Page 22 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

21

PORTUGAL, 2000

‘Are you all right?’ I ask Sofia as her voice peters out and she wipes away a tear.

‘Yes.’ She clears her throat and takes a sip of water.

‘Judith sounds so lovely,’ I say tentatively.

‘She is – was ,’ Sofia replies, inadvertently answering my next question. I ask it anyway, just to be sure.

‘It must have been horrendous finding your apartment like that. Did you… did you ever find out what happened to her?’

‘I’m really sorry, but would it be OK if we take a little break?’ she murmurs. ‘I hadn’t realised quite how painful it would be to relive all of this. And this is only the beginning.’ She gives a wry laugh. ‘God knows how I’m going to cope when we get to the really tricky part!’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push?—’

‘I’m actually feeling very tired.’ Sofia stands up abruptly. ‘I think perhaps I’ll take a nap.’

‘Of course.’ I stop the tape recorder and stand up too, nervous and unsure what to do. While part of me is desperate to find out more, there’s no way I want to upset Sofia and make her clam up. I have to tread very carefully if I’m to coax the story out of her. ‘I’ll make a start on writing some of it up.’

‘Please yourself,’ she mutters.

I listen to the creak of her footsteps on the stairs as she goes up to her room. I’m not surprised she’s upset, reliving what happened. I’d grown fond of Judith just hearing about her, and I loved learning about the special sisterly bond they’d formed. It must have been devastating for Sofia to lose her in such brutal and scary circumstances. I open the folder she gave me and take out the card. As I reread Judith’s message inside, it feels even more poignant.

I’m gathering my things to take up to my room when the phone starts to ring. I glance up at the ceiling, wondering if Sofia has an extension in her bedroom. Perhaps I should answer it anyway as she’s gone to take a nap.

‘Hello?’ I say instinctively as I pick up the receiver before realising that whoever’s calling would speak Portuguese. ‘Sorry, I mean ola ,’ I say, cursing myself for sounding even more stupid.

There’s a long silence and then the click of the phone being put down. Whoever called probably thought they’d got the wrong number when they heard my voice. But they don’t call back, so I head upstairs and start transcribing the recording onto my laptop.

After an hour or so, I save what I’ve written to a floppy disc, then plug my laptop cable into the telephone socket in the wall. I need to email Jane to give her an update and let her know all is well.

But as soon as my AOL account tells me that I’ve got mail, I see a name in my inbox that instantly makes my pulse quicken: Robin. I never hear from him now, and my mind whirs as I try to imagine why he might be emailing me. The subject matter of the email simply says ‘hello’. Perhaps it’s something to do with our apartment, although we sorted out the financial side of things ages ago. Maybe he wants to meet up for a coffee?

I feel a pinprick of hope that instantly makes me feel embarrassed for being sad enough to feel it, but I allow myself to think the thought anyway – perhaps he’s realised that the last ten months have all been a huge mistake and he wants us to get back together? Heart racing, I open the email and start to read.

Dear Lily,

I hope all is well with you. I just wanted to let you know before you hear from anyone else – we’re having a baby!!!

I stop reading, momentarily confused. What does he mean, we’re having a baby? We’re most definitely not having a baby. That’s why we’re no longer together. Then the awful truth dawns and I feel sick to my stomach. I’m no longer the other half of Robin’s ‘we’. He and his new girlfriend are having a baby. I stare at the screen in disbelief; the row of jaunty exclamation marks feel like they’re mocking me.

As my vision blurs and Robin’s words start bleeding across the screen, I’m cast back in time to the day he told me he was leaving – three whole days after the doctor told us about my faulty ovaries. It was a Sunday morning and, as usual, we were sitting in bed with a pot of coffee and the papers, a ritual we’d begun when we moved in together after university. A ritual that, I can see now, perfectly reflected the demise of our relationship. Back in the heady early days of our living together, the Sunday papers and their numerous supplements would end up strewn across the floor as we spent most of the morning making love. Then, over the years, the lovemaking became shorter and the paper reading more in-depth. And, once we were actively trying and failing to become pregnant, sex came to feel like another household chore, and the papers a sweet escape, where no supplement went unread.

That particular Sunday – the Sunday of The End – we’d had a stupid squabble about one of the newspaper headlines, which was claiming that on New Year’s Eve planes might start dropping from the sky due to it being a new millennium and the computers not being able to cope with the calendar change. I thought the paper was fearmongering, but Robin thought they might have had a point, and how did I know the clock’s change wouldn’t cause chaos? Then he dropped the bombshell.

‘I think it’s time we called it a day,’ he said quietly. And his voice was so calm and measured, I assumed that he was talking about our argument.

‘Fair enough,’ I replied, folding up the paper and preparing to get out of bed.

‘You agree?’ he said, clearly surprised.

