The Flow

by Effrosyni Moschoudi

  He knew he had to perfect his English first so he planned to take lessons all winter and then leave the island in the spring. To his parents’ surprise, he had also mapped out his travelling plan: he’d start from Bari or Ancona, work in a couple of bars or restaurants on the Italian coast, pick up some new recipes, learn a bit of the language and then move on to France, where he intended to do exactly the same. Ultimately, perhaps after a short stop in the Netherlands and Belgium, he hoped to spend a couple of years in England, learning new experiences and spending some time with his cousin Sofia.

  His parents, much to his delight, had become overwhelmed, but in a good way. It made them proud, they said, that their son had such ambition and fearlessness in him. His father had done a bit of work in Italy as a youngster too, so perhaps it was in the genes. When he told Sofia all about it after her morning swim, she was amazed to hear how easily it had worked out for him.

  “And there you were, worrying what they’d think!”

  “Yes, stupid of me, wasn’t it? I was just afraid of hurting their feelings, I guess.”

  “You know what they say about fear, don’t you?”

  “No, what do they say?”

  “I read this book once. It was all about taking the leap of faith. It said that the fear that stops us from doing what we really want, is often not based on reality. We shape our fears in our heads, but things are so much easier than we think.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe you’re right.”

  “There’s one motto in the book that stayed with me. You want to hear it?” She rolled her eyes. “It so fits in your case!”

  Akis nodded with a big grin for her to carry on.

  “Sometimes you take a leap into the abyss, to find it’s just a feather bed.”

  Akis gave an easy smile, his eyes twinkling. “Oh, I love that one . . .”

  “And this is you all over, isn’t it? Look at you, you’re on your feather bed today. And I’m so happy for you!”

  Akis beamed at his cousin, then gave a little frown. “Thank you so much for yesterday, Sofia. I don’t know what I would have done had you not turned up in the cave.”

  “Please, say no more about that. It was a terrible, terrible day. Tracey will always stay with us, in our hearts. But you, you are alive. And you have every right to live your life. Don’t let anybody in this village tell you otherwise. Ever.”

  “I won’t. I know. I’ve seen people staring already. But I ignore them.”

  “That is exactly how you’ll make them stop. Should they see you affected by it, they’ll feed from it. And once you allow them to pity you, they’ll never let it go. So keep acting as you do now. Grieve for Tracey’s passing but without any guilt on your part. This way, you can put it all behind you.”

  Akis patted the black band that he wore on his polo shirt sleeve. “This is exactly what I intend to do.”

  Chapter 31

  A week or so later, Loula and Sofia got chatting one morning. Sofia was relaying to her at the bar another strange dream about The Lady. These days she shared everything with her, down to the last detail. Seeing that they were both starting a new life in England soon, they had started to see themselves like sisters. Now that Loula spoke enough English she could also read Sofia’s poems. This time though, there was no poem. It was just a dream, but an exceptional one.

  The Lady wasn’t on the West Pier this time. Oddly enough, she had appeared in front of Sofia on the little pier in Vassilaki and what’s more she was happy and hopeful. She beamed at Sofia, then said, “Meet me across from Regent’s, on King’s Road.” She kept repeating that sentence in the dream, over and over again. Of course, Sofia remembered it vividly as a result and was quite certain of it. In the dream, Sofia kept confirming to her she had understood, that she was going to be there. But in the morning, of course the rendezvous spot made no sense. Regent’s? King’s Road? What was she supposed to make of this? Of course, she couldn’t. Loula couldn’t either.

  “I can understand the ‘Regent’s’ bit,” said Loula as she stood idle behind the bar, a deep frown on her face. “That’s easy. Regent’s Hotel is right next door, and the pier is right across it. But King’s Road? No idea.”

  “Damn,” said Sofia, hanging her head down and pursing her lips. “Do you suppose it’s a place in Brighton?”

  “King’s Road?”

  “Yes. Can you ask Steve when you write next?”

  “Sure.”

  “Ask him also if there’s anything called ‘Regent’s’ too in Brighton. Just in case.”

