Jeff, having followed Sofia’s gaze, watched the scene, and responded with even more anger. “Does this clown even love you back? And if he does, what do you need me for? You played me, Sofia! How could you? The last time I visited I said I loved you and wanted to move here. I understood when you said nothing of the sort, when you asked me yet again to take things slow . . . But this? Bringing your ex- boyfriend here to meet up with me . . . for what? Is this your way of moving on? Is this your way of thanking me for my devotion to you all this time?”
Sofia had nothing to say. She bent her head again and chewed on her lower lip, her mind screaming, trying to find something to say to make it right, all in vain.
Jeff’s frustration increased by her silence. The fact that Danny kept watching from a distance infuriated him further. Jeff grabbed Sofia’s arm and shook it. “Tell me! What right do you have to play with me like this?”
Sofia looked up, her eyes full of regret. “I’m so sorry, Jeff. I thought I could forget him. I thought I could move on and learn to love you back. But I couldn’t . . . I am so sorry to hurt you. Please forgive me . . .”
He stared at her for a few moments, his expression frozen, then his fury started to melt, turning into bitterness and sheer upset. That’s when he noticed he was still holding on to her arm. He held it in a strong grasp for a few more moments, as if he held on to her for dear life.
It occurred to him then that the moment he removed his hand, it would probably be the last time he’d ever touch her. He glanced at the exit and knew it was over; it was time to go, for good this time. He let go of her arm, taking his eyes away from the red finger marks he left on her skin. Sofia rubbed her arm, her expression pained, but not only because of the way he handled her. She was about to speak when Danny arrived.
“All okay?” Danny asked Sofia. He had watched, appalled, when Jeff shook Sofia’s arm gruffly, and had decided to intervene. His instinct to protect her was way stronger than his British tactfulness could ever be.
Jeff moved to stand between Danny and Sofia, facing Danny. He leaned forward, his face contorted with rage. “What is it? Can't a bloke have a fight with his girlfriend without being interrupted, huh?”
Danny put up his hands. “Hey mate, I’m sorry. I was merely checking to make sure Sofia was all right; no offence.”
Jeff used an accusing finger to tap it on Danny’s chest. “If there’s one thing Sofia needs is to get some space, away from the likes of you, mate!”
Sofia moved to stand between the boys, putting a hand on Jeff’s chest. “Please Jeff. This is unnecessary. Please leave Danny alone. Don’t take it out on him. It’s me you’re mad at, remember?”
“Why is he mad at you?” asked Danny.
“You shut up! Go away! You’ve done enough harm. Just sod off, before I put my knuckles where they’re itching to go!”
“What? What the heck are you talking about, mate? Whatever did I do to offend you?” asked Danny under Sofia’s gaze. Now, she felt agony rise inside her.
“Offend me? Why, you’ve done nothing else all evening! Dancing with my girlfriend!” Jeff pointed at himself with one sharp finger, his brow deeply creased, spittle coming out of his mouth as he spoke, his eyes intense like live embers.
“I’m sorry, mate, we were just dancing. It’s a club, after all.” Danny shrugged and gave a nervous little laugh.
“Don’t get smart with me!” Jeff shook his fist in mid-air, causing Sofia to put both hands on his chest, trying to get him to move away from Danny but it seemed futile.
“It’s all because of you! You spoiled everything, you bastard!” Jeff lunged forward and landed a punch on Danny’s face, causing him to stumble backwards.
Danny put a hand to his cheek, where it burned like fire, his eyes dancing with intensity, unbelieving. “What the—” he mumbled.
Sofia pushed Jeff back, away from Danny, screaming now. “Don’t you dare take it out on him! It’s my fault! Only my fault, you hear? Leave him alone!”
Jeff let her push him away, and he retreated even further even after she had stopped. He locked eyes with her, feeling lost, then gave a wistful half-smile. “Well, we tried . . . I’ll get my coat and I’ll be off, shall I?”
