by J. D. Weston
A gentle bump of the police boat against the dockside was a silent announcement to Emma that they had arrived back at land. Part of her wanted the journey to never end. The police had spoken little English so she had been left to wallow in her own silent world gazing through a porthole. But in her mind, uncertainty ruled. The blue sky and sparkling sea still held the ghosts of thunderous clouds and a savage ocean, and her future once more was obscured by the unknown.
A line of people waited on the dock. Some pointed when they saw her face and cameras flashed. But mostly they were silent and smiling faint smiles of joy and sadness.
Waiting politely at the door, a policeman offered his hand. He had a gentle face and smile, attributes that defied the barriers of language and culture.
“Who are those people?”
As if to confirm that Emma was referring to the gathered crowds, the officer peered through the porthole. He smiled with pride and sought the words that would suffice.
“For you.”
“For me?”
She looked at them again, inciting a fresh wave of pointing and flashes outside and a raised heartbeat from within. Perhaps seeing Emma’s frightened face, the man stepped closer, surefooted, tall, and lean. He offered her a hand and his warm smile broadened.
“It is okay to be afraid. I am with you.”
With the blanket wrapped around her and her heart in her mouth, Emma swung her feet to the floor. But she found her legs so shaky and weak that the officer took her weight on his shoulder until her breathing had regained composure and her balance had stabilised. With the manners of an old romantic, the officer waved his hand in front of Emma, presenting her with the way out.
“I will be here. Nothing will happen to you.”
Finding kindness in the man’s face, Emma wiped away the tear that had formed in the corner of her eye. As if to support the sincerity of his innocence and well-meaning, the officer produced a handkerchief from his breast pocket, which he offered along with a moment of privacy to collect her confidence.
Emma took a single step but found little strength in her knees. Only her resolve and the patience of the officer pushed her forward to take another, and then one more, until she was standing before the doorway.
The hum of the crowds lowered so that barely a whisper could be heard.
One more step and her ordeal would be over. But at the far end of the gangway, uncertainty waited among the gathering. Disguised and hidden among the well-wishers, it waited to reveal what lay in store for Emma, rubbing its hands with cunning delight.
Gripping the far side of the doorway with one hand, Emma found distraction in the slice of light that warmed the skin on her arm. Her body remained in shadow. But the tiny hairs on her forearm rose in greeting to the warmth.
“Take your time, Miss Fletcher.”
Offering the officer a brief expression of gratitude, Emma turned back to the light. To her surprise, the voice of her mother replaced that of the lady as the guiding hand on her thoughts.
Be proud, Emma. Be proud of who you are.
Although uncertainty lay among the crowd, a moment of clarity presented itself. No matter what lay ahead, no matter what the world had in store for her, she would meet it head on. Emma thought of the tiny room she had been kept in. Of Darius. Of her escape down the hillside. She thought of the dread and anxiety. The parade. The other girls. She thought of Anna and her body but retained the tear that teetered on her eyelid.
When Emma had sacrificed herself for Anna like a lamb to the lion, Anna had ended up being the lamb. She could not let her down. She had to be strong. Emma had to make Anna’s sacrifice worthwhile.
Straightening her legs, Emma found a new strength within. Her shoulders pulled back and her chest filled with a long, deep breath before the final part of Emma stepped from her chrysalis.
Her chin lifted and she stepped forward to meet her new world.
As if the scene had been rehearsed, the waiting crowd erupted into shouts of celebration. Sharp whistles cut through the voices of welcome and people cheering.
The cheers continued as Emma, standing tall and strong, met the applause, breathing deeply and with a rhythm that carried her across the gangway. The bright sunlight cast the crowd into a silhouetted mass of kindness and joy so that their individual features were thrust into darkness, holding uncertainty at bay.
Happiness reigned in the moment.
Emma took her first step onto the concrete. The crowd seemed to increase in volume until she stood before them, for the first time seeing the features on their faces. Men and women of all ages and races clapped. In the chaos, they mouthed their message of welcome, many of them dabbing their eyes with tissues.
But all of them smiled smiles of sincerity the likes of which Emma had never seen before.
As Emma stepped forward, a queen for a moment, the crowd parted, softening in volume, until, once more, barely a murmur could be heard. They parted to form an avenue of bristling excitement. But there was no jostling for position. Each person respectfully waited for Emma to pass. They splayed out further with each of Emma’s steps, and with each step, her smile of confidence grew broader, widening until her cracked lips parted and her perfect, uncleaned teeth showed. The crowd parted further until the last remaining well-wishers stepped to one side.
Except for two people.
Two people blocked her view of Athens behind.
Two people stood framed by the arms of the mountains that surrounded the village and contrasted against the monolithic Acropolis in the distance.
Her smiled dropped.
The muscles in her face lost their composure and fell as if waiting for Emma’s emotion to guide them.
And the tears that Emma’s new found pride and confidence had held at bay began to flow like the streams of some far away landscape. Somewhere the crowds could not see her. Where the hearts of the people could not touch her.