  “And what do you suppose I say if he asks why I want to know?”

  “I don’t care. Say what you like. This is driving me mad!” replied Sofia, running an impatient hand through her hair, then tossing a fiery red strand behind her shoulder with a huff. The silk hairs flew in the breeze as if totally weightless for a few seconds before settling softly down again on her back. Her hair had grown considerably long since the year before. When she wore it down, it hugged the contours of her face beautifully.

  These days, she preferred it hanging loosely that way, hardly ever pinning it up any more. Strangely, this summer, it had started to curl too towards the edges. At first she had thought it was the salty water or something, but soon she started to feel mystified by it. The heavy, bouncy curls made her look more like The Lady in her dreams. In the end, she had accepted it without a logical explanation. After all, what explanation did she have for everything else?

  “Okay. I’ll say we met a tourist from Brighton, who said something about all that and we wanted to know more.”

  “Wait! What if these places don’t exist? Then what?”

  Loula tilted her head to the side and made a face of mock-dismay. “Then we’ll blame the imaginary tourist for talking silliness. What do you care?”

  Sofia gave a giggle and waved dismissively. “Sorry. Not with it much today.”

  “Why don’t you run this past Mrs Korina tonight?”

  “You think?”

  “Well, we are going anyway. You never know, she might have a feeling or something.”

  ***

  In the late afternoon, the girls were walking back to Vassilaki from Messi, eager to end another long summer day with a refreshing shower and a nice meal. Still, when they reached the river bridge they stopped for a few moments to take in the serenity of the aquatic view. Cypress green waters ran softly downstream towards the river mouth. An old caique looked forlorn, moored on one side, a weathered plastic chair lying on its side on the stern, one leg missing. A school of grey mullets swam underneath the bridge, catching the girls’ interest, causing Loula to point enthusiastically.

  “Cor! They’re huge! Ah, to have one of those on the B-B-Q!”

  Sofia giggled. “Don’t remind me how hungry I am!”

  Soon, they set off again down the main busy street. As they made their way speedily, past the mad bustle of noisy cafés, tavernas and bars, they hoped the uphill climb to their homes wouldn’t be too strenuous. Five minutes later, Loula’s calves felt like lead.

  “I’m getting too old for this!” she spurted out, brushing her forehead with an impatient hand. “It used to be a breeze when your granddad took us for long walks when we were kids. Do you remember?”

  “Of course I do. We used to go past Messi even, all the way to the salt mine.”

  “I’d give anything to have the same stamina now. Look at you! You haven’t even broken a sweat. How do you do it?”

  “Oh, Loula! You make it sound like you’re an old lady! It’s because you work all day and never walk or swim like I do, that’s all.”

  Loula pulled a face, gave a laboured sigh and resumed walking with Sofia. “So, what do you make of Korina’s reading then?”

  Sofia twisted her lips. “To tell you the truth, nothing much. She just repeated what she said last year. And yet, even more advice for me to exercise perseverance with Danny when I see him again. No new revelations there. The only new thing is what she said
about ‘Regent’s’ in the dream: that the place The Lady spoke of is real.”

  “Honestly, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about it. Do you believe it, Sofia? What do you think that place is? Where is she asking you to go?”

  She raised her shoulders. “I don’t know. But let’s wait and see. If we find out that Regent’s and King’s Road are real places in Brighton, then we can find out where it is she wanted me to go. Or maybe, she wasn’t just asking me to be somewhere. Perhaps she was referring to a place she was supposed to go to with someone else. Maybe something happened there that caused her all this upset.”

  Loula knitted her brows. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “I have this feeling. I don’t know how I know it. It sounded like she was setting a date with someone else too, not just with me, and that it was very important. Important in a life and death kind of way. I cannot begin to describe the look in her eyes. They were brimming with anxiety in the dream.”

  “Sofia, this is so spooky!”

  “Are you scared? Booooo!” Sofia said out of the blue, the mystification on her face gone in an instant, a youthful silliness taking its place. She grabbed her friend by the waist and tugged, pretending to be an evil ghost out to get her.