“I think it’s for the best,” Sofia managed, her eyes ablaze, then turned around. When she cast her gaze upon Danny’s puzzled expression, she realised the song that was playing was Don’t Forget Me by Glass Tiger; a song that held so many precious undertones in her mind, a song that she adored, simply because Danny had recorded it for her in one of the compilation tapes he’d sent. She realised then that she could never possibly forget him, and had never really wanted to.
Danny gazed back at her, his cheek looking angry under the swirling disco lights from the punch he received. In her mind, Sofia drifted to a distant memory from Paxos: she and Danny lost in a kiss in a secluded cave. The boy before her seemed a lifetime away from the one in that memory. But even so, it was still Danny - her Danny. She knew then it would take countless lifetimes to ever even begin to let him go. She turned around again, to say to Jeff that she was sorry, but he was already gone.
AROUND THE CORNER
I spent much time on my own
I ran through fields and hid away
Never met the mounted prince
Only saw a tear run stray.
Sunsets proved to be so ugly
Should have been; was never there
Spent much time in isolation
Yearning for things that lovers share.
Now I know I’m not alone
The sun is up, fear yields to need
My stagnant heart beats strong again
And sows within my one left seed.
I ran so far to reach the truth
To find bliss, one cannot mar
I panted out the truthful words
That met the wind and drifted far.
Then came the storm that took my dreams
I held my ground and cried out, ‘No!’
I licked the wound and now head home
It took so long the truth to know.
Love is waiting around the corner
My frenzied heart is beating fast
I’ve been a fool but now I know
It’s never least what comes up last.
Now I know I’m not alone
The sun is up, fear yields to need
My stagnant heart beats strong again
And sows within my one left seed.
Chapter 19
1943
The war was still holding strong. In May 1943, Brighton was destined to endure probably the worst air raid throughout the war. Within a matter of five minutes, an enemy squadron of about thirty Focke-Wulf 190 aircraft left behind it total devastation in a great number of Brighton streets, dropping bombs, and machine-gunning everything in sight. Two dozens of people died and just over a hundred people were wounded. A hundred and fifty houses were destroyed to a point beyond reconstruction rendering five hundred people homeless.
At least, as another grim year of the war progressed, the dread in people’s hearts slowly started to subside. By autumn, the fear of invasion had abated. As a result, the Army brought down its guard on the seafront and removed the mines and booby traps, including the ones on the West Pier. To Laura, that was a relief and a precious promise for better days. If it was time for the mines to be disarmed, perhaps it meant there was hope for peace yet, a hope for the West Pier to be open again someday. She’d gladly give anything, just to walk along the deck again.
Laura’s feelings of hope for peace and new beginnings thrived even more the following year. British and American troops landed in Normandy and, by August 1944, the allied forces finally liberated Paris.
A month later, back in Britain, the blackout was replaced by a partial dim-out. Now it was even easier to imagine a possibility of life getting slowly back to normal. Things from there began to look more and more hopeful. In Brighton, only one hiccup disrupted the increasing feeling of
normality in peoples’ hearts. It was an accident that involved more damage to the West Pier.
In November 1944, a Royal Air Force Hawker Typhoon monoplane fighter hit the Pier and crashed on the beach. The pilot sustained head injuries. The news spread around Brighton like wildfire, reminding everyone that the war and the random madness that came with it, the insecurity that ruled over their daily lives, wasn’t over just yet.
It took another six months to put the lid on Pandora’s box, and to finally breathe freely again, knowing that from now on, what lay in the past could be sealed tight and never revisited again.
On May 8th, 1945, Victory in Europe Day, relief finally settled in people’s hearts. Street parties took place all over the country, people coming together to rejoice as one, each one recognising in the faces of the others their own relief to be alive, but also their grief for those lost, never to return. Maggie, Laura and their children met up with Meg, then visited together their three neighbourhoods, to share their joy with everyone they knew and to celebrate the sweetness of peace.
