A Life In A Moment (17 page)

At
last, we said our goodbyes, promising to see each other again soon,
on a happy occasion.
It was the same promise we had made to each other in London. A
promise that fate had broken. I hoped with all my heart this one
would remain untouched.

50

A film of
many moments runs before my eyes, as though someone had been watching
my life very closely, and captured fragments of it to show me:
Angelique patiently teaching me how to sew on buttons, Samantha
cooking pasta for us, Pavlos cursing and kicking his car’s flat
tyre, Bob gulping his beer down so fast it spilled wetly down his
shirt, our regulars shouting their team on to score another goal,
Angelique stepping naked and steaming from the shower, myself
preparing a lavish English breakfast one lazy Saturday morning...

My
life in London was beautiful. No. It was actually
my
life with Angelique
that was beautiful.
She was the reason I didn’t realise how time crept up on us.
Suddenly, I was thirty years old. Thirty!

As
Angelique kissed me
Happy Birthday
,
I realised we had been together for seven years. Seven entire years
and still, I wasn’t bored. Even our day-to-day routines and
rituals satisfied me with their daily joy. Our breakfasts, our
quarrels, our going to sleep, our phoning each other during the day.

One
languorous Saturday morning, still in bed, we leafed idly through a
tourist guide on Europe, toying with the idea of a spontaneous little
holiday somewhere new. And when the pages on Strasbourg caught us by
surprise, we chose it without a single word between us. It was a sign
that it was about time for me to meet her parents. We smiled the very
same smile. A smile that shone with serendipity.

51

Angelique’s
jovial, kindly father — a middle-aged, greying Frenchman with a
thickish, red bulb of a nose — met us at the railway station.
From across the platform, his eyes spoke to me, saying something I
will never forget:

We
share the same pain; we both lost our parents in the very same
accident.

Days
later, he told us how irrevocably lucky Angelique and I were because
our lives have been bound together forever in a metaphysical knot.

You two
will never separate.

Her mother
was strikingly different to her daughter. She was a quiet woman,
occupied with literature, domesticity, and confectionery, which she
utterly adored. Each meal was decadently finished off with sweets,
pastries, tarts and cakes I had never tasted before. In all, I
sampled thirteen different desserts, some drizzled in molten
chocolates — white, milk and dark —, others layered in
cream, fruits, nuts... 

«Around
here, those who have vineyards make their own wine, just like you do
in Greece», her father said, filling our glasses with their
homemade wine.

The swirl
of wine in my mouth was summery sweet, and scented with cedar —
just as he had told me.

«Hmm,
tres jolie!
» I complimented in
French, hoping to make a good impression with my pretentious accent.
Each time I spoke, Angelique hung her pride on my words; whenever I
finished a phrase, she rewarded me with a smile like a satisfied
teacher, proud of her student’s progress.

The
youngest member of the family was her twenty-year-old brother. Shy
and of few words, he gave the illusion of being quite unremarkable
until his feet touched a ball.

«He’s
amazing, isn’t he?» his father exclaimed, beaming, while
we watched his son’s mastery over the ball. He drew
enormous pleasure from telling me his son’s story, which
involved football academies, talent scouts and a knee injury, putting
paid to potentially fame-filled football career.

During our
stay, we slept in Angelique’s childhood bedroom.

«Hmm,
just as I suspected: ultra girly — dolls here, dolls there,
dolls everywhere! And the prettiest doll of them all… in my
arms», I said as I hugged her. «You may laugh, but I’ve
always found porcelain dolls quite scary.»

«What?»
She laughed.

«Hey,
don’t laugh! It’s really not a laughing matter. Lots of
people are scared of porcelain dolls.»

Angelique
frowned in mock concern. «Don’t worry. I’ve known
them for years. They’d never hurt you.»

Lying
together in bed that night, we chatted about her family.

«I
really like your family», I told her. «You all seem very
close to each other.»

Her face
took on a serene look. «Yes, I’m lucky to have grown up
the way I did.»

«Do
you think our children would like visiting their grandparents?»
I asked, waiting for her reaction.

She looked
slowly and pensively back at me.

«Why?
Have you thought of producing a grandchild for them?»

I
pinched her pert little French nose playfully. «Haven’t
you
?»

She
smiled. And that smile was the deepest one she had ever given me.

52

We enjoyed
five quietly relaxing days together in her family’s cottage. We
ate delicious food, exquisite desserts and pastries, we drank perhaps
too much wine, we played board games, we walked in the countryside
with her father…

«I
like you, young man. You and my daughter seem to be a perfect match»,
he confessed while the two of us walked through the farmlands behind
their cottage.

I
had long been anticipating this talk. And so had Angelique, and
dispensed the advice she thought might comfort me in the face of
the
talk.

«I’ve
never seen my daughter like this, Vassilis. Just looking at you has
her smiling to herself. This is all I have ever wanted for her.»

«We
both know that your daughter deserves the world.»

«And
that is why you must make sure she will want for nothing. And I don’t
mean only materially.»

«I
will do my utmost.»

«I
am not going to say anything about marriage to either of you. I know
she’s not interested yet. It’s a different era, you see.
It’s up to the two of you to get married whenever you feel the
time is right. But if by God’s will you have a child, then I’d
like it to be legitimate. Perhaps see it as a favour to honour me.
Alright?»

Angelique’s
advice rang in my head: 
Say yes to
whatever he asks you.

«Yes.»

53

Angelique
and I arrived back to London as two different people. We were no
longer simply two young lovers, but two hearts who had outspokenly
pledged to live the rest of their lives as one.

