by Karen Cole
I shake my head, though I did know because I read about it in his book, but I don’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that.
‘She told me about her brother and her father too,’ he says carefully. ‘Your husband.’
‘She told you about Chris?’ I ask, holding my breath, thinking of the police’s suspicions. ‘What did she say?’
‘Just that he was a good father to her. That she had a happy childhood.’
Of course. I exhale slowly.
‘That she had a happy childhood?’
‘Well, I suppose she thinks she’s not a child anymore.’
He’s probably right. But her use of the past tense nags at me. It’s as if she was already separating herself from us.
‘What else did she say?’ I ask.
‘Not much. But I told her that I loved her, that I’d always loved her.’
I must have snorted or made some kind of disbelieving sound because he says, ‘She didn’t believe me either. But it’s true.’ He chews his nail thoughtfully then he stands up. ‘Come with me, Jo. I want to show you something.’
I follow him inside and upstairs to their apartment above reception. The living room is pretty much as it was seventeen years ago. There’s the same wine-coloured sofa and the same pictures of Paradise Beach Bungalows in various stages of development. There are some new photos on the mantlepiece of Adam and a girl, who I guess is his younger sister, but otherwise not much has changed, and I have a strange feeling, somewhere between nostalgia and regret, as I look around at this place that made such an impact on my life.
‘Wait here,’ Hakan says, and disappears into the bedroom. While I’m waiting for him, I pick up one of the photos of Adam. It was taken when he must’ve been about eight. He’s lying on his front, his chin cupped in his hands, grinning cheekily at the camera, and his sister is straddled on his back laughing manically. It’s a lovely, natural photo. They had a happy childhood, I think with a pang. Of course they did. Although Hakan has his faults he would have been a good father. I’m sure of that.
‘Here it is.’ Hakan reappears a few minutes later carrying a small wooden box.
‘Guess what’s inside,’ he says, placing it in my hands. As he does, his hands linger a little too long over mine and I draw them away sharply. Jesus. Does he seriously think I would be interested in rekindling old passions after all this time, after all that’s happened?
‘I don’t know,’ I say, stepping back and looking at the intricate gold inlay on the lid of the box.
I run my hands over the smooth surface, feeling suddenly afraid of what I might find inside.
‘I’ve kept it for sixteen years,’ he says. ‘I keep it hidden under the floorboards.’
I open the box cautiously. It’s full of papers. On top is a letter. I pull it out and recognise my own handwriting, neater in those days. I can barely remember writing it.
Dear Hakan,
How are you?
I thought you ought to know that Grace Olivia Ewens was born on 28th of May 2001, one month ago. She weighed 7 pounds and 2 ounces, and she cries a lot! I hope you like the photo. I wish you could see her for yourself and hold her. She is the sweetest baby and I think she looks a lot like you. I miss you so much. All I want to do is hold you in my arms and kiss you all over.
All my love,
Your Jojo
I cringe at my eighteen-year-old self and Hakan’s pet name for me. What had I hoped to achieve by sending that letter? Did I think he would realise the error of his ways and immediately jump on a plane to England? I was so naive back then.
Underneath the letter, there’s a photo Hakan took of me sitting on a sunbed at Varosha beach, the empty apartment blocks towering behind me. He’s taken me by surprise, and I look startled. I’m wearing a blue bikini and I look so young, not much older than Grace is now. Under that, another photo of me looking sulky at the top of Hilarion Castle. I lift it out and inhale sharply as if I’ve been stabbed in the heart. Because at the bottom of the box is another photo, of Grace as a baby. She’s lying on her front pushing her head up and smiling at the camera. It’s a smile only a baby can give, so completely unselfconscious, heartbreaking in its innocence and joy. On the back I have written, Baby Grace, June 2001.
The photo trembles in my hand.
‘You showed these to Grace?’ I ask.
‘Yes. I wanted her to know that I loved her and that there hasn’t been a day all these years when I haven’t thought about her. Even though I never met her, I loved her.’ He gazes at me with what passes for sincerity. ‘I know that sounds crazy but it’s true.’
