by Jo Bunt
Eddie seized the rope handles on either side of the wooden cube and dragged it from its concealed position. He almost dropped it when something dense and sharp landed on his foot but it was a stone, not a clawed, sting-wielding arachnid.
With a pounding heart, Eddie carried his prize to the shade of the nearby Cypress tree and dropped to his knees. His mind sifted through what he knew of EOKA. They were the National Organisation of Cypriot Fighters formed, and disbanded,in the 1950s set up with the aim of the“liberation of Cyprus from the British yoke” They not only wanted rid of the British from the Island but their main aim was one ofEnosis: the unification of Cyprus with mainland Greece. They were known for, literally, shooting people in the back: a sergeant walking his two-year-old son down the street; an army officer’s wife gunned down in the street shopping with her daughter for her wedding dress; a young soldier who turned his back on a Greek-Cypriot workman to get him a glass of water.
The stories sickened Eddie when he was first posted to Cyprus but he had been unable to equate those isolated incidents with the men and women he had worked side by side with in this beautiful country every day. He had memorised the facts. They had been led by George Grivasand in 1955 they recruited thespirited youthof Cyprus and launched a number of attacks on the British areas of Cyprus including the broadcasting station in Nicosia, the Wolseley barracks and significant targets in Famagusta. This continued until the late fifties when a ceasefire was declared and EOKA was disbanded in order to pave way for the Zurich agreement. In August 1960 Cyprus achieved independence from the United Kingdom with the exception of the two Sovereign Army Bases, one at Akrotiri and the other, where Eddie and his regiment were based, at Dhekalia.
But, it appeared, they never quite forgot their hopes for Enosis. President Archbishop Makarios wasn’t the leader that George Grivas had hoped for. He was disappointed with the lack of drive for unification with the motherland and in 1971 EOKA-B was born. By this time Grivas was so hungry for Enosisthat he would kill both Turksand Greeks who were opposed to their ideology. If the British had hoped that Grivas’ death in January would take some of the impetus away from EOKA-B’s fight, they had been proven wrong. Six months later the Military Junta took direct control and launched the military coup that led to the installation of Nikos Sampson as dictator of Cyprus. The Turkish inhabitants feared for their safety under this new regime and retaliated by launching an attack on the Island. It was anybody’s guess how that was going to pan out now.
The Army had given Eddie his orders, but he was never one to be told what to do. The army were not going to intervene in this war unless the fighting came anywhere near sovereign territory, but that was before the war became personal for Eddie. He hadn’t been there to protect Pru last night, but now he was going to make things right and make the Turks pay for what they had done. He opened up his backpack and took a swig of water while he decided on his next move. Judging by the sun, it was midmorning. He could still cover a substantial amount of ground before the heat became too heavy to walk through. Taking out his knife from inside his solid black boot, Eddie began to loosen the lid of the crate.
The sudden sound of gravel being disturbed had Eddie crouching low in the dust. His knife still poised in his hand, he retreated until his back felt the warm roughness of the tree trunk. His breathing and his heart sounded too loud to him and he forced himself to breathe slowly through his nose, making minimal sound. More sounds, this time from behind the bushes directly in front of him. There was more than one set of feet, but the noise level suggested two at most. The bush swayed and juddered in front of him as the branches were pulled and snapped. He turned the handle of his knife over in his hand and held the shaft firmly, ready to spring into action if his hiding place was discovered. More shuffling and the sound of heavy breathing, close to the ground. The intruder was stooped behind the thick bush but Eddie still couldn’t get a visual on him.
Eddie moved slightly and soundlessly to his left in order to catch a glimpse of the man or men. He had no time to think what he would do if confronted; he would just have to react quickly to whichever situation he found himself in. And if that meant silencing a Turk permanently then that was fine by him. To be able to see what was behind that bush would mean exposing his hiding place. Eddie hesitated for a split second too long and the decision was taken from him. His heart shot into his throat as his assailant leapt from the bushes towards him.
