Page 5 of Deep Blue Lies

FOUR

The whole trip back I’ve been wondering what her reaction was going to be, whether she’d scream and shout, how I’d defend myself. But she just repeats the words, like they don’t make sense, the way I’ve put them.

“You got kicked out?” She stares at me, like she’s never heard of this happening before, like she didn’t even know it was possible. It’s pretty hypocritical of her.

“Maybe I should leave you two to talk?” Matt says, giving up on the recycling by gently putting the bucket down on the floor.

“Yes, perhaps that’s a good idea.” Mum replies, without taking her eyes off me, then she does turn to him with an actual smile.

“I’m sorry, Matthew, I wasn’t expecting to be interrupted like this.

” When she looks back at me the smile has gone.

But I just wait, still standing by the front door, while Matt gets his things together.

“Do you want to know what happened?” I ask Mum, a full minute later.

“Of course I do,” she snaps back at once. But her eyes tell me to wait.

Matt’s ready at last, and he gives my mother a meaningful look, before sliding a “good luck” glance my way and slipping out the door. Then it’s just the two of us left, Mum and me .

We go to the kitchen where Mum tops up her glass of white wine, and puts Matt’s glass into the sink to wash. After a moment’s thought she fetches a second glass for me.

“So… this is final? There’s nothing I can do?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, that’s a bloody shame.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m sorry about Matt,” I say.

She waves a hand, as if she couldn’t care less about that, but she stays quiet.

“How long have you been seeing him?” I ask. “He seems cool.”

Mum’s love life is complicated – has always been complicated.

First of all, I don’t know who my biological father is – so there’s that.

But there were men down the years. Shawn, the South African I used to call Dad – he left when I was eight.

Then Jeremy, who gave me the creeps. John was a drinker.

There were others too. When I was a teenager I think Mum gave up, and concentrated instead on getting me into medical school.

I didn’t really even know she was dating again.

She definitely deserves some good luck with guys.

“I don’t think how long I’ve been seeing Matthew is the issue here, do you?” Her voice is ice.

I swallow. OK, this is how we’re doing this. Can’t say I’m surprised.

“It’s not entirely my fault,” I hit back. “The university were kinda unfair. They could have let me do resits.”

“If you hadn’t failed your exams you wouldn’t have needed to do resits.”

“I had to work,” I blurt out, then immediately wish I hadn’t. “I ran out of money. I had to get a job. It didn’t give me enough time to study.”

She’s silent in response to this, but takes a sip of the wine through thin lips.

“Well, that’s disappointing to hear,” she says in the end.

I wait, not sure how to reply. “Extremely disappointing. We worked through a budget that was quite sufficient for you to live off,” she says.

“In fact it was more than generous. And had you told me you were having financial problems, I could have helped. Jesus Christ Ava. Do you know how much I’ve invested in you?

Do you think I couldn’t have thrown you a couple thousand more? ”

I don’t know how to answer this. “I didn’t want to ask you again. I wanted to do it on my terms.” I’m quiet a moment. “I thought that’s what you wanted?”

She looks away, blinking her clear blue eyes a few times, before turning back.

“Your terms,” she repeats. She inspects the wine in her glass. Eventually she looks up at me.

“I really don’t believe this, Ava. I don’t believe you could have done this to me.”

I can’t take this anymore. It was always clear where this argument was going to go. I think we both knew it, the moment I walked in the door. We might as well get on with it.

“To you? That’s rich. When all I’ve done is exactly the same thing that you did, when you were my age.”

She opens her mouth, pretending to be shocked.

“You went to medical school, got kicked out, and then buggered off to Greece. Only you went a lot further, because then you got pregnant with me. But it turned out OK. You’re always saying how well you did, going into pharmacy, starting the business…”

“I’m well aware of what happened in my own life, Ava. It’s a very big factor in why I wanted a better life for you.” She takes a meaningful sigh, mutters under her breath: “ Jesus Christ . You had it all going for you, Ava. You had it all handed to you, and now…” She shakes her head.

