Page 24 of Deep Blue Lies

TWENTY-THREE

I wake up late the next morning, the sun is already high in the sky and pouring through the kitchen window.

It should be nice in the apartment – you could make it nice, with plants and redecorating – but the way Klaus has it at the moment, the sun just makes it stuffy.

So I have a quick shower and get dressed, then head down to the harbour.

My plan is simple. I’m going to find a table in the shade and drink fresh orange juice and coffee.

And I’m going to read what my mum said about her time here twenty-two years ago.

I’m finally going to get some answers about who I am.

The little town is quiet as I walk down towards the seafront.

I pick a bar with a view of the fishing boats and the little yachts nestled together in the harbour.

I order the drinks, with a bowl of yogurt and fruit.

The waiter is a young guy, not much older than me, and he tries to flirt, but I couldn’t be less interested.

He keeps on though, and I almost think about finding another place just to get the hell away from him.

But eventually he gets the message. I eat quickly, and then pull the diary out of my bag.

I take a deep breath.

Mum’s diary is a red exercise book, quite thin, with just the word “Diary” and the year 2000 printed on the front.

I open it and I recognise her handwriting, even though it’s different to how she writes now – the letters rounder, somehow obviously more youthful.

I flick through the contents, not yet ready to dive in.

I notice how she’s written on some pages, but then left whole sections blank, sometimes three or four pages of nothing, as if she meant to go back and fill them in, but never did.

I turn to the front, there’s a few scrawled contacts, an email address, and then a cute little bookmark thing, made from an origami bat.

I can see handwriting on the wing, and when I lift it up I see it says: Imogen & Karen, summer 2000 .

I close the book for a moment, feeling suddenly dizzy about what I’ve got, what I’m doing.

This really could be the answer to everything I’ve wondered my entire life.

But then, what was it that Kostas told me?

How he didn’t remember her being pregnant, and how I need to read this to learn the truth.

That doesn’t make any sense, what did he even mean?

I take a sip of my orange juice, my hand shaking as I put the glass down.

I don’t know what the hell any of this means, I certainly don’t understand it.

But maybe I’m about to. I just hope I’m ready for it.

I open the diary again, turn to the first page, and I start to read.