Eléni,
Have taken Bronwen to buy the platform shoes she wanted in Credenford. Yes, I know I’ve given in to her nagging. I’ve warned her if she falls and breaks an ankle, I’m not going to be the one taking her to Credenford Hospital.
Just heat up the corned beef hash for you and your baba if we’re not back before you want to eat.
Mamá x
P.S. Sorry about snapping earlier. Just tired.
The showdown Eléni had planned would have to wait. Tipping a spoonful of instant Nescafé into her favourite mug, she made herself a coffee and took it up to her bedroom. She couldn’t get the contents of the letter out of her head. Sitting in front of the mirror on her dressing table, she wondered whether the face gazing back at her looked anything like one of her real parents. They weren’t around to tell her, but she had an uncle. Perhaps he could tell her.I may even look like him. Is he still in Kefalonia? Is he still alive? I have to know.She had so many questions.
It all started to make sense. She’d seen photos of Bronwen as a baby, but there were none of her. She’d always wondered why she and Bronwen looked so different. But it was the case in lots of families, wasn’t it? She took after her mother with her Greek colouring — the olive skin and black glossy hair — whereas Bronwen looked so much like their father and his family. ‘Typical Celts,’ her auntie Gwladys had always said. ‘Fair skin, freckles and the blonde or copper-coloured hair.’ Yet it was more than that. She’d always felt different. She’d reasoned it was because she didn’t — no, couldn’t — speak for all thoseyears. Bronwen was five years younger, yet had raced past her as far as speech was concerned. In fact, she’d become Eléni’s spokesperson. When they’d got older, Eléni had been known as the silent sister and Bronwen had been the ‘chopsy’ one. Even when the words had come, Eléni had let her sister carry on, happy to remain in the background and just converse with a few close friends and within the family.Now I find out we’re not even sisters. The silent sister who isn’t a sister at all!
Once she’d drunk her coffee, she slipped into her parents’ room with the intention of returning the letter. She reasoned her mamá and sister would not be back for hours. Bronwen could never make up her mind when she was out shopping, and her father was never home before six.
Eléni pulled out the drawer at the base of their wardrobe, expecting to see the book her mother had replaced. It wasn’t there! More proof Cassia had secrets to hide. Although she felt uncomfortable going through her mamá’s things, she had to find out more. There was nothing in the chest of drawers, the rest of the wardrobe or the bedside cabinets.I wonder,she thought. After moving the sheepskin rug away from the side of her parents’ bed, Eléni knelt down on the cushioned vinyl and placed her hand under the divan. She slid the book out from under the bed. It was a hardback journal. The wordsCassia Beynon. Wales 1954 onwardswere written on the first page in her mother’s handwriting.
With her hands trembling, she returned to her own bedroom with the notebook. What secrets would she find inside?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Eléni sat on her bed and opened the book. First, she flicked through the pages and saw that her mother had kept a record of the time she’d arrived in Wales. There were newspaper cuttings, letters, photographs and diary entries. The last thing she’d done had been to stick in the estate agents’ brochure of their present house. She’d labelled it:Our own home.
Eléni turned back to the first page.
19 May 1954
What have I done? I never want to travel by sea again. How Tom spends his working life on board ship for months on end, I will never know. Spent most of the time up on deck being seasick. Thank God Tom was there to take care of Eléni. Felt guilty for uprooting her again. More change, more nightmares.
Eléni vaguely remembered those awful times when she’d woken up in the dark bedroom after feeling trapped inside a black cave, as if something heavy were weighing her down. She’d panicked, thinking she was being pressed further and further down into an abyss. It was always the same bad dream. Her mother had soothed her and held her tightly until she’d become calm again. After reading the letter earlier and wondering if she was the little girl pulled from the rubble of the earthquake, perhaps it wasn’t a black cave and she was reliving being buried when the earthquake had struck her house. She shuddered.
Arrived in a place called Tiger Bay, the name for Cardiff Docks. There were so many houses all joined together, rows and rows of narrow streets. Even our street in Argostoliwas wider than those. I have not seen any blue sky yet. It’s done nothing but rain, and in another month it will be summer. It’s so cold.
