Chapter Twenty-Nine
Nelly
Standing on the deck of the ferry as it noses towards Ithaca, Nelly thinks back to the last time she was approaching this small island, full of hope and excitement, so happy to be there with Alexander, about to meet the rest of his family. ‘They’ll love you,’ he’d pronounced confidently, slotting his arms round her and kissing her, once they’d moored the boat in Vathy. Little did they know that she’d be leaving again, all alone and utterly heartbroken, within the space of a few hours.
Alexander Nikolaou, the man, the legend, she thinks to herself, feeling a bittersweet tangle of emotions as his handsome rugged face rises into her mind once more, almost four decades later. Her first real love. How her heart had brimmed with joy as they’d disembarked the Miaoulis and proceeded to walk, hand in hand, up the steep hill to his parents’ home. But far from Alexander’s They’ll love you assurances, his mother had looked positively stricken when she answered the door to see them standing there together. A small woman with a spotless white apron tied round a long grey dress, a black scarf holding back her shoulder-length grey hair, she had given Nelly a quick unhappy glance before reaching forward to enfold her son within a tight embrace.
Alexander began introducing her– ‘Nelly, this is my mum, Irina,’ and Nelly had smiled and put out her hand, saying ‘ Kalimera ,’ only to be completely ignored by Irina, who launched into some sort of tirade before Alexander could say another word. His body had immediately stiffened, and his expression changed as the tirade went on. Eventually he had stammered a response, looking both grave and dumbfounded.
Oh dear, thought Nelly as Alexander’s arm lifted away from her, and he and Irina continued to talk very quickly and seriously in Greek. Somebody’s ill, she guessed, biting her lip as her gaze flicked between them, wishing one of them would pause and give her an explanation. Had somebody died, even? Clearly something was badly wrong.
‘Alexander, what’s going on?’ Nelly asked when, at last, Irina gestured for them both to come inside. ‘Are you okay?’
She had never seen his tanned face so ashen. ‘Nelly,’ he said heavily as he took her into the living room, which had roughly plastered whitewashed walls, a white tiled floor and a couple of shabby armchairs set before a television. ‘I’ve just heard some news,’ he went on, sitting down in one of them and motioning for Nelly to do likewise. ‘My ex-girlfriend Sofia. . . She’s. . . Apparently she’s pregnant.’
‘She’s. . .’ Nelly repeated dumbly as Irina’s stricken expression and the sombre tone of their conversation fell into focus. ‘She’s pregnant ?’ She gulped a breath. ‘And it– the baby– is yours?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘And she’s. . . keeping it?’ she said, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer. Indeed, he frowned at the question as if it was wrong of her even to ask.
‘Of course she is,’ he replied, and stared down at his knees. When he looked up again, his eyes glistened. There was a deep anguish in his face that was far from his usual sunny disposition. ‘Nelly. . .’ he began. ‘Imust. . . Iwill have to marry her. There is no choice. Not unless Iwant to bring shame on both of our families.’
Something in Nelly had known this was coming from the moment she heard the word ‘pregnant’, but nonetheless his announcement felt like a hammer-blow. ‘I see,’ she said numbly, wanting to comfort him but no longer sure it was even her place. She remembered the automatic lifting away of his arm as he’d spoken to Irina; was that the moment he had made his decision and subconsciously detached from her? But it was so unfair! So awful!
‘Do you even love her, though?’ she asked hoarsely, remembering what he’d told her about his ex: how she wanted him to get a sensible job with her father for the rest of his life. ‘Will marrying her make you happy?’
He had shaken his head slowly, looking deeply miserable. Devastated. He spread his hands helplessly. ‘But Imust do it. I’m sorry, Nelly. I’m very, very sorry. But—’
‘Iget it,’ she said tonelessly, because she couldn’t bear to hear the defeated note in his voice. Except she didn’t get why it had to be this way, not at all. She’d never get it! And she hated Sofia for ruining everything, she realised, emotion surging inside her. How could this be happening? They’d barely had a whole day together as a couple, and already their romance had been blown apart. A sob convulsed her; her heart felt as if it was being ripped in two.
‘Iam so sorry,’ Alexander said again, and then he got up to put his arms round her, but it was the hardest, most shattering embrace of Nelly’s life. An embrace of sorrowful goodbye.