Freddie was now six and hard to keep an eye on, but Maggie, in order to keep him in check, asked him to hold her daughter Sandra’s hand, who was now four. With their ages being so close together, the children got on really well. Freddie was very attentive with Sandra. Even when the little girl threw the odd tantrum, he’d be patient with her. When they sat together to play quietly, they looked like an angelic duo that sent their mothers’ hearts soaring, making them coo and chuckle no end.
Life soon began to fall back into more normal rhythms. Now, Ian was back home with his family, and James had also returned, something that Laura was delighted about. Nowadays, she couldn’t get enough of going out with Maggie and the children, so her rides to town in the Rolls with James at the wheel became part of the day’s fun.
Although the West Pier was still out of reach, Laura and Maggie would meet up in town to visit a park or to swim along the promenade when summer came. Maggie was still exchanging the odd letter with Christian, and Laura kept his photograph in her room, hidden from view.
Laura never discussed it with Maggie, but now she’d daydream endlessly about the tiny chance of seeing Christian again. She hoped it could happen somehow, but her pride would never allow her to reach out to him, or even to ask Maggie to intervene.
Thankfully, Maggie knew her friend too well and never expected her to ask. She still had her plan and now that peace was restored in the world, the time was drawing near for carrying it out.
As for Charles, he hadn’t welcomed this sane, peaceful world. Gone where the fruitful days of the US troops that filled his safe with fat wads of cash every night. Nowadays, people didn’t need so much to forget their sorrows with cheap thrills. His gambling hall had to close down and even the cabaret hardly saw more than a handful of customers on weekdays. The only thing that kept his business afloat were Friday and Saturday nights and the odd stag party. Still, Lilly kept his spirits up. By now, she was a trusted friend and a precious partner. In a way, they’d been living together in the suite above the cabaret on and off, and he now shared with her all his thoughts and plans, trusting and opening up to her completely.
As for his wife, Charles still had no interest in her. He was simply satisfied that she was home where he wanted her and nothing else about her or the child concerned him.
The New Year saw the world at peace for the first time in years, and the celebrations around the country were monumental. The world was still trying to mend itself and so were people in their private lives. By the time Easter approached, whispered rumours of a possible reopening of the West Pier started to spread around town. Soon, it was a proclaimed fact.
When Maggie heard, she was beside herself with joy and rushed to Laura’s house to tell her in person. She could have easily telephoned, but she had to see the look on her face. She was right; it was well worth the ride in the bus.
It turned out that the Pier would reopen only from the root end to the Concert Hall and not in its entirety, but still, that was extraordinary news that had delighted everyone in town. The big day was going to be Thursday, April 18th, 1946. A formal ceremony would be held on the Pier the next day which happened to be Good Friday. It was all a hopeful promise of a very special, long weekend that meant the town anticipated crowds to flood in, even from other parts of the country. Britons coming out of the war needed little excuse for a celebration these days, snatching at half a chance to reclaim a precious piece from their carefree past. The West Pier was bound to feel like one of them in the lives of countless people.
When Maggie first heard about the big day, she cheered with solid hope that came to settle in her heart, sweet like honey. She knew then that it was high time to write Christian another letter, and to extend an invitation that was well overdue.
Chapter 20
Maggie answered the doorbell and gave a gasp when she saw her cousin Eric standing in front of her. Ecstatic, she fell into his arms, and he explained he arrived in town the previous evening to stay with friends for Easter. They hadn’t met since he left Brighton, well before the war, but they’d been in touch all this time through their avid correspondence.
After fighting in Europe the second time, Eric had returned straight to Devon at the end of the war the previous year. He was still working the tractors and the land, and tending the cattle as well, in the same old farm, alongside Christian.
Maggie led her cousin to the living room in the back of the house, and they settled on the sofa with a cuppa. As they made small talk, Eric kept dunking biscuits from the tray in his tea, munching with a humongous appetite.
