The Flow

by Effrosyni Moschoudi

  “Sorry, dear! But I simply couldn’t contain my joy! When is the baby due?”

  “July.”

  “Fantastic! And surely, you’re getting married?”

  “Of course! I intend to ask her soon . . . but I wanted to tell you first.”

  “Oh, what splendid news for New Year’s Day!” she said patting his hand.

  “Will you break the news to Father for me?”

  “Oh, come dear, surely you don’t feel timid to tell your father yourself?”

  “Could you at least be present? With his temper, I just never know how he’s going to react to anything.”

  “That’s not true, my love . . .”

  “Oh, come, Mother! I barely speak to him these days to avoid confrontation. Anything can set him off!”

  She gave a deep sigh. “He’s not so bad . . . Really, I blame the Great War . . . all the horror we know about, having heard the stories from so many. But your father, well, he chose to keep it all inside. That is what makes him a bit harsh, I fear. We have to be understanding with him now, don’t we?” she reasoned, her brow deeply furrowed. “But he has a good heart and he loves you, you know that, don’t you, dear?”

  “I don’t know, Mother! When was the last time he supported me with anything? Every time I ask him to finance a business venture for me he keeps saying no. He won't trust me.”

  “Your Father believes in qualifications, darling. To be fair, you did quit your college studies; you were more interested in having fun and enjoying yourself, didn’t you? You silly boy,” she said, pinching his chin playfully.

  “That’s ancient history, Mother! I’m not eighteen any more! I’ve got ideas now; a lot of ideas! I’ve got a mind for business, but he won't help me! He only discourages me and puts me down. He thinks his money is too precious to risk it on me!”

  “Listen to you,” she tutted him, “all bitter and upset! You have a baby on the way and a bride, such a beautiful and talented one! What does all that have to do with investments and business? Besides, you are my boy and you don’t have to work!” She patted his hand reassuringly. “You can enjoy life instead and that’s that! Your father has made enough investments for us all. With our enormous assets, none of us will ever have to work. Trust me, forget all that and just tell your father the good news.”

  “All right, Mother,” said Charles shaking his head, “I’ll speak to Father later today if he’s feeling better, but you’ll have to be present. I need an ally just in case.” He met her eyes and smirked.

  “All right, all right! Anything for my boy,” she said, gazing into his eyes with pride and adoration.

  ***

  In the evening, Charles walked into the sitting room to find his father smoking his pipe while reading a book. His mother was sitting further down on the same sofa, immersed in her own book. They were both avid readers. This was their typical pastime on most evenings. When Charles noticed the empty glasses of whisky before them on the low table, he thought this was the perfect opportunity to break the news. He couldn’t catch his father in a better moment than when he was relaxing with a book after a couple of stiff drinks.

  “Father, do you have a minute? I have something to announce,” he said pacing carefully towards them and aiming to appear as solemn as possible. His Father was more than likely to ward him off if he were to issue even the slightest smirk. He could never suffer gaiety among men. Even Harold used to be a tight-lipped, miserable man in the days when he served in the Great War under the command of Earl Fenshaw.

  The earl could never hold much respect for any man who made jokes and appeared jovial in the least. Which is why all of his friends were grumpy old men who flashed their tight, fake grins at people only when absolutely necessary. None of them would prove able to demonstrate a genuine smile even if their life depended on it.

  “What is this about, Son?” asked the earl amicably, taking Charles by surprise. This is too good to be true. Perhaps he’s had a drink too many. Lucky me! Charles noticed his mother wink at him and took heart even more. He took a seat in an armchair close to his parents and braved a thin smile.

  “I met a girl, Father.” He paused to clear his throat. “I met a girl, and I wish to marry her.”

  “Really?” said the earl, looking pleasantly surprised. “It was about time, Son, I must say! Who is she? Surely, we know her?”

  “Indeed you do, Father!” he said after the happy sounds had subsided. Susan Fenshaw had made sure to join her husband in his enthusiastic response, seeing she had to pretend she didn’t know already.

  “Well, who is the lucky lady?” he asked.

  “It’s Laura Mayfield, Father. You met her at the party we had here for Mother back in October,” he said nodding eagerly.

  “On my birthday, darling!” offered Lady Fenshaw, nudging her husband on the arm.

  “She’s visited us a few more times since then. You met her briefly again one evening, remember?” said Charles.

  “What, the singer?” asked the earl with evident astonishment.

  “Yes, Father, that’s the one.”

  “She’s a lovely girl,” interrupted Susan Fenshaw. “Congratulations!” She carried on with the pretence, by standing to kiss Charles on the cheek. Yet, when she sat back down next to her husband, the bright smile on her face faded. She shot a glance at her son then, and saw that his face had dropped too.

  The earl was sitting on the sofa in silent contemplation, with his head bent. Charles felt his stomach somersault and when he checked on his mother’s expression again, he found there the same panic he was feeling, painted with vivid colours. If she could see it too, it wasn’t his imagination.

  “Father, what’s the matter? Don’t you have anything to say?”

  “Charles, I just can't believe this is your choice of bride among all the possible options you have,” said the earl at last, making a conscious effort to keep calm.

  “What do you mean, darling?” interrupted his wife brushing the cuff of his shirt with two fingers to get his attention. “Miss Mayfield is very talented; a fine performer and such a beautiful girl!”

  “Are you serious, Susan?” he snapped at her. “From what I’ve heard she’s a nobody! She came from the London sewers, for God’s sake!” he erupted, raising his voice and running an impatient hand through his brilliantined hair.

  “It’s not all that bad darling, surely! Granted, she’s working class. But that doesn’t mean she came from the sewer! What a vulgar thing to say!” She gave a nervous titter. “And who cares about social classes anyway? Take me for instance! My parents were not aristocrats, but you married me! Really, Thomas! The girl is loveable, a kind-hearted treasure, and our Charles was very lucky to find her!”

  “Susan, surely you can't compare yourself to her! Your father was a rich man, a respected businessman. We don’t even know who her father was!”

  “For your information, Father,” interrupted Charles, “He was a decent man who fought for his country just like you have!”

  “That is indeed honourable, but can't you see my point? This woman is a wandering actress, a showgirl of all things! In my book, that makes her a whore for the taking!”

  “Thomas!” was all his wife could manage, appalled by what he’d just said.

  “Don’t speak about her like that! You don’t know her!” retorted Charles with newfound courage, a novelty he was thrilled to suddenly possess.

  “Listen to me, young man!” said the earl, ignoring his wife and jumping to his feet to tower over his son. Charles bent his head then, refusing to look up to his father while he was standing like that over him, in that threatening way he detested.

  “This marriage is not going to happen, as long as I’m alive! You’re not to shame me like that! You will marry a girl from our own circle and that’s final!”

  “But, Father,” said Charles and stood up to match his eye level. “There’s something else.”

  “Whatever else could there be? Isn't this bad enough?”
r />   “She’s pregnant, Father.”

  “Are you even sure it’s yours?” scoffed the earl, after a moment of stunned silence, his eyes twinkling with rage and contempt.

  “Thomas, that’s unfair! The girl loves our son!”

  “You stay out of this, Susan! I have a name to maintain! He can't shame me like that, I won't let him!”

  “But whatever has she done for you to despise her so much? She’s such a sweet girl,” his wife insisted. “She wouldn’t shame us. She would be an absolute jewel to us and our family. She’s such a big star! You should have seen her last night in the show. Thomas, she was simply perfect!”

  “Enough, Susan! You and your stupid song and dance shows! It’s all your fault! You have been imposing all this fanciful silliness unto him ever since he was a child!” said the earl, pointing at his son with contempt.