Underneath she’d stuck a postcard depicting a scene of Porth Gwyn Lake and boathouse. Eléni thought how idyllic it looked. It was where she liked to walk and sketch, now she was living back in the town. The swans were always eager to eat the stale bread she took along for them on her walks.
Her mother had described meeting her baba’s brother, Glyn, his wife, Katerina, and their two boys, Tony and Phil, and the warm welcome they’d all given her and Eléni. On the next page was a newspaper cutting. Apparently, Katerina had given it to her. It was dated some days after the earthquake had struck.Kefalonia, 15 August 1953.It gave the facts and figures of the devastation caused by the earthquake. It had been written by a reporter from Wales, named Rhodri Jones. The report detailed the harrowing scenes of bodies being pulled from the wreckage and how the seamen from rescue boats were working tirelessly to bring aid to the people who had been injured and lost their homes. Eléni wondered if this was how she’d survived. It mentioned a British ship being one of the first on the scene. Could one of the sailors who’d pulled her out be her father? She looked down at the main accompanying picture. Although the photograph was unclear, she was convinced the woman standing in a line of men passing back bags of provisions was her mamá. The article mentioned how the earthquake had affected the island. So many inhabitants were homeless, and so many emigrated in search of a better life.
More diary entries followed. It all seemed to be going well until Tom had to return to sea. Tears formed in Eléni’s eyes as she read how desperate her mamá had been, dreading months of not seeing him. Yet one sentence jumped out at her.
In capitals, Cassia had addedA MARRIAGE OF CONVENIENCE!and underlined it.Perhaps Eugenia was right, she’d written.
No! Her parents’ marriage had always appeared rock solid. She and Bronwen often found them with their arms around each other. They used to call them the lovebirds. So, was that a lie, too? Had her mother pretended to love her father all these years? It was obvious she was a good liar. Her pulse raced. Perhaps she shouldn’t read on. She was intruding into her mother’s personal space. She went to close the journal, but the need to know everything was too strong.
She read on. There was another letter from Aunt Eugenia, dated before the one she’d read in the park. It seemed odd to call her ‘aunt’ when she’d learned of her existence a mere few hours ago. It was clear it had been written in answer to one her mother had sent.
AgapitíCassia,
I’m sorry to hear how unhappy you are. Back here, you had convinced yourself you truly loved Tom. I’m so sorry the doubts appeared when you’d left the island. I just wish you’d stayed and run Taverna Zervas as dear Michaíl wanted you to. You’d have more than a two-ringed gas stove there to cook your spanakopita, and I don’t expect you can get lovely, salty feta in Wales. Remember the big range at the taverna? I do miss you. But it’s too late now.
Who was Michaíl? Was her mother running away from him, too?
Try to make the best of it. For Eléni’s sake, if nothing else. It makes me sad to know her nightmares are no better and you’ve had complaints from the people living in the next flat. Give her a hug from me and Maia. Katerina sounds like a good Greek friend and I’m pleased you have someone you can speak to in your own language. It’s a shame the boys are not kinder to Eléni. No wonder she doesn’t want to stay with Katerina when you go to work. How long is it before Tom comes home on leave?
Eléni placed the letter on her lap and racked her brain to think back to those times. Their first home in Porth Gwyn had been a flat in a tall building near the crossroads in the middle of the town. Theirs had been on the top floor, and from the bay window in the living room, she could look across to the red-brick building where her mamá had worked as a cleaner. Mamá had told her the principal of the school there had been helping her learn sign language, and, in the evenings, Cassia would teach Eléni how to sign.But I preferred to draw and mime, she remembered. It was hard for her to remember not being able to speak, but she did recall the boys making fun of her. The worst was Tony. He’d pretend to talk by mouthing the words at her, and his brother would dissolve into fits of laughter. She had found the best way was to turn her back on them, but then they would turn her around and around so fast she’d get dizzy and fall over. Auntie Katerina would come in and tell them off but as soon as her back had been turned, they’d be playing pranks on Eléni again. Although her family had left Porth Gwyn in a hurry, she was not sorry to leave behind the taunts of her cousins.
There was another newspaper cutting, folded between the next two pages.
IS MISSING GREEK GIRL IN WALES?
