Page 32 of The Lost Story of Sofia Castello

31

PORTUGAL, 2000

‘Perhaps now would be a good time to take a break,’ Sofia says, leaning back on the sofa and closing her eyes.

‘No!’ I can’t help exclaiming.

She looks at me quizzically.

‘You can’t leave it on such a cliffhanger,’ I joke, although the truth is I’m deadly serious. I feel like she’s getting close to the heart of her story now, and I’m scared that if she stops, she might decide against telling me what happened.

‘I’m sorry, Lily, but I can’t. I just don’t have the energy.’

The afternoon sunlight is pouring through the window and falling like a spotlight upon Sofia’s face, giving her parchment-like skin a translucent quality. She looks so tiny and vulnerable, like a baby bird, and it feels cruel to push her anymore.

‘No problem at all,’ I say softly. ‘Can I get you anything? Something to eat? A drink?’

She gives me a grateful smile. ‘No, thank you. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a little siesta.’ She settles back on the cushions and pulls her blanket over her.

‘Of course.’ I gather my tape recorder, notebook and pen and take them upstairs.

The sea twinkles and shimmers in the sunlight through the window, and I feel a sudden burst of happiness. This is my life now. Whatever happens, I’ve made the break and I never have to go back to the lethargy and hopelessness of the last ten months. The realisation feels equal parts liberating and scary. But it’s a good kind of fear. And learning Sofia’s story is empowering. If she could find the courage to work for the Allies to help defeat the Nazis, then I can definitely find the courage to change my life for the better.

I plug my laptop into the internet and wait for the home page to load. I’ll check my emails, then go down to the beach. It feels like a good time to start brainstorming ideas for exactly how I want my new life to be.

My home page finally loads and AOL cheerily informs me that I’ve got mail. Right at the top is a reply from Jane.

Dear Lily,

I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear that it’s going so well and that you’re enjoying Portugal too. Please eat a pastel de nata – or ten! – for me. And please do keep me posted.

In other news, Laurence Bourne’s autobiography has gone to the top of the Sunday Times chart again, after the release of his new film. I suggested a celebratory lunch with him once you’re back from Portugal and he was only too happy to agree. Congratulations! I’m so happy to see things going so well for you again.

All my love,

Jane

As I read her words, I feel a warm glow of gratitude for this woman who has become so much more than an agent to me. My last set of foster parents were perfectly nice people and they kept me clean and fed, but I always felt a bit of a disconnect with them – a sense that I was one of many kids who’d passed through their home and they didn’t really have the time or emotional bandwidth to really get to know and understand me. Over the years, Jane has come to fill that void, and knowing that she’s always rooting for me means the world.

I quickly type a reply.

Don’t worry, plenty of custard tarts are being eaten! Thank you again for arranging this job for me. You were right. I think – or at least I hope – that it’s going to be truly life-changing. I think it’s just the jolt I needed to get me out of the butterfly soup. And that’s amazing re: Lawrence’s book! Really looking forward to that lunch!

Lots of love,

Lily

I look back at my inbox and see a message from my best friend Nikki. As soon as I read the title, I feel a little lurch in my stomach. ‘Robin and Merrie.’ Whenever Nikki and I have talked about Robin’s new partner, we’ve always referred to her by her proper name, Meredith.

I open the email, dread growing in the pit of my stomach. Hello, it begins, another sign that all is not well. Normally, Nikki and I begin messages to each other with the lighter-sounding ‘hey’. It seems like such a small thing, but in the familiarity of a long-term friendship, even one extra syllable can speak volumes.

I read on.

I have something to tell you and as you’re away I can’t call you…

You could if you joined the rest of the world and bought a mobile phone , I think, but Nikki has remained resistant to the new mobile phone craze, convinced that it won’t last.

And this is something I’d much rather say to you over the phone – or in person – but I really don’t want you to find out from someone else.

Robin and Merrie have asked me and Dave to be godparents to their baby. I’m cringing as I type this as I really don’t want to hurt you, but I’m in a bit of an awkward position as Dave really wants to do it – and he is Robin’s best friend. I can’t stress enough that I don’t want to hurt you, and if you really don’t want me to do it, just say so and I’ll tell Robin. I’m sure they’ll be able to find another godmother.

