Page 73 of Deep Blue Lies

SEVENTY-TWO

The way Mum books her flight is very different.

I get one text message, telling me she’ll be in the Alythos Hotel in Kastria in two days.

That’s it, nothing more. And then I have to wait.

I visit the hospital on one day because I don’t have to work and I need something to occupy my mind.

Imogen is still unconscious, and it takes me forever to find a doctor who will tell me anything about her situation.

When I do it seems that little has changed.

Then I do one shift at the bar, and then I find myself on the bus from Skalio into Kastria, finally ready to have the conversation with my mother that’s been brewing for so many years.

I ask at the front desk for Mum’s room number, but the girl points me towards the bar. So I walk in and there she is. Sat at a table by the window, a bottle of wine in front of her. She beckons me over, then snaps her fingers at the barman to bring a second glass.

“You made it,” I say, as the barman comes over. I pay no attention to his appreciative glances, not just at me but Mum too. But her eyes flick over to his.

“How was your flight?”

“Fine.” She pours me some wine, not a full glass though. I don’t care. I don’t want any, but it pisses me off nonetheless. I’m not fifteen anymore.

“I’ve hired a car. I’m going to see Imogen later on,” she tells me. I nod. “Would you like to come with me?”

“I think that depends on how this conversation goes,” I reply.

I force myself to look her in the eyes, not lower my gaze, and I’m dimly aware this is how I’ve lived for as long as I can remember.

Not quite looking her in the eye, not quite telling her what I feel.

Or maybe there’s nothing unusual in this.

Maybe this is just how any child treats their parent, until the moment they finally grow up and take their independence.

“Fair enough. A fair point.” She looks pointedly at my untouched glass, but picks hers up and takes a small sip. Then a second. She swallows.

“I didn’t want you to come here, because I didn’t want you digging into all this. But I didn’t know how to stop you,” she begins. Then she stops. I wait a moment then press.

“Why would you stop me?”

“I think you know that.”

“I don’t know anything, that’s the problem, I don’t know?—”

“Lower your voice, Ava.” Her words are like knives, stabbing into me. She stops, then offers an apologetic half-smile. “Please, Ava. Lower your voice.”

I don’t say a word, just stare at her.

“I hadn’t even remembered that I kept a diary. I don’t remember anything about what I wrote in it, but I can imagine it wasn’t exactly a work of literature,” she starts again, and I watch her face, I feel how sullen my eyes are.

“It definitely wasn’t.”

“It certainly never occurred to me, when you announced you were coming here, that anyone could be so…I don’t know, reckless – to hand it to you. It’s an outrageous breach of my privacy. But there we are.”

“It shows you weren’t pregnant, you didn’t…” Somehow my argument feels weak, the proof that she’s been lying to me should tr ump whatever rights she has, but I barely convince myself. “You didn’t have a baby when I was supposed to be born?”

“Of course I didn’t,” she snaps back. “Can you imagine being pregnant while working at the Aegean Dream Resort? Ridiculous.” She shakes her head, as if I’m being unbelievably stupid for even imagining it.

“Had any of the staff got pregnant they’d have been on the first flight home.

” She stops again and sighs. “Except for Mandy.”

“So?” I open my hands in despair. “So, who the hell am I?”

She takes another sip of wine, brushes an eyelash or a piece of dust from her eye, sits up taller in her chair.

“To be quite honest, I don’t exactly know.”

Then she sits back and watches me.

“What the hell? What does that mean?” I say. I feel like I need to pinch myself, to wake up from this conversation.

“This isn’t the way I ever imagined this going, Ava. But I have imagined it, many times. I’ve always thought that one day we’ll need to have this talk.”

“What talk?”

“ This one. Ava, you’re quite right, I wasn’t pregnant with you. There’s only one conclusion from that.” She stops again, and for a moment she covers her face with her hands.

“Ava, I’m sorry to tell you like this, but you were adopted. When you were very young. I never told you because I wanted you to have as normal a life as I could give you, and I thought it was for the best this way.”

Her words are like being sideswiped by an iceberg. A wall of cold that freezes my brain. I already knew – of course I knew – what other solution could there be? But at the same time it still feels as if the ground shifts. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true.

“Who are my real parents?”

“I have no idea.”

I shake my head. I can’t form the words.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re Greek, or at least you came from Greece, that much is true – like I always told you. But the way the adoption system here works, the records are sealed. Not even the adopting parents are told about the child’s history.”

I blink at her, my mother, except she’s actually not my mother. And I never knew. I never even suspected it. Not for a moment.

“Well, they’ll tell me . Surely they’ll let me know?”

“No, they won’t. That’s not how it works here. It’s one reason I decided not to tell you. The system here is that not even the child is allowed to know. Not once the records have been sealed. If I’d have told you, it would just pose you a question that couldn’t be answered.”