  Loula squealed in an ear-piercing volume and broke away from her friend’s hold, then continued to run down the road with her trailing behind her, threatening to catch her. Their shrill shouting and the giggling that ensued raised quite a few eyebrows among the onlookers. Some youngsters even cheered but among the elderly holidaymakers, a few looked positively disturbed.

  Chapter 32

  1940

  “It was a terrific play, wasn’t it, dear?” asked Charles. He’d just got in the back of the Rolls with Laura. As usual, James was at the wheel. They had just watched French Without Tears at the Pavilion and now they were off to Notre Dame for dinner. It was their first night out after just over a year. Laura’s pregnancy and then the birth of the baby had rendered her both unable and unwilling to go out in the evening. It was Charles’s idea to go out this Saturday. He had surprised her with the theatre tickets just the day before.

  “Yes, indeed! I quite enjoyed it, very entertaining,” responded Laura. “I wonder what the movie will be like.”

  “Why, I’ll take you to see that too when it comes to town, darling.”

  “Oh yes, that should be lovely. I thought that the writer, Rattigan, is very clever! The play is peppered with a multitude of Franglais phrases! I do admit, my French is quite limited, and if it weren’t for you to enlighten me, I would have missed half the jokes,” she burst out gaily, and he patted her hand in response, pleased with the look of admiration in her eyes.

  It didn’t come often; as he gazed back at her amused expression, he wondered if perhaps the bad days between them were over. They fought from time to time, mainly because of his unsuccessful business ventures and excessive gambling and drinking habits.

  “And what of the Regency Players?” he finally chimed in, “I say, that’s a fine company! My mother has worked with the Director in the past, you know! Shall I put in a word for you, Laura?”

  “What?” she darted a look at him, frowning. “I thought we had discussed this, Charles. No more shows! We have Freddie now, it’s over,” she replied softly, yet firmly, enough for him to realise she meant it, and so he didn’t push the point further.

  However, at the restaurant, once their first course arrived, Charles put his plan into action. He poured wine in her glass and watched her relax, as she enjoyed her meal. He chose harmless subjects for their conversation, which he nearly monopolised with local gossip as well as anecdotes from his nights out and his many holidays abroad. Two courses later, and while waiting for the dessert to be served, he surprised her by chuckling after a long pause.

  She turned to face him, waiting, but he said nothing. “What is it, Charles?”

  “Well, I was just thinking . . .” he hesitated, tapping his perfectly groomed moustache with the tip of a finger, the ghost of a smile curling his lips.

  “What about?” she asked again, this time intrigued, before draining the remainder of wine from her glass.

  “What you said before, dear . . . that you don’t wish to perform any more. Such a pity, Laura, my darling . . .” He shook his head and rested his gaze at the exquisite flower centrepiece instead. The vase was milky white with delicate roses hand-painted on it. He visibly flinched at the realisation of what he was looking at and felt his insides twist with repulsion. He could just imagine the writing underneath. It was Limoges porcelain, no doubt. He hated the stuff. It reminded him of his ghastly grandmother, Stephanie. She used to collect little figurines made from this type of hard-paste porcelain.

  Once, when he was only six, he had knocked one over by mistake, and she’d beaten him quite ferociously. He still remembered the darn thing, as if he had seen it only yesterday. It depicted an old fisherman standing on an untidy heap of nets. In his hands, he held two baskets brimming with fish. Charles hated fish too because of that darned figurine he’d broken.

  “Well, our Freddie deserves nothing less than his mother’s company at home. Don’t you agree it’s for the best?” replied Laura, unaware of his dark thoughts. She leaned back in her chair in a leisurely fashion and regarded him with mild curiosity.

  “But don’t you miss the spotlight, dear?” he replied with difficulty, finally managing to look away from the vase and meet her eyes again, the nauseating sensation in his gut subsiding somewhat. “What about the applause? Surely you miss that.” He revealed nothing from his recent discomfort, the way he knew well to conceal his world within. “And what about people’s admiration? You had so many fans! When was the last time you were stopped in the street for an autograph?” Pausing for breath, he fixed her with a benevolent stare, smiling innocently.