And only they remained.
Her family.
It was her mother who broke first, unleashing the emotions that triggered an explosion of heartache in Emma’s chest. Breaking free of her husband, she ran at Emma and they met with a force that would have sent Emma to the ground had it not been for the strength that had carried her so far. Burying her head in her sobbing mother’s shoulder, Emma felt the vice-like squeeze a thousand words could not convey. It was a hug of longing and of guilt. It was a hug of delight and happiness. But, most of all, it was a hug of unrivalled love.
Watching her father over her mother’s shoulder, Emma’s face formed a smile. It was characteristic of her father to allow his wife the initial pleasure of greeting their daughter. But instead of waiting for her mother to finish and move away, he stepped closer still, unashamed of the tears that streamed across his unshaven face. Absorbed in the pride of love, he walked as if he no longer carried a heavy burden but had been filled by the air of innocence.
And like the great father he was, the dedicated and hard-working man that had tolerated so much, he wrapped his arms around his family. As the crowd recognised the moment, they erupted into a tirade of cheers and claps of a volume so great that Emma could barely hear the sound of her own beating heart, which thumped like a drum in her ears.
The crowd formed a circle around the family.
They called out messages of love and happiness.
They threw flowers into the air.
But through the arms of her parents and over the shoulders of the cheering crowd, Emma caught sight of one man standing away from everybody else as if he didn't belong. Her gaze found his and, for a moment, they locked eyes. He stood with strength and pride but his face conveyed the appearance of a man who knew and understood.
It was the man who had been at the hotel, who had burst from the fire escape, who had not seen Emma banging on the rear window of the van.
For a moment, nobody existed.
For a fraction of a second, Emma wanted to call out to him.
But she didn’t.
She couldn’
t.
He smiled once.
He nodded his welcome.
Then he turned and walked away, not looking back, only staring forward. Forward to his own world. He left the Fletchers standing huddled together as one, embraced in their world, weeping tears of a happiness reborn.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Watching from the solitude of his rental car, Frankie could find nothing but admiration for the girl. Knowing nothing of her ordeal but confident that it had been akin to the fourth layer of Dante’s hell, he watched as the family were led to the waiting ambulance. A man dressed in a dark uniform helped Emma through the open rear doors.
Sharon and Alan followed. The paramedic closed the doors behind them to the tune of a thousand-strong crowd offering their final cheers of joy and welcome.
Twenty-five hundred miles away, Tom answered the phone. His voice came through the car’s in-built audio system.
“Hello?”
A pair of birds circled the ambulance high in the sky as Frankie considered what he might say.
“Hello? Who is this please?”
While people hugged and reporters sought photos of the family through the ambulance’s tinted windows, the engine started and the vehicle began to move forward, slowly creating a path through the crowd. People parted as they had done when Emma had walked from the ship.
“Tom.”
People slapped their hands on the bodywork and flowers adorned the windscreen while the driver remained patient, smiling at his role in the drama.
“Frankie? Is that you? Are you okay?”
Still unable to find the words and restraining the tightness in his throat, Frankie imagined Jake lying on Tom and Mary’s sofa with his feet in the air, lost in a fictitious historical world.
“Frankie?”
The sky was full of red flowers tossed like confetti at the ambulance as it crept along the avenue of well-wishers.
“I’m coming home, Tom.”
“Oh, that is good news, Frankie. We saw you on the TV. We’re watching it live. You should have seen Jake’s face when that reporter girl mentioned you.”
But as the heaving crowd parted for the ambulance, creating the path that would lead Emma into Athens and to safety, one man refused to move.
“Frankie? Can you hear me?”
The man stood with his feet planted, eying the driver and unsmiling.
The ambulance stopped.
The cheers of joy fell to a questioning murmur.
“Frankie? Did you hear me? I said he’s ever so proud of you.”
The standoff continued.
The driver honked the horn, gesturing for the man to move.
Tears welled in Frankie’s eyes at the thought of earning his little boy’s pride. If he opened his mouth, Frankie knew Tom would hear his emotion.
But still, the man remained where he was, challenging the driver to mow him down.
The driver revved the engine.
“Frankie? Are you okay? When will you be home?”
But the driver’s efforts failed.
Reporters fought for prominent positions to capture the spectacle. Penelope, with her commanding nature, guided her crew to the front.
“Frankie, what’s wrong? When will you be home, son?”
Roused by the sudden change in atmosphere, several policemen stepped into view, vying for a better vantage point from behind the murmuring masses.
The driver’s head flicked between the police officers who were closing in on the man and the man who blocked his path.
But still, the man remained resolute.
With one hand on the door handle and his foot poised above the accelerator, Frankie slipped the car into gear.
“I have one more thing to clear up.”
Hitting the red button on the phone to end the call, Frankie wiped his eyes and focused on the melee taking place before him.
The ambulance engine revved louder than before and rolled forward, stopping just a few feet from the defiant man in his path.
The police closed in.
The driver revved louder, growing nervous as the police grew closer, and the crowd parted to offer Frankie a glimpse at the face of the man.