  Charles was speechless by now and just watched his parents argue. Suddenly he was a child again, the reason for his parents’ endless fighting. In the earl’s eyes, his wife had made Charles too soft. She had filled his mind with music and art, and he always pronounced the word ‘art’ as if it were an abomination. He’d argue that she was spoiling their son; that he’d wind up a joke of a man, to say the least.

  “Father,” he interrupted them, “Perhaps you didn’t hear me earlier. Laura is pregnant. And I assure you she is not a whore, if that’s what you think. She loves me and I love her too. Furthermore, I intend to do right by our child. And I can only do that by marrying her,” he spurted out, jutting out his chin and balling his hands into fists, as he waited for his father’s response.

  “It seems simple to me what she’s after.” Earl Fenshaw’s face went alight with contempt. “No doubt, it was a trap and you fell right in it. She’s clearly after my inheritance. Pretty girl and all that. I know their kind!” He tapped the side of his nose with an impatient finger. “But she cannot fool me!”

  “You may know the kind, but I assure you, you don’t know Laura! You are wrong!” retorted Charles and for the first time, he realised he was actually shouting back at his father. That was a first. Perhaps all he needed to stand up to him was to love someone enough. The thought alone made him love Laura even more. He knew he wouldn’t back down this time. This argument between him and his father wouldn’t end the way all the previous ones had. This time, he would win.

  “And I say that you’re a fool! Now listen to me! There’s going to be no child! You take her somewhere and . . . well, get rid of it!”

  “Thomas Fenshaw!” his wife spurted out, her eyes open wide. “Are you suggesting killing an innocent baby? This is appalling! Take it back, take it back right now, I say!” Her voice came out shrill, laden with exasperation. Her Catholic upbringing and beliefs had turned her face into a horror mask at the sound of her husband’s unthinkable suggestion.

  “You stay out of this, Susan! There is no other way!”

  “Yes, there is, Father! There is my way! I will marry the woman I love, and I will have a family with her. You can't stop us!”

  “Oh, I think you’ll find that I can!” retorted the earl, taking a step towards his son to size him up with his raging eyes, before making his last, defining strike.

  “I can't imagine what you could do to stop us!” snapped Charles, his eyes twinkling; their blue, dark and raging, like a stormy sea.

  “It’s simple, Charles! If you go ahead with this, you’ll have to join her in the gutter! I’ll disown you, you hear?” he threatened, and Charles knew him enough to know he meant it. His shock must have been evident because his father let out a throaty kind of laughter that sounded evil.

  Charles lowered his head and looked away. In his mind, he thought then that perhaps he deserved this outcome, this dead end. He had done something terrible to win Laura over. That still weighed down on him a lot. Perhaps he had been driven by his irresistible desire back then, not to mention his ego-fuelled will to punish her for daring to turn him down repeatedly. But of course, now, with Laura proving to be such a sweet and perfect companion, his anger had subsided, and he only had love for her. Love and regret.

  And now, thinking of his father’s last words, he started to realise it was no surprise he had turned out as evil and as manipulative as the man before him, a man he despised absolutely. It was because of his father that he had grown to be just as despicable. In this house, he had learned the ropes from an evil master. Slowly, from childhood, he’d shown him how things are done, how foes are stopped, how problems get solved.

  “You wouldn’t!” whimpered Susan Fenshaw clutching at her husband’s arm. “He’s our son! Our only child!”

  “I’d rather give all my money to a beggar than give it to him, if he’s prepared to mar our good name like that!”

  “But this is not the Christian way,” she protested.

  “The Christian way?” scoffed the earl. “I believe the Old Testament says, ‘honour thy father and thy mother’! How is our son doing that, Susan?”

  “But Thomas, dear—”

  “I won't hear another word,” shouted the earl and turned to his son to shake a threatening finger before his face. “It seems to me you have two choices. For once in your life, boy, use your head! You take her somewhere and solve your little problem, or you can leave this house and lose everything! And mark my words, young man, I’m not bluffing!”

