‘Ah, patriós!’ Maria explained and everybody nodded a little awkwardly. Lana sensed that step-parents weren’t a common occurrence in Cyprus. ‘What is your father’s name? Perhaps we will know his family,’ asked Maria.
‘Well, that’s unlikely,’ said Judith. ‘He was an only child, and his parents died when he was about twenty. I’m not exactly sure – he doesn’t talk about it much.’
Maria translated for the others, but Lana sensed that their curiosity had been piqued and they wanted more information.
‘Er … he’s known now as George Harris – his middle name is Andrew. But that’s because he changed his name when he came to the UK.’
‘Yeah, ’cos we’re all too bloody lazy in Wales to learn how to pronounce foreign names!’ Lana interjected, a bit tipsy now thanks to the Zivania.
There was delayed laughter in response to Maria’s translation.
‘But his real name – his Greek name – is Georgios Andreas Charalambos,’ Judith said, clearly proud of her perfect pronunciation.
But rather than the mild applause Judith had anticipated for her efforts in Greek, a shocked silence descended. And then a collective mumbling stirred around the table. Except from the children, who had more important things to think about, like how to snaffle another helping of mahalepi when no one was looking.
‘Sorry, can you say the name again?’ Maria asked.
‘Yes – Georgios Andreas Charalambos. Actually, I’ve got a photo of him here,’ she said, taking out the photo-booth picture of herself and George that she always carried in her purse. ‘It’s from about ten years ago – we were on a daytrip to Dan-yr-Ogof Caves.’
The family passed it round, accompanied by gasps of shock, followed by a sequence of fiery exchanges amongst them; concerned looks, raised voices, shaking heads and car keys being sought. One of the women started crying, and was comforted by another, who crossed herself and handed the photograph back to Judith.
The girls looked at each other, confused.
‘What’s going on?’ asked Lana, sensing that whatever it was, wasn’t good.
Nobody answered her, everyone still lost in the chaos of their reaction.
‘Look, maybe we should go,’ she said, more to Judith and Catrin than to anyone else.
‘No,’ said Maria. ‘Wait. Please.’ And her husband, who was now getting into his car, shouted something back to her.
‘Entáxei! Naí!’ she replied, and turned to Judith. ‘We think …’ Maria looked around the table, at the family – all waiting on tenterhooks for Judith’s response to what she was about to learn. ‘We think that your father, Georgios Charalambos, may be the brother of a friend.’
The three girls tried to process what they were hearing.
‘What?’ asked Lana, Judith clearly too shocked to speak.
Maria continued, ‘My husband Nico, he has a friend, Iannis, who has a wife. She is called Sofia.’ Maria paused, allowing the information to sink in. ‘Some years ago, Sofia’s brother – Georgios – he left Kakopetria to go to England for one year. But he never came back. We think—’
And Lana finished the sentence, ‘You think that Sofia is Judith’s aunt!’
8
Judith
Fifteen minutes later, a woman in her thirties – with the same straight nose and kind brown eyes as Judith’s father – got out of Nico’s car, followed closely by two confused and awkward children, along with a man who Judith presumed was the woman’s husband. Neither of them could say anything at first, so Nico stepped in, his faltering English not as good as his wife’s but certainly good enough. ‘This is Sofia, sister of Georgios,’ he said quietly.
Judith stared at Sofia and fought the urge to laugh. Was it some kind of hysterical reaction? In contrast, Sofia – Aunty Sofia – was shaking and weeping like a baby.
‘Hello – I’m … I’m Judith,’ she said, unsure of what to do next. Her world had just been turned inside out. Her father wasn’t who she thought he was and she’d inherited an entire Cypriot family in the space of ten minutes. Nervously she held out her arms to Sofia, who needed no encouragement to return the embrace. Judith had never been hugged so tightly in her life and there followed a long sequence of tight embraces, face-holding and loud weeping, until eventually Sofia calmed down. The unsuspecting family who’d only come out for a regular Sunday lunch had found themselves spectators to a real-life drama, applauding from their ringside seats. They were joined by Catrin and Lana as the happy-ever-after unfolded before their eyes.
At least, Judith hoped it was going to be a happy-ever-after.
Realizing they couldn’t stand there for ever, Maria took charge, encouraging Judith and Sofia to go inside the taverna, sit down and talk. Catrin gently apologized and pointed out that it was now five o’clock and they still had nowhere to stay. ‘So whilst Jude catches up with Sofia, me and Lana will go and find somewhere, yeah?’
When Maria translated this, Sofia became animated again. The subject wasn’t even up for discussion. ‘She says you must stay with her,’ said Maria. ‘All of you.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Of course! You are her family!’ said Maria with a smile.
And so within an hour of discovering a brand-new aunt, uncle and two young cousins, Judith was on her way with Catrin and Lana to Sofia’s smallholding, a mile or so out of the village, where they’d been offered a bed for the night. Maria had agreed to come with them and translate, which Judith thought was bloody kind of her considering she was meant to be attending her own family party. But then on reflection, as Lana said, ‘I bet she’s gagging to know about George!’
They were greeted in the yard by a handful of chickens and a goat with two kids, who came running over to see what all the fuss was about. Heading inside, Iannis, Sofia’s husband, invited them all to sit at the kitchen table while he made coffee and put out glasses of water. Sofia produced a large platter of cookies called koulouraki and a dish full of glyka or ‘spoon sweets’ – pickled figs, and cherries and walnuts.
‘I am going home the size of a whale!’ Lana mumbled to Catrin, who didn’t care and couldn’t wait to get stuck into the treats.
When they were finally all settled around Sofia’s kitchen table, they began – with Maria’s help – to unpick the mystery of Georgios Andreas Charalambos.
‘You may have heard about the war,’ said Maria.
‘What, like with Hitler an’ that?’ asked Lana and Catrin discreetly kicked her under the table. Obviously not that war.
‘No, you mean here in Cyprus, don’t you?’ said Judith. ‘In the mid seventies?’
‘Yes, 1974. The Turkish Army, they invade the north of the country and many families they have to leave. It got very bad.’
‘Papagálos,’ said Iannis, who was sitting next to Maria, smoking nervously.
‘Who’s Papagálos – like a priest or something?’ asked Judith.
Maria smiled sadly. ‘No, papagálos means parrot – his family they had a pet parrot and they left it behind because they thought the fighting was just for short time and soon they would go back home. But they never went back. This happen to many, many families. They lose everything.’