He almost has me believing him. He always was so convincing. I remember his head on the pillow next to mine, the way he stroked my cheek so tenderly and said, ‘I love you,’ over and over. And I believed him then. Maybe he did mean it at the time but in the end, it meant nothing.
‘You’d better put that back before Helen sees it,’ I say coldly.
I watch him disappear into the bedroom. He’s a liar, I think. And he’s the most dangerous kind of liar, the kind that believes his own lies. And just for a moment I wonder, What if Grace had threatened to tell Helen? I know he would do anything to protect his family. What might he have done to silence her?
Chapter 18
2000
We take to staying up late drinking on the veranda, me, Helen and Hakan, and the waiters, Yusef and Emre. Sometimes there are guests there and Hakan entertains them with card tricks or funny stories about his dad. Other times it’s just me and Hakan. Helen is usually the first to go to bed. The pregnancy is making her tired and sick. Yusef and Emre usually leave not long after. And then it’s just Hakan and me, and we talk away into the early hours about anything and everything.
During one of those evenings I learn that Hakan comes from a big family of all sisters and that the oldest sister still isn’t speaking to him because he married Helen.
‘They wanted me to marry a nice Turkish Cypriot girl, but my mum and dad have come around since Adam was born, so I don’t know why she still has to be such a bitch about it.’
‘How did you and Helen meet?’ I ask. They seem like such a mismatched couple to me. Hakan is so easy-going and sociable and Helen’s so uptight.
‘We met at university. She was an art student,’ he grins. ‘She had pink hair at the time. She was always the life and soul of the party in those days.’
I say nothing. I’m trying to picture this alternative version of Helen. The Helen I know is anything but fun.
Hakan stares broodingly into his beer. It’s as if he’s read my mind because he says, ‘She’s had a tough time lately. Her brother died, and she didn’t really want to move to Cyprus. She misses her family. She suffered really badly from postnatal depression after Adam was born, and her mother helped her a lot with him.’ He sighs. ‘I try to help her, but it’s not always easy.’
‘I understand,’ I nod. I know all too well what it’s like living with mental illness. ‘I told you about my mum, didn’t I?’ I say. ‘She’s bipolar. One minute she’s high, the next in the depths of despair. And then there’s my stepdad. He doesn’t exactly help.’
Hakan leans forward over the table. His eyes are big and compassionate.
‘You told me he was violent. Has he ever hurt you?’ he asks.
‘Not physically, no. It was always my mum that got the brunt of it.’ Strictly speaking, it’s not entirely true. Dave has grabbed me by the arm so tightly it’s left bruises before and once, during an argument, he threw a bottle of beer at me, but thankfully missed. I think about the twins, who I’ve left in that dysfunctional household, and feel a twinge of guilt, immediately followed by anger. It’s Mum’s fault, not mine. She should have left him years ago. ‘I kept telling her to leave him, but she wouldn’t. She thinks she loves him.’
‘It’s no wonder you wanted to
get away from home,’ Hakan says, and he takes my hand in his and looks at me with his big, Omar Sharif eyes. Suddenly I’m conscious of a kind of electricity passing between us. It’s just for a second, but so much is communicated in that second that it feels more like an hour. Heat rises in my cheeks and I slide my hand away.
‘I’d better go to bed,’ I murmur. ‘Adam will be up at five in the morning.’ I look at my watch and laugh to cover my confusion. ‘In about three and a half hours, to be precise.’
After that evening everything is different. I’m awkward and shy around Hakan, and sometimes I catch him looking at me with a mixture of amusement and something else that I can’t quite read, but it makes my heart beat faster and my breath catch in my throat. I tell myself it’s just a harmless crush, that I’ll get over it. There’s no way he’s really interested in me. Not like that. He’s way too old for me anyway.
