Chapter 3
3
PORTSMOUTH, UK
Three flowery cardboard boxes – the kind you can buy in Home Bargains – were on the kitchen table when Molly got home. Photos, tickets, notes, receipts, and what looked like SD cards; two really old laptops taking up the rest of the space. Janette was wrist-deep in paper as she tapped at one of the two keyboards, a blank screen in front of her. Their kitchen/diner was tight for space as it was, but with this clutter bursting its confines all over the place, it was even more evident than ever.
‘Mum, what is all this?’
Molly was tired from work. There had been a national shortage of steroid cream for weeks now and, after it came back in stock, the queue was halfway round the car park and back to the cake slice shop. She just wanted to research setting spray, have something to eat and go to bed. Except, the solicitors’ letter in her bag was currently feeling heavier than an inferior foundation and she needed to talk to her mum about Vaggelis Vlachos now she knew there was a connection there. And now her mum was foraging in boxes, which hadn’t happened since the last time they were really really tight for money and had to have a car boot sale.
‘Greece 2000,’ Janette said. ‘I didn’t realise I’d kept half of this stuff.’
Her mum not realising the type of shit she hung on to was a constant running theme. Molly hung her bag over a chair and sat down. ‘Is this to do with your ex? The one that died?’
‘Vaggelis,’ Janette said. ‘Here he is. Look at those white shorts! He knows he looks good, doesn’t he? Sal took that photo. She always got hers printed out. I’ve got some others on this computer but it’s so old I don’t know if I can get it to turn on.’
Molly took the photograph from her mum and looked at the mid-twenties man, all olive-skin, luscious dark curls and that toned, slender body that spoke of hard work. This was the man who had passed away and left something to her. She studied his face in the grains of a rather poor digital photo in her opinion. Dark brown eyes. Did they have a light amber ring like hers? She tried to not look too obvious about scrutinising the photo, but this was the first man her mum had mentioned since Molly had met an undertaker from the Isle of Wight and eliminated him as being her father. She didn’t know why she couldn’t just know the truth. Why wasn’t her mum like most other mums? Why didn’t she know ? Or even if she didn’t know categorically , why didn’t she just talk about it without bursting into tears or getting mad? What was even worse was when Janette got accusing, suggesting that Molly thought she wasn’t good enough as a mother simply because she wanted to know who her father was. Dropping the subject was what Molly did most often. Because without a Mamma Mia line-up of potentials for a DNA test, what other choice was there? Perhaps this was an opportunity, while her mum was reminiscing about times gone by, men once had…
‘So, Vaggelis was just a holiday romance?’ Molly asked, sitting down next to her mum, the photo still in her hands.
‘There was no “just” about it. It wasn’t only for the holidays. We kept in touch a little bit over the next few years.’
Had they? And this was the first Molly was hearing about this guy? ‘Really?’
‘He was a nice guy, you know. One of the good ones. Before they all turned into shells of people with egos bigger than Donald Trump’s.’
‘And he was from Greece?’ Molly clarified.
‘Yes, Molly, the photos are from Corfu. Where I had some of my best holidays.’
‘More than one holiday?’ This was getting more and more interesting.
‘I guess I went four or five times over three or four years. And then the last time after you were born. It was that time when flights were cheaper than drinks in Cornwall. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to afford it. I don’t suppose you remember anything at all.’
What? What did this have to do with her? Was this the moment? When she found out exactly why there was a solicitors’ letter with her name on it saying Vaggelis had left her something in his will.
‘Remember what?’ Molly asked.
‘Our trip to Corfu. Oh, we had such a lovely time. We stayed in this little apartment right over the harbour in Kassiopi with the most wonderful views of the water and across to the castle. I mean, you did almost fall through the balcony railings at least twice a day chasing the cats around, but in the end Vaggelis fixed some bamboo up there. Aww, these photos take me right back, I can almost feel the sunshine.’
What?! She had been to Greece?! To Corfu! Where this Vaggelis lived! This Vaggelis who she had not heard a thing about in her life, who had apparently stopped her from meeting a dramatic toddler death? This was it! He had to be her father! As her heart gathered more pace than an athlete gunning for one-hundred-metre Olympic gold, Molly tried to still the rest of her. Janette never responded well to rapid-fire questioning, or questioning at all. Things had to be slow and measured, drip-fed, information extracted like every piece was connected to an incendiary device.
Janette sighed then, like this place called Kassiopi was second only to paradise or, at least, The Tandoori Paradise that was their go-to celebration restaurant should they ever have enough cash for a proper night out, or anything to actually celebrate.
Slowly. Carefully . ‘I’ve been to this place?’ Molly asked, picking up another photo, eyes scanning the faces of people sitting at a restaurant table. ‘I don’t remember. How old was I?’ Hang on, was she in this photo? There was a child who seemed to be over a year old sat on the knee of someone. Wait, was that Vaggelis?