My mouth drops open to protest, but I already know that this part is true. This part at least.

“Am I from Alythos?”

“No.”

I shake my head, my mouth open, speechless.

“I’m not from Alythos?”

“It’s highly unlikely. When I took custody, I was told you would be given a Greek passport. I couldn’t prevent that, though I wanted to. I was allowed to allocate a place of birth. Because I’d worked here, on Alythos, I chose the island.”

I blink at her.

“What about my date of birth?”

“I’m not sure. It’s possible the adoption agency didn’t even know your exact date of birth. We decided upon May 20. It seemed as good a day as any.”

I’m silent, processing this.

“I actually told you once. I don’t know if you remember, you were ten or eleven?—”

“Yes. I remember.”

Now Mum’s quiet, watching me with cautious eyes.

“But May 20 is also the date that Mandy Paul had her baby,” I begin, because I’m still stuck on this, even though I’m not that child. I regret it at once .

“Mandy Paul has nothing to do with it.” She shakes her head, takes another sip of wine.

“But she had a child, on the same day. And she was murdered, when the Aegean Dream Resort shut down. It was left alive. I thought that might be me…”

“Oh, Ava.” Mum shakes her head now, then offers the first smile that looks even vaguely genuine. “Oh goodness. That has nothing to do with this. Nothing at all.”

“I took a DNA test,” I hear myself blurting out. “Mandy Paul kept a lock of the child’s hair. I had my DNA tested against it.”

“You did what ?” She looks aghast. “Oh good heavens.” She tips her head to one side, curious suddenly. “What did it say?”

“It was negative. Of course it was negative,” I tell her. “That’s not me.” I see the look on Mum’s face – like it obviously had to be negative and she’s almost laughing at herself for asking, but that’s just the kind of conversation this is, intense for both of us.

Mum even smiles now as I go on. “But I thought I was. For a while. Because you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me the truth.”

This seems to change her mood. The smile settles, becomes almost genuine. Finally she nods.

“I’m sorry, Ava. I only ever meant the best for you. And I promise you this isn’t how I wanted you to find out. I hope you’ll believe me on that.”

I still feel like the base upon which my life was built has been entirely washed away.

Like I’m untethered, like my connection to reality is now so fragile that just one wrong word, one errant thought and I’ll be swept away from it, never able to return.

But I can’t just sit here. I can’t stay in this place, I have to move forward.

“Why did you adopt me?”

She takes a long time answering this, sipping again from her glass before she speaks. Maybe because she wants to tell me very carefully, because she understands how devastating all this is for me. Or maybe because she’s trying out different versions in her head.

“I was with Shawn at the time, your…” She pauses, and I know it ’s because she was about to call him my father – because that’s what she always used to call him, but she leaves it.

“He wanted a child – we both did, and I wasn’t able…

And…” Her eyes flick to mine. “The truth is I was very taken by my time in Greece, and I was very affected by what happened, to poor Mandy and to her baby. It seemed like a way to put right some of that horror.”

We’re both quiet a while. Me trying to process this, and Mum – I don’t know what.

“Simon Walker-Denzil. I told you I spoke to him.”

Her smile quivers a little, she seems alert. “Yes?”

I draw in a deep breath. “He told me a story. About how you and he lost Mandy’s baby, overboard on his yacht.” I watch her, challenging her to deny this or explain it away. She begins by reaching for her wine glass again.

“Simon,” she says instead. “I heard he’s working for some rich Russian.”

“Is it true? Did that happen?”

“I told you. I warned you when you came here that I wasn’t proud of my behaviour.”

“Oh God.”

“We were lucky, we were incredibly lucky?—”

“You lost a baby. You were in the boat taking drugs, having sex, and you left it to be washed overboard.”

“ Ava! ” My voice has risen again and she glances around the bar once I’m silenced. A dark look crosses her face, warning me again to watch myself.

“No harm was done,” she hisses back. “We were lucky, very lucky and horribly, unforgivably stupid. Not to mention lazy and arrogant, and…” Suddenly she screws up her face and covers it with her hands. When she removes them her eyes are tightly shut.

“I cannot begin to tell you how terrified I felt, how awful I knew I was for what we had done. But when we went below it was as calm as a mirror. It didn’t cross my mind that the weather could change so suddenly.

I told you, I’ve been deeply ashamed of what happened every single day since.

But no harm was done. We found the baby, it was fine.

It was just a coincidence that Jason snapped that night. ”

The tension between us is interrupted by the mundane alert as a message hits my mobile. I don’t react at first, but eventually I pull it out and check the screen. It’s from Sophia, three words:

Call me. Now.

I look at my mother. The woman who I now know for sure isn’t my actual mother, but perhaps who still remains the person who brought me up, the person who’s done the best for me that she could, however weird the circumstances. I just don’t know.

“I have to take this,” I say and stand up to go.