Cinnamon Twigs

by Darren Freebury-Jones

  ‘I have to get back.’ He took a final sip of his coffee.

  I nodded.

  ‘I booked us the hotel in Cardiff. I’ve planted the items of clothing on the beach. Now I just have to feign ignorance.’

  ‘Thank you, Jonathon. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

  ‘In seven years you can be legally declared as dead. I’m sure I’ll find your funeral highly entertaining.’ He chuckled.

  ‘Please, take care of Lauren for me.’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘Daniel, if you ever choose to come back…’ He handed me a slip of paper with a phone number on it.

  ‘Thanks.’ I put it in my breast pocket.

  ‘Goodbye, mate.’

  ‘I’ll miss you.’ I shook his hand, wondering if I’d ever feel that warm clasp again. Those three words felt so weak and anticlimactic.

  ‘Ditto, fella.’

  And with that response, he left.

  ‘This is a lovely place.’ I turned to Soraya. ‘How did you come to live here?’

  ‘I was born here. My father was a businessman specializing in antiques. He came here with my mother and older brother.’

  ‘What happened to your family?’

  ‘My parents passed away.’

  ‘And your brother?’

  ‘He lives somewhere else now.’ She sounded resentful.

  I thought it best not to pursue the subject of her brother.

  ‘It can get a bit lonely here,’ she continued. ‘But the island is my life. I’ve never known anything else. The furthest I’ve ever been is my favorite marketplace in Brazil. I travel there in my canoe whenever I need anything.’

  ‘Does anybody else live on the island?’

  ‘Not for miles. This land is private.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, letting me stay here.’

  ‘Well, your friend told me a lot about you. I must say, you sound fascinating!’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But I imagine he painted a prettier picture of me.’

  ‘He told me he’d searched all sorts of places, but this was the best one for you.’

  ‘I daresay he was right.’ I beamed. ‘But surely, you must have hesitated to let a strange man live with you?’

  ‘Yes, I did at first. But Jonathon assured me you were a nice guy, and it does get lonely here. I’ve never heard of anyone like you. I don’t really understand the concept of celebrity. I guess that’s because I’ve never really left the island.’

  ‘It’s all artificial.’ I unbuttoned my shirt collar. ‘It’s not a very nice world out there I’m afraid, Soraya.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s full of prying people and harsh critics.’

  ‘Surely it isn’t that bad?’

  ‘No, I suppose it’s not all bad. I guess I came here so I could be myself.’

  ‘And you couldn’t be yourself at home?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t think so. People label you. And I changed. No, I couldn’t be myself anymore.’

  ‘Did you want to be a celebrity?’

  ‘Yeah. Always. Ever since I can remember. But I wanted to be known for my work, not my private life.’

  ‘And that’s why you came here?’ She gave me a searching look.

  ‘Yeah. The media will never know where I’ve gone. I’ll always be a mystery.’

  ‘How dramatic.’

  ‘Well, I’ve always been a dramatic person!’ I laughed, realizing how much of a dick I sounded. I quickly waved this sense of realization away.

  ‘And do you think you’ll be remembered for your work?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. I’ll be remembered for my private affairs. The press have written my life for me, but they’ll never get the final chapter. I s’pose coming here is the only way I can get one over on them.’

  ‘Would you like some wine?’ Soraya smiled at me with her agate eyes. ‘My father was very fond of his drink! There’s quite a selection in the cellar.’

  ‘Yes, please. That would be lovely.’

  ‘I’ll go fetch us a couple of bottles.’

  I gazed at the dancing flames of the fireplace. Oddly, they reminded me of a picture book my mother had given me as a child. Fairies dancing around woodlands, under the shadows of red and white polka dot mushrooms, their clothes dazzling and faces bright with an innocence and happiness that can only be understood in childhood.

  So, this is my new home. I’ll be happy here, I thought to myself.

  The sun went down steadily, tingeing the sky with a red hue. The day would soon be over, awaiting a new dawn.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  A Winnowing Fork

  Soraya came back with two bottles of Chablis.

