happy she was holding you in her arms.’ She smiled. ‘She was… singing some awful pop song to you, dancing you around her bedroom to the beat and kissing your little nose. Lucie, she loved you, very much, and you must never ever doubt that.’
‘I know that’s what you say but—’
‘I’ve always told you the truth I knew, Lucie. That’s why you’ve felt so penned in with warnings about misadventure. I’ve never hidden what happened to your mum. As soon as I thought you were old enough to understand I told you.’ Meg squeezed her hands tighter. ‘It was an accident. There was absolutely nothing to suggest that she had ever thought about harming herself. She just got herself caught up in an impossible situation she couldn’t break free from and… she went too far that one night.’ Meg inhaled sharply. ‘One mistake. Many lives shattered. And… all of us changed.’
Lucie inched off her chair until she was hovering in the space between them. And then she put her arms around Meg and held her close as they both began to cry.
Fifty-Three
Vouni
Lucie spread her arms wide and tried to channel her inner Arctic Circle. She was standing in the centre of Ariana and Mary’s terrace wearing what felt like at least forty-five layers of petticoats and the day was too hot for clothes at all, let alone a bespoke Greek wedding dress…
‘You look amazing,’ Gavin said, dropping a handful of olives into his mouth from the little pots on the rustic table, the cats looking on. ‘Doesn’t she look amazing, Miltos?’
‘We will find you a groom!’ Miltos said, clapping his hands together like he meant business.
‘No,’ Lucie breathed. ‘I don’t… I mean… I’m not really getting married. I did say that from the outset.’
Gavin started laughing until he realised the olives he had palmed contained stones and he began to splutter a little. The cats lifted their heads as if in amusement and the black-and-white one made a mew that definitely sounded like a laugh.
It had been a few days since her heart-to-heart with Meg and, feeling a little more centred, she had relaxed into the holiday vibe with Gavin and Simon. They’d hired bicycles so they could leave Sortilas and meet up with Simon and together they’d hit the beach at Agios Spyridon, hiring a pedalo and trying pints of Corfu Beer. And Lucie had spent another perfect date night with Michalis. He had cooked a delectable meal of roasted figs, Greek cheese and fresh bread and they had taken it in a picnic basket to a wrought iron bench a short walk away from the village in Anapaftiria. The view there was even more spectacular than the views from Villa Psomi, the ocean stretching out ahead of them like a skein of the most luxurious blue silk … The delicious food and Michalis’s company – as well as his kisses – had made the night simply perfection.
The road out of Sortilas was at last almost fully open. You could now get to and from the village by car, but anything bigger than a Skoda Citigo had to pull in its wing mirrors and bigger vehicles like Miltos’s fruit van were still unable to pass. Melina Hatzi had called a village meeting to enlist more people to help with the removal of the final boulders blocking the road. She had looked highly stressed, had had to lean on her mati-topped staff for support at one point and then had dropped her megaphone on the head of a little boy called Spiros who seemed to be drawing a picture of cable cars. Coaches were coming up to deliver and collect tourists, but not all of the holidaymakers were happy with the final mile of the journey being made on foot or in the back of a wooden wagon. Just this morning, Lucie had caught sight of the president bowing to the golden tortoise on the church and whispering a prayer. The rumours were that the Day of the Not Dead festival might have to be postponed if supplies could not get through.
‘The village knows about you and the doctor,’ Miltos said firmly.
Lucie caught his eye and suddenly felt guilty of something. The village knows. It felt like there was something close to threat behind the statement. Before she had a chance to say anything in reply, Miltos had spoken again.
‘But you cannot marry him,’ Miltos stated.
‘What?’ Gavin spluttered, olive bits hitting his chin. One of the cats stuck out a paw and snagged a flying scrap.
‘Dr Andino is Greek Orthodox,’ Miltos said matter-of-factly.
Was he? Michalis had never mentioned religion to her when they had had that conversation about marriage and he’d told her the story of his dad making salt-infused cookies. But then, why would he mention it? They were having a holiday romance, not coupling up for forever…
‘I know you’ll hate me for it,’ Gavin began. ‘But I’m now imagining him in one of those long black papa robes, a string of beads and a crucifix around his neck.’ He drew in a breath and fanned his face. ‘Like the Madonna “Like A Prayer” video.’
‘So,’ Lucie began as Ariana and Mary carried on circling her, one with pins, both with ribbon. ‘If you’re Greek Orthodox does it mean you can’t marry someone who isn’t Greek Orthodox?’
‘No,’ Miltos said immediately.