“Maybe I did…” I try and foster some energy to my argument. “But did you ever think about whether I wanted it? Whether I wanted to be a doctor, or whether you were just pushing me into it, all because you failed?—”

“I didn’t fail , Ava. I…” She stops, calms herself, and takes another sip from her glass, so that she’s icy-cool again .

“I understand. You’re framing this as my fault? Because I wanted the best for you?”

We’re both silent for a long time. I don’t know what to say.

“Ava, you told me you wanted to be a doctor. When you were five years old.”

I look down at the floor, trying to control myself, the way she does, but it’s hard. I’ve heard this so many times, and maybe I did say that. But I also wanted to be a primary-school teacher, and a zoo keeper. They were just the jobs I knew about.

“It’s a good career, being a doctor,” Mum goes on. “You have a good salary, you’re respected…”

“It’s a bit late for that, Mum.” My anger bursts through. “It’s over. They’ve kicked me out.”

My outburst seems to shock her. She runs her hand through her hair. It’s quite short, very blonde. With my dark hair, people often don’t realise we’re mother and daughter.

“What did you want to be then? What dream did you have that I prevented you from chasing? For God’s sake, Ava…

” She doesn’t want an answer, but I don’t have one to give anyway.

Truth is, I don’t know. Maybe I wanted to be a doctor.

Maybe I still do. But it was never this big life-ambition, this dream I was chasing the way she told people. That was always her more than me.

“Why did you leave medical school?” I ask. But she shakes her head.

“I don’t think this is the time to discuss that.”

“Yeah, but it never is, is it? You never talk about that. You never talk about Greece. You never speak about what happened when you were there. I don’t know why we left. I’ve never understood why it’s all such a big secret.”

“It’s not a secret, Ava. It’s never been a secret.” She tightens her brow, considering. I think she knows this time it’s different. This time she’s going to have to give me something.

She takes a deep breath. “It’s just a period of my life that I’m not particularly proud of. A time where I made some mistakes that I sincerely hoped you wouldn’t repeat.” She fixes me a look, but I don’t care right now. I ask her again.

“I still want to know. You’ve still never told me. Like, literally never told me. I know I was born in Greece, but I don’t know the circumstances. It’s just weird why you’ve never said anything.”

“That’s not true, Ava. That’s nonsense.” She pulls herself up straight in her seat, she’s a little taller than me.

“I don’t find it necessary to dwell on the past, but you’re well aware of the basic facts.

I took a summer job on the island of Alythos, when I was in my fourth year at university.

And then…” – she looks away – “I found myself pregnant. It wasn’t practical to continue my studies with a baby, but I’d done enough by then to transfer onto a pharmacy course.

So that’s what I did. That enabled me to bring you up while making the best use of my skills.

And I didn’t think I did too bad a job. At least not until today. ”

It’s hardly the full story though, is it? Like, why didn’t she come back to England when she found out she was pregnant? When did we come back? How old was I? And most important of all, who the hell was my dad, and why has she never – not one single time – talked about him?

But something stops me saying this. Something always has. It’s just the way we are as a family. She’s always made it clear this isn’t a subject I’m allowed to know about. Don’t ask. Never tell.

And yet here’s the really weird thing: I know she was happy there.

Happier than I’ve ever seen her, my whole life.

I know because she keeps this photo in her office, at the back of a filing cabinet where she thinks I’ve never thought to look.

In it, she’s standing with this other girl, Imogen Grant.

Both of them are about the same age I am now, and behind them is a sign for a place called the Aegean Dream Resort.

There’s these rocky mountains in the background, and beautiful, lush, green gardens, and this hint of sparkling blue sea.

But it’s the look on their faces that has always drawn me back to this photo, which I’ve stared at when I know Mum’s out of the house.

They both look so happy, Mum and her friend.

So excited, so content, so filled with life.

I’ve literally never seen Mum look like that in real life. Not one time.

“What will you do now?” Mum’s thin voice cuts me back to reality.

I shrug. “I guess maybe I’ll look for a job?”

“Where do you intend to live?” That shocks me a little.

