* * *
When Billie arrived on Alonissos she swore off men for the foreseeable future, so chucked her contraceptives in the bin and avowed herself to detoxing mind, body and soul. She then focused on having fun, forgetting Stan and most important of all, fixing her mind that, after all, was still fragile and the root cause of their split. Her PTSD was more or less under control, though she was prone to triggers. She thought that surely in the fishing village of Votsi, she could avoid anything that might bring on a flashback and the ensuing crippling attack.
It was Marissa that jokingly mentioned the P-word, when she found Billie with her head down the loo when she collected her for work one morning, commenting that her friend’s normally ironing-board-flat stomach looked a bit on the round side. Billie laughed it off but then, while they walked to work, did the maths. She’d missed two periods, surely not… but that would be just stress. It had happened before when she lost weight, and after she was stabbed, when her and Stan broke up. Still, Marissa insisted they went to the chemist at lunchtime.
Dr Apostolu seemed most pleased when later that week he confirmed that Billie was thirteen weeks pregnant, while she was almost catatonic with shock. Her mind literally froze, unable to compute the information, accept there was a baby growing inside her, Stan’s baby.
As they sat on the rocks overlooking the village watching waves crash and foam below them, Marissa put it all into perspective. ‘Billie, don’t overcomplicate things. Focus on growing that little life inside you. We need to keep you well too, so save any big decisions for when you are ready. You have everything you need for now and we will take care of you, I promise.’
‘But what about Stan? I should tell him but it was all such a mess when I left. He let me down when I needed him the most and I feel so bitter about that.’
‘You still love him, don’t you?’
‘Aargh… yes I do! That bloody man broke my heart and I still can’t be rid of him… And now this.’ Billie placed her hand over her stomach. ‘But you’re right, as usual. Now’s not the time for grand gestures. I need to get used to the idea I’m going to be a mum so Stan can sodding well wait till I’m good and ready to tell him, and then I’ll decide if I’m going back or staying here.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Marissa smiled and nudged Billie who grinned.
‘Yep, sounds like a plan.’
A corny saying came to mind on the night Billie’s heart finally won the battle with her head and prompted her to send Stan a text. ‘Life is what happens to us while we are making plans’. She’d read it on a tea towel in the tourist shop. The bump was growing and she stroked the smooth dome while she waited for a reply. She’d started casually, checking in to say hi. By the end of the week she had told him she was coming home. He was single, doing okay and seemed chuffed to hear from her and from what she could tell, was looking forward to meeting up. He could still make her smile even via text and there had been no talk of anything serious, no hints about reconciliation or mushy missives, just Stan’s jokey, friendly self.
Her flight was booked for two days after Marissa’s big birthday shebang. Three days before the candles on the cake were lit, she received a text from her cousin Debbie saying she’d heard via Facebook gossip that Stan had been arrested for rape.
She’d tried to get hold of Stan the minute she received the message but his phone was off. Instead she rang Sue: it was the sensible option. His mum would set her mind at rest, tell her it was all a misunderstanding and Stan was fine. Instead, Billie’s world came crashing down. By the time she ended the call, Sue had told her all about Kelly, his girlfriend of seven months, who seemed lovely, yet had accused Stan of rape. Billie said she would be in touch, mumbled something about hoping Stan was okay and it would all be sorted out, then disconnected. He’d lied again.
One day later, Billie spotted the blood in the toilet.
It’s funny how the past comes back to haunt you when you really, really don’t need it but in Billie’s case it trolled her mercilessly. Not only had Stan wounded her again when she was about to chuck him a very tenuous lifeline, but those triggers that she’d avoided so well were now all around her.
Hospital. She hated it. The smells, the sounds, the bright lights, the needle prick, the cherry-liqueur blood, the tinge of fear that was building with every moment she waited for the nurse to do the scan, and the doctor to tell her the worst. She had been lucky. The drugs they dripped into her slowed things down and Billie swerved early labour. Her blood pressure was high and would have to be kept under control which also meant bed rest, keeping calm and avoiding stress.