Then one day, about three weeks into my time in Cyprus, I have a day off. Helen’s sister is staying with us for a week and Helen and her sister have gone out for the day with Adam and Adam’s cousins. It’s a Sunday morning and I decide to have an early morning swim in the sea. I’m heading down the path to the jetty when I see Hakan coming towards me in the opposite direction. He’s been swimming already. His hair is wet, and the sunlight catches in his eyes. I stare at him, bemused by how beautiful he looks.
‘Hi, Joanna. What are you doing up so early?’ He smiles and looks at me with his head on one side, like he’s never seen anything as sweet as me, like I’m a puppy or a kitten.
‘I just thought I’d go for a swim,’ I stammer.
I’m not sure what I say next. I’m babbling, just saying anything so he won’t notice the redness in my cheeks. Then, suddenly, without warning, he stoops and kisses me. It’s a brief kiss on the lips. So brief, I almost think I must have imagined it. Then he steps back, gives me a searching look and smiles like he’s satisfied.
‘Well, see you later,’ he says breezily, and he walks away whistling, up the path under an arch of bougainvillea.
I walk on towards the beach feeling dazed and dizzy with happiness. Don’t get ahead of yourself, I tell myself. It didn’t mean anything. There was nothing sexual in it. He thinks of me as a child, that’s all.
But late at night, I find myself fantasising about him. In my mind he stops on the path and kisses me again, but this time he kisses me properly and he doesn’t stop at just a kiss.
Chapter 19
‘Where the hell have you been? I’ve been worried sick. Where’s Jack?’
Chris is at the gate when I pull up outside the house. He looks awful. His eyes are bloodshot and there’s several days’ growth of stubble on his chin. I feel a twinge of guilt. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own fear and grief that I’ve ignored his. Grace is his daughter too, after all, even if they’re not related by blood.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say as I follow him into the house. ‘It’s okay, Jack’s at Angelo’s. Stella’s dropping him back in about an hour. I tried to ring you, but I forgot that my phone doesn’t work in the North.’
‘You crossed the border?’ Chris frowns. ‘What were you doing there?’ As he speaks, he stumbles a little and grabs my arm to steady himself and I notice his breath reeks of booze.
‘You’ve been drinking,’ I say. I don’t mean it to, but it comes out as an accusation.
‘So? I have to do something, or I’ll go crazy.’
Guilt morphs into frustration and anger. I need Chris to be strong and solid like he normally is; instead, he seems to be crumbling in front of me. ‘How exactly is that going to help?’ I snap, flinging my handbag down on the sofa. ‘You should be out there looking for her, not getting pissed and feeling sorry for yourself. What have you been doing? Have you heard from Dino?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, nothing.’
‘Well, what the fuck are they playing at?’ I stomp into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ says Chris. I’m scrabbling around trying to find something to eat for dinner. We must carry on with some semblance of normality for Jack’s sake. He’ll be home soon, when Stella drops him off, and I must have something to feed him. But there’s nothing in the fridge and next to nothing in the freezer.
‘Jesus. You could have at least done some shopping,’ I say, exasperated. ‘What have you been doing all day?’
‘I’ve been dealing with the press. They’ve been phoning constantly and there was a TV van parked outside all day. It felt like a siege.’ Chris stares at me, bristling with hostility. ‘Anyway, you’re still not answering my question. Why did you go to the Turkish side?’
‘I wanted to talk to Hakan.’ I pull a packet of frozen burgers out of the freezer and an almost empty packet of peas. ‘I guessed that she must’ve been to see him.’
Chris sits down at the kitchen table with a sigh. ‘And had she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were going?’
‘I don’t know. I didn’t think. Sorry.’ The truth is, Chris would have insisted on coming with me and I wanted to see Hakan alone.
Chris goes to the cupboard and fetches himself another beer. ‘I don’t understand. Why now? Why does she suddenly want to meet him now? We’ve been here for months.’
‘I don’t know. But I . . . I thought he might be able to shed light on her state of mind.’
‘And . . . ?’
I switch on the oven, trying to decide how much to tell him.
‘According to Hakan, Grace was worried. She told him she was thinking of going to the police. She was concerned that someone she knew had committed a crime. Someone she loved. Hakan had the impression it was Tom.’