  ‘You’re going to have to get used to not having electricity,’ she said.

  ‘That’s okay. No television or Internet. I can definitely live with that!’

  ‘You’ll have to use the oil lamps when you’re in your bedroom at night.’ The dancing flames of the fireplace cast inconstant light on her pretty face.

  ‘How traditional.’

  Soraya opened the first bottle of wine and filled our glasses.

  ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ she asked.

  ‘Sure. I shouldn’t smoke too many.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Doctor’s orders, I’m afraid. My heart isn’t in the best shape.’

  ‘I must warn you, it’s liquorice flavored tobacco.’

  ‘Well… That’s a bit different.’

  ‘Yeah, I pick them up from the market.’ She lit her cigarette, letting the smoke float through the darkness.

  ‘I’ll have to take a look at this marketplace. I’ve got plenty of cigarettes in my case though.’

  ‘Did you pack your stuff yourself?’

  ‘No. Jonathon did it for me. I had to get a brand new wardrobe. I’ve left all my possessions behind.’

  ‘That must have been hard.’

  ‘It was.’ I lit my cigarette. ‘But I think it’s for the best.’

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me asking, but who is Lauren?’ Soraya’s eyes drew away from mine for a transitory moment.

  ‘She’s my wife.’

  ‘You left your wife behind?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Do you still love her?’

  ‘I loved her in that life, yeah.’

  ‘You don’t worry she’ll meet someone else?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest. I’ve always been very paranoid about her meeting another bloke anyway. She’s so beautiful and a much better person than I could even imagine being. I don’t believe in leagues, and I’ve had to resist propositions from incredibly sexy women, when I first became famous anyway, but Lauren’s

  certainly a Chayot Hakodesh to my Ishim.’

  ‘I didn’t understand any of that.’

  ‘They’re types of angels.’

  ‘You’re comparing yourself to an angel?’

  ‘Oh God, yeah… You must think I’m such a prick!’ I laughed, sensing the discomfiture as it stained my cheeks scarlet.

  ‘You must have had a troubled marriage…’ Soraya took a sip from her glass.

  ‘I think people grow apart.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘People change, and there are all sorts of factors that contribute to those changes.’

  ‘What sort of factors do you mean?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions.’ My face contorted into a splenetic smile.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She kept her eyes on the pale yellow tint of her wine.

  ‘No, it’s my fault. I should be used to people asking me questions by now. And you have a right to know, I suppose. “Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo”.’

  ‘Eh? Shall we talk about something else?’

  ‘Why don’t we talk about you?’ I grinned.

  ‘Okay. What would you like to know?’

  ‘How long have you lived alone?�
��

  ‘Three years.’

  ‘What do you do with yourself?’

  ‘I go for walks on the beach in the mornings.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, there’s very little else to do, I guess.’

  ‘You must do other things?’ I took a big gulp of my wine and then refilled the glass.

  ‘I just lounge around really. Or do everyday chores.’

  I couldn’t understand it. The girl knew nothing but the island. Her days consisted of walks on the beach, but she was young and beautiful, with her whole life ahead of her. How could she be content with just lounging around?

  ‘How do you afford to look after yourself?’ I asked.

  ‘My father left us some money when he passed away.’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘My brother and me.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘But it wasn’t much. My brother left the island to get a job. But he never came back.’

  ‘Oh… So how do you keep supporting yourself?’

  ‘I’m used to living alone. So it’s okay, just looking after myself. I won’t have any problems now you’re here either.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Jonathon paid me to provide for you.’

  ‘Oh, of course he did.’

  The bottles became empty. Soraya went upstairs to change her clothes. She came back with more wine. She wore pink, silk pajama shorts and a thin, white cotton t-shirt, with nothing on underneath. Her hair fell loosely down to her waist.

  ‘You know, you really are a beautiful girl.’ The words tumbled out of my mouth.

  ‘You must be drunk!’ She giggled.

  ‘Pissed as a fart.’

  ‘I’ve never heard anyone talk like you. Your accent is very strong now you’ve had a drink.’