Marissa took Billie home and insisted she stayed with her and Nikos, so that she could keep an eye on her. There was no need for vigilance, though, because in those terrifying hours, waiting, being prodded and infused, Billie had already decided that from that moment on, she and her baby came first. Whatever it took and if that meant wiping Stan from her mind, so be it. But it was hard, not wondering what was happening thousands of miles away, trying not to imagine Stan doing what this Kelly had said he’d done, hoping that it was all a stupid mistake.
Billie had intended telling her parents about the baby when she went home, two birds with one stone and all that. Marissa thought they deserved to know but Billie wanted to hold off, mainly because her brain just couldn’t take any more hassle. It could have been the message from Debbie, the veritable harbinger of doom, saying that Stan had been charged with rape, or nature taking its course, a coincidence or a multitude of combined factors that brought on Billie’s labour pains.
Once again, the triggers were switched on full when at thirty-two weeks, the dull backache started, then the cramps that felt like her insides were being ripped apart, and Billie was transferred by emergency helicopter to Skiathos. Ambulance sirens wailing as she was whisked from the airport to the hospital, the bright ceiling lights seen from a stretcher as it raced through corridors, voices shouting orders, pinpricks on skin, bags of cherry blood, then sleep, blissful black nothingness.
When she awoke to find her parents by her bedside, they told her she had a little girl, who was perfect and tiny but a fighter. Marissa had done all the hard work on Billie’s behalf so there were no recriminations. Claudia and Mike understood the situation: they were there for her now and that’s all that mattered.
‘So, what’s our granddaughter called? Have you thought of names?’ Mike held Billie’s hand gently, giving it a slight squeeze.
‘Iris, she’s called Iris. It means colours of the rainbow. That’s what Votsi reminds me of.’ Billie smiled, she was sleepy and sore, yet calm and happy. ‘When can I see her? I need to see Iris.’
‘Just sleep now, love, you had a caesarean so you’ll be sore but as soon as the doctors say you can get up we’ll take you to see her but look at this, dad took a photo.’ Claudia grabbed her phone and held the screen to Billie’s face that was awash with tears.
It was seventy-two hours later, as Billie sat in ICU, watching her daughter’s chest rise and fall that she noticed something was wrong. While she kept vigil beside Iris, Billie’s body had been slowly failing. Postpartum eclampsia had crept unnoticed and was about to strike. The headache she’d woken up with was now pounding, she felt nauseous and couldn’t see clearly, like everything was blurred. Rubbing her eyes, Billie tried to focus while ignoring a jabbing pain under her ribs. When she spotted the nurse, her intention had been to stand and shuffle her way over, perhaps ask for some paracetamol but she didn’t get that that far.
Weeks later, when Billie and Iris were finally allowed to leave hospital, they took the two-hour ferry ride back to Alonissos accompanied by Claudia and Mike. Billie had no intention of going back home to England. Those hours of fear, being separated from Iris who had to fight an infection alone, while Billie fought her own battle of mind and body, praying the medications she had been given would prevent seizures and tame her blood pressure, had made her bitter. There was only one person to blame for all of it, for them being in that situation, and that was Stan.
Everything led back to him. Had he not been selfish, a liar, a dickhead, Billie would have been at home in the UK. She and Stan would have been together, no dramas. No packing bags and jetting off, no stress, no rape charges. Blaming him focused Billie’s mind, it made sense of things, it helped her deflect everything onto him. It was easier that way.
It also proved that miracles do sometimes happen because for once in their lives, Claudia and Billie actually agreed on something.
‘I think you’ve made the right choice, by staying here. You need to get properly better and I don’t think you’re strong enough to cope with all this Stan business, not right now.’ Claudia was feeding Iris while Billie gazed out of the window, across the tops of the buildings to a strip of the Aegean Sea. She remained silent as her mum forged ahead.
‘Me and Dad have been talking and we want to stay on, if you want us to. I’ve told everyone we are spending some quality time with you after the holiday season and they all think we shot over here because you were poorly. We can tell the rest of the family about Iris when you are ready. They’ll understand.’
‘Don’t you have things to do? And Christmas is coming up. You’ll need to go home, won’t you?’
