After they had both disappeared into the back kitchen, Dan glanced around to make sure no one was looking — he’d had sufficient sisterly teasing for one morning — and took the Property Press and left the café. Once in his car he checked out page four. He was right. It was the house he’d thought they were talking about. He looked opposite, down onto the flat ground below it, where the library and tennis court were located. And, for one moment, imagined a certain librarian gazing up at it, with a longing he’d never seen in her eyes before.
He got out his phone. Because he thought his little sister might, yet again, be right.
It hadn’t even taken a day before Augi received a reply to her email to John Kowalski’s great-niece in Australia.
But it wasn’t the prompt response that made Augi stare at the email in horror. And it wasn’t even the fact that the email had been sent from someone else. What caused Augi’s blood to freeze was the fact the email, while using her email address, was addressed to Eleni Makris.
She never used her real name.
She closed her eyes hard against the stark reality of the name she’d been given at birth and which she’d used until the day she’d arrived in New Zealand. She’d thought she’d left that woman behind in the burnt-out, litter-filled city where her life had gone up in smoke, leaving nothing in its trace. Not even a name.
But there it was. In black and white.
How?
A thought suddenly sprang to mind. A rational thought. She scrolled down to her original email, the one she’d sent after returning from an afternoon with Dan. She’d felt on Cloud Nine, the happiest she’d been in years and had quickly shot off an email. Now, as she looked at the signature line, she could hardly believe what she saw.
She’d used her full Greek name. Eleni A. Makris.
A wave of nausea filled her, and she sat back in her office chair as a film of clammy sweat settled on her face. What on earth had possessed her? She’d never done that, not in the ten years since she’d arrived in New Zealand. She’d never forgotten what she had to hide in all that time. Not, it seemed, until now.
But even as she asked herself the question, the answer presented itself. One word. Daniel. She’d opened up to him and she’d forgotten to close herself down again.
Without even knowing it, the connection she’d felt with him, had loosened the ties with which she’d bound herself. Little by little, inch by inch, she’d allowed herself to become unravelled. To reveal her old self. And she hadn’t even been aware of it happening. Until now. When the stark consonants of her real Greek name were there before her.
Her identity. Out in the open. For anyone to find, to track down and to accuse.
She jumped up from the desk, filled with panic and began to pace around.
It’s OK, she reassured herself. It was just an email that had nothing to do with her. It had been on behalf of Kate. She’d be fine. It wouldn’t matter. She stopped pacing at the desk and looked down at the laptop again. Her name — it was loaded with history and heartache. She scanned the text once more.
She’d sent the email to the next of kin of John Kowalski, but the reply was from a lawyer. And not only a lawyer, but a Greek lawyer, judging by the woman’s name. Sofia Papadopoulos.
There were plenty of Greeks in Melbourne, she told herself sternly. And many of them were lawyers. She flexed her hands and began trying to find out who this person was.
It took only a quarter of an hour to figure out that this Greek lawyer — whose surname she didn’t recognise — focused much of her work on helping people in her community. In different Facebook groups it was clear that many people were grateful for her help in all sorts of areas — not all of them requiring her legal expertise. She was clearly well-regarded in her community.
So, when Sofia Papadopoulos said that the person Augi had emailed had contacted her for advice, Augi believed her.
But Augi knew people with the name Sofia from her past. But, she also knew it was a common name. Should she reply confirming her original query? This Sofia had asked whereabouts in New Zealand she was. It could have been an innocent question but, then again, it might not be.
Her fingers hovered over the computer keys, poised to respond, confirming her earlier email, giving Sofia the details she asked for. But something held her back. And it was connected to the panic which still lurked in her system, and which was responsible for the rapid beating of her heart.
She pushed aside the laptop and closed it firmly.
No. She had to stop this now. She’d inform Kate of the email and Kate could contact the person if necessary. Maybe. Perhaps she’d wait. Maybe this was nothing. Yes, she’d wait. See how it played out first. No reason to be hasty.
Chapter Nineteen
Augi spent the next few days only doing what she had to do. Library, shopping and home. She didn’t want to bump into anyone she knew, or anyone she didn’t know. And she especially didn’t want to be asked any personal questions. It was only when she was returning home from work the day before, eyes darting around her to see if anyone was looking at her, that she realised she was more scared than she’d been at any other time since arriving in New Zealand ten years earlier. Apparently that was what happened when you let your guard down and your past came knocking at your door.
Even the library patrons knew something was wrong when she was closing the library on the dot of five.
‘Got a hot date?’ grinned one woman whose toddler insisted on helping to tidy the children’s area — a job which would have taken Augi only minutes to accomplish on her own. She dropped to her knees to pick up the Lego pieces and tossed them into the box, before scooping up the picture books and placing them in the mobile units. She’d sort out the alphabetical order when the library opened again.
She forced a smile on her face as she stood up. ‘Er, no, just some things to do at home.’ It was a weak excuse, as excuses went, but there was no way Augi was going to reveal the real reason. That she was running scared.
‘Oh, yeah,’ said the woman finally scooping up her toddler who promptly screamed and refused to release a book. ‘There’s always something to do at home, isn’t there? Trouble is I’m in no rush to go home and do it. No rush’ — she rolled her eyes — ‘to deal with a troublesome toddler without any diversions, and ditto a troublesome man.’ She walked towards the door. ‘Anyhow, see you next time.’ She waved as she went, the book falling out of the toddler’s hand on the outside deck.
