by Pippa Roscoe
‘Mummy calls me Annabelle, though.’
She felt Loukis jerk back in the chair as if struck.
‘But mynewdaddy—’ she seemed to roll the words into one ‘—calls me Anna. He’s silly.’
Her statement hit the room with the force of a tornado Annabelle couldn’t even have imagined.
‘Your new daddy?’ Loukis demanded, his voice shaking with anger.
Annabelle looked uncertain for a moment. ‘That’s what Mummy calls him. My new daddy,’ she replied, as if confused and unsure as to why Loukis’s reaction was what it had been.
‘Are you having fun?’ Célia rushed on, trying to cover his discomfort. ‘What have you been up to?’
As Annabelle chatted away about visits to shopping malls, where she was given Jameson, and a trip to the zoo, where she saw tigers, bears and snakes—her favourite was Diego the skunk—Célia was painfully aware of the tension and frustration that filled the air on this side of the world, Annabelle thankfully oblivious to it. Or at least she had been until her voice trailed off a little and her small fingers started to twist in the bright pink fake fur of her toy.
‘But I... I... They don’t have dolphins. Not like the zoo in Greece.’
Célia’s heart ached. For Annabelle and Loukis, both desperately trying to navigate this new dynamic.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dolphin,’ she remarked into the awkward silence.
‘You haven’t?’ Eyes wide and childishly outraged, Annabelle demanded that Loukis take her to see the dolphins right now.
‘Ma chérie, it is nearly three-thirty in the morning. I don’t think the zoo is open here yet.’
‘But it’s still light outside?’
‘Not here, my love. You’re so far away that the sun is in a different place and it’s a different time. What are you doing tomorrow?’ Célia asked, trying to get some of the happy enthusiasm that had filled the little girl’s voice. But sadly it didn’t quite work. Her joy was as dimmed as Loukis.
‘How is Meredith treating you?’ he demanded, his voice rough and begrudging.
‘She wants me to call her Mummy.’
All the man beside her could do was nod.
‘Is that okay with you?’ asked Célia, keeping her tone as light as possible.
Annabelle narrowed her eyes, the weight of the question being given serious consideration.
‘I think so?’ She darted a look towards Loukis as if to check that she had the right answer and, once again, Célia’s heart ached just a little more.
‘You call her what feels right for you, oui?’
‘Wee? Why did you say wee?’ Annabelle cried, pealing off into another beautiful giggle.
‘It is how I say yes,’ Célia explained with a smile.
‘You talk funny,’ Annabelle accused.
‘You have funny friends,’ Célia replied, pointing to Jameson.
‘He is funny. And silly. And pink!’ she exclaimed.
After a few more minutes, Loukis too quiet to be able to continue pointless conversation, they agreed to video call again tomorrow and signed off.
When Loukis closed the laptop’s screen, the living room was shrouded in a sudden darkness that left spots dancing in the backs of Célia’s eyes and a weight against her chest that burned.
She understood why Loukis was so angry, but also was frustrated that he’d revealed some of that anger to Annabelle. She was a ten-year-old child and shouldn’t bear the weight of adult emotions. Not when she’d soon have enough of her own to deal with.
‘What?’ Loukis demanded in the darkness. ‘I can practically feel the waves of your disapproval.’
‘I... It’s not my place,’ she said, turning to leave the room.
Loukis leaned forward and switched on the lamp beside the laptop, the shaft of light cutting off her escape.
‘Well, as my fake fiancée for now, you might as well spit it out.’
She turned back to him, as if reluctant. Her eyes large, glowing and wary as if she knew what she had to say would hurt him. Loukis almost laughed at himself then. Christos. What was it with the women in his life?
‘It’s just a shame, Loukis, that’s all. I know you have a complicated relationship with your mother, but Annabelle looked like she was having fun.’
The silent accusation that he might have somehow taken away that fun cut him deep. Meredith was the danger, not him. He was doing everything in his power to protect his sister. And if that protection came at the cost of being spoiled rotten by a flaky woman whose only claim to motherhood was birth, then so be it.
‘Oh, fun. Yes, I remember “fun” Meredith,’ he bit out. Because he did. He remembered the mother who would arrive at the school, middle of the day sometimes, and whisk him away to the beach, on a yacht, or a trip to the zoo, or to shops full of the best toys. He remembered the way his room had filled with useless presents designed to prove her occasional affections, to make up for the rest of the time. He remembered a woman he thought had hung the moon and more, who made him feel as if he were the only other person in the world. Until something brighter and shinier came along to distract her. Usually a man other than her husband, with more money than sense, who might or might not have owned an island, or a villa in a different part of Greece, or even Europe. Then, he wouldn’t see her for weeks. Her absence marked only by a new toy.
‘But I also remember the Meredith who would leave me waiting in a playground for three hours before my father could come and get me. Not just once, Célia. Nearly once a week. I remember the Meredith who was too busy enjoying the delights of the Riviera to return for Christmas. Not just the day, the whole damn holiday. I remember the woman who walked out on her daughter one day and never looked back, until now. I remember the nights, weeks, months of Annabelle crying herself to sleep, asking where her mother was and why she wasn’t coming back. It was nearly a year before she stopped asking after Meredith. And what do you think will happen to Annabelle, how do you think she’ll feel, when Meredith tires of her returned plaything, and wants to drop her off again and disappear? What will Annabelle remember then?’