I so wish I could call you, so do let me know if there’s a number I can get you on in Portugal.

I love you and I hope you’re having a wonderful time.

Nik xxxxxxxxx

I stare at the screen feeling shell-shocked. Although I logically know that it isn’t Nikki’s fault that Robin asked her to be godmother, the fact that it has happened – that Robin had the insensitivity to ask my best friend to be godmother to his baby, to the baby I wasn’t able to have – feels like yet another punch to the gut.

I stand up and pull the internet cable from the wall. I am so, so sick of getting knocked back down every time I try to pick myself up.

Needing to do something with the disappointment and hurt growing inside of me, I march downstairs, out into the back garden and down onto the beach. Why couldn’t Nikki have turned the role of godmother down without telling me? I wonder as I stalk across the sand. Does the fact that she did tell me mean that she really wants to be godmother and is hoping to get my blessing? But how can I give my blessing?

I picture Nikki and Dave standing at a church font with Robin and ‘Merrie’, all of them smiling and laughing at their adorable gurgling baby, and my hurt grows. If Nikki’s life becomes inextricably linked to theirs, will I lose my best friend? It will probably be easier for her to be best friends with Meredith – especially as they will all have kids. A montage of happy family scenes starts playing in my mind. The two couples and their growing brood on shared holidays, birthday barbecues, Christmases. All scenes from the life I should have been living. The life I’ve been kicked out of because of my stupid, incompetent womb.

I reach the end of the cove and start scrambling across the rocks. Why did this have to happen? Why does it keep getting worse? I stand on a rock and look out at the sea.

‘Why?’ I yell at the top of my voice.

‘Why what?’ a man’s voice calls back, causing me to freeze from a mixture of embarrassment and shock.

I take a moment to try to compose myself before turning around. Gabriel is standing beside the rocks in a pair of swimming shorts grinning up at me.

‘Why do you always turn up?’ I mutter.

‘I live here,’ he replies. ‘So, actually, I should be asking you why you always turn up. Especially when you always interrupt my peace and quiet.’

Accepting that he does have a point and trying to ignore how tanned and muscular he looks in his trunks, I say, ‘Fair enough,’ and scramble back onto the sand.

‘More bad news?’ he asks.

‘Yes, actually.’

‘Wow.’

‘What?’

‘You seem to be a very unlucky person.’ He shakes his head but is still grinning.

‘Very funny.’

‘It’s true! One day, I have to rescue you from drowning and walking around naked. The next, you’re here on the rocks yelling.’

‘You didn’t have to rescue me and I wasn’t naked; I still had my underwear on, and you didn’t have to stop me from yelling either. It was actually helping.’

His grin grows. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Please continue.’

‘I can’t with you watching.’

‘Maybe I could join you. My day is not going so great either.’ He pushes his wavy hair back from his face.

‘Why not?’ I ask, instantly curious.

‘I got interrupted from my – how do you say? Treasure hunting.’ He gestures at a pile of driftwood behind him on the beach. ‘So, come on, let’s yell together.’

‘Really, it’s OK. I?—’

‘Why?’ he yells at the top of his voice. ‘Why does this woman keep interrupting me?’

It’s so theatrical and over the top, especially in his strong Portuguese accent, I can’t help laughing.

‘OK, OK, I’m sorry. I’ll let you get back to your treasure hunting.’ I turn to leave.

‘Do you want to see what I found?’ he asks.

‘Oh, well…’

‘It might cheer you up.’

‘I don’t need cheering up,’ I snap.

‘Is that so?’ He tilts his head to one side and frowns.

‘All right, if you insist,’ I reply, feeling a little guilty for taking my frustration out on him.

As I follow him over to the pile of wood, I notice the tattoo of an ornate, old-style anchor in the small of his back. I pull my gaze away, back to the driftwood. ‘What are you going to do with it?’

‘I make things with it. Look, here is something I made yesterday.’ He reaches into the pocket of his shorts and pulls out a little rooster carved from driftwood and hands it to me.

‘Wait – did you make the driftwood lamp in the living room?’

He nods.

‘Wow!’

‘Why are you so surprised? Did you not expect a humble Portuguese fisherman to be capable of such things?’ He raises his eyebrows.