The sea breeze whips at Nelly’s hair as she stands on the deck of the ferry, reliving that dreadful day, and she wipes her eyes before looking around at the other passengers to distract herself. There’s a family nearby with young children, two adorable little girls playing peek-a-boo with their dad while the mum feeds a deliciously chunky baby. Elsewhere there’s a middle-aged couple and a young man with long hair (their son?) drinking takeaway coffees as they chat. ‘Mum, you say, “it’s not rocket science” but rocket science is actually pretty basic,’ the young man is saying, laughing. ‘It’s just: burn something really fast, to an extremely high temperature. Nothing more to it than that. The mechanics of a rocket, on the other hand. . . that’s the complicated bit.’
Nelly catches the mum’s eye and smiles, thinking of Owen, her eldest, who did a chemistry degree, because it’s exactly the sort of thing he would say too. Then the chunky baby gets the hiccups and looks so surprised that his parents laugh fondly. His dad leans over to kiss his soft dark hair. Oh, these happy families, she thinks yearningly, feeling very alone as she stares ahead to where Ithaca looms on the horizon.
After the bombshell of Sofia’s pregnancy that day, everything had moved horribly fast. Alexander offered to see if he could help her find another boat to work on but Nelly knew that it would never be the same, she’d always compare any other job to being with him on the Miaoulis . It would have broken her heart, she thought, to be out there at sea every day without him there beside her. Weeping torrents, she said goodbye, wanting to get their parting over as quickly as possible. Alexander’s brother, a priest at the nearby church, had given her a lift to some port or other, possibly the one she’s about to arrive at now, although she was too distraught to take in the details at the time. From there she’d caught a boat to Kefalonia, then booked herself on the next flight back to Heathrow, the dream crushingly over.
The tears she had cried, all the way home! How it had tortured her to picture her beloved Alexander trapped in a loveless marriage, resenting having to work for his father-in-law, mourning life on the Miaoulis and– or so she dared to hope– a life with her, too. What had happened to him and Sofia, after the shock news of their expectant child? she wonders now. She imagines him older, with greying hair and perhaps a beard, thicker about the waist, maybe, but surely still with that twinkle in his eye, that lust for life. They’re probably grandparents by now, he and Sofia– if they’re still alive, anyway. Does he still love pottering about on a boat?
An announcement sounds in Greek, then English, that they are approaching Pisaetos, and that all passengers intending to leave the ferry at Ithaca are requested to head for their cars or the foot passenger exit. Still wrapped up in memories of Alexander, Nelly follows the crowd of people as they start to descend to the lower deck. Wouldn’t it be strange if she were to bump into him today, she thinks. Would they even recognise each other after so long? She’s sure she would know him anywhere; she’s never forgotten those mischievous brown eyes, the angle of his lovely big nose, the breadth of his shoulders.
Waiting for the ferry to dock, she puts a hand to her face, sure that her cheeks have bloomed with sudden colour as she imagines a chance reunion. Would she still feel it, she wonders, the magnetic pull towards him? Would her body respond to him in the same way, with a rush of blood, a jolt of attraction? Oh gosh, she thought she’d left hot flushes behind, but now it feels as if her blood is really thumping around her system. What’s more, she realises, as two crew members start to winch down the large metal gangplank, now that she’s entertained the possibility of glimpsing Alexander again she already knows that, if she gets on the return ferry later today and hasn’t seen him, she’ll be a tiny bit disappointed.
The gangplank is lowered into place and there’s the island before her; they’ve arrived. The first car in line starts its engine and drives with a shuddering rattle over the gangplank. The foot passengers disembark too, wheeling cases behind them. There would be no harm in making inquiries, Nelly tells herself, say in the Vathy tavernas, or maybe at a post office if she can find one. Just as one old friend, curious about another. She strides off the ferry, feeling a new energy and purpose taking hold of her. Absolutely no harm at all, she decides as she steps into the sunshine.
Here she is, back at last, on the island where Alexander grew up and maybe still lives today. The same island where her world was turned upside down all those years ago. The good thing about going back somewhere, though, is that you can reset a painful memory. Try a take-two.
‘Hello again, Ithaca,’ she murmurs aloud, as a sudden thrill travels round her body. ‘What have you got for me this time, Iwonder?’