He instinctively raised his arms above his head to ward off attack and prepared to spring up against the aggressor. The blurred form above him was momentarily silhouetted black against the white sunlight. The shock knocked Eddie backwards and he lost his footing, crashing against the tree. Recovering his grip on his knife he coiled as if to pounce before he realised his would-be attacker was on all fours, had horns and was grazing before him. The animal raised his head and looked directly at Eddie with eerie eyes which had oblong slits of black at the centre. Eddie exhaled and shook his head. Shitting himself over a goat? He had to pull himself together.
He allowed himself a small smile as he straightened his back against the tree and looked up into the branches above him. Jesus, he was losing the plot. He threw his knife into the ground so the blade landed with an honest thud in the dry earth four feet in front of him and reverberated contentedly with the impact. The goat gazed at him with cold, impassive eyes and ambled off. Eddie was going to have to come up with a better plan if he was going to survive out here.
With no warning, the back of Eddie’s head smacked into the tree trunk as strong arms snaked round the tree from behind him and a hand clamped firmly over his mouth. Even if a shout could have been heard, it wouldn’t have been possible as the other arm closed so quickly over his chest that he was momentarily winded and he felt his ribs pop.
Chapter thirteen
“Oh, er… hello. I’m Helen Jefferies.”
He looked at me, his face showing no flicker of recognition. Silence stretched in front of me, begging to be filled.
“I’m Leni?” I made it a question. “Erm... of course, you don’t know me but you know my mum, Prudence Clarke.”
His shoulders tensed and the light went out of his eyes like a candle that had been snuffed out. Hardness crept into his clamped jawline and his eyes narrowed. I certainly hadn’t been expecting this reaction from the man who, until recently, I’d thought was my father. He rubbed his stubbled chin.
“What d’ya want?” came his cold monosyllabic demand.
“I wanted to talk to you, ask you a few questions. Is that okay?”
“No. You shouldn’t have come here.”
“What?” I asked, shocked at the unexpected turn of events.
He turned and walked away into the crowd, and before I could follow him he was sucked up into the writhing bodies.
“Wait!” I shouted after him. “I just wanted to…”
“Shit!” I said to myself and took a swig from my Keo.
I hadn’t expected that he would flatly refuse to talk to me or emanate such hostility. It hadn’t occurred to me that Eddie might have any kind of grievance against Pru and me. I’d thought of Mum as the wounded, abandoned party for so long that it was something of a surprise to me that Eddie was anything other than contrite. If Eddie wasn’t going to talk to me I was at a dead end. I’d come too far now to give up without a fight and decided to hang around in case he changed his mind or at least until I’d come up with a better plan.
I went outside in the direction that Eddie had stalked off in and, in doing so, passed my admirer and his friends. “Eh, Kev, she’s back for more! Whey-hey!”
I didn’t stop for them this time and instead barged past them to the sound of their mocking laughter. Eddie was nowhere to be seen. I decided to bide my time until the bar closed when it would be quieter. Perhaps when he saw my persistence he would waver and consent to talk with me. It was worth a shot and I had no pressing plans tonight, or tomorrow for that matter. He was going to have to talk to me if he wanted
me to leave.
I found a seat being vacated just as I reached it outside. I slumped over the table toying with the idea of crying. It would be so easy to run away with my tail between my legs and flee back to my old life. I sat passing, or possibly wasting, time and nursed my beer until it had grown warm and flat, picking at the label on the bottle.
“Sign of sexual frustration, that.”
“Pardon?” I asked wearily as I looked up into the alcohol-flushed face of Fred Flintstone again.
“Peeling labels off bottles. It’s a sign of sexual frustration. I reckon I could do something about that,” he sneered and grabbed his crotch.
I managed a half-hearted smile and turned away, focussing on the moths flittering around the orbs of light. Even out in the evening air I could still smell his beer breath and his sweaty, out-of-condition body.