‘Yes, there’s no point wasting our energy arguing about it. We’ll have to just wait for New Year’s Eve – and make sure we’re not celebrating under the flight path to Heathrow.’

‘Oh.’ His face fell. ‘I wasn’t talking about the millennium. I was – uh – talking about us.’ His gaze remained fixed on a croissant flake on the duvet in front of him.

‘You think it’s time we called it a day?’ I murmured, feeling sick to my stomach.

‘Yes. It just… it doesn’t feel the same anymore.’

Panic flooded me. Robin couldn’t leave me. He couldn’t. Things might have been tough lately, but our relationship, the life and the home we’d built together was my mooring. The prospect of being cut adrift was utterly terrifying. ‘But things have only been tough because of the struggle to get pregnant. It always puts a strain on a relationship. But now we know I’m infertile, we won’t have the pressure of trying anymore.’

‘But you know how much I want a family,’ he said to the croissant flake.

‘Yes, we both do,’ I said crossly. ‘But now we can focus on adoption. There are so many kids out there in need of loving parents and loving homes. I know that better than anyone.’

He shrugged in the annoying way he always did to show that he’d given up on something, and I knew in that moment that we were a lost cause. What I wasn’t prepared for was what came next.

‘I, uh… I’ve met someone else,’ he muttered, still gazing at that bloody pastry flake. I reached out and swept it off the duvet.

‘What… what do you mean?’ I stammered, unable or unwilling to believe what I was hearing. ‘How? Where?’

‘At work.’ Finally, he looked at me and I saw that his eyes were shiny with tears. ‘It happened by accident.’

‘What do you mean? What happened?’ I asked, my mind racing.

‘Falling in love,’ he mumbled, and it was as if he’d stuck a knife right in my heart.

Now, I blink hard and look back at the screen. This only happened ten months ago. How can she be pregnant already? Surely they couldn’t have planned it so soon, could they? The thought that it might have been an accident, that after all the blood, sweat and tears I endured trying to conceive, they could have become pregnant so effortlessly and carelessly makes me want to rage at the injustice of it all. I swallow my anger and carry on reading.

I know things ended badly between you and I, but I hope you can find it in your heart to be happy for us.

I stare at his words and shake my head. Still no apology for what he did to me. Still, oh so subtly, implying that the onus should be on me to make things OK because, ultimately, I’m the one at fault.

All best wishes,

Robin

And signing off as if I’m a business acquaintance, rather than the person he shared his life with for sixteen years. The person who was his shoulder to cry on when he found himself struggling to cope with the pressure of his post-university banking career. The person who encouraged him to change jobs and supported him financially for almost two years while he figured out his true calling. The person who ran herself ragged trying to provide him with a child, who he then callously dumped for someone else when I couldn’t deliver. And now he’s asking me to ‘find it in my heart’ to be happy for him.

I hit reply, my vision blurring with anger and tears. But what can I write? What can I say? If I dare to express the rage I have building inside of me, I’ll be accused of being bitter and heartless. I picture him showing his new partner – Meredith – my email and both of them shaking their heads.

‘It’s so sad that she can’t find it in her heart to be happy for us,’ I imagine him whining to her, in his stupid nasally voice.

‘Yeah, what is her problem?’ I imagine her replying, but with a sly side-smirk, like the cat who got the cream.

I want to scream. I rip the cable from the wall to stop myself from sending anything and start pacing around the room. I hate him. But more than that, I hate myself, especially when I remember how, for a second, I thought he might be emailing to see if I wanted to get back together. I am so, so stupid.

I march over to the window and look outside. The breeze has picked up and the sea is looking a lot livelier than it was this morning, the frothy white tips of the waves like the manes of horses all racing to the beach. I think of how good my swim felt this morning and I feel the water calling to me again. One thing’s for sure – I have to do something with this anger I’m feeling.

I storm downstairs. There’s no sign of Sofia, so she must be still napping. I slip out of the back door and into the garden. I’m so angry and upset I’m halfway down the path before I notice someone tending to one of the flower beds.

‘ Boa tarde !’ she calls, and I stop and see an elderly woman with snowy white hair peering out at me from beneath a giant straw sunhat.

‘Oh, sorry, boa tarde ,’ I mutter.

‘I’m the gardener, Rosária,’ she says in faltering English.

Ordinarily, I would have complimented her on the excellent job she’s done, but I’m so distraught all I can mutter is, ‘Oh,’ before heading out of the garden and closing the gate behind me.

The sand is almost uncomfortably hot beneath my feet, and all I want is to get in the water. All I want is to feel that same feeling of comfort I felt this morning. Without a second thought, I pull my dress up and over my head and throw it down on the sand. I’m wearing a bra as well as knickers this time, so it’s practically the same as wearing a bikini. But just like me, the mood of the ocean seems to have become darker since this morning, and as I wade in, a huge wave hits me full force in the face.