‘Oh,’ Lucie answered. Then what was the prob
lem? You know, if she was going to be envisaging this marrying scenario that was never actually going to happen…
‘But the marriage must take place in a Greek Orthodox church. And the bride would have to be Christian.’ Miltos nodded. ‘If you are not Christian then you cannot be married.’
‘Well, that doesn’t seem fair,’ Gavin said. ‘What about “love is love” and “all love is equal”?’
Miltos scoffed. ‘Fairy tales.’
‘Well,’ Lucie breathed. ‘We don’t have to worry about any of that, do we?’
‘You are Christian?’ Miltos wanted to know, one eyebrow raising.
‘I’m not getting married!’ Lucie said aloud.
Such was her shout that Ariana and Mary both took a step back as if they thought they had jabbed her with a pin.
‘Sorry,’ Lucie breathed. ‘But, you know, one day I might get married and wear this lovely dress.’
‘You could always become Orthodox,’ Miltos suggested.
His mobile phone began to ring and he plucked it from the table and shouted a greeting:
‘Ne!’
‘Don’t listen to him about marriage to Michalis,’ Gavin said, getting up and standing next to Lucie as Ariana and Mary carried on busying around like worker bees.
‘I’m not listening to anyone about that,’ Lucie said. ‘Because we’re enjoying each other’s company while I’m here and then when I’m not here, well…’ She stopped because she didn’t know what else to say. What did happen then? Did it all just come to a natural conclusion?
‘Please keep in touch,’ Gavin told her. ‘Because otherwise I’ll have to go through all that finding new friendship groups and membership to the Southampton Socialites stuff with you again and the only thing I got out of that was the plot of Dark explained to me and a recipe for chocolate salami.’
‘We must go!’ Miltos announced. ‘Ela! Tora!’ He whisked his arms around in the air like he was a human KitchenAid. Even the cats got scared and sprung from their seat at the table to the sanctuary of behind a large watering can.
‘Go?’ Lucie asked, looking down at her layers of tulle and lace and patchwork pieces of who-knew-what. ‘Go where?’
‘There is an emergency in Sortilas,’ Miltos said. He spoke fast in Greek then to his grandmother and great-aunt. Lucie watched as the women’s eyes widened and suddenly they were stripping the frock from her as fast as their aged, oddly nimble fingers could go.
‘What sort of emergency?’ Gavin gabbled. ‘Oh, God, it’s Simon, isn’t it? He said he was going to catch up on some reading at his hotel, but what if he got bored and he tried to come and see me and I wasn’t there and what if there was another landslide? Has there been another landslide? Is he part-crushed under a boulder before we’ve even had a chance to figure things out?’
‘Who is Simon?’ Miltos asked, somehow sounding accusing.
‘Miltos, what’s happened?’ Lucie demanded to know.
‘Maria, she is having the babies,’ Miltos said, suddenly stepping in and also helping to remove Lucie’s dress.
‘Phew,’ Gavin said. ‘Now please tell me Maria is a cat.’ He grabbed another fistful of olives.
‘Maria is not a cat.’
‘I can take this off myself, Miltos,’ Lucie said, wriggling her arms out of the confines of rather tight lacy cuffs.
‘Good,’ Miltos said. ‘Because we must go.’ He produced the keys to the go-kart car they had come here in. ‘Dr Andino cannot be found so… you two need to deliver the babies.’
‘What?!’ Lucie exclaimed, as finally her body was released from the steamy confines of material and she was back in just her shorts and vest.
‘Ha!’ Gavin said. ‘This is one of your jokes, isn’t it, Miltos?’ He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Maria’s a dog, isn’t she? We’re going to squeeze back into the go-kart and you’re going to insist you drive – too fast by the way – and then we’re going to get back to Sortilas and—’
‘Kane isychia!’
Lucie had no idea what Miltos had roared, but the words had rolled like thunder.
‘Maria is a woman,’ Miltos explained. ‘She is pregnant… with twins… and you are going to help her get the babies out. Now, let’s go!’
Lucie swallowed and pulled a pin out of the bottom of her vest. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say. This was happening.
Fifty-Four
En route to Sortilas
‘I feel sick,’ Gavin announced as they bumped up and down in the go-kart en route to the village.
‘Please don’t criticise Miltos’s driving again,’ Lucie begged. ‘If you make him mad, it’s only going to get worse.’ And it wasn’t really Miltos’s crazy steering that was the worst thing about this ride. It was Gavin’s body pressure, taking up his seat and hers. It almost felt like she was wearing his deodorant… She attempted to sit a little forward to speak to their pilot.
‘Where is she?’ Lucie yelled against the rushing humid air as the kart whipped around another hairpin bend on two of its wheels. ‘Maria… and the babies.’
