‘Mum, you know I think about him every day,’ she said, reaching out to touch her mother’s hand. Her fingers closed around her mum’s, but she could feel her trying to pull away, as if she wasn’t comfortable being touched. ‘Please, look at me.’
Her mother slowly lifted her gaze.
‘I miss him too. Every single day of every single month of every year, I miss him too.’ Ella blinked away tears, knowing it made her mum uncomfortable talking about him. ‘But I can’t be scared to live my life because of him. I can’t always try to be so careful, so conservative, that I stop doing the things I want to do.’ She swallowed. ‘I can’t live my life for the both of us.’Like following my dreams. Like travelling. Like taking risks. ‘I see Dad, doing the same job all these years, clocking in and clocking out, and—’
Her mum pulled her hand away. ‘Don’t speak about your father like that.’
Ella nodded. ‘I’m just trying to open up to you, Mum. I don’t mean Dad any disrespect, you know how much I love him.’I just don’t want to be him. I don’t want to wake up in forty years’ time and realise that my life has disappeared and I never got to do the things I wanted to do.
‘I thought you loved your job?’
‘I do,’ she said, sighing. ‘Of course I do. Sometimes. Actually, I enjoy it a lot of the time.’ There was no point in having this conversation, not anymore, not again. Her mother never understood. ‘But going back to the box…’
Her mother pursed her lips before taking a sip of coffee.
‘Would you at least like to come back to the gallery to take a look? You must be just a little curious about what was left behind?’ She smiled. ‘It’s this incredible little wooden box, and the clues were folded up inside.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if you’re Kate’s daughter,’ her mum muttered. ‘The two of you, on and on about this box. If you must know more, then at least try not to let it consume you. But I, for one, want no part of it. I’d prefer you forget it even exists.’
Ella tried not to groan. Perhaps it was her mum who should be investigating the clues. At least then she wouldn’t put all her time into worrying about her daughter. But one thing was for sure: there was no way she was walking away from this. It was too important to just discard, especially something that had been kept secret for so many years. She could no more forget about the tiny box than fly to the moon—it would be impossible.
* * *
Ella was back at her desk, fiddling with a pen and staring at the photo. There was something about it that she kept going back to, and now she’d positioned it beside her laptop, so that it was facing her. She found herself googling Greece again, scrolling endlessly through images until she was lost in a sea of sparkling blue water that made her yearn to actually see it with her own eyes.
It had been years since she’d had a proper holiday. She’d been about to book a trip away when the pandemic had hit and disrupted everyone’s lives, including hers, and since then she’d thrown herself into work, trying to build the gallery up to what it had been before all the restrictions. Thankfully their sales had stayed high, with investors happy to partake in online auctions when they couldn’t view easily in person, but now they were welcoming all their clients back through the door. It had been amazing, and she’d felt like she’d been on a high for months now, but she was also beginning to realise that there was no way she could operate at that level for much longer. Not without burning out or starting to see her health decline.
A holiday in Greece might fix that…
Her finger hovered over her mouse as she looked at the latest image. It was a link to a house for rent on an island she wasn’t familiar with, but it certainly looked similar to the photo. Ella picked it up and held it beside her screen, looking back and forth between the two. She couldn’t be entirely certain, especially with the image in black and white, but there was something inside of her, a little voice in her head, trying to convince her that they matched. Or perhaps that was her own voice simply wishing it to be true. They looked familiar to her, and it was then she realised why: she recognised the location from theMamma Miamovie.
Ella set the photo down and decided to click on the image on her screen, which depicted a small selection of homes that were available on the island of Skopelos in the Aegean Sea. One in particular appealed to her—a very small, stucco-type home that was set at the top of a flight of steps, with a view out to the ocean. This one had doors that opened out and little planter boxes of pretty pink flowers adorning the windows, but it was the image of an easel positioned in the little courtyard, overlooking the vast expanse of water, that made her pause.
What if I went there? What if I escaped my life for a week? Two weeks?She gulped.A month?
She hadn’t taken leave in years, and there was nothing to stop her organising time off, but when she looked up and glanced around the gallery, she knew how difficult that would be for everyone else. Shewasthe gallery. Ella had taken over every part of its day-to-day management, the handling of all the artists, all their important clients…She focused on her screen again and decided to look at the dates the house was available, trying to force work from her mind. She could almost taste the salt in the air, the delicious seafood, the late afternoons sipping rosé as she stared at the images on her screen.
Ella opened her diary and glanced through it. There was nothing there that she couldn’t delegate to someone else if she had to, other than the exhibition this coming Friday, and she’d still be on email if her clients needed her or there was an emergency. But…
She looked at the photo on her desk again, and then at the house on her screen.
Just do it. For once in my life, why can’t I do something just for me? Why can’t I make a decision without the guilt?
Ella swallowed, her mouth dry as she looked at the images from Skopelos, of the island that was seemingly calling her name, before quickly shutting her laptop. There was no way she could do something like that.What on earth was I even thinking?
She shook her head as if trying to shake out thoughts of Greece, before opening her laptop again and clicking on a new search window. What she needed to do was something useful, like investigating Hope’s House and trying to find out the link to her family there.
There were some hits that weren’t related to what she was looking for, and so she added more information to her search. And it was on the third page that she found what she was looking for.
HOUSE FOR UNMARRIED WOMEN AND BABIES SET TO CLOSE AFTER DEATH OF FOUNDER AND LIFETIME WOMEN’S ADVOCATE HOPE BERENSON
Ella looked up, checking there was no one who needed assistance in the gallery before clicking on the article, her curiosity piqued. She leaned forwards to read the words on her screen.
Hope Berenson, founder of the aptly named Hope’s House, dedicated her life to helping unmarried women and their babies. She passed away peacefully over the weekend, surrounded by those closest to her, who often called her an angel to the unwed and a woman with the type of compassion and dedication to others that is rarely seen. Berenson didn’t have children of her own, despite dedicating her life to unwanted children, but will be remembered fondly by many in the community. She left her estate to the London Women’s Refuge Centre, instructing them to sell her property to fund their new refuge centre. They received an undisclosed sum for the sale of her property, in addition to a large, unexpected donation from the housing developer.
The beneficiary of her estate wanted to pay tribute to Hope’s generosity, which has allowed them to continue their work helping women in the community, and has afforded them the opportunity to establish a new centre to assist young mothers with infants. This would not have been possible without Berenson’s generous bequest.
At the end of the article there was a photo of the house, and Ella enlarged it so she could see it more clearly. It was an elegant two-storey brick home with a gold sign hanging at the gate stating HOPE’S HOUSE, and a red front door flanked by pots of flowers. A home that might otherwise have been for a large family; a house that no one would otherwise notice on a street full of similar properties. But to think of how many women this Hope must have helped, how many must have gone to her for assistance in their most desperate hour of need…Ella scrolled down farther, wishing she’d had the chance to meet this woman. But she was quickly distracted by the comments section of the article. There were plenty, most referencing what a wonderful woman Hope must have been. The last one made Ella pause.
