The Butterfly Storm is a love story about the importance of place and family. Narrated by Sophie, and weaving together her past and present, it follows her physical and emotional journey from Greece to England in search of reconciliation, her identity and where she belongs.

 

Chapter 1

September 2006

‘Come with me, Aleko.’

He’s sitting on our unmade bed, his tan dark against the crumpled white sheets. His silence is all too familiar and the way his eyes shift away from mine so predictable. I know the answer before he says a word.

‘I can’t,’ he says. He reaches his hand out and finds mine. ‘Mama will need me here.’

‘And I don’t need you?’ I pull away from him and slump onto the wicker chair next to the balcony window and hug my knees to my chest. The plum-coloured varnish on my toes is flaking off. My head is blurred with wine and ouzo. Behind the rhythmic drum of rain on the window, the music from the party continues in the restaurant below. Alekos is sweating from dancing; he rolls his t-shirt sleeves to his shoulders revealing tense muscles. He still resembles the man I first met but he behaves like a boy; an obedient mummy’s boy at that.

‘I could do with your support,’ I say. ‘She’s injured! I haven’t seen her for a long time. We’ve had our troubles but she’s the only family I’ve got.’

‘I’m your family, Sophie.’

‘Then why aren’t you getting on the plane with me tomorrow?’

His fingers reach for his cross and he pulls it from side to side on its chain. ‘Mama won’t like running O Kipos with both of us gone.’

‘She can easily hire an extra waiter and Lena will help with the cooking.’

‘I can’t trust a stranger to do a good job. The customers know me.’

‘For God’s sake, Aleko, stop making excuses and stand up to her for once.’

He jumps up. ‘Easy for you to say. I respect my mother…’

‘Unlike me? Is that what you were going to say? I’d respect both our mothers if I knew mine respected me to begin with, or if yours understood that you… that we need some space. Can you not make a decision without having to think ‘but what will Mama say’?’ I can’t sit still any longer. I scramble to my feet, turn my back on him and watch the rain splatter the window and streak down the glass. ‘Time away from here would do us good. Time together.’

‘I thought you were going to England to help your Mum, not a holiday for us?’

I turn and face him. ‘You’re not listening. I’m talking about going for a couple of weeks to help out.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He takes my hands in his and rests his forehead against mine. He smells of aniseed and wood smoke. His cross lies in the dip of his throat against his dark skin. His familiarity is reassuring. I knew the moment I met him that he was everything I’d ever wanted, yet his predictability and unwillingness to adapt and change and move on is wearing me down. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want the situation here to force us apart. I want to kiss him. I want him to hold me close and tell me he’ll be there for me. I want time to stand still because I know he’s going to disappoint me again.

‘I’m scared, Aleko.’ I squeeze his hands.

‘Don’t be. Your Mum’s going to be okay.’

‘I’m not talking about Mum.’

He pulls far enough away from me so I can see his frown.

‘I’m scared about what’s happening to us.’

‘What’s to be scared about?’ A smile forms on his lips and I know he doesn’t understand me. I could be standing here alone, talking to my reflection in the window for all the good this conversation or any of our heart-to-hearts or arguments over the past year have been.

Footsteps falter outside our bedroom and then someone knocks. The door scrapes open. Alekos releases my hands and I look over his shoulder to Despina standing in the doorway, her pink-jewelled top glinting in the light from the hallway. Her cheeks are flushed and match her lipstick. She holds two glasses of wine up. ‘Aleko, Sophie! Taga, taga! I’m about to cut my cake. Everyone was asking after you.’ She bustles into the room. ‘I said you were probably making babies.’

I can’t believe she’s just said that. Actually, I take that back. I can believe it, that’s the trouble. This is everything I’m trying so hard to fight against. She glances in the dressing table mirror before handing us the glasses of wine. Her dyed blonde hair is sprayed so rigidly that a hair wouldn’t move out of place even if she went and stood in the rain.

‘Takis said to cut the cake without you. I said, no, I want all my family with me.’ Her eyes rest on me. ‘Sophie, what’s wrong?’

‘Mama, not now,’ Alekos says. ‘Sophie had a phone call from England…’

‘Aleko, leave it,’ I say, slipping back into Greek.

He glances at me then back to Despina. ‘We’ll only be a minute.’

‘You’ve been crying,’ she says, ignoring Alekos and peering at me.

‘I’m fine.’

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. ‘Sophie, I know you’re not…’

‘I’m fine, really,’ I say. Alekos tenses next to me. Let him. It’s pathetic; he can’t just face up to her and say ‘get the hell out of our room’. God, I could scream. Despina opens her mouth to speak again and then closes it. With a nod she backs out of the room and shuts the door with a click. I put the wine glass down on the dressing table. There’s a lengthy pause before her footsteps clip clop down the hall.

‘This is exactly what I’m talking about. No space!’ I fling my hands into the air. ‘Your Mum walks in here, thinking we’re having sex and doesn’t see anything wrong in that.’

‘It’s only because…’

‘I know, she wants more grandchildren. There might as well be no walls in this place.’

‘I can’t change my family,’ he says.

‘I’m not asking you to.’

Still grasping the glass of wine, he steps towards me. ‘It’s going to be okay. I promise.’

‘Go join the party. I need to find a flight for tomorrow.’

‘I’ll talk to her. About coming with you.’ He kisses my forehead before retreating from the room.

All I can see through the window are rain clouds like a blanket smothering the moon and stars. Alekos and I share the same view as his parents do from their bedroom, across fields of apricots, cotton and tobacco to Mount Olympus, grey-blue in daylight. Everything I want from life feels as if it’s escaping through my fingers. I want to look to the future but once I get on that plane tomorrow, I’ll have to revisit my past.