Chapter 3: Even her flowers were wilting

Niko would mostly sit on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the thin curtains. He had been in his mother’s flat for weeks now, but it still didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real anymore. Not since Zoe.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had picked up his baton, let alone tried to compose anything. Music had been his life, his passion, but now, it was just noise - meaningless, empty noise. The opera he had been working on, Gluck’s Orphée et Eurydice, had become a cruel reminder of everything he had lost. The story of a man who loses the woman he loves and tries desperately to bring her back - it was too much, too close to his pain.

Niko had always been independent, and self-sufficient. He had built a successful career as a conductor, had a beautiful home, and had been in love with Zoe. Now, all of that was gone, stripped away in an instant. He felt like a child again, lost and helpless, unable to take care of himself. His mother, Helena, tried her best to comfort him, but nothing seemed to reach him.

She had invited him to stay with her after Zoe’s death, insisting that he shouldn’t be alone. Her flat in Palmers Green was small and cramped, but she had made room for him. She cooked his favourite meals, brought him cups of tea, and sat with him in silence when words failed her. But Niko could see the worry in her eyes, the way she glanced at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. He knew she was struggling too, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

The days blurred together in a haze of grief. Sometimes Niko would sit by the window, staring out at the world as if it were a distant, unreachable place. He could hear the sounds of life going on outside - the laughter of children, the hum of traffic, the occasional burst of music from a passing car - but it all seemed so far away like it belonged to someone else’s life.

Now and then, he would step out onto the balcony corridor that connected the flats. He would light a cigarette, even though he knew his mother disapproved, and stand there, smoking in silence. The habit had started again after Zoe’s death, a way to numb the pain, even if only for a few moments. The neighbours, a Lebanese family, knew what had happened and had tried to offer their condolences. They brought over food - warm, comforting dishes that smelled of spices and home - but Niko had barely touched them. He knew he had been rude, and ungrateful, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that either.

Helena had scolded him for his behaviour, her voice sharp with frustration. She had always been quick-witted, with a tendency to speak her mind, and sometimes she didn’t know when to stop. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. She saw the way Niko recoiled, retreating further into himself, and she had wanted to take it back, to say something that would undo the damage. But it was too late. Niko had shut her out, and the silence between them grew thicker, heavier.

Helena felt the walls of the flat closing in on her. She loved her son more than anything, but his presence here, in this state, was too much to bear. The flat, once a place of comfort and routine, now felt suffocating, as if the grief that hung over them was pressing in from all sides. It seemed that even her flowers had begun to wilt, such was the effect of his melancholy. She knew something had to change, but she didn’t know how to help him.

One evening, as they sat down to dinner, Helena couldn’t help but notice the weariness in Niko’s face, and the way he pushed the food around his plate without eating. She wanted to reach out, to hold him, but she knew it wouldn’t be enough. She needed to find a way to break through the fog of grief that surrounded him.

As they ate in silence, Helena’s eyes drifted to the old photo on the fridge. It was the picture of her and her family under the grapevines. The memory stirred something in her, a deep longing for the warmth and familiarity of home, the life she had left behind. And then, an idea began to form.

“Niko,” she began hesitantly, breaking the silence. “I’ve been thinking… maybe it would do you some good to get away for a while. To go somewhere… different.”

Niko looked up at her, his expression blank. “What do you mean?”

Helena took a deep breath. “I was thinking… maybe you could go to Crete. To see the family there. It might help you… reconnect with something, find some peace.”

For a moment, there was no reaction. Then, Niko’s eyes hardened, and he shook his head. “No. Dad would have hated that idea. He never wanted anything to do with Crete after we left.”

“I know,” Helena said softly. “But… things are different now. Maybe it’s time to… to see what’s there, to find out more about where we come from.”

Niko’s gaze dropped back to his plate. “I don’t know, Mum. It doesn’t feel right. Dad wouldn’t have wanted it.”

Helena felt a pang of frustration, but she kept her voice gentle. “I understand. But sometimes… sometimes we need to go back to where we started, to find a way forward. Just think about it, Niko. That’s all I’m asking.”

Niko didn’t respond, and the conversation fell into silence once more. But Helena couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the right thing to do. She had been cut off from her family for so long, unsure of whether they even thought of her anymore. But perhaps, through Niko, she could find a way to bridge that gap, to reconnect with the life she had left behind.

As the days passed, Helena continued to drop hints about Crete, hoping to plant the seed of the idea in Niko’s mind. She knew it wouldn’t be easy, but she also knew that staying here, in this small flat, trapped in their grief, wasn’t helping either of them.

One evening, she caught Niko standing by the window, staring out at the darkening sky. He looked so lost, so adrift, that it broke her heart all over again. She walked up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Niko,” she said quietly. “I just want you to be happy again. I don’t know how to help you, but maybe… maybe Crete can.”

Niko turned to her, and for the first time in weeks, she saw a flicker of something in his eyes - a glimmer of curiosity, of possibility.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his voice low and uncertain.

Helena nodded, squeezing his shoulder gently. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for now, that was enough.