The Santorini Summer (7 page)

Chapter Five

We have to leave early so that I can attend the conference which is my main reason for being here. Alexa drives confidently back to Fira and drops me off near the entrance to the cable car, from where I can reach the Centre by foot.

‘See you about four,’ she calls gaily and sets off alone.

‘Enjoy the museum,’ I say, but I doubt that she has heard me.

The agenda for the day consists of the latest findings and theories about The Big Bang, as some of the younger volcanologists insisted upon calling the eruption of 1600BC. Since the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004, scientists have had graphic evidence of the havoc such an event creates. The latest archaeological discoveries revealed that the explosion of Santorini must have been a truly massive one. The seismic wave which would have followed would have hit Crete within half an hour, causing catastrophic damage. The coastal settlements, including Knossus, would have been wiped out. The latest excavations at Akrotiri showed that the bull was a sacred symbol for the people of Santorini just as it was for Minoan Crete, that theirs was a wealthy and powerful state, familiar with the use of copper, and using the same cultivation methods that Plato tells us were used in Crete. So Santorini and Crete were connected culturally, and if they did not comprise Atlantis, then they suffered a very similar fate.

Christos would have been in the forefront of these discussions, probably one of the speakers at the Conference, presenting the results of his life’s work and daring the doubters to dismiss his findings. I am here, officially, as an interested academic – I try to visit Santorini whenever a conference about its history is scheduled, and the scholars here knew me as someone with a personal interest in the subject – but in my heart I am here to see justice done to the man Christos would have become.

There is a very pleasant courtyard behind the Centre, and I sit there in the shade waiting for Alexa. My fingers find my locket, as they often do at moments of relaxation, and I open it to look once more at the photograph of Christopher as a baby. He was a beautiful child. Naturally, every mother thinks her offspring is beautiful, but Christopher was one of those babies who attract strangers in the street. He had dark curls and huge brown eyes fringed with the longest lashes. His skin was olive-toned and without a single blemish. My mother fell in love with him the day of his birth and she adored him until the day she died, which made my life easier than it might otherwise have been.

When I returned from Santorini I was still in a state of shock, but I had spun some story about having had a fall-out with one of the girls at the dig which had distressed me. My mother’s reaction was to suggest she should have a word with the Professor, but I managed to dissuade her by claiming that this would be seen as petty and might be reflected in my grades. I went back to Cambridge earlier than I needed to and threw myself into study. I did not tell Maureen or anyone else what had happened. I was aware of feeling tired and nauseous, but I put that down to heartbreak.

Some mornings I would awake with a blank memory, and then it would slowly dawn on me that I would never see Christos again, and misery would make me curl up and howl. Most days I made it to lectures; sometimes, when I couldn’t control the weeping, I claimed a migraine.

But after Maureen heard me vomiting in the toilet three mornings in a row, I confided in her because I had no one else to talk to and felt so helpless. She was a good friend then, insisting on taking me back to my room, making tea and forcing me to eat some toast. She asked no questions other than when the baby was due, but I told her the bare facts because I wanted to forestall any mention of Christos, whose very name spoken aloud could destroy any composure I had managed to find. She was appalled, not because of any moral issue but because of the disastrous effect my pregnancy would have on my academic career. I had been hoping to do an MA.

‘It’s such a crying shame. You’d have got a First for sure, and I’ll be lucky to get a Lower Second. It’s rotten luck.’

My feelings were very confused. A baby was not what I had planned, but it was Christos’s child, and a way of holding on to him. The practicalities, however, overwhelmed me. The baby was due in April and my finals were at the beginning of May.

When my condition became public knowledge I’d be kicked out, for sure.

Maureen kept my secret loyally, but after weeks of fretting about how I would cope, she encouraged me to go and see the Professor.

‘Throw yourself on her mercy,’ she said. ‘I’ll bet she isn’t as straight-laced as she seems.’

I was not at all confident about that; the Professor was a middle-aged spinster, who had never demonstrated passion for anything other than ancient history, but I needed some advice, and I hadn’t anyone else to turn to.

In the event she was terrific, although it didn’t seem that way at first. As I haltingly explained that Christos and I had fallen in love on Crete, she frowned.

I muttered miserably, ‘I realise that you must be disappointed in me for behaving in such a …’

‘Human way?’ she said, wryly. ‘My dear, I have been teaching young people for many years and nothing is more human than young men making young women fall in love with them. But I must have been remiss in my supervision to allow things to have gone so far.’

‘Oh, no, it … nothing … happened on Crete. It was when I went to Santorini.’ I was deeply embarrassed to be discussing such things with her. ‘There was an earthquake, and everyone was so scared…’

‘And feelings were running high? What were you doing on Santorini?’

She listened with great interest to Christos’ belief that Santorini was the Atlantis that caused the downfall of the Minoan culture and we spoke of the different theories for some minutes, before we realised we were getting side-tracked.

‘We will talk of this again. But I don’t believe you asked to see me this afternoon to discuss ancient history, did you? Am I to understand that you are now, “in an interesting condition”, as they used to say?’

After I had told my story and sobbed on her bony shoulder for several minutes, she said firmly, ‘There will be a way to manage this. You must graduate.’

By the end of the Michaelmas Term anyone who knew me well could see I was pregnant. Professor Margerison could feasibly not have noticed, being well known for an academic blindness to physical appearances, but she could not pretend blindness after the Christmas vacation when I would be five months gone.