His voice had grown louder and harsher throughout and he realised he was shaking with anger. Anger for Annabelle, anger for himself, and anger towards Célia, who had only pointed out something he had already been castigating himself for.
He couldn’t bear to look at her, fearing and resenting that she had called forth such blatant vulnerability from him. He never spoke about his mother, never spoke about his memories of her. She had left and not once looked back. Not even for his father’s funeral. So he had wiped her from his mind, cut her from his life as ruthlessly as a surgeon removing dangerous cells from the body.
He felt Célia’s hand on his, and this time it was his turn to flinch. And just as he had done in the restaurant, Célia maintained the delicate contact between them, adding to it even, as she reached for his chin to guide his gaze to hers.
‘I am sorry that happened to you.’ The sincerity in her gaze scoured. It scoured because in some ways having her understand, having her apology, opened up the hurt in a way it had not been before. Desperate to stifle it, to shove the lid back down hard, Loukis turned back to where the laptop was open on his desk.
‘But what if Meredith does actually want a relationship with Annabelle? What if she does want to be part of her life? Is that not worth exploring, even if just a little?’
Loukis couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped at her naivety. ‘That woman isn’t capable of thinking of anyone else but herself.’
‘That’s possible. Even likely, given what you’ve shared. But...’
He was getting tired of trying to sift through her words to find the heart of what she meant. He both wanted and feared her spelling it out, because if he was honest, he thought he might know what she was about to say.
‘Just
say it, Célia.’
‘She will need to make her own mind up, Loukis. She will need to figure out her own feelings about Meredith. And you need to be a safe space for that. You need to be non-judgmental as she works through it, because if you don’t then you’ll be the one creating the wall between you and her, not her and Meredith. If Annabelle’s mother is as bad as you say, she’ll reveal herself and it will devastate your sister. And she will need you for that.’
He met her statement with the clenched jaw of someone who knew he was in the wrong and she was in the right.
‘But your reaction is totally normal. You’re acting just like any other parent going through a custody battle.’
‘I’m not a parent,’ he ground out.
‘Really?’ she asked, her head to one side as if inspecting him for a deeper truth. ‘You are looking to be granted full custody of a child you have spent three years feeding, housing, clothing and caring for and you deny that you’re a parent? If not for that, then why are you doing this? Because, Loukis, if you’re doing this just to get back at your mother then...’
Then you are just as bad as her.
The unspoken accusation hung in the air between them, a bell that had tolled its tale and rippled out into his consciousness. He shook his head against her words, trying to dislodge the barb that had hooked into his mind.
‘I’m going to bed,’ she said gently before leaving the room. He barely acknowledged her departure.
Was Célia right? Really? Was it vengeance driving him to seek custody of Annabelle, because of his own hurt feelings, teaching Meredith a lesson perhaps? Or had he told the truth, that his sole motivation was to protect his sister?
In the dimly lit living room, in a chair that after four hours was uncomfortable, he tried out each different chain of thought, listening to his mind and heart as he felt his way through the morass of his motivations. Reluctantly, Loukis was forced to admit that perhaps it was an unsettling mixture of both. But Célia was right. He had to make sure that he kept his own feelings for his mother out of it. Because Meredith would reveal herself soon enough and the blow to Annabelle would be devastating. Not that it stopped his plans for even a second, Loukis decided. He could at least hope to limit that damage by gaining sole custody and ensure that any interaction with Meredith was kept to a minimum.
The next morning, Loukis surprised her. Not only had he, himself, laid out a breakfast of delicious treats, hot and very strong coffee, but he also appeared to be in a good mood.
After the awkwardness from the night before, it was taking Célia a little longer to adjust to this new, charming fiancé. A dull thud hit her heart as she thought of the word. It hadn’t been the first time that she’d had a near-fiancé. The word conjured images not of Loukis, but of Marc. Of how charming he’d appeared at first, how joyful and exuberant. All things that had disappeared the moment she’d rejected her father’s name, money, and her own burgeoning technical career.
Torn between memories of the past and an unsettling present, it took her a while to realise that Loukis had said something. Or asked something? Because he was looking at her for an answer to some unheard question.
‘I’m sorry, what was that?’
Loukis pushed aside the newspaper and leaned forward. Not before she’d got a look at the large black and white photo of them kissing on the rooftop of the balcony the night before. A headline, she was sure, screamed the news of their engagement and apparent happiness. An article, she was equally sure, dredged up the many references to Loukis’s past conquests and more questions about who this strange woman who had claimed him was.
‘Would you?’
‘Would I what?’ she asked, irrationally irritated.
‘Would you like to go into Athens this morning?’ he repeated pleasantly and frustratingly without...well, frustration.
‘Oh. Yes, I suppose?’
‘You don’t seem sure.’