His friends cheered and, bolstered by their amusement, he took this as some sort of encouragement.
“Are you a dyke, luv?” he laughed.
“Or a man-she,” one of his friends offered.
“A chick with a dick! Is that it? Are you a lesbian? You’re on the wrong island love, you should be in Lesbos.” He found himself very funny but my patience had worn thin enough to snap.
“Listen arse-hole,” I spun round in my seat but remained sitting. “Do not think for a minute that I am in your league. Even if I wasn’t married,which I am,I still have certain standards. Maybe I’m choosy, but I don’t think it’s unreasonable to want someone whose IQ exceeds his waist measurement.”
His friends, still standing nearby, issued a low whistle and a few uncomfortable laughs.
My challenger looked confused for a minute as if trying to work out the insult and then as I turned back to my beer he grabbed my breast. I shot up out of my seat and, without thinking, hit him round the side of the face. With dismay I realised that I was still holding my beer bottle in my hand and it had smashed into his cheekbone causing his face to split open like a ripe tomato.
The anger in his eyes thundered darkly and too late I realised that he had clenched his fist.
“Bitch!” he spat at me and punched me in the face. His fist met with my jaw and snapped my head backwards. My teeth ground together with the force of the blow and I fell to the floor watching the arcing sky in slow motion. The wooden chair I’d been sitting on a moment ago fell at my side with a clatter. I don’t know what shocked me more: the fact that he’d hit me or the fact that I’d smashed him in the face with a bottle. Neither event made any sense to me. I would have apologised profusely if he hadn’t retaliated so readily.
I tried to get up but the ground was shifting under my feet, I was aware of commotion all around me but I couldn’t focus my eyes so I just put one arm over my head hoping to fend off any more blows that might come my way and rolled onto my side in a ball. I could hear swearing and slaps of fist on face but every time I opened my eyes to look in the direction of the sounds, they refused to give me anything to work with. The two lights outside the bar that had previously seemed so tame now shone like floodlights into my retinas and I blinked away the bright green imprints behind my eyelids. There was a hurricane materialising around me and I was blissfully tranquil at its core.
Suddenly there was stillness. My eyes gave up trying to focus on anything and I slipped into that tantalising space between reality and sleep, not sure which way to travel. I could hear an unfamiliar voice coming to me through the miasma.
“Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”
“Of course I can hear you,” I thought, but I couldn’t make the words come out of my mouth no matter how hard I tried.
“Take her through to the back.”
I tried to say “No thank you, I can walk,” but my brain hadn’t found the way to make my mouth work yet. I closed my eyes and let myself be half carried, half dragged back into the busy bar. I was taken through a door that I hadn’t noticed before. It was painted the same mushroom colour as the walls and had a combination lock on it. I attempted, half-heartedly, to resist but relented and let myself be ushered inside.
By the time I found myself slumped on an oversoft sofa my vision was a little blurry but at least I could keep my eyes open. I could now feel the growing pain in my face and my head. For some inexplicable reason, my behind and left hip were aching and almost certainly developing a bruise. I manoeuvred myself so that most of my weight went down my right side but I still wasn’t comfortable so I pushed myself backwards, trying to even the pressure out.
“What did you say your name was?” Eddie was sitting in a chair opposite me, leaning forward with concern over his face.
“Leni,” I said, although it didn’t quite come out like that.
“Ellie?” asked Eddie
“No,” I said, clearer this time. My jaw wasn’t working the way it should be and I reached my hand up gingerly to the throbbing area. “Leni.”
“You didn’thaveto pick a fight with the biggest guy in here to get my attention,” he smiled.
I tried to return suit but instead I ended up grimacing and wincing simultaneously.
“Jeez. You didn’t get that street fighting style from your mum. Not the Pru that I knew, anyway. Anger issues at all?”
“No! God, no! I... I don’t fight. I mean, I didn’t mean to hit him with the bottle. I only meant to slap his face. I really don’t know how it happened. He grabbed me, I slapped him and there was blood and then he hit me and then I was on the floor. I don’t.... I mean, this isn’t really the kind of thing that…”
I trailed off as my breathing started to quicken and catch in my chest.
“Here, you’re shaking. Let’s get you a drink.”
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking uncontrollably. It was almost fascinating the way they oscillated independently from anything I was doing. I turned them over and looked at the palms of my hands. My right hand had a smooth line of crimson across the heel of my palm. I must have cut it on the bottle. I couldn’t even feel the cut. I folded my arms and pushed my hands under my armpits to curb the trembling.
Eddie came back into the room surfing a solid wave of noise which became instantly muted with the closing of the door. I looked up to see a large shot of amber liquid floating in a tumbler before my face. I opened my mouth to tell him that I didn’t drink spirits, but there were many things that I’d never done before tonight and I was in no position to object.
“Thanks.” I took the precariously sloshing drink from him and smelled it. In his other hand he was holding a tea towel wrapped around something.
Answering my silently questioning eyes he said, “Ice. For that jaw. Here let me look at it. Jeez, that’s nasty. Not broken though. You’ll live. Right hold the ice onto here. Got it?”
I nodded and did as I was told. Aside from being mortified that he was seeing me in this state, I was pleased that I’d finally got him alone, although I wished the path I’d taken hadn’t been quite so extreme. I took the opportunity to look closely at Eddie. He was wearing jeans and red converse trainers, which made him appear younger than I knew him to be. Across his broad chest he wore a Rolling Stones 40 licks T-shirt. There was no wedding ring on his left hand although that didn’t necessarily mean he was single.
Meeting his gaze brazenly I took in his open face. Not many wrinkles but his blond hair was greying now. He had a couple of days’ growth of stubble on his chin that was several shades darker than the hair on his head. I wouldn’t say he looked cool exactly, but he had an ageing rocker style about him.
“How is she?” he asked quietly, looking away and interlocking his fingers behind his head, feigning nonchalance. “Pru, I mean.”
“She’s good thanks. You know... I was going to say that she doesn’t change but maybe she has changed since... well, everything, you know. I’m normally a lot more erudite that this, trust me. I think that guy knocked the sense out of me.”
“Does she know you’re here?” Eddie asked, fixing me with his clear blue eyes.
“In Cyprus? Yes. With you? No.”
“Right.” He seemed to mull this over for a while as we both sat and wondered what to say next. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked with a troubled frown.
“Well, I don’t know how much you know about me, about my birth and stuff. Wow! This is more awkward than I was expecting.”
“That’s okay. I know that you arenot Pru’s daughter.”
This brought the hackles up on my neck. “Iam her daughter. She might not have given birth to me but she has been a mother to me in every other way.”
Eddie held up his hands in mock surrender.
“Okaaay,” he said slowly.
“Look. I only found out a few weeks ago that she’s not my biological mother. Until then, I thought you were my father. It’s a long story, but basically, I’m trying to find out who my biological parents were and I was hoping you might know something and be able to help me. Mum either doesn’t remember or doesn’t want to tell me, so I was hoping you would tell me what it is that you know.”
“No can do.”
“What?”
“I told you before, in the bar, I can’t help you. I don’t want to get involved. Pru brought this on herself. If she doesn’t want you snooping around then...” He paused and went silent as if remembering something. When he spoke again, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “She should never have taken you in the first place,” he said with a surprising amount of sadness.
“Why are you so pissed? Wasn’t it you who walked out on her?” I challenged.
“Is that what she told you? Is it?” he snorted and folded his arms. He laughed though it wasn’t a warm sound.
“Well, yes. No. Oh, I don’t know. Before I found out that you guys weren’t my ‘real’ parents, she told me that you left the hospital just after I was born and never came back. Obviously, I now know there might be more to it than that, because I’ve now found out that I wasn’t born in a hospital and certainly not to Mum. So why don’t you tell me your side of it?”
