The Ebb

by Effrosyni Moschoudi

  The Lady of the Pier

  The Ebb

  by

  Effrosyni Moschoudi

  © 2013 Effrosyni Moschoudi. All rights reserved.

  Effrosyni Moschoudi asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  Cover design: © 2014 Deborah Mansfield. All rights reserved.

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  This eBook is licensed for the personal enjoyment of the original purchaser only. This eBook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or if it was not granted to you directly by the author for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons - living or dead - is entirely coincidental.

  To my beloved grandparents, Spyros and Antigone, who lived happily married for sixty-seven years. They were the most loving couple I’ve ever known and the best grandparents a child could ever have.

  Prologue

  Greece, 1987

  Sofia shook her head. Why so many lies? Why is so much secrecy necessary for something so innocent? Boy meets girl, and they fall in love. It’s as natural as the earth turning and as strong and inevitable as the tide. What’s the point in resisting it or covering it up?

  She sat up on the bed, and an image flashed in her mind. As she frowned at the floor tiles, scattered memories from a dream came back in flashes.

  It was odd. Last night, she dreamt that she was standing at the head of the pier, down at the beach where she worked. But then, the pier started to expand, further and further into the sea, while a disorienting fog began to fall upon her. Next thing she knew, the pier she was standing on was another one altogether. It was huge in size; with majestic buildings on it, and it resembled the West Pier in Brighton just as she and Danny had seen it in the magazine.

  However, that wasn’t the strangest thing about the dream. The woman that was supposed to be Sofia in it seemed quite different to her. She stood on the pier under torrential rain, in a long, black dress that flowed in a fierce wind. Huge waves crashed ferociously against the piles underneath. Murky, foaming seawater, mixed with seaweed, rose up from the wash in sharp tongues, threatening to take the woman down to the depths with them. Yet, the woman stood there, alone in the mighty elements, completely unafraid.

  She had red hair like Sofia, but hers had long, bouncy curls. Her face was the same, albeit gaunt, and her green eyes sparkled with tears. She held her hands open wide, as if waiting to embrace someone, yet no one came. A wistful melody and faint singing could be heard, as the woman called out to someone. Her expression was remorseful and pleading, her arms stretched out in front of her, or pounding at her chest.

  Sofia couldn’t remember a single word the strange woman said, but she felt her pain as her own. She recalled waking up in the middle of the night with the memory of the dream still fresh in her mind. It was quite disturbing at the time. In the light of day, it had faded significantly. Yet, the feeling of sadness it stirred in her remained just as strong. It blended in her heart now, with her own sadness over Danny’s imminent departure.

  Trying to shake this feeling off, Sofia stretched like a cat, then finally got out of bed. A glance at the wall clock confirmed she was running late. As she got the butter and jam from the fridge to make breakfast, she chuckled at the oddity of the dream. Fancy feeling distraught in Brighton! If only I could be there, I’d be the happiest girl in the world, for that is where Danny is headed!

  Chapter 1

  England, 1937

  Laura Mayfield got off the train at Brighton station with a beaming smile on her face. She offered her hand to her mother Ruth and helped her down from the big step just as a burly porter with an earnest smile approached to offer his services. The two women pointed at the two large trunks that contained all their worldly possessions and followed him outside. In the street, the porter took a rather small reward from Ruth—albeit gratefully—and then hailed a low loader taxi, especially for them. He only had to take one look at Ruth, a gaunt middle-aged woman, to realise she was feeling poorly. It wouldn’t do for her to wait at the roadside in the chilling, February breeze.

  The wind blew from the sea and smelled of salt. As Laura got in the taxi after her mother, she felt restless. She couldn’t wait to be at the seaside; a dream she seemed to have forever, ever since her deceased father had first described to her life at sea as a sailor. Laura on the other hand, had never been to the seaside before, having lived all her life by the docks of East London.

  The humid air around the Thames had not allowed her mother to ever truly heal after a serious case of pneumonia a few years earlier. Instead, she had been suffering from violent coughing fits that gradually worsened. A month earlier, the doctor said that unless she moved to a healthier climate, her poor lungs would eventually cause her to die, well before her time. Laura did some asking around and soon enough, a kindly neighbour offered to write to her niece in Brighton and ask if she could help them move there.

  Her niece was called Meg. The young girl had seen an ad in the paper two years earlier about job opportunities at Brighton’s West Pier. She was instantly inspired to move to the south coast, and it proved to be the best decision she ever made. Meg found life in Brighton to be great fun; she thought it was so refreshing that it made her memories from ‘dreary London’ feel vague and distant as if they belonged to someone else.

  Laura had been excited to hear all that, especially as the doctor suggested that the sea air would be best for her mother’s poor lungs. Meg had written a letter back to her aunt, offering to help out Laura and her mother. They could stay with her in the two-bedroom house where she was a tenant, sharing with the owner, another young lady, who worked at the Pier as well. She said they could stay with them rent-free for as long as it would take Laura to get a job and find a place of their own.

  “Where to?” asked the driver as soon as they set off.