‘No! I didn’t expect anyone to be capable of such things. They’re really beautiful.’

He stares at me for a moment as if trying to decide something, then shakes his head as I attempt to hand the little rooster back to him. ‘You keep it. It’s a Barcelos Rooster, a traditional Portuguese symbol of good luck.’

‘Oh, no, I?—’

‘I want you to,’ he interrupts. ‘Anyway, it seems like you need all the luck you can get at the moment.’

I have to admit that he does have a point, and his words bring a smile to my face. ‘My life isn’t that tragic, honestly. Well, it was until recently, but I’m trying really hard to change things.’

His smile fades. ‘Is that so?’

‘Yes. Why do you keep saying that?’

‘What?’

‘Is that so. You say it a lot.’

‘Is that so?’

I start to laugh.

‘Isn’t it an English saying?’ he asks.

‘I suppose so, but I’ve never heard any English person say it as much as you do – at least not in this century.’

‘Well, this century is only two months old so…’ He grins.

‘Damn, I keep forgetting!’

‘You forget that it’s a new millennium?’ He stares at me in surprise. ‘How could you have missed it?’

‘Let’s just say I wasn’t really in the mood for celebrating.’ I suppress a shudder as I think back to my pitiful New Year’s Eve, lying in bed trying in vain to sleep while all of London erupted around me in fireworks and cheers. I’m not sure I’d ever felt so disconnected and alone.

‘Is that so?’ Gabriel says again and we both laugh, and for the first time since we met I feel the tension between us dissolve. I also feel a strange fluttering sensation in the pit of my stomach and it’s so unfamiliar it takes me a moment to realise that it’s a feeling of attraction.

No, no, no , I tell myself. This is definitely not the time or the place for that part of me to finally resurrect!

‘Would you like to join me for a glass of wine?’ he says, and the fluttering sensation grows stronger.

‘Where?’ I ask, trying to ignore my disobedient body. Surely Gabriel isn’t suggesting we go into town after the way Sofia berated him for spending time with me. And we can hardly sit down over a bottle at the cottage!

‘Right here,’ he replies, and I watch as he fetches a rucksack from behind his pile of driftwood and pulls out a bottle of wine. ‘I only brought one glass because I wasn’t expecting company,’ he says with a sheepish grin, ‘but maybe we could share. I always have a glass of wine while I whittle,’ he adds, gesturing to the wood.

I picture him sitting here in the sun while the sea laps at the shore, his tanned arms whittling away at the driftwood. His tanned, muscular, strong arms… Oh for God’s sake!

‘Yes, I’ll have a drink,’ I say, a lot more curtly than I’d intended.

We sit down on the sand, and Gabriel pours a glass of red wine and hands it to me.

‘ Obrigada !’ I raise the glass before taking a sip, hoping it might help me relax.

‘You are welcome,’ he replies. ‘So, would you like to tell me what’s been bothering you? What made you yell at the sea? A problem shared is a problem doubled.’

I burst out laughing.

‘Did I get that wrong?’

‘Er, yes, I definitely don’t want to double my problems, thank you.’ I pass him the drink, and he takes a sip. It feels strangely intimate, this sharing a glass with him, and when he passes it back and our fingers briefly touch, I feel a jolt inside. It’s so alien to me, I instantly feel awkward and embarrassed. I can’t remember the last time I felt an attraction this strong to Robin – or if I ever did.

‘What should I have said?’ he asks.

‘A problem shared is a problem halved. ’

‘Ah.’ He nods. ‘Well, go on then. Halve your problems with me.’

It’s such a funny way to put it, yet it feels quite appealing.

I take another sip of wine for Dutch courage.

‘I’m not able to have children,’ I blurt out.

But instead of looking shocked or confused, Gabriel simply nods. ‘Go on.’

‘When I found out, my partner left me – for another woman.’ To my surprise, I don’t feel vulnerable sharing this, so I carry on, keeping my gaze fixed on the froth-tipped waves building and crashing further down the beach. ‘And now the other woman is pregnant. They’re going to have a baby together.’ Gabriel remains silent, but it’s a comforting silence so I keep talking. ‘And they’ve asked my best friend to be the godmother. Her husband is my ex’s best friend and they’ve asked him to be the godfather, so I suppose it makes sense, but still—’ I break off, my eyes beginning to smart.

