creams that cost over a pound – thinking about it, he still won’t for us lot – and eventually, Dad had to give up. After numerous and bankrupting court cases to try and get
access to her and losing, even the social worker said it was probably best, because Chloë was getting such a hard time from her mum if she ever mentioned her dad, and the battle was affecting
her psychologically. So, for Chloë’s sake, he did. He doesn’t say much about it, but I know he misses her a lot. The nearest he gets to her is writing birthday and Christmas cards
and a cheque to the very expensive boarding school she attends.
So . . . why her sudden reappearance?
Apparently, so Mum tells me, the BFH has got a boyfriend. Poor bloke. She is one scary woman. I admit to being terrified of her the one time I met her, because she is seriously,
evilly mad and probably looks exceptionally good in black. She must have mixed something up in her cauldron to give to this poor boyfriend of hers, because he wants to take her away to the south of
France for the summer. Apparently, he wants time with her by himself.
I hope his legs don’t end up on a plate with the other frogs, that’s all I can say.
Anyway, the upshot is, we get to have Chloë.
My mother looked distinctly nervous when she told me just now, but she was putting on a good show, saying how great it would be for Dad after all the years of not seeing his
daughter. The most worrying thing of all was how she said it would be a bit of a squash, because Chloë should have her own room. And ‘people’ would have to share.
I know what she was insinuating.
I am sorry. But I absolutely will not, under any circumstances, share a room with Rupes. I will sleep in the bath or if necessary, outside or anywhere that isn’t with him. I
can cope with having my personal space invaded during the day, as long as I know I can have it back at night.
So, Mother dearest, it’s a complete no-go.
She also said how we must make Chloë welcome, help her feel part of our family. Our whatever-is-the-opposite-of-nuclear family.
Christ. Dysfunctional or what? Someone should write a thesis on us. Or perhaps I should.
I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, having nearly gassed myself with the Cypriot mosquito spray Mum got me from the shop – which is probably so full of banned
pesticides, it will probably kill
me
into the bargain – and try to work out how many different bloodlines there are in our family.
The only thing is . . .
I wish I knew all of mine.
δ
Four
The following morning, Helena woke from a restless night’s sleep. Her mind had flitted from one unsettling thought to the next as the hours dragged slowly towards dawn.
Even though she felt exhausted, she was grateful for the distraction of the trip to Paphos and her long shopping list.
Alexis arrived in his transit van at nine, and the four of them climbed onto the wide front seat. Immy was enchanted to be sitting up high in the front, but Helena saw Alex sulking silently,
staring out of the window as they descended down the winding road from their hilltop eyrie. She’d given him the option of staying behind at Pandora and helping Georgios sort out the pool, but
he’d insisted on coming. She was under no illusions as to why – she was under surveillance.
‘Wow, Mummy, it’s like being on a helter-skelter, isn’t it?’ Immy said as they zigzagged down the hairpin bends towards the coast.
‘You will not recognise Paphos town, Helena,’ commented Alexis as he drove. ‘It is no longer the quiet fishing port it once was.’
As they drove into the town, Helena was aghast at the seemingly endless stretch of neon signs glaring out from ugly concrete buildings along the roadside. Large billboards advertised everything
from luxury cars to timeshare apartments to nightclubs.
‘Look, Mummy! There’s McDonald’s! Can we go and get a cheeseburger and fries?’ said Immy longingly.
‘It is sad, yes?’ murmured
access to her and losing, even the social worker said it was probably best, because Chloë was getting such a hard time from her mum if she ever mentioned her dad, and the battle was affecting
her psychologically. So, for Chloë’s sake, he did. He doesn’t say much about it, but I know he misses her a lot. The nearest he gets to her is writing birthday and Christmas cards
and a cheque to the very expensive boarding school she attends.
So . . . why her sudden reappearance?
Apparently, so Mum tells me, the BFH has got a boyfriend. Poor bloke. She is one scary woman. I admit to being terrified of her the one time I met her, because she is seriously,
evilly mad and probably looks exceptionally good in black. She must have mixed something up in her cauldron to give to this poor boyfriend of hers, because he wants to take her away to the south of
France for the summer. Apparently, he wants time with her by himself.
I hope his legs don’t end up on a plate with the other frogs, that’s all I can say.
Anyway, the upshot is, we get to have Chloë.
My mother looked distinctly nervous when she told me just now, but she was putting on a good show, saying how great it would be for Dad after all the years of not seeing his
daughter. The most worrying thing of all was how she said it would be a bit of a squash, because Chloë should have her own room. And ‘people’ would have to share.
I know what she was insinuating.
I am sorry. But I absolutely will not, under any circumstances, share a room with Rupes. I will sleep in the bath or if necessary, outside or anywhere that isn’t with him. I
can cope with having my personal space invaded during the day, as long as I know I can have it back at night.
So, Mother dearest, it’s a complete no-go.
She also said how we must make Chloë welcome, help her feel part of our family. Our whatever-is-the-opposite-of-nuclear family.
Christ. Dysfunctional or what? Someone should write a thesis on us. Or perhaps I should.
I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, having nearly gassed myself with the Cypriot mosquito spray Mum got me from the shop – which is probably so full of banned
pesticides, it will probably kill
me
into the bargain – and try to work out how many different bloodlines there are in our family.
The only thing is . . .
I wish I knew all of mine.
δ
Four
The following morning, Helena woke from a restless night’s sleep. Her mind had flitted from one unsettling thought to the next as the hours dragged slowly towards dawn.
Even though she felt exhausted, she was grateful for the distraction of the trip to Paphos and her long shopping list.
Alexis arrived in his transit van at nine, and the four of them climbed onto the wide front seat. Immy was enchanted to be sitting up high in the front, but Helena saw Alex sulking silently,
staring out of the window as they descended down the winding road from their hilltop eyrie. She’d given him the option of staying behind at Pandora and helping Georgios sort out the pool, but
he’d insisted on coming. She was under no illusions as to why – she was under surveillance.
‘Wow, Mummy, it’s like being on a helter-skelter, isn’t it?’ Immy said as they zigzagged down the hairpin bends towards the coast.
‘You will not recognise Paphos town, Helena,’ commented Alexis as he drove. ‘It is no longer the quiet fishing port it once was.’
As they drove into the town, Helena was aghast at the seemingly endless stretch of neon signs glaring out from ugly concrete buildings along the roadside. Large billboards advertised everything
from luxury cars to timeshare apartments to nightclubs.
‘Look, Mummy! There’s McDonald’s! Can we go and get a cheeseburger and fries?’ said Immy longingly.
‘It is sad, yes?’ murmured
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