  Laura met his laughing eyes in the rear view mirror and told him the address. She had memorized it weeks ago.

  “You lovely ladies are very lucky to arrive today. Much more agreeable. It was chucking it down in buckets yesterday! Still, hellish cold, mind you.”

  “Yes, it’s been the same in London,” said Laura.

  “Oh! Come for a holiday, have you? Pretty chilly for a swim, though.” He winked.

  “No, actually, we’ve come to stay,” replied Laura.

  “That’s nice. Our Brighton is a wonderful place. I’m sure you’ll love it here.”

  “I believe so, too. The air is so refreshingly clear,” piped up Ruth, smiling faintly.

  The driver’s eyes darted to the rear view mirror again. He had noticed that the woman with the sunken-in eyes kept coughing every now and then. She seemed in desperate need of a rest.

  “We’re arriving soon, not long to go now,” he offered helpfully, as if he had been asked.

  “Are we going via the promenade at all?”

  “Oh no, miss, that’s way down that road.” He gestured vaguely to his left as he stopped at a red light.

  “Never mind, I’m sure we’ll see it soon enough.” A few seconds later, unable to hide her excitement, Laura spoke again. “Can I ask? Do you think there’ll be any employment opportunities at the West Pier?”

  “Oh, it’s worth asking, miss! Young people are always coming and going for work here. T
he West Pier Company is one of the town’s many busy recruiters throughout the year.”

  “Sounds promising!” Laura cast a reassuring glance at her mother. In response, Ruth gave another feeble smile and patted her daughter’s hand affectionately.

  The taxi turned off a busy avenue and into a small street that was lined with tall, leafy trees. With a loud grunt, as if complaining for the heavy trunks in the back, the vehicle came to a stop outside a two-floor, semi-detached house. The façade looked just as tired as all the others in the street. The weatherworn brickwork was mottled with soot, but it had acquired an endearing rusty brown colour over time. The roof tiles lay heavy with moss. There was soot on the rim of the chimney and a light wisp of smoke was coming out of it, whirling up into the air like a timid snake out of a box. The garden was covered with bright, green grass and wildflowers with tiny, blue petals. A front window on the ground floor was open wide and a pale, pink curtain flowed there in the breeze as if in excited welcome.

  The taxi driver opened the front gate and carried the trunks one at a time all the way to the front door, down the narrow, concrete path. Upon receiving his fee, he waved the two women goodbye, leaving them at the doorstep with a heartfelt wish for good luck.

  Laura pressed the doorbell. Its jovial little sound resonated inside her heart with her own excited anticipation.

  Meg appeared at the door with a beaming smile. She beckoned them eagerly inside and assisted Laura with the trunks. A cup of tea and ten minutes later, she led them upstairs to the bedrooms. It was a small house, but it was charming and quaint; the kind that seems to welcome you like an old friend. It wins your heart not because it offers luxuries or commodities but because of the very feeling it conveys. It makes you feel instantly safe and loved.

  Meg opened a door upstairs to show them their bedroom. Mother and daughter exchanged glances, hardly believing their luck. The room looked just as inviting as everything else they had seen so far and yet, it was furnished quite plainly: two single beds, a bedside table with a lamp, a writing desk, a tiny wardrobe, and two chairs.

  At the open window, a flimsy curtain billowed in the breeze. Laura approached with her mother slowly, as if hypnotized, to take a look at the view. A wide expanse of green bordered the property over the weathered, wooden fence. A thick cluster of tall, ancient-looking trees crowned the hill in the far distance. It was a picture of serenity. The crisp air carried fragrances of woodland herbs and the sound of birdsong. Down below, two apple trees stood in the back garden. The ground was covered in grass and delicate wild flowers. It all looked just perfect in their eyes.

  “It’s not much, but I hope you like it. Sorry I can't offer you a sea view.” Meg’s apologetic words sounded ridiculous to her guests, seeing that what she was offering them was strictly out of kindness.

  “Oh no, this is simply marvellous!” responded Ruth. “But are you sure you can spare this room for us? I thought this was a two-bedroom house. What about the owner?”

  “Oh, don’t worry. Maggie’s more than happy to accommodate me in her room.”

  “This is awfully kind,” said Laura.

  Meg waved her hand dismissively and flashed them another earnest smile. “Shall I help you with your trunks? We could empty them downstairs, and I could help you bring your things up here. I don’t see how we can carry them upstairs full!” Meg gave an unexpected giggle then, which made her appear even more adorable to her guests.

  “Heaven forbid! I’m afraid we’ve packed quite a few favourite books that we just didn’t have the heart to leave behind,” answered Ruth.

  “Oh, how wonderful! Books are always welcome in this house!”

  “Please don’t worry about our things, Meg. I’m sure I can manage that on my own later. We’ll just have a little rest for now, if you’ll agree,” suggested Laura. She imagined her mother couldn’t wait to take off her shoes and lie down.

  “Of course.” Meg headed for the door and once there, she turned around. “It’s chicken and mushroom pie for lunch. Hope that’s all right?”

