Mum hands the bottle to me. ‘Go and put it in the car, Nellamou.’
I’m closing the boot of the car when Tig and Theo pull into the parking space behind me. I hang back to greet them before I realise who else is with them: Anthi Marino.
It’s sweet that she and Mum are still friends, but I haven’t seen her for years, so I’m shocked at how slow and laboured her movements are. She struggles to get out of the car and leans heavily on both her walking stick and Theo. When she sees me, her face lights up.
‘Nella! Oh, it’s been too long!’
I kiss her cheek. ‘It has, Anthi. I’m sorry.’
She links a bony arm through mine. ‘You look wonderful, my golden girl.’
I force a smile at the old nickname, even though it makes me uncomfortable. I was her golden girl, and Leo was her golden boy. The fact that she still thinks of me and Leo as this perfect tragic couple makes me feel like that anxious sixteen-year-old who felt trapped but didn’t know how to escape. The image she has in her mind bears little resemblance to reality. Still, I could never break her heart and tell her.
‘You look amazing, Anthi.’ It’s not a lie. She might struggle to walk, but her famed beauty still shines, even through the layers of years. It’s no surprise she produced such handsome offspring. She’s got blonde hair and warm, hazel eyes. Her eyebrows are perfect arches, her cheekbones are high, and her skin rosy. Mum used to tell me how all the boys in the village went mad for Orianthi Georgiou, as she was back then. I’ve seen pictures, and I can see why. In her wedding photo, she looks like a 1950s bombshell: hourglass figure, a swan’s neck, and platinum hair swept up like Brigitte Bardot.
I help her into the restaurant, and Mum makes a big fuss when she sees her and asks her all her news. It’s a relief because I’m not in a chatty mood, and I’ve already talked longer to Anthi in the space of five minutes than I have in over a decade.
Dad wants to order and demands if everyone knows what they want yet. With a lot of mumbled apologies we all start furiously scanning the menu.
I nudge Pen next to me. ‘What are you having?’
‘I’m not that hungry. I’ll just share some of Mum’s special fried rice.’
Dad raises his eyebrows. ‘You can’t just eat that, Penelope. You have to try the ribs.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘I have tried the ribs. We’ve been coming here for a hundred years, Dad.’
‘They’re the best ribs in—’
He’s cut short by the arrival of a waiter eager to take our order.
It takes ten minutes for Dad to list everything and once he’s done he asks Anthi if there’s any chance Mark might have changed shifts so he could come. He invited Mark? What on earth for? He’s not the one marrying his daughter. Anthi shakes her head and tells him he’s stuck at the hospital.
‘Well, maybe we should order a couple of extra dishes,’ says Dad, waving the waiter back. ‘Just in case he manages to get away. I’m not going to let anyone go home hungry.’
‘That’s very kind and generous of you,’ says Theo. Tig beams at her fiancé and Pen mumbles ‘kiss-arse’ under her breath.
‘Whatever we don’t eat, we can take home for Zorba,’ says Mum. ‘He loves char siu pork.’
If the waiter hears, he’s too discreet to react.
After we’ve ordered, Yan proposes a toast: ‘To Mum and Dad. Happy thirty-ninth anniversary!’
‘How can it be thirty-nine years?’ asks Mum, with a frown. ‘If we’ve been married that long that would make me …’ She stops to do the sums and looks mock distraught. ‘I can’t be that old!’
‘If you are, that means I am, too,’ says Dad.
She laughs and puts her head in her hands, while Dad wraps his arm around her and grins.
It’s not the thirty-nine years that’s the achievement. Anyone can stay together for appearances’ sake. It’s that they still love each other, they still laugh together, and they still know they can depend on each other.
They’ve had their ups and downs – who wouldn’t, raising four kids? But I’ve taken their mutual love and respect for granted. And now it’s like I’m noticing it for the first time.
I’ve spent years studying infidelity, witnessing other people’s broken relationships up close, but I never believed it would happen to me. It’s like when you see people interviewed on the news after they’ve found out their neighbour is a serial killer.
You don’t expect it on your own doorstep.He never seemed the type.
And a lot of that belief came from the example that my parents set.