Chris puts down his beer can and gawps at me.
‘He said that? And you believed him?’
I shrug. ‘Why would he lie about something like that?’
Chris buries his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. ‘Do you think she meant Tom?’
‘I suppose so. Who else?’
Chris stands up and paces the room. ‘What kind of a crime was she talking about?’
‘I don’t know, she didn’t say.’
‘Shit. Fuck. Christ.’ Chris kicks the fridge. ‘You warned me from the beginning that boy was bad news. I should have listened.’
I nod. ‘You weren’t to know,’ I say. I feel sick to my stomach.
Chris stares at the floor, rubbing his head, deep in thought.
‘What if he knew she was thinking of going to the police?’ he says suddenly. ‘He could have . . .’ His voice tails off. I know where he’s going with this and neither of us want to go there. He bangs his fist into his palm and looks at me, eyes blazing. ‘The bastard. If he’s harmed a hair on her head, I’ll kill him.’
Chris does look as if he could kill someone right now. His eyes have a wild, crazed look and his muscular body is quivering with anger.
‘We don’t know anything for sure,’ I say, trying to calm him down. ‘All this is just speculation.’
‘Yeah? Well, I’ll get the little shit to tell us what was going on.’ He goes to the hallway, picks up his car keys from the hook where they’re hanging and stumbles towards the door.
I push my way past him and block his exit. ‘You can’t drive. You’re drunk.’
‘Okay,’ he slurs, handing me the keys. ‘You drive then. We’ll both go.’
‘No. Listen, you need to stop and think. We have no proof it was Tom she was talking about, and even if we did, what good would it do to confront him? He’s not going to tell us the truth, is he?’
Chris stares at me wildly and, for a moment, there is such anger in his eyes I think he’s going to push me out of the way or hit me, but instead he just sighs and slumps down on the sofa.
He buries his face in his hands and when he
looks up his eyes are glistening with tears. ‘You’re right, Jo. I can’t deal with this by myself. We need to tell the police what you just told me.’ He takes his phone out of his pocket and begins fumbling with the keypad.
‘I’ll speak to them,’ I say decisively, snatching the phone from him. Chris is unlikely to make much sense the state he’s in.
Dino answers on the second ring.
‘Mrs Joanna,’ he says. ‘I was just about to call you. Um, I have some news.’
He sounds pleased with himself and for a second hope leaps in my heart.
‘You’ve found Grace?’
Dino clears his throat. ‘No, but we’ve been looking into that young man you told us about, Thomas Mitchinson.’
‘Yes, about him—’ I start. But Dino interrupts before I have the chance to finish.
‘We talked to him, and we also interviewed several of his neighbours. The woman who lives in the apartment directly below his had some very interesting things to say. Apparently, she heard a loud argument on Saturday night.’
I try to remember Saturday night. When Grace arrived home, she was in a foul mood, but I’d assumed that was because she was still angry with me over the row we’d had earlier.
‘What exactly did she hear?’ I ask.
‘She doesn’t speak much English and wasn’t sure what was said, just that there was a lot of shouting and banging.’
‘Banging?’ I say, unease twisting in my gut.
‘Yes, that’s what she said,’ Dino says quietly. ‘And that’s not all. She said that she saw Grace outside his apartment on Sunday evening.’
‘Sunday evening? Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘He told me the last time he saw her was on Saturday,’ I say. ‘He was quite definite about it.’
‘Yes, that’s what he told us too . . .’
‘So, he lied?’
‘Yes, it looks like it,’ Dino says cautiously. ‘The question is, why?’
Why did he lie? The question reverberates in my head as Stella drops Jack back home and the three of us sit round the table, eating our dinner in silence. It’s still dominating my thoughts as I take Lola for a walk up the hill behind our house after tea. We always go the same way, up the steep, dry, scrubby path to the picnic site. Lola likes sniffing round the rubbish left over from people’s barbecues and I like the view over Larnaca.