  “Oh, Charles, I guess I do miss it all! But then I remember the long days at rehearsals and the late nights. Surely, I can't be away from home for such long periods any more! I’d hardly see our son if I did! It’s for the best, I’m sure.”

  “Well, perhaps you could have a guest role this time. You don’t have to be the leading lady, as long as you get to perform. I’m only thinking of your best interests, dear! It seems a pity to gain fame so quickly only to lose it just as fast. And it’s such a waste of your talents! Your fans must miss you! I could talk to Mr Mills and arrange it easily for you, say, for a musical number or two? Just a few nights only. One last show, Laura! Then you can retire properly with a bang! Not just because you had a child.”

  By that time, Laura looked concerned. She had leaned forward again and was giving him a rather suspicious long look.

  “What?” he asked in such a benign manner that one would expect a halo to come into view over his head any second now. Yet, she knew better than that.

  “What is this about?” She eyed him with evident disbelief.

  “Whatever do you mean, dear? I’m only saying!” he responded putting up both hands, palms upwards.

  “Honestly, Charles! This seems to me like a well-planned speech on your part!”

  “No, it’s not!” He scoffed, picking up his glass to have some more wine. This gave him a few seconds to think. As always, she was cleverer than all the other people he’d ever tried to coax put together.

  “How do you explain the torrent of suggestions and arguments then? You seem to have it all covered!”

  “Well, all right, I do confess! It seems to me a shame that you should turn down Mr Mills, that is all!”

  Her eyes widened. “Mr Mills? He told you?”

  “Well, yes! I ran into him in the street the other day. He mentioned he called you on the telephone last week. That business proposal sounded like a wonderful opportunity for you, Laura! Why did you say no to him?”

  “It’s simple. I don’t want to perform again!” she protested in a hushed tone. Alarmed, she noticed a few patrons had turned around to watch them.

  “And may
I ask why at least, you didn’t tell me?” he replied in the same whispered fashion. Still, his eyes sparkled with exasperation. This is when the young waiter arrived with their chocolate cakes. He put their plates before them with flourish and disappeared hastily, looking absolutely shocked to have walked in a domestic, there, of all places.

  “There was nothing to tell you, Charles. I thought we had discussed this. You knew!”

  “But I didn’t know he had made a proposition! When he mentioned it to me, I had to lie that I knew about it as not to look like a bloody fool! You put me in a difficult position, Laura! I could have looked like a right idiot!”

  “Oh, I have faith in you, Charles! I am sure you managed quite well!” she snapped, eyeing him with disdain now, knowing well there is no lie he would hesitate to use and no trickery he couldn’t apply to his benefit.

  “That’s low, Laura, and I’ll have none of that! You are my wife and you will respect me!” he growled through his teeth, leaning forward, ignoring the heads around them that kept turning.

  “I seem to have lost my appetite,” she said looking away. In an exasperated response, Charles threw his napkin on the table and raised an impatient hand to signal the waiter who had just served them. The young man arrived before him within seconds, but the embarrassment seemed to linger on his face still. He looked ashen when he halted before Charles, glancing meekly at his thunderous expression for a few seconds, and then quickly looked away, wishing the earth would open up to rescue him from the spot.

  Laura sensed his unease and flashed a pleasant smile at the boy. Her beauty seemed to have a calming effect on him, and he instantly relaxed. When his eyes darted back to Charles, he seemed unperturbed, his professional demeanour restored.

  “We’re leaving. The bill, if you please,” Charles barked then, shooting an impatient glance at him, unwilling to make proper eye contact. The waiter disappeared at once, but only after smiling at Laura reassuringly. With bitterness, Laura registered a mixture of concern and pity in his eyes. Unlike her husband’s crude display of bad manners, preserving the dignity of her endowed title, the viscountess stood up slowly, civilly, then threw a dispassionate glance at her husband.