I hear a movement beside me and I realise that Gabriel has stood up. Instantly, my cheeks flush. I’ve said too much. He feels awkward and wants to leave. But instead he stands in front of me and holds out his hands.

‘Come. Stand up,’ he says softly.

Instinctively, I reach out and put my hands in his. They feel warm and strong and unlike Robin’s hands, which always felt so soft. I can feel callouses on his palms. ‘What are we doing?’ I ask as he pulls me up.

‘Going back to the rocks.’

I stand dead still. ‘Why?’

‘Because you have a lot more yelling to do.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘You deserve to be angry. You should be angry. I’m sorry I interrupted you. But now I’m angry too.’

‘Why are you angry?’ I stare at him, confused.

‘Because of your piece-of-shit boyfriend. That was a… a…’ He pauses as if searching for the right word. ‘A diabolical thing to do.’

His feistiness reminds me of Sofia, and I can’t help laughing.

‘Why do you laugh?’ he exclaims, although I can see the twinkle of a smile in his eyes. ‘You need to get your anger out. Come on.’ He leads me back to the rocks and gently guides me to where I’d been standing. ‘OK, carry on yelling,’ he says.

I give an awkward laugh. ‘I feel a bit self-conscious.’

He gives a melodramatic sigh and pushes his hair back as the wind blows it into his eyes. ‘I guess I will have to lead the way. What is your boyfriend’s name?’

‘Robin.’

‘Ha!’ He gives a knowing laugh. ‘Like Batman’s weedy sidekick.’

I giggle. ‘Yes.’

Gabriel raises his arms to the sky and begins to yell. ‘Robin, you are a piece of shit!’

I laugh even harder.

‘Stop laughing, start yelling!’ he calls to me above the crash of the waves.

‘Robin, you’re a piece of shit!’ I yell, and it feels so good, the comedy of the situation instantly defusing my anger. ‘And you’re a piece of shit too, Meredith!’ I cry. ‘Meredith is his new woman,’ I explain to Gabriel.

‘Two pieces of shit, go to hell!’ he yells enthusiastically.

‘Yes, go to hell!’ I scream, inspired by his passion. ‘And my stupid follicles can go to hell too!’ I cry.

‘Your what?’ He looks at me blankly.

‘It’s a medical thing,’ I say.

‘Oh, OK.’ He clears his throat. ‘Go to hell, stupid follicles!’

Hearing him yell this is so funny, I bend over double in a fit of giggles.

‘Why are you laughing? You’re supposed to be angry,’ he says, looking genuinely confused, which only makes me laugh harder.

‘It was just hearing you telling my follicles to go to hell,’ I gasp, clutching my side. ‘It was so funny. Thank you. You’ve made me feel so much better.’

His face lights up with a massive grin, and his obvious pleasure at having made me happy warms my heart. ‘Shall we go back down?’ he asks, gesturing at the sand.

‘Yes, let’s.’

He takes my hand and we carefully make our way across the slippery rocks. When we reach the sand, we exchange glances, and I feel another spark of attraction pass between us – or within me at least.

He gives my hand a squeeze before letting it go. ‘I’m really sorry you went through all that,’ he says quietly.

‘Thank you – and for making me laugh.’ I can’t quite believe how much my mood has shifted.

‘Of course. Any time!’ he says with a grin.

‘I should probably get back to the house,’ I say, somewhat reluctantly. ‘We probably woke Sofia from her nap with all our yelling, and I don’t think she’d be too happy if she finds us together.’

He shrugs. ‘Don’t worry about her. I can handle her hot temper.’

‘Is that so?’ I reply drily, and he looks at me for a second before bursting out laughing.

‘OK, OK, I shall try not to say it so often.’ He picks up the driftwood rooster and hands it to me. ‘Don’t forget your Barcelos Rooster. I hope it brings you good luck.’

‘ Obrigada ,’ I reply, and then, as I turn to leave, I can’t help adding, ‘I think it already has.’ I glance over my shoulder and see that he’s grinning from ear to ear.

I return to the cottage with a spring in my step, ready for the next instalment in Sofia’s untold story.