‘Loukis, right now, to be honest, I’m not quite sure of anything. Why would we go into Athens?’
His answer surprised her. Silencing her. Making her suddenly a little fearful. Because his answer, his apparent purpose, was their engagement ring. A ring that would make all this so much more tangible. It would draw a line beneath the way she had been trying to pass this whole endeavour off as something not quite real.
Loukis’s cheerful mood seemed to carry on through the morning. The journey into Athens in a chauffeur-driven town car had been full of twists and turns that only served to exacerbate the nausea building in her stomach. The Acropolis loomed high in the distance as they drew closer and closer to the city centre. Sleek buildings bordered the road as they wound through the streets, until they came to the sprawling sandstone building housing the Greek Parliament. It rose on one side of the car, large, proud but strangely removed of some of the pomp and finery of other countries’ central government. It struck her as both beautiful and uncompromising. A little like the man beside her.
It was soon left in the rear-view mirror as the car took them further into the centre, smaller streets full of motorbike riders risking their lives swerving in and out of traffic, tourists doing much the same as they navigated the busy pavements and side streets. The limousine, drawing curious glances from pedestrians, drew to a halt at the corner of a street, and with lithe grace Loukis exited the car and came round to open her door for her.
It seemed to Célia that these small gestures, manners, were automatic for him and in some ways she preferred that. They weren’t intended to ingratiate, there was no purpose to them other than it was simply what he did. It seemed doubtful that this was something his mother had imparted, but more likely that it had been his father. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask, but as she stepped out into the sunlight her mind halted beneath the incredible sight of a riotous waterfall of fuchsia bougainvillea. It was pouring from one side of street, clinging impossibly to a yellow-painted wall, as if challenging the white wisteria blooming forth from the opposite building. It was such a beautiful sight, she couldn’t help but smile.
Even at ten in the morning, the street was bustling with people and tourists, and they soon had to step out of the way of the oncoming wave of pedestrians. The trees created a canopy above tables set out on stone-paved streets full of people with coffee and cigarettes and the hum of conversations drifted towards them.
Loukis seemed content to allow her to take her fill of the surroundings.
‘You’ve not been to Athens before now?’
She looked up, smiling, and shook her head. ‘I only flew in before for the gala and...well, was gone first thing in the morning, as you know.’
Momentarily his espresso rich coloured eyes darkened, before he schooled his features back to that practised smile and slipped on a pair of sunglasses.
‘Come,’ he commanded, his hand outstretched to hers. ‘We have an appointment.’
She hesitated, momentarily cast back to the feel of his touch, of his kiss from the night before. The aching realisation that their intimacy was for public display returned and she sadly took his hand, chiding herself for the errant thought that she’d wished, for a moment, for him to take her hand because...because he just wanted to.
He led her up the gently sloping street, past restaurants and shops selling everything from ceramic masks of Greek mythology with impressive swirling beards, to leather sandals, and Grecian-style dresses of turquoise, white and fuchsia. The bright vibrancy was infectious and soon smoothed away most of the exhaustion from the night before.
She was thankful, as the heat of the sun began to warm the streets, that she had determinedly chosen her clothing from her new wardrobe. The wide-cut tan linen palazzo trousers and white T-shirt, more fitted that she would usually have worn, were a godsend. Loukis, too, was in linen, dark trousers and a white shirt, rolled back at the sleeves, with his jacket hooked on his finger and trailing over his shoulder. He
looked every inch the charming playboy and for the first time she felt as if she might just fit in beside him.
They drew to a halt at a small building squashed between two others, one a restaurant and another selling antique books. The darkened windows looked closed to further inspection, but Loukis confidently ushered her through the door before him.
A small man who could not be any younger than eighty greeted Loukis like a long-lost friend, taking him by the arms in a deceptively strong grip and kissing both cheeks of her soon-to-be official fiancé.
A smattering of Greek filled the small room, which, as her eyes adjusted, she could see was absolutely full of the most incredible jewellery. Shafts of sunlight from the street picked out princess-cut diamonds, baguette cuts of what looked like blue tourmaline, pear-shaped rubies far outshining the cluster of tiny pearls in which they were set...it was as if she’d wandered into Aladdin’s cave.
As the two men continued to chat away, Célia’s eyes snagged on a marquise-cut diamond solitaire. A whisper of hurt wound out from her heart. It was exactly like the ring Marc had once pointed out to her.
‘When I ask your father for your hand in marriage, that is the ring I will buy you.’
At the time, she’d been so overwhelmed, thought she’d been so happy, she hadn’t realised that his ‘proposal’ had been more of a statement, and that he’d put her father first. The signs had all been there, she just hadn’t wanted to see them.
‘Really?’
Loukis’s question interrupted her thoughts.
‘That is what’s caught your eye?’
‘I was just looking. You don’t like it?’
‘It’s not whether I like it, but it doesn’t quite seem like you.’
How was it that this man, who she barely knew, who she had yet to even share a bed with, seemed to know her better than Marc, with whom she had spent nearly four years?
‘What do you think would suit me best, then?’ she asked, pushing past her bruised and battered heart.