  “Oh, I know you’re not, sir,” was all that Charles managed to say bitterly, as he watched his father storm out of the room to the sound of his mother’s distressing whimpers.

  Chapter 21

  1988

  Sofia woke up with a start and sat up on the bed, running a hand through her tousled hair. Oh God, I don’t believe it! Another poem. The last time this had happened, it was just after Christmas. Ever since the New Year and her awkward last letter exchange with Danny, the dreams had gone away. As a result, she’d left the notebook where she recorded the poems back in Athens. This is why, when she woke up frustrated and mystified that day, she didn’t have anything to write on.

  Driven by a vast urgency as not to forget the pressing verses that echoed inside her head, she rushed to her grandmother’s cabinet and opened the bottom compartment where she knew the old woman kept a notebook or two full of recipes. She took one and skipped to the middle pages, removing a double sheet from the staples that kept it fastened there.

  Next, she grabbed a pen and sat at the dinner table writing furiously. This poem was different. It was much longer than normal and was quite atmospheric. Its title was ‘A Comet’s Tail’. When she put the pen down and read the whole thing back to herself, she felt amazed. This could only mean one thing: The Lady was back. She wondered why and the questions were nagging at her already, but at the same time brought to her a sense of comfort. It felt almost like Danny himself had returned.

  This experience had been different than all the rest though. She hadn’t had a dream about The Lady as such. She hadn’t seen her or the West Pier, but she’d felt her presence in the dream as the verses kept repeating themselves over and over. She had felt her deep sadness but a sense of joy as well, a sense of welcoming something new with delight. But what was it that was new?

  The previous night, she had kissed Jeff. Back then, it felt inevitable, but now, in the cold light of day, she felt ashamed about it and sorry it had happened. But had the Lady returned because of that kiss? One thing she knew, The Lady would never urge her to get involved with Jeff. She’d felt all along she was a guide towards a purpose that was related to Danny and Danny alone. It was crazy, she knew, but the dream felt like a visit from a precious old friend.

  A COMET’S TAIL

  Some time ago, an early night,

  I asked the stars to grant me light.

  They grew like suns and harmed my sight,

  I witnessed darkness that burned bright.

  Before I blinked, my eyes were frail

  And blind to see a comet’s tail.

  I heard the sky tear wide apart

&n
bsp; Revealing angels and an ode

  High-note sonnets of my home

  A paved with gold forgotten road.

  They fluttered wings to start their flight

  One brushed by me and warmed the night

  His halo fell and scattered light

  I held it up; it was so bright!

  Above my head it made me cry

  As stars in contrast chose to die.

  My soul screamed, to watch him fly

  To be like him, it took to die.

  I lay awaiting for many years

  The song that ended all my tears.

  The music played along my sigh

  My wings I stretched and looked up high.

  Then blew the wind and, what a feeling!

  I flew at last to find my healing.

  Lost in the air and nowhere bound

  We swirled and flew the world around

  Amidst the clouds we loved and lay

  Until the day he went away

  He took the curse from Midas’ hand

  I cast the gold where sunsets die

  The Horn of Plenty fell and hid

  Inside a sea’s eternal sigh.

  Although he’s gone and far away

  He often comes at night to stay

  When darkness falls, he holds me tight

  And then we fly all through the night.

  Chapter 22

  “Hello, Yiayia! Hi, Mrs Danda! How are you today?” said Sofia when the two women approached to lay down their beach mats by her. It was midday on the dot. You could set your watch by them. They never missed a swim and always arrived together, meeting up at Mrs Danda’s house to take together a path to the beach that only the locals knew of and which was a shortcut. It started at the church courtyard and snaked past olive groves, leading to the beach on the other side of Regent’s Hotel.

  “Yassou, agape mou,” answered Mrs Danda. “Not a very happy day at home today, as you understand.” She pressed her lips, her face full of sympathy for her daughter. “Loula and Steve are getting souvenirs for his parents and sister, then they’ll come here; they won’t be long.”