But it wasn’t a man. It was just a boy. A teenage boy with sharp features, dark hair, and skin that was bronzed from a lifetime in the sun.
“Christos?”
As the police reached Christos, two of them grabbed his arms. The driver inched forward and the crowd silenced. Fighting off the police, Christos refused to budge. But as they dragged him away, above the hushed murmurs of the anxious crowd, he shouted a single word in his defence.
“Darius.”
Hearing the name out loud and seeing the crowds turn to face him, recognition flowing through them as a wave rolls across the Mediterranean, the driver panicked. He floored the accelerator, sending the encroaching crowds scattering. The defiant Christos broke free of the two policemen and launched himself onto the bonnet.
The escape route was clear. The parting crowds opened wide. The police jumped from the path of the ambulance that roared into action. And Frankie stamped on his accelerator.
Wheels spun on the hard concrete and people scattered, but Frankie remained true to his path sending the spectators fleeing out of his way. With the gates of the port just two hundred metres ahead, the ambulance would escape.
The two vehicles were on a collision course, but with the faster car, Frankie closed the gap, overtook the ambulance, and brought the car to a sliding stop across the port barrier.
Time passed by in slow motion.
The ambulance drew down on him with the size and power of a herd of wild beasts.
There was no time to brace for impact.
The force of the collision rocked Frankie’s head into the side window.
The windscreen shattered like the swirl of Frankie’s thoughts as confusion gripped his fractured mind.
Glass rained down on him as the car rolled once onto its side and slid.
The dying coughs of the ambulance muted.
And the world was still once more.
Three words roused Frankie from his confusion.
“He’s getting away.”
The sight of Darius running gave Frankie an urgency he could not fulfil. He pulled his feet from the foot well and rolled through the open windscreen as a stampede of angry people ran past the upturned car.
Darius stopped in his tracks.
The crowds gathered on all sides, and as Frankie dragged himself to his feet, using the car to support his weight, they descended upon Darius as a pack of wild lions feast on the carcass of their prey.
Chapter Fifty-Six
The same sun that had brought life to the Mediterranean and warmed the tanned skins of Varkiza twinkled on the much cooler waters of Ullswater, a lake as wide and as long as a sea but encircled by British hills and greenery. It left little doubt in Frankie’s mind that beauty comes in all colours, all shapes, and takes perpetual life in memory alone.
“Dad?”
That voice. The voice Frankie had longed to hear with its childish question rising in pitch.
Raising his head from the tartan blanket, Frankie rolled to one side to watch as Jake sat by the lakeside a few feet away. There was no need to reply. Jake knew he had his father’s attention. He’d had it since the moment Tom had opened the door and the parents of his late wife had looked at him with a pride beyond expression.
“Why is this place so special?”
“Don't you think it’s special?”
“It’s nice. But so is that place over there.” The boy pointed at another small cove on the lakeside further along the bank. “It all looks the same to me.”
Picking at a long blade of grass that grew above the heads of the surrounding green, Frankie folded it, bending the blade in half so it no longer stood tall, leaving the small patch uniform in height.
“It’s where your mother and I used to come. It’s our special place.”
“But
what’s so special about it?”
Frankie wanted to tell the boy so much. He wanted to put all of his thoughts and memories into words and tell his son the emotions he had felt, they had felt, when their naked bodies had writhed in the long grass under the glorious summer sky. How Jacqui’s hair had shone with the sun. How they’d lain together afterward and Frankie had stroked the soft down on her face that was barely perceptible to the naked eye.
But those were Frankie’s memories. They belonged to him and him alone.
“It’s where your mother and I fell in love, Jake.”
Pulling a disgusted face, more from a lack of understanding than genuine disgust, Jake make a yucking sound that made Frankie laugh.
“You’ll understand one day.”
“I don't like girls. They’re weird.”
“They’re just different, Jake. If everyone was the same, the world would be boring. There wouldn't be any surprises.”
“I don't like surprises anyway.”
“Oh really? That’s a shame.”
Waiting for his statement to penetrate his son’s mind, and for the intrigue to waken his curiosity, Frankie slipped his hand into his bag.
“Why?”
There it was.
Pushing himself to his feet, Jake walked barefoot towards Frankie, one eyebrow dropped in question.
“Why what?” asked Frankie.
“Why is it a shame?” said Jake.
“Well, I got you a present. But I think I’ll have to return it. You don't like surprises and the last thing I want is for you to have something you don't want.”
“No, I do. I do like surprises. I was joking, Dad.”
“Really? You sounded very genuine to me.”
“No. I do like surprises. What did you get me?”
“Well…”
“Dad, come on.”
“Are you sure?”
Dropping to his knees beside Frankie, Jake’s face was a picture of torment and longing. He tried to pull Frankie’s hand from the bag, but Frankie was too fast and strong for him. He snatched out an envelope and held it behind his back so that Jake would have to climb over him. His eagerness caused the boy’s voice to climb higher and higher in both volume and pitch.