‘When you return in January, you will share a room in town with Maureen,’ she told me. ‘You will not attend lectures, obviously, but Maureen will bring you your lecture notes and you must do a lot of studying alone. If you cannot persuade your mother to show Christian forbearance, then you will need a nurse to help you after the baby is born. I shall help you to find the room and the nurse. You will take your exams in May and you will graduate. My best student will not be lost to academia simply because of human error.’

She was true to her word. Before I went down for Christmas she had somehow found a small flat that Maureen and I could share. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen, bathroom and sitting room, and was within walking distance of College. How she secured it, when such properties were like gold-dust and fiendishly expensive, I do not know. But the rent we were asked to pay was manageable, so I didn’t ask too many questions. It occurred to me that the Professor might be funding the shortfall, but I knew her well enough now not to ask.

That just left me with the problem of explaining my predicament to my mother. I dreaded the confrontation to come. Her views on promiscuity and illegitimacy had been made clear to me the day she tried to explain the facts of life, so I did not expect sympathy. Not only was I pregnant, but I would have to admit to deceiving her about my trip, about Christos, everything. I told myself that if she threw me out I could still go to my father for Christmas, although how welcoming Susan would be I wasn’t sure.

Mother met me at the station when I came home for the Christmas vacation and, since my coat was loose and bulky, only noted that I looked strained around the eyes, and suggested an eye test before Term resumed. But once home there was no way of hiding it. As she took my coat to hang it up, her eyes fell to my curving stomach. Before she could say a word, I took her arm and said, ‘Please come and sit down, Mother. As you can plainly see, I have something to tell you.’

It took a long time and several cups of tea before she stopped crying. Eventually, she put away her handkerchief and said, ‘This is quite dreadful, and I know you must feel dreadful, having to admit such things to me. I admire you for having the courage to say what you’ve said, but I am bitterly disappointed in you, Olivia, bitterly. And now I need to go and lie down’ and she went slowly upstairs, leaving me to curl up on the sofa and sob.

We went through the motions, next day, of eating breakfast and washing up. But once that was out of the way, we were forced to converse.

‘Have you thought about what you will do,’ she asked, ‘because I’m afraid there is no question of your living here with a baby in tow. I have only just begun to rebuild my life after your father’s cruelty, and I will not accept another blow to my standing in this town.’

I explained that the Prof was allowing me to carry on studying, and that there would be a nurse to help immediately after the birth, so that I could take my exams.

‘That woman! I trusted her to look after you.’

‘She’s been very good to me,’ I replied defensively, ‘and very understanding.’

‘Understanding! I suppose in her bohemian world young women have babies out of wedlock quite regularly.’

The idea of the Professor living in a bohemian world was so absurd as to make me smile.

‘How dare you laugh about it! Where is your sense of shame?’

‘I’m not ashamed, Mother,’ I retorted, and realised suddenly that that was the truth. ‘I loved a wonderful young man, and I am proud to be having his child. I’m sorry that my situation brings you such shame, but I am not ashamed. Not at all!’

She collapsed on to a kitchen chair and put her head in her hands. ‘How are you going to manage after your exams? How are you going to support yourself?’

‘I shall have to find a job which pays enough for me to employ a nurse.’

‘And where will you live?’

‘I shall stay on at the flat, I suppose.’

‘And what sort of a life will you have, with a baby to bring up on your own?’

‘I don’t know. But I shan’t be giving it up for adoption, if that’s what you were going to say.’

‘Oh, Olivia! I had such hopes for you!’

‘I never intended for any of this to happen,’ I said quietly, ‘but since it has, I am going to build a life that allows me and my child to be happy together.’

There was an unspoken agreement after that; the subject would not be raised again, although my Christmas present from my mother was a cheque, with the words, ‘I imagine that this will be more helpful than anything else I could give you.’

I had been invited to meet my father in a restaurant for lunch the day after Boxing Day. I had thought of cancelling but, after the scene with my mother, I had developed a degree of hardness about my situation, and I thought now that I should go, should tell him my news, because he was another potential source of financial help after all. I would have to forego my pride on this occasion, for the sake of my baby.

He cried, too. It was appalling, sitting in a restaurant watching my father unravel before me. Then he pushed an envelope across the table and walked out, leaving me to explain to a none-too-happy waiter that we would not, after all, be having lunch. But the envelope contained a cheque, so I raised my chin and walked outside with as much dignity as I could find.

Maureen and I moved into the flat in early January. I had very few personal belongings to bring because my mother had made me feel I was not entitled to take anything. Maureen’s family, however, who knew nothing of my situation, thought it very brave of us to be living independently of College, and had sent her up with saucepans, a kettle, a box full of groceries, towels and bedding.

It was very cold because the heating was provided by a metered gas fire, which we quickly realised we could not afford to keep feeding, but apart from that, we loved our little place. We would sit at night, wrapped up in blankets, wearing gloves and bed socks, studying together. We sat at either side of an old pine table to write our essays and fortified ourselves with frequent cups of tea. Since I was alone all day in the flat, I would do any necessary housework and then study. When Maureen delivered the lecture notes to me, she would take over the domestic chores while I caught up with the work I’d missed.

My pregnancy seemed to be progressing satisfactorily. I had stopped being sick and I felt very healthy. My due date was proclaimed and I was booked into the local hospital for the birth. Maureen promised that she would be there with me when it happened. The Professor sent me a note with the details of a nurse who was to be contacted once labour had started and I attended regular antenatal classes, trying not to focus on the fact that I was the only woman who didn’t have anyone accompanying her. I tried not to look at the couples who held hands as we practised our breathing. I received no further contact from my father, and only short, generic notes from my mother, hoping that I was looking after myself and eating properly.