‘And, more importantly, why isn’t there an ambulance coming?!’ Gavin screamed.
‘You think an ambulance could get into the village when my fruit van cannot?’ Miltos shouted back over the roar of the engine.
‘Well, you could bring her down the mountain to the health centre. I saw one in Roda the other day,’ Gavin suggested. ‘They must do more than treat sunburn.’ He touched one of his red shoulders.
Miltos threw the steering wheel around to the left. ‘You want to put a pregnant woman in the back of this thing?!’
‘We’re in the back of this thing!’ Lucie reminded as Gavin’s elbow hit her kidney.
‘And that wasn’t how you pitched this vehicle when you hired it to me!’ added Gavin. ‘You specifically sold the safety features!’
‘What are you so scared of?’ Miltos wanted to know. ‘You tell me you are a nurse, Loosely and Gaveen, he is a doctor.’
‘Yes,’ Lucie called back, foliage coming through the open ‘window’ and scraping her arm. ‘I mean, no. Gavin’s not a doctor, remember?’
‘Only when you’re needing to lie to your gran and auntie for sexist reasons,’ Gavin grumbled.
‘What?’ Miltos shouted, apparently not hearing. He did that quite a lot when he didn’t want to listen.
Lucie shifted slightly in her seat and drew her phone out of the pocket of her shorts. Michalis hadn’t replied to any of her texts yet today. But that wasn’t unusual. When he was helping at the butcher’s he didn’t seem to check his phone, nor when he was seeing patients at the studio surgery. He was conscientious to a fault. But she had also now called him several times. You would think, unless his mobile was on silent, that the noise might have alerted someone near his phone – Nyx or one of his patients. She pressed on his number and tried again. This time it went straight to voicemail.
‘Where did people look for Michalis?’ Lucie asked Miltos, as she re-pocketed her phone.
‘The butcher’s. The surgery. His apartment. We also sent Little Spiros on his tricycle to see if he was at the bench where you ate picnic food,’ Miltos answered.
What? Everyone knew they had had a picnic at Anapaftiria? It was a good job they had kept their clothes on in that case… Now Lucie was concerned that she and Gavin were really going to have to deliver these babies.
‘Have you delivered a baby before?’ Lucie asked him.
‘Oh yes!’ Gavin exclaimed. ‘Many times!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Just like I perform open heart surgery and tonsillectomies… OK, the last one I may have thought I’d performed previously with a couple of boyfriends, but never under anaesthesia.’
‘Gavin, this is serious!’
‘I am well aware but, Luce, we’ve been through everything at work together. When have you seen me with my fingers anywhere near the business end of a woman? And do not mention Madame Viceroy, because that “lady” was forced to go private after the episode w
ith the hydrocortisone cream.’
Lucie took a deep breath. She knew she would know if Gavin had delivered a baby at work but she thought perhaps he may have aided a labouring shopper in an Aldi car park… but then again, if Gavin had done something like that, it would have been headline news and he would have presented himself with an honorary lanyard.
‘Please tell me you’ve delivered one,’ Gavin said, seeming now to bump up and down with nerves as well as the rough ride. ‘Because if I haven’t then you must have. You and half a dozen taxi drivers, right?’
‘I haven’t,’ Lucie breathed. ‘The closest I’ve got to birth is a guinea pig I looked after once.’ She sighed heavily. ‘And she ate one of them.’
‘Oh, Jesus!’ Gavin exclaimed. ‘Right, that’s it!’ He drew his phone from his pocket and began tapping as the go-kart neared the boulders still part-blocking their way into the village.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I’m googling how to deliver babies. I mean, there is a YouTube video on everything, remember? Like my make-up tutorials. There’s guitar lessons and… unpacking the box of every laptop ever made and… BTS’s best eating moments… so there must be something about this!’
‘And what if that’s not enough?’ Lucie breathed.
‘I’m going to call Sharon. Surely, if neither of us have delivered before, you can guarantee she will have. Failing that, she’s bound to have the mobile number of a midwife or… wasn’t she almost married to Mr Tuck the gynae guy?’
‘Don’t forget it’s twins,’ Lucie breathed. ‘I think everything is different for twins.’
Fifty-Five
Thomas’s Place, Kalami
Michalis had taken the SIM card from his phone and was holding it between his fingers. This tiny, slightly weird-shaped chip needed to be thrown away, there was just one more call he had to make before he did that. He slipped it back into his phone and watched the screen reset.
It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, but this time he really wanted it to be the last. Three more texts from Thekli had arrived over the last couple of days and the harshness of the one he had received that morning had been the final straw: