Torn in Two

by J. D. Weston

  “She’s been dead nearly ten years, Frankie.”

  “I don't ask for much. You took him on when she-”

  “Where I come from, providing a stable household for your children means having a job where you can be there for them. Providing them with an environment to nurture them. See to them. Be there for them. Not cast them off to their grandparents so you can go and pay the bills. How long did you think this was going to last?”

  “We’ve had this arrangement for years. It’s been going pretty well as far as I can tell.”

  “That’s because you’re not seeing the bigger picture, Frankie. You don't see that we haven't had a holiday for as long as I can remember because we’ve been at your disposal so you can go off doing some random job that, as far as I can see, pays pittance. You don't see that the boy needs someone to make a decision about his life. He needs it now. Not tomorrow, not next week, or in a few years’ time. Someone needs to take the bull by the horns and make a decision on what that boy’s future looks like.”

  “And that’s what this is, is it?”

  “He’ll thank us for it in years to come,” said Mary finally. Never one to let an argument settle until she’d had the last cowardly word, Mary sought the glory of her husband’s intellect and reasoned words.

  As if on cue, Frankie’s phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He ignored it and turned to see Jake who was leaning over the side of the couch engrossed in his game. They were games that Frankie had forbidden, which meant that Mary and Tom had either succumbed to Jake’s whines or they had purchased them to add one more little jab at Frankie.

  Frankie hoped it was the former. But he knew better.

  “I can’t let him go,” he mumbled, almost to himself while he stared at the boy who had given him a reason to live. A reason to go to work and get up each day. A reason to fight.

  The phone stopped vibrating in his pocket but started again almost immediately.

  “Why don't I make some tea?” It was Mary’s answer to everything when she couldn’t retaliate with an answer worth voicing. “Maybe that’ll clear the air. Maybe we can start again with a cup of tea inside us?”

  “There’s not a lot more to discuss, Mary.” Doing his best to ignore the vibrating phone in his pocket, Frankie looked between them both, incredulous at their cold approach to raising Jake.

  Neither Mary nor Tom offered a response.

  Pulling out his phone, Frankie stared at the screen. The call was from an unknown number.

  “I have to take this. It might be work.”

  Tom nodded and made a feeble attempt to tidy the dinner things as Frankie stepped into the garden. It was a distraction from what he wanted to say, a comment about Frankie’s work, more than likely. But it could wait. The chances of it going unsaid were small.

  He hit the green button to answer the call and waited for the person to speak.

  “Is that Frankie Black?”

  “Yes.” Closing his eyes, Frankie let his head fall back to feel the warm sun on his face.

  “I hear you’re a man who knows how to find people.”

  Chapter Five

  A metallic clunk of steel on steel shuddered through the door, and the opening of a padlock preceded a screech as the door pulled open. Blinded by the bright light, Emma covered herself with the blanket in one hand and shielded her eyes with the other.

  She took deep breaths to control her breathing and braced for an attack. She’d seen the look in the man’s eyes before. She knew he wanted something more.

  But instead, she was greeted by a sweet smell. Floral. Like perfume.

  A heeled foot stepped into view beneath the hand that shielded her eyes. Emma followed the tanned leg up, admiring the silky skin which appeared clean and flawless against the dirty room and grim painted brickwork. A stylish dress adorned with colours of summer brought life to the room like a vase of flowers might brighten the clinical interior of a hospital ward.

  Framed by perfect skin, a flawless jawline, and vivid, full, red lips, a pair of blue eyes stared down at her, not with sorrow or pity but with curiosity. It was a warm, questioning expression, as if asking Emma what she was doing on the floor.

  A heavy boot stepped into the room. It was him. The man. But he wasn’t there to stay. The woman didn’t flinch. She continued to watch Emma with the same wondrous look until the man had placed a chair on the floor. Then he left.

  From inside her clutch, the woman retrieved a handkerchief, which she used to dust the chair. Then she sat, pulling her dress in beneath her, and crossed her shapely legs as if they were a source of the woman’s pride, and she was inviting Emma to stare at them.

  The handkerchief was folded and placed inside the purse before it snapped shut and the woman folded her arms around it, resting her hands, palms down, on her legs.

  “Don’t be scared.” The lady’s first words were soft, well-spoken, and elegant with a confidence that matched the woman’s appearance. “You must be Emma?”

  A slight nod was all Emma could muster from the hundreds of thoughts and mixed emotions that stormed within her.

  “That’s good. I didn’t think it possible, you know?”

  Emma waited for her to continue.

  “They said you were pretty. Prettier than any girl they had seen before. You know how men like to exaggerate these things. But now I see you, I understand. Look at you, you pretty, little thing.”

  The woman cocked her head, offering a sympathetic look. Emma retreated beneath more of her blanket, covering herself as best she could.

  “Don't be shy. I’m not here to hurt you. But we do need to talk. Can we do that?”

  Emma thought for a moment, eyed the door and the empty hallway, and then nodded.

  “There’s no one outside. We’re all alone. Nobody is going to hurt you. Do you trust me?”

  But Emma didn’t know what to believe. She pondered her answer but failed to verbalise anything coherent.

  “I want to tell you about a girl I once knew, Emma. She was just like you.”

  Intrigue gripped Emma. The whirlwind of thoughts and questions stopped, as if time itself had stopped and all that remained was the lady, her warm, soft voice, and her scent.

  “It was a long time ago now,” the lady began, and for the first time, she turned away from Emma as if recalling a painful memory. “A time when life was much simpler. Women would stay at home taking care of the children while the men would go out to work, only to return at the end of each day with barely enough money to put even the simplest of dinners on the table. The city ran on poverty. The hungrier people were, the harder they would work and the less the bosses would pay. But still, we are a proud people. We smile at the sun and are blessed by a beautiful country. Life goes on.”

  “Life goes on?”

  “It must. Time does not stop for the living when the hungry die. Good people continue to be good while the world breeds hate and greed. But there was one family who suffered more than most. The father worked as a fisherman in a time when the sea was barren of life. The mother raised their two children, a boy and a girl. Their days were busied by chores, learning, and errands with little time to play. But they had each other. They felt no sense of loneliness. It was all they knew, Emma.”

  “Those poor children. Did they not have any toys or friends?”

  “As I said, it was a much simpler time. The few possessions they had owned were traded for food, and one by one, their friends fell away.”

  “They died?” Sitting up and crossing her legs, Emma pulled the blanket across her knees and leaned in as the woman continued the tale. “They died of hunger?”

  “Some. Others died of the disease that spread through the city. But many were sent away to work. To find fortune in the world beyond the hills that surround our city.”

  A glimmer of hope carried from the warm voice then faded as her next words brought reality home.

  “Most never returned.”

  Emma gasped. Her own world faded away a
nd the life of that one little girl hung by a thread in Emma’s mind. She pictured her in the hot sun, thin and weak from malnutrition but glowing with youth.

  “Soon the boy came of age. Too young to father a child. But he was old enough to work. To bring in an income. But with the waning produce of the sea, the family had but one choice. To let him go and seek his fortune elsewhere. To send him into the unknown in the hope that someday he might return with a hint of wealth in his canvass pouch and stories to brighten their lives.”

  “They sent him away? But where did he go?”

  “Our story does not end with the boy. The world swallowed him whole, but he rose and, like all Greeks, he triumphed eventually. But our story lies with the little girl. The little girl whose brother, her only friend, had been sent away, leaving her alone with her parents to work in the sun, scraping an existence from the parched land.”

  “What did she do? Surely all hope was lost. Did her brother return?”

  “Sadly not.” The lady’s tone sharpened to deliver the brutal ending. “Many months passed. The hot, unrelenting summer faded to reveal a cruel winter that seemed to lay like a blanket of death over the city. The winter storms came. Winds, as strong as if the Greek gods tore at the city, destroyed everything in their path. Rain fell in sheets, washing the debris and the dead into the sea. And waves as tall as buildings lifted the small boats high into the air then swallowed them whole, never to be seen again.”

  Enthralled by the story, Emma rocked back and forth in anticipation. She knew what was coming. She knew the next lines, but still she clung to each word the lady spoke.

  “The girl’s father was among the missing. Taken by the very sea that had provided sustenance to the family.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  “It was indeed a tragedy. But the worst is yet to come. Sometime the following day, the news was delivered of the father. Comfort her mother as she tried, even the power of the little girl’s love was not enough to keep her mother from succumbing to the devastation.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The news of her husband’s death ripped her heart in two. She fell to the ground in their tiny yard, raising her arms to the heavens above, to the sky that taunted the city with the promise of summer but instead had taken the mother’s one true love.”

  “What happened?” Finding herself whispering as the story pulled her in line by line, Emma sat, wide-eyed and waiting.

  “The mother died in the arms of her one remaining child.”

  With her knees drawn up to her chin, Emma buried her head and closed her eyes.

  “But I don't understand. What happened to the girl? How could she survive?”

  “Kindness.” The faintest of smiles raised the corners of the woman’s mouth, leaving her watering eyes saddened and forlorn. “As is often the case in the wake of such tragedies, the people of the city came together. A kind man of little wealth and a prestigious background took her in. He fed her and clothed her until he was too old and the girl grew restless. She was ready to follow in the footsteps of her brother.”

  “The big wide world?” Emma was following the tale. She could picture the tiny family house. In her mind, the man had large eyes, brown and moist with love. His skin was tanned but cracked like leather. “She went out looking for her fortune? But how did she do that with nothing?”

  “A man helped her. A traveller. He came and took her away, and they disappeared over the hills that surround Athens where she began a new life with the promise of fortune and opportunity.”

  “So she lived? She lived to tell the tale?”

  “She did. She lived for a long time and grew into a fine young woman.”

  “But I don't understand. It’s a fabulous story, and I would love to know more. But you said we were similar. The girl and me. How am I like her?”

  “Emma, dear…” The lady unfurled her legs and bit her bottom lip as if deciding on what to say or how to say it.

  “What?” Emma pulled the blanket to one side and stood, daring the lady to speak as her imagination began to pull at the threads of uncertainty her mind conjured up. “Tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Emma.” The lady stood and stepped closer. She opened her arms, inviting Emma in for a hug. “Your parents are dead.”

  Chapter Six

  “My name is Leon Saint. My client’s daughter is missing and has been for three days. The police have been little help and have called off their search. Resources, you know.”

  “After three days?” Frankie tried to place the man’s accent. “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “We’re in Athens, Mr Black. The family were on holiday. Things here are not like the UK. The British embassy are doing all they can, but the longer they take to convince the police to extend the search, well, I’m sure you know better than I.”

  “The longer they leave it, the chances of finding her grow smaller.”

  “Exactly. It is a very sensitive situation. The family are distraught, as you can imagine.”

  “And you’re their lawyer?”

  “No.” The man inhaled, as if he was taking the time to decide what to say or how to say it. “I am helping them. Financially, you understand.”

  “And you want me to fly to Athens to help find the missing daughter?”

  “We hear that you are the best.”

  “And where did you hear that?”

  “Mr Black, time is of the essence. I’m sure there will be time to discuss this later. But for now, we need you here. We need your help, Mr Black.”

  From between the rows of beans and berries, Frankie looked back towards the house. The kitchen door was open and the table was empty of crockery. But through the kitchen in the lounge, Jake’s feet stuck in the air from where he lay sprawled on the couch consumed by his video games.

  “Mr Black?” said the man.

  Frankie pictured the man from the tone of his voice. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm sun on his eyelids, and let his mind conjure an image. The man’s head would be smooth. His tan, flawless and natural. Deep brown eyes. A heavy-set man, judging by his voice, and a smoker, hinted at by the man’s gravelled tone. If he was offering strangers financial support, he would be wealthy. Perhaps wearing a pair of light-grey suit pants and a white shirt with a starched collar. His shoes would be brown, as would his belt, and both would be of fine leather. He would be wearing aftershave. It would be heavy and woody to make an impact. Frankie imagined shaking his hand, which would be large with thick fingers. Maybe a ring or two of gold, and a bracelet. And finally, the mark of a man’s wealth and status, his watch, would be expensive, shiny, and would be worn with pride. It was often one of the first purchases a man would make upon finding success, though Frankie had never understood why.

  “She’s been missing three days?” said Frankie.

  “That’s correct, Mr Black.”

  “It’ll take me a day to get there, plus half a day to gather the intelligence.”

  “If you leave now.”

  “You need someone closer. Someone local who knows the local people and the city. Please tell the family I am sorry. But your money would be better spent with another professional.”

  “Mr Black-”

  “Good luck, Mr Saint.”

  Closing the conversation with a pang of regret, Frankie hit the red button to end the call and pocketed the phone before making his way back inside. It was the first time he’d turned away a job, and the regret must have been evident on his face.

  “Work?” said Tom, as Frankie stepped into the kitchen.

  He was drying the dinner things as Mary washed them and upturned them on the draining board. The question may have been perceived as innocent, a friendly conversation with the objective of ensuring Frankie was okay and hadn’t had bad news, or perhaps Tom was hopeful that another job was being lined up, which would mean additional income.

  But Frankie knew better.

  Lying beneath the innocent sounding question was a predat
or waiting to attack, searching for a weakness in which he could sink his teeth and extract some kind of information to hold against Frankie in the discussion that was to follow.

  “A job. I turned it down.”

  “Why would you turn a job down? After all we’ve discussed. Surely the money would be useful?”

  “It’s not about money. It’s about spending time with my son.”

  Frankie glanced into the lounge to find Jake in yet another position, still deep in his video game, but this time lying on the floor with his feet in the air behind him. They twitched and moved as Jake manoeuvred the on-screen character around what looked like the inside of an Egyptian pyramid.

  “Besides, the job was too far away. I don't know how long I’d be gone.” Still watching his son with the voyeuristic fascination that only a parent would understand, Frankie turned to Tom, keeping Mary in his peripheral. “I think we should bring Jake into the conversation. I think we should hear what he wants. It’s only fair.”

  Before either Tom or Mary had time to exchange their worried looks, Frankie called into the lounge, “Jake? Can you pause that game, please? We need you out here.”

  But Frankie’s words fell on deaf ears. The boy was fully engrossed.

  “Jake?” Raising his voice enough to sharpen the tone, but without scaring his son, Frankie added the weight of his glare.

  Jake turned.

  “Pause the game, Son. Come in here.”

  “Ah, but, Dad, I’m at the end of the level.”

  “And you’ll be at the end of the level when we get home. It’s important. Come on. Turn it off.”

  With reluctance, Jake stopped the game. He wound the cord around the controller and placed it beside the console. Then, taking one last look at his progression, he hit the power button.