“You’re staying for lunch, surely?” Maggie was delighted to see him happy and well. He had a healthy flush on his cheeks. “Ian will be delighted to see you again. And you’ll get to meet Sandra finally. They’ve gone for a walk; they won't be long.”
“It’ll be my pleasure, thank you!” Eric asked after Laura, and she asked after Christian, and in the awkward pauses in between, Maggie didn’t dare ask anything else. Eric changed the subject, and they talked about Meg, then inevitably about Paul and his tragic death during the bombing at the Odeon.
“So bloody unfair,” lamented Eric. “He was such a good lad, a good honest bloke. And poor Meg . . .” He shook his head. “How is she doing?”
“She’s well. She’s taken in a lodger as she felt lonely living alone in the house. It’s another girl she knew from when we worked at the factory.”
“Does she work now?”
“Yes, she waitresses in a pub.”
Eric took another sip from his tea. “Poor thing . . . She’s too young to remain a widow forever. Anyone special in her life these days?”
“No, not really. I’m sure she’ll find someone one day, though. Maybe she’s not ready yet.”
Eric shrugged. “Perhaps.” He looked out the window at the tall trees in the distant hills swaying in the wind. Slowly, he turned to face Maggie again. “Can I ask you something, dear cousin?”
Maggie nodded, and inside, she hoped.
“How’s Laura really doing? I mean, in her marriage. Is she happy?”
Maggie sipped from her tea and threw a nonchalant glance at Eric. “Why do you ask?”
“Nothing . . . I was just wondering. She’s such a terrific girl. I hope she’s content.”
Maggie leaned closer to Eric. “If I tell you, can you promise to keep it to yourself?”
Eric huffed. “Who would I tell?”
Maggie cast a gaze of mock-strictness at him that made him cringe visibly. “I’ve known you since you were a baby, Eric Harper! You couldn’t possibly fool me! Has he said anything? Tell me, Eric! We could save two poor souls and help them find happiness again, if you’ll only speak in full honesty. So out with it! Does he talk about her?” Her eyes were pleading. All trace of humour had drained from her expression.
Eric nodded, then rolled his eyes. “All the time! He does nothing else but talk about Laura, wondering if she’s happy.
” He tilted his head. “So is she?”
Maggie heaved a long sigh. “Her marriage is a shambles; a mere circus. It’s been like this for years on end.”
Eric’s face dropped. “What?”
“Promise to keep it to yourself, all right?”
He nodded fervently.
“With Charles, Laura has known only upset. Now, she lives in hope for a miracle, for a chance to see Christian again. I wrote to him to ask if he’s visiting, under the pretence of the excitement over the Pier reopening, but he’s reluctant. We exchanged two more letters since then, but he remains non-committal. I don’t understand why . . .” she gave a long sigh.
Eric nodded. “I know exactly why. He’s too afraid of what he’d find out if he came.”
“How do you mean?”
“Maggie, Christian never stopped loving Laura. I guess he’s living in hope too. He’s afraid that if it turns out Laura is happy without him, he won't be able to live with all hope lost. Ever since he left town, he never stopped thinking about her; not for a single day. I’ve spent nights and nights having drinks with him at the local while he rants on and on about what happened and how he misses her. Many a night by closing time, before we got kicked out seriously drunk, he’d already be crying on my shoulder for the hundredth time.”
“Oh my God! He doesn’t have another girl then?”
“Another girl? Christian? That’s a jest and a half!”
“Do you think he’d take her back if he got a chance?”
“Take her back? In a heartbeat! Do you know, he had an old photograph of her in the trenches with him. Ever since he lost it in Dunkirk when we were blown up and thrown into the water, he’s been inconsolable. If he ever dared express to you in his letters how much he misses her, I bet the first thing he’d ask you is to send him another picture of her.”
The Storm Page 10