It
wasn’t merely my meeting her parents that had made me look in
that direction; it was their goodness and all of our shared moments.
I was almost overwhelmed by how much I desired more of it. I wanted
to have my own family. It wasn’t about a  biological clock
that was ticking. It was about choice. I wanted this
something
,
and I could have it. So did Angelique. 

«So,
are you seriously contemplating marriage?» Pavlos asked me at
some point, after his quiet listening to my many thoughts.

«Why
not? We’ve been together for seven years. We’re happy, we
already live like a married couple. We’ve agreed, though, that,
until a child comes along, there’s no reason why we should do
the whole ceremony thing, but still, we save money and...»

«That’s
great then! I can’t wait for there to be a child in the family
— at last!» he said, bitterness spilling over into his
smile.

«You
don’t have to wait for ours, Pavlos. Natalia’s giving
birth in two months!»

Thanos’
handwriting, in a letter he had sent us some months before, shouted
the good news:

Pal, we’ve got a bun in the oven! I’m going to be a
dad in seven months! Will you be a godfather in twelve?

Hold your horses! Angelique will christen the baby!

Angelique
and I revelled in the almost magical exuberance of Natalia’s
pregnancy. It would be the first child in the family, and, as if she
knew how impatient we all were, the magnificent baby girl arrived two
months early.

The first
grandchild for Aunt Urania and Uncle Haralambos. I could just see
them arriving in the maternity ward, bearing flowers, sweets,
balloons and teddy bears. Natalia would hand the little princess over
to my uncle first, simply to make Aunt Urania jealously long-faced,
though she would forget all about it as soon as she held the little
one in her own arms. 

Thanos
would be standing on the outermost edge of the moment, terrified they
might drop her on the floor. And when it was for Natalia to hold
their baby girl to her breast for the first time, he would look on
helplessly, almost paralysed by its intense, miraculous beauty.

I was
happy for them, but sad I couldn't be there to see all this for
myself.

54

Thinking
that the pub now looked old-fashioned, Pavlos and I decided to have
it renovated. We hunted down an interior designer who more than met
our brief, as the mood board and layout he finally presented to us
was so much better than we had imagined. What we now needed to do was
to hand over the brief and the pub keys to an interior decorating
team, and head off on holiday. When we arrived back home, the pub
would be ready.

We
booked our flights to Greece to arrive a few days before the
christening so the little one could get used to our presence before
the big day. Angelique was proud and excited about soon becoming a
godmother. She would read
the Creed
over
and over again, until she was able to say it by heart. And though she
wasn’t quite sure of the Greek words’ exact meaning, my
writing them out in the English alphabet meant that she would at
least get her pronunciation right. Knowing it was nearly impossible
for an outsider to perform perfectly, I led her to believe her
recitation was faultless. As the christening drew closer, we held a
few rehearsals for her to practise. One thing she was perfectly sure
of, and that was the baby’s name: Emilia. After Thanos’
mother.

I never
adored her more than when she was sprawled out over a map, poring
over it minutely. Trying to plan the best hop on hop off cruise on
the Greek islands, she drew lines among them, tucking a stray hair
behind her ear.

Our life
at this time raced from one joy to another, so that it felt as though
we were being chased by bliss. That is why I now recall these months
only as rapidly rotating View-Master photographs: Emilia’s
arrival, the christening celebration, our upcoming island-hopping
adventure, my very spontaneous proposal of marriage…

I was
waiting for her to come back from work, seated on the floor, with an
atlas spread in front of me. When she opened the door, she laughed.
«Have you changed your mind? I thought we’d already
decided on where we’re going on holiday!»

«I’ve
been hunting for hours for this one particular place, but it seems to
have disappeared into thin air», I told her so she’d move
closer to help me find it.

«What’s
it called?»

«
The-Place-Where-We’re-Getting-Married
.»

Astounded,
staggered and silenced. Eyes wider than the moon. And then, the smile
I had first seen in Strasbourg found its way back from her heart to
her mouth. She shone with amazement, joy and that depthless desire of
hers I loved perhaps more than anything. Her desire for life and
love.

She
anointed my lips with a kiss that may have been the sweetest and most
exquisite of all we had exchanged in these seven years.

55

«Please
don’t be cross... but I have to go in to work tomorrow»,
Angelique confessed as we lay in the dark the night before our Greek
holiday.

«You’re
kidding, right?»

«No,
sorry... I was meant to have prepared a document, which I forgot
amongst all the excitement. It’ll only be for a couple of
hours. And our flight’s only in the afternoon.» She
promised to be back by eleven, giving us more than enough time for
our flight at three.

By the
time I woke up at ten o’ clock, she was long gone. Her suitcase
stood ready at the door. I packed my own after a lightning fast
breakfast and much needed coffee.

Time raced
with me, and by eleven thirty, Angelique was still not home. When I
called her office, they said she had left at a quarter to eleven.
Adding to this her usual twenty minutes on the Tube, she should have
already arrived. Perhaps she had made a sudden, little side trip —
to make a last minute buy or something — and lost track of
time.

I paced up
and down our small apartment, watching the inevitable circling of the
hands on my watch, where they met at 12. And then, the phone
shrieked. Knowing it could only be her, I answered curtly.

«For
the love of God, where are you?»

A man’s
voice answered, a punch in the solar plexus. It was the police, he
told me in words that swam confusingly into each other. Something
about a junction. That she’d jumped the red lights. And then
something about a car and a hospital... I couldn’t make sense
of it at all. The red of my irritation at Angelique’s lateness
blazed into yellow of terror, before I shattered into a thousand
colours.