Page 43 of Deep Blue Lies
“Whatdoyou know?” Sophia asks, a few moments later.
“What?”
I realise I must have been sitting here a while, just resting in the silence. It’s a lovely peaceful place, scented by the flowers and the lemon tree, shady but still warm.
“About where you were born and everything? What do you know for certain? You said you were from the island?”
“Yeah.” I nod, pulling myself up straighter. “I was born on the island. At least, that’s what my passport says…” I stop, it’s here with me, I put it in my bag this morning, after what happened last night in my apartment. I rummage for a second and pull it out, then hold it out to her. Sophia turns to the back.
“OK. So a British passport, but place of birth: Alythos, Greece.”
I give a shrug.
“Well, that looks pretty official. And it has your date of birth. May 20, 2001.” She smiles suddenly, a flash of white teeth. “You’re exactly one month older than me. That’s cool.”
The smile lingers, then fades away. “How about a birth certificate? You have one of those? You must have had one to get a passport?”
“Yeah.” I frown. “I think so. At home. I’m sure I’ve seen one.”
“English or Greek?”
“Greek.”
“And you don’t have it here?”
I shake my head. “No. Mum’s always looked after that sort of thing.”
“Yeah. Mothers are good for that.”
We’re both quiet.
“Maybe you can find out from the records here? If you were born here, it would have been recorded…although…” She makes a face.
“What?”
“It’s just…Greek bureaucracy, it can be difficult.” She gives a lopsided look. “That’s kind of an understatement. It’s a nightmare.”
“Do you know anything about it?” I ask, suddenly hopeful, but she shakes her head again.
“No.Mamámight. I mean, she went through it all, when she adopted me, I suppose. But that was a long time ago. I’m not sure how much she’ll remember. And since then it’s probably all changed.”
For the first time it hits me that, however hard this is for me to deal with, I’m not the only one who’s gone through tough times. There’s a portrait on the wall inside the house, Maria and a younger Sophia, with a man who must be her father.
“Is that your dad?” I point to it now.
“Yeah.”
“He looks nice.”
She looks wistful a moment. Sad, she nods. “Yeah. He was.”
“I could ask my mother, about the adoption stuff,” she goes on quickly. “I don’t know if she’ll be able to help, but I’m sure she’ll want to. She’s pretty good like that.”
I look around before answering. I’m not sure how I came to be here, sitting at this table, looking out over the pretty garden, the lemon tree, the ancient stone wall covered in roses. The view up to the mountainside beyond. I find myselfnodding.
“Would you? Yeah, that would be cool.”
Again we both fall quiet, but only for a moment.