‘Go to hell!’ I yell as I bob back up and wipe the salt water from my eyes. I picture Robin in front of me and I start thrashing my arms through the water in a vicious front crawl. Why? Why? Why? That one word keeps ringing in my head over the crashing of the waves. Why did this have to happen? And why did it have to happen now, just when I was starting to get my life back together? Just when I was starting to believe that maybe I wasn’t a totally lost cause?

The words of Robin’s email come back to haunt me, spoken out loud in my mind in his patronising tone. ‘I hope you can find it in your heart to be happy for us…’ What about you finding it in your heart to be empathetic to me? I argue back in my head as I swim out further against the tide. What about you acknowledging that your news might be a little painful for me to receive? What about softening the blow with some kind of apology for leaving me for someone else?

‘Why do you have to be such a selfish arsehole?’ I yell just as a wave rolls over me and my mouth fills with water. I start choking and spluttering and tread water for a moment to try to catch my breath. Seagulls circle above me, crying wildly, and then I hear something different, something deeper, like a man’s voice. I glance around, but there’s no one else in the water. Then I turn and look back to the beach.

A man is standing on the sand frantically waving his arms at me. I’ve come out so far that I can’t be certain, but I have a horrible feeling it might be Gabriel. Shit, shit, shit!

I turn away and pretend I haven’t noticed him. Maybe if I just swim in circles for a while, he’ll go away. The waves send me rising and falling as if I’m as weightless as a cork, and it feels strangely pleasant to be at the mercy of such a powerful force. I bob about for a few minutes more, enjoying the sensation of the waves battering the disappointment and pain out of me.

I’m just starting to feel vaguely human again when I hear the man’s voice once more – but much louder this time, much closer. My heart plummets as I turn to see a dark head and tanned arms powering through the water. I turn away, still pretending that I can’t hear him, but moments later I feel a hand grab my shoulder.

‘What are you doing?’ I cry as I turn to see Gabriel, his wet curls clinging to his scalp.

‘Are you OK?’ he says, still gripping my shoulders tightly. ‘You looked like you were in trouble.’

‘I’m fine!’ I yell, all my anger bubbling back to the surface.

‘You might be now, but there can be a really powerful undertow,’ he gasps, out of breath. ‘I was worried it might drag you away.’

‘Well don’t be.’ I’m aware I’m acting like a brat, but I’m so angry and embarrassed, I can’t help it.

And now I see anger sparking in his eyes too. ‘OK, I won’t!’ he snaps and starts swimming away.

Another wave hits me, and I suddenly feel completely exhausted, so I start slowly swimming back to land. As I draw closer to the beach, I see Gabriel standing next to a small boat in the corner of the cove. Thankfully, it’s the opposite corner to where I left my dress, although due to the small size of the cove, that only means a few metres.

Once I reach the point where I’m able to stand with my head above water, I quickly glance at him again and see that he’s busy with something in his boat. Good. Hopefully I can slip into my dress and back up to the house without having to speak to him. But as I walk out of the water, my dress is nowhere to be seen. At first, I think Gabriel might have taken it as some kind of childish prank. But then I realise how far the tide has come in. Damn! It must have been swept out on the waves. I scan the water frantically, but there’s no sign of it.

I glance back at the boat. Gabriel is looking over now, and I’m acutely aware that I’m dressed only in my underwear.

‘Everything OK?’ he calls.

‘I lost my dress,’ I call back as my embarrassment grows.

‘Is that so?’ Gabriel reaches into his boat and pulls something out, then starts heading over. I look down at my scrawny pale body and shudder. ‘Here,’ he says when he reaches me, holding out a chequered man’s shirt.

I take it and hastily put it on. ‘Thank you.’ Due to our difference in size, the shirt almost comes down to my knees.

‘So, what was that all about?’ he asks, looking out to sea. He doesn’t seem angry now, more concerned.

‘I had some bad news,’ I mutter as my fingers fumble with the buttons. ‘And it made me angry. I’m sorry for yelling.’

He shakes his head. ‘It is OK; I am used to you yelling at me by now.’

I meet his gaze and see that he’s grinning, his green eyes sparkling like the sea in the sunlight. My heart softens a little. ‘I’m not normally like this.’

‘Like what?’ He raises his eyebrows.

‘So – shouty.’

‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. You clearly bring out the shouty part in me.’ I grin back at him, grateful for a chance to relieve the tension.

His face lights up as if he’s had some kind of brainwave. ‘Have you ever gutted a fish before?’

‘What? No!’ His question is so unexpected, I can’t help laughing.

‘Well then, I think it is time you learned. Come with me.’ He takes a bucket from the boat and starts heading up the beach towards the cottage. I stare after him, feeling bewildered. I can’t decide if Gabriel is amusing or intensely annoying, but I find myself curious to find out, so I set off up the beach behind him.