‘There you are!’ Janette said, pointing a finger at the child. ‘Look how I did your hair in lots of little bunches! You were so cute! And into make-up already, even at that age. You actually took your first steps in Corfu. Three steps forward and then plonk, arse down onto an ant nest.’ Janette sighed. ‘But that didn’t stop you. In the end we barely needed the buggy I’d carted all the way from Gatwick.’
She had had firsts in Greece. Her first steps. Why didn’t she know this information? Why didn’t she know she had been anywhere other than the UK? Why didn’t she, at twenty-five years old, know who her father was? That simmering, bitter feeling was building. It was her right to know where she had come from, where half her DNA had come from. Right now she had no known living connections but Janette and Aunt Maud, but there could be a father still alive out there or relatives of her father, a half-sister who looked just like her, an older half-brother with a nice car she could get Siobhan posed on for Insta styling… But it could also be Vaggelis Vlachos. Sadly deceased, but with a history she could find out about, and maybe relatives she could get to know.
‘Mum—’
‘He’s not your father,’ Janette spat, cosy reminiscence forgotten, sharpness ensuing. ‘Before you get any silly ideas. That’s why I don’t show you things from the past. Every time I whip out something fun from years ago you instantly start the inquisition.’
Wow. That was harsh . And Molly didn’t immediately know how to respond. So she didn’t.
‘Well, that’s what you were going to ask, wasn’t it?’ Janette snapped.
‘No,’ Molly said. But it was time. She rooted through her bag until she found what she was looking for and pulled the letter out. ‘But I am wondering why your Greek holiday romance has left me something in his will.’
She slapped the letter down on top of a Hertz map of Corfu and next to two tickets that said ‘Paxos’.
‘What is this?’ Janette asked, picking the letter up.
‘It’s a letter from a solicitor in Greece. Vaggelis Vlachos has left me something in his will and, if he’s really not my father, then why has he done that?’
Molly watched her mum’s expression carefully now. Would there be something in her eyes that gave a clue as to how she felt about this news? A tell that said Vaggelis was a paternal match?
‘That’s impossible,’ Janette exclaimed, eyes doing nothing but scanning over the words on the letter.
‘Well, it’s not, because that’s what he’s done. The letter says so.’
‘But… how would he know where we lived? The last time we had contact we were living in Hilsea and I don’t think I even ever gave him an address. I don’t understand.’
‘Mum, you can find people’s addresses on the internet, that’s not the issue here. Why has he left me something? I didn’t even know him. I don’t remember… sitting on his lap wherever this is.’ She touched the photo of the group around that taverna table.
‘Alexandros on the Beach,’ Janette said wistfully. ‘It was one of my favourite tavernas. It was the first time you tried feta cheese and watermelon.’
Another first…
‘Mum, I’ve inherited something from your ex-boyfriend. Don’t you think that’s a bit weird? And what am I supposed to do? I mean, it could be money but am I going to have to go to Greece to claim it?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it would be money. Vaggelis didn’t really have much of anything… except Greek charm. He was very rich in that.’
Argh! Why was her mum looking like a dream sequence from a rom-com? She needed information. Facts, not a chapter of sweet vacation fiction from yesteryear.
‘Mum, is there any reason you can think of as to why this man has left me something?’
‘Because he was a nice person?’ Janette suggested. ‘Ooo, maybe it’s the ornament he had of a snake. It was bright green, like a dish he kept things in – keys, his cigarettes, coins. I always remember it, isn’t that funny?’
Nothing about this was funny. It was strange. And she really hoped she had been gifted more than an ugly-sounding snake dish. As much as this was unexpected news, she had started to wonder if it could be something that led to greater things. A cash injection to see her make-up enterprise take off so she could stop working at the pharmacy and focus her attention on starting more than sample-sized manufacturing, and getting one of her hoped-for celebrity influencers on board. Everything was taking so long though, and she knew if she didn’t get a big break soon then someone else was going to tap into the market she had her sights set on. A chill ran through her then. She couldn’t think negatively, because she knew she had the raw beginnings of a unique product that she was certain was going to change the make-up industry forever…
‘Molly? I asked if you had called them. The solicitors,’ Janette said, like she had spoken before and Molly just hadn’t heard.
‘No. Not yet. Because… I don’t know… I guess I thought it might be a scam and I hadn’t heard of this man before. It wasn’t until you said his name on the phone that I really considered it might be real.’
Janette looked at the letter again. ‘You need to phone them. Find out.’ She sighed. ‘Poor Vaggelis.’
Molly took a breath, picked up one of the boat tickets from the table. A poor Vaggelis was absolutely the last thing Molly wanted him to have been.