Page 44 of The Book of Heartbreak

The most profound wounds are often inflicted by those we hold nearest, leaving us vulnerable. Every harm they cause chips away at our fondness, until the person we once held dear transforms into our most daunting enemy.

Excerpt from The Book of Heartbreak, Müneccimbasi Sufi Chelebi’s Journals of Mystical Phenomena

Once we’re on the ferry to Büyükada, I let my hair dance in the sea breeze, a wild cascade of curls that I struggle to tame.

‘ Akide ?ekeri .’ Leon fishes out a bag of candies from his backpack and offers me one. ‘An Ottoman delicacy – traditionally made for sultans.’

He smiles, slow and easy, entirely disarming, spreading a warmth like sunlight across my skin.

I let my fingers hover over the open bag before selecting one.

The gulls, quick to notice the presence of food, start their aerial manoeuvres, diving down and then soaring up again, though an unseen barrier prevents them from coming too close.

I pop the candy in my mouth and wonder if Munu is lurking somewhere behind the bird’s beady eyes, watching me ignore her advice.

You’re heading to darkness. I recall her words, and the sugar fails to soothe me.

The possibility that my biological father, whose identity had never been on the cards, might reside on the island sits like a stone in my stomach.

None of this was ever part of the plan. Ever since I arrived in Istanbul, everything has seemed to spiral out of my control, and all I discover is deceit.

But then, I’m no stranger to lying. I’ve told Leon so many lies about the curse already. The guilt works like sea sickness, and I feel suddenly queasy.

‘You’re quiet,’ Leon says, tossing two candies into his mouth at once.

It’s painful to sit this close to him and still be so distant at the same time.

‘I just don’t know what to feel any more.’ I stare at the sea. Forging ahead, the ship cleaves through the water, leaving a trail like a fresh wound.

‘Focus on our goal,’ Leon says. ‘We’re going there to find out what happened, and then you’ll mend the errors of the past and break this curse.’

Daphne’s room flashes before my eyes. I will not forgive you. Written over and over.

‘What if Mum did something unforgivable?’ I lower my voice to a whisper, my fear palpable.

‘Then it won’t be your fault,’ Leon says, his voice is soft, almost tender. ‘We can acknowledge their mistakes, but we can’t bear the guilt of our ancestors. We’re different people, Sare.’

I sigh with frustration, cradling my head in my hands.

It’s not your fault, Muzaffer said.

He’d probably be petrified if he knew I was on my way to the island. Thankfully, the ferries run past midnight, so I’ll sneak back into my room before he notices I’m gone.

‘Let’s not be afraid to hope.’ Leon reaches out to gently shift a stray curl from my face. ‘You always say it’s me who makes you hopeful. But I’ve never told you how you made me hopeful the first time we met.’

‘Me?’ I frown, thinking of our first encounter, how we did nothing but fight.

‘When you arrived –’ Leon drops his voice – ‘I had been searching for the journal for almost two years with no possible leads. I was lost and hopeless, about to admit that the tower had been a waste of time, which is why I signed up for this training in Peru. And then—’ He pauses, as if he’s embarrassed. ‘I began to dream of you.’

My heart leaps in my chest at the intensity of his gaze.

‘You kept telling me something . . . which I’ve been telling you since.’ His eyebrows rise, as if he’s inviting me to guess.

As much as I can’t imagine myself saying it, I take a wild stab at it.

‘Don’t be afraid of hope,’ I say, blushing like an idiot.

He nods.

‘But I lost the book,’ I add, recalling how stupid I was to let it be stolen. ‘Right after I found it.’

‘I’m writing a journal now,’ Leon says. ‘My own documentation for our endangered profession.’

My stomach flips as I wonder whether my name will be in it or not. And how Leon will write about me – if he’ll write about me at all.

‘Plus,’ Leon continues, unaware of my inner turmoil, ‘my relationship with Grey has improved significantly after the . . . night in the tower.’

How could I forget Grey? The angels – considering how terrified Munu was of her boss, Five, and how little they seem to understand about our feelings – don’t seem the biggest fan of humankind, but Leon seems pleased to know Grey.

He trusts the angel, enough to let him possess his body, but how can I?

It’s impossible to figure out whose side the angels are on, or what they’re after, or where they stand in all of this.

I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve all been pawns in a game architected by these creatures.

‘Do you really think it can be done?’ I turn to him. ‘That there’s a way to fix this ancient curse? A way out of . . . this mess?’

Leon smiles. ‘You know what I’m going to say.’

I fill my lungs with the sea air as we approach the shore, and I hope – more than I’ve ever hoped in my life – that I can break this curse.

The island is in stark contrast to the bustling mainland. It’s small enough to traverse on foot, and there are no cars here, no traffic. As we disembark, the enticing aroma of freshly grilled seafood wafts through the air. Under different circumstances, I could have enjoyed this trip.