  “Lovely,” replied mother and daughter in unison and then they chuckled, amused they’d had the same instant response.

  Meg’s eyes were twinkling as she looked at her guests from the door. She could tell already she was going to enjoy having them around.

  “Is Maggie joining us for lunch?” asked Ruth.

  “I’m afraid not, not this time. She’s working the morning shift at the Pier. She’ll be back in the late afternoon.”

  “We look forward to meeting her,” said Laura. “So you both work at the Pier?”

  “Yes we do. Maggie works at a haberdashery stall, but in the summer she also helps out at the bathing station. As for me, I sell sweets at the stalls.”

  “Oh, that’s nice.” Laura loved the idea of working at the bathing station and wondered if Maggie would be kind enough to tell her more about it. She hoped she would be half as nice as Meg seemed to be.

  “I hope we haven’t caused any trouble today. Did you have to miss work to be here for our arrival?” asked Ruth. The panic in her voice indicated she had just realised.

  “Indeed, I’ve taken a leave but I’ll go to work after lunch.”

  Ruth gave a tight smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it’s fine, really.” Meg gave a little wave and grinned. “Actually, I was glad for the opportunity to take a morning off.”

  “You’re awfully kind, Meg.” Ruth was now perched on the edge of the bed. Her words had come out in a whisper, as if they weren’t even meant to be heard.

  Laura gave a deep frown. She watched as her mother took out a handkerchief, then dabbed at her red-rimmed eyes and wiped her brow.

  Meg stood at the door still. It was evident to her too that the pale, middle-aged woman had started to look frailer by the second. “Well, enjoy a little rest and I’ll see you both later. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” she said in a tactful whisper and closed the door behind her without further ado.

  Chapter 2

  Greece, 1987

  The siren of the ferry sounded loudly, disturbing the murmur of excited chatter among the passengers. Sofia Aspioti looked up from her magazine and smiled brightly. Corfu, at last! It was a sight for sore eyes, after yet another dreary winter of city life. She had just put behind her the third year of her studies in Finance at Athens University. After a particularly tough examination period, she was finally on her way to her beloved annual refuge at her grandparents’ house on the island.

  The ferry had departed from the port of Igoumenitsa almost two hours earlier. By now, Corfu was no longer a grey mass of mist up ahead. Her beloved island of the Ionian Sea was at last revealed before her eyes, rising from the early morning fog, a welcoming sight of lush vegetation.

  She was on the top deck, surrounded by tourists from various countries. She left her bench seat and made for the port side in order to enjoy the view. Clinging to the railing, she tipped her head back, closed her eyes and breathed in the delicious, humid air. During her sleepless night travelling by coach, she had been feeling like the living dead, all her energy drained from her. Yet, she felt rejuvenated now. It was because of her enthusiasm and she knew it. She made this journey every year; the morning of her arrival on the island had always felt just as precious.

  When the ferry cruised past the Old Venetian Fortress, a sailboat passed them by from the other direction at a cautious distance, in order to avoid the ferry’s strong wake. A man was standing alone on the wood-panelled deck of the small vessel. He raised a waving arm, causing a handful of tourists to respond with frantic clicks from their cameras.

  The town of Corfu was still half-sunk in the overnight mist, slowly stirring into life. Underneath the busy coastal road, the rocky walls of Mouragia gleamed in the morning light as crystal waves splashed against them, brought on by the ferry’s wake. It was the only thing that disturbed the sea at the time. Other than that, it was perfectly still and smooth, like a mirror of the fin
est glass.

  The belfry of St Spyridon’s church towered over the surrounding Venetian buildings of the old town. Their ancient walls were decayed, discoloured, and humid. They seemed to welcome the morning light, soaking up the faint heat with relish. A murmuration of starlings flew in swirls and circles over mossy, tiled roofs and pebbled lanes. Despite the decline of the town’s old buildings, the odd splash of colour here and there added vibrancy to the revered scene of antiquity, such as the burgundy and cypress green shutters and the multi-coloured clothes that hung on the washing lines from nearly every window.

  Sofia turned her gaze far to the left, where the southeast end of the island seemed to be dipping into the sparkling waters for an early morning swim. The familiar pyramid-shaped mountain towered over the low mist, and she smiled wistfully at the sight in a silent, heartfelt greeting. She loved that mountain; it stood over the coast like a tireless protector. Villages perched on its foot like loyal dogs sitting by the feet of their master, basking in their love and the provided sense of security.

  Sofia couldn’t make out her grandparents’ village yet. Everything was concealed in the haze at this hour. Yet, she knew it was lying still somewhere, to the right of the mountain, sleeping peacefully on the surf like a playful child, about to awake and spring into life again.

  Vassilaki. Her favourite place in the whole wide world. It was her father’s birthplace and where her grandparents and a long string of relatives lived. To Sofia, it was her second home; the place where she had spent nearly all the summers of her life, staying with her grandparents. Their tiny dwelling was situated on a hilltop, in the old village quarter; a labyrinth of whitewashed paths that baffled the uninitiated, and yet, she could wander there with her eyes shut.