“Um…I was thinking here,” I say awkwardly. “At least for a while. Maybe I’ll get my own place, when I can.”

She scoffs suddenly. “Your own place? Do you know how much your own place would cost around here?”

“I don’t mean to buy, I’m talking about renting.”

“ I’m talking about renting. And the wages you can expect to get without a degree, without any qualifications…what kind of job?”

“I don’t know. I’ll do some temping I suppose.”

“Stacking shelves in the local supermarket?” She shakes her head. “Oh, Ava, what have you done?”

Not as much as you , I want to shout at her. At least I didn’t get myself pregnant.

“My tutor talked about reapplying,” I tell her instead, after a moment.

“He suggested I go to Thailand. Find myself. That maybe in a year or two I could apply again. He said maybe they’d let me back in.

” I didn’t really believe him, but I figure I’ll offer Mum some hope to cling onto. She doesn’t go for it.

“Thailand,” she repeats. “The Buddhism hippy trail. Get stoned and rack up an enormous debt for no good purpose. That sounds a terrific idea, Ava.”

I’m quiet a moment.

Fuck it.

“Well actually I did have one other idea,” I say. I don’t look at her. I can’t while I say this.

“I thought I might go to Greece. To Alythos.”

Mum’s face is frozen. It’s not the reaction I’d hoped for, but then I don’t know what I expected. Very carefully she shakes her head .

“I think that’s a very bad idea, Ava. An extremely bad?—”

“Why?” I challenge her. “It’s where I come from, but I don’t know anything about it. I was born there, but you’ve never told me how, isn’t that weird?”

“I told you, Ava. I associate that place with a difficult period of my life. A dark period.”

“Having me was dark?”

“No. Goodness , no.” She sinks down into her chair, and finally I’ve broken through to something motherly.

“No, I don’t mean that. Ava, I really don’t.

You were the light at the end of the tunnel, the candle in the darkness.

What I suppose I’m saying is, I don’t want to face up to who I was, when I was there. And I never have. And I’m so sorry.”

But I don’t understand. I’ve never understood this. She looks so happy in that photo.

“Well, you don’t have to come with me. I looked at it online. There’s jobs there. I could work in a bar, isn’t that what you did?” I’ve pieced together a few snippets over the years, times when Mum’s let slip tiny details.

“I just want to see the place. Find out about where I come from.”

Mum frowns, then shakes her head again. “No. That’s a very bad idea, Ava.

” She holds a hand to her forehead, like she’s getting one of her migraines.

“This is very hard. You come home unannounced, telling me how you’ve wrecked your future, and now suddenly this?

No.” She takes a sip from her wine, then a second. Finally a third.

“Look, I don’t know very much about Thailand, but if travel is what you want to do, then fine. I’ll help you, financially. But not Greece. Do you understand me? That’s off the table. Not going to happen. Is that clear?”

I stare at Mum for a long time, trying to read her, trying to understand.

Then I drop my head and study the floor.

There’s a chip in one of the tiles, it happened when John – that’s the one who drank – threw a wrench down on the floor.

He hadn’t known I was home, because it was during school hours, but I was sick that day.

I crept down the stairs because of the shouting, and I saw him there, like he was threatening her with it.

My mum’s definitely known some dark times, and she’s stood up against them.

So maybe she’s right? Maybe I should leave Greece well alone?

But at the same time, this is my life, and I want to know about it. It’s my right.

“I want to go to Greece, Mum,” I tell her. “I want to go to Alythos.”

She stares back at me. Her eyes are bright blue, and just for a moment I sense there’s panic behind them. She’s been able to shut this down my whole life. But I’ve grown up and things have changed now. She can’t stop me.

“Why?” she says in the end. For the first time I realise I’ve defeated her. “Why do you want to go so much?”

I blink at the moment, and finally just shrug, because I don’t have an answer to give her.

At least not one that I can say out loud.

Because the truth is stupid, it’s impossible and there’s no logic behind it.

Just something else, a kind of itch that I have to scratch. Even though I know it’s stupid.

I want to go to Alythos to search for my dad.