We walk until we find the address on the card: Yaverbey Sokak, No. 128. Soon, we’re standing in front of a two-storey house painted in a pastel green, complemented by wooden shutters that add to its fairy-tale look.

I stare at the porch adorned with pots of blooming flowers, as Leon sticks his hands into his pockets.

Come on, Sare . Just get on with it.

We walk up to the door and I press the bell without a second thought.

A sulking tween appears, lanky in a vest top and denim shorts, looking us up and down. ‘Yes?’ Her eyebrows raise with interest.

‘We’re looking for Arda Banguo?lu,’ I say as politely as I can manage.

‘ Arda’yi ariyoruz ,’ Leon translates.

The girl blinks, considering our request.

Then, to my horror, she turns inside and calls, ‘Anne!’

I shiver as I recognise the word mother . For a moment, I’m petrified. What if this girl is my half-sister? What if the woman she calls is Arda’s wife? What am I supposed to tell them? ‘Hi, I’m looking for my biological father?’ I would drop dead.

But the woman clears up my panic and confusion as she arrives.

‘Merhaba, ben Arda.’ She frowns. ‘Siz kimsiniz?’

I know enough Turkish to understand – she just introduced herself as Arda.

As we explain the reason for our visit, and show her the card, Arda’s face softens. Almost instantly, Leon and I are perched on a floral sofa, each cradling a steaming cup of tea provided by her less-than-enthused daughter.

I’d built myself up to meet with my possible father and so, for a few minutes, I gawk at the woman as she talks about Defne, unable to focus on her words.

‘Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re Daphne’s daughter,’ she repeats, her large eyes alight with astonishment. ‘It’s been so many years. How is your mother?’

‘Daph— Mum passed away earlier this summer.’ The words sting as they leave my lips, a sudden, acute pain. It’s been months now, but the ache lingers, raw and unyielding.

The woman’s face crumples at my revelation. ‘Poor Defne,’ she mutters, dabbing her tears with a napkin as I recount the details of the accident.

I can’t offer her any comfort or condolences. Since Daphne died, I’ve worn my grief like armour, and the idea of exposing my emotions to someone else feels utterly foreign.

‘Poor Muzaffer Amca,’ Arda sniffs. ‘I hope he’s okay?’

‘He’s . . . fine.’ I force a smile as I picture Muzaffer’s grim expression from earlier.

The teacup is scorching hot between my palms. ‘I’m sorry to show up like this,’ I venture, ‘but I’m looking for information about my mother’s past in Istanbul.

She didn’t tell me much about her family, or why she left.

’ It’s too embarrassing to confess to this woman that Daphne lied to me, and even more embarrassing to explain how her own father shuns her name.

‘I know there was some sort of feud between her and Iris, but no one has told me what or why.’

‘Ah.’ Arda sighs. ‘Of course.’

Finally, I sigh with relief, someone who knows Mum and who is eager to talk. I stir in my seat and my legs brush against Leon’s. It astonishes me how relieved I am that he’s here with me.

‘You look so much like Iris.’ Arda stares at me. ‘Yet you have Defne’s gentleness. It feels like I’m talking to her again. So strange.’

‘Did Mum and Iris . . . get along?’ I nudge, hoping it will give Arda a lead to start talking about the past.

‘They did, until—’ She pauses, glancing upward as if searching for the precise description. ‘It’s . . . complicated. Iris and Defne were thick as thieves. I used to live just down the slope, across the road from your mum and Iris, and we were best friends. So many happy memories.’

‘And?’ I ask, suddenly confused. This isn’t the story I’d anticipated.

‘And then he came along. Ah – what was his name?’ Arda ponders. ‘Ozan, that was it. Of course.’

‘Ozan?’ I take a sip of tea as Arda’s words sink in; the heat burns the tip of my tongue at this new name.

‘I think he was working in the Maiden’s Tower. It was a restaurant back then. I can’t remember, but perhaps his dad was the owner?’ Arda sighs. ‘He was very good-looking. Girls wouldn’t shut up about him.’

I feel the colour draining from my face, realising where Arda is going with the story.

‘In the beginning it was just harmless flirting.’ Arda considers. ‘But then he and Daphne . . . They started going out. And it made Iris very . . . unwell.’

‘How so?’ I set the teacup on the coffee table, as if to brace myself for what I’m about to hear.

‘She stopped being . . . herself,’ Arda says.

‘She was like a different person. A person possessed – she was obsessed with Ozan. She turned against Defne, claiming she had loved Ozan before her, and she was quite awful to her, to be fair. Still not enough to convince Defne to end things with Ozan, though. We thought Defne and Ozan would end up together.’

‘But they didn’t?’ I frown, not getting where she’s going.

‘They couldn’t,’ Arda said. ‘Because Ozan married Iris.’