  ‘I’m Welsh,’ I said.

  ‘Welsh?’

  ‘Yeah, I was born in Wales. It’s part of Britain.’

  ‘Oh.’ She cocked an eyebrow.

  ‘Where were your parents from?’

  ‘My mother was French and my father was American. I’m a bit of a mongrel, as you can probably tell from my accent.’

  ‘How distinctive.’ I poured myself another glass.

  ‘I hope you’re enjoying the wine.’

  ‘Too much, I’d say! It’s lovely. I’ve become a bit of a connoisseur on wine.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose I had to be. I became accustomed to elegance.’

  ‘You won’t find much of that here!’ She laughed. And yet, her smile was ineffably elegant.

  ‘It’s nice to get away from it all. I was kinda corrupted. I became pompous. That’s not how I was brought up. I changed. Sometimes I hear myself talk and wonder who this pretentious arse-hole is.’

  ‘And that’s why your marriage failed?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘It’s never too late to change back.’

  ‘The die has been cast.’ I decided to change the subject: ‘Have you got any books here?’

  ‘Yes, would you like me to show them to you?’

  ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’m in no fit state for reading right now!’

  ‘My father used to read a lot. He never read modern fiction. Only the classics. I think he owned just about every book that Charles Dickens ever wrote.’

  ‘Hmm, likewise,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind reading them again though. I think I’d go mad if I couldn’t read.’

  ‘I heard you were a writer.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘I hope you won’t go mad if you can’t write?’ She smiled coquettishly.

  ‘I sincerely hope not. I’ve come here to get away from all the work.’

  ‘Did you work hard?’

  ‘Yep. My career was one big balancing act. But I couldn’t stop working.’

  ‘And do you think you can stop now?’ She handed me another cigarette.

  ‘I have no choice.’ I lit the cigarette and drew the smoke deep into my lungs. ‘I’ve made my decision. I’ve left my career behind.’

  ‘Some things aren’t easily forgotten.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘You don’t feel like you’ve cast your memories aside, do you?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, memories make us who we are. But you’ve left your old world behind. You’ve started afresh.’

  ‘I had to.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there was nothing left for me. People didn’t care how hard I worked. They didn’t care about my achievements.’ I exhaled the silvery smoke and watched as it ascended like a wispy cirrus cloud.

  ‘So you’re more concerned with how people will remember you.’

  ‘Yes. No. I don’t know. There’s nothing I can do.’

  ‘And your wife?’

  ‘What about my wife?’

  ‘How will she remember you?’

  ‘I hope she’ll remember me as I was.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Before I changed. Before I was concerned about how other people felt.’ Tears surfaced in my eyes.

  ‘You cared more about your job than her.’

  ‘I don’t know. Love is temporary.’

  ‘So is work.’

  ‘Life is short. Art lives on.’ I took another drag of my cigarette. ‘It lasts longer than life anyway.’

  ‘But you don’t think you’ll be remembered for your art?’

  ‘No, I don’t. The world is too superficial.’

  ‘Then it all seems pointless.’ Soraya brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead.

  ‘Yeah, it is. It’s futile.’

  ‘Maybe you should have concentrated more on your marriage.’

  ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘You’ve only just met me.’

  ‘I’m sorry. It must be the wine.’

  ‘No, I’m sorry. I’ve just had enough of people judging me.’

  ‘I don’t think it matters how people judge you. What matters is how you judge yourself.’

  ‘And you, how do you judge yourself?’

  ‘There’s very little to judge.’ She winked.

  ‘You’re young, smart and pretty. You have everything in front of you, a whole life left to live. Surely you’ll move away from the island one day?’

  ‘The island is all I’ve ever known. I don’t know if I could leave.’

  ‘We have to move on in life.’

  Soraya took another sip of her wine and moved her face closer to mine. Our noses touched.

  ‘I’m not sure why. But you remind me of one of those heroes my father used to tell me about.’ She touched my cheek with a delicate finger.

  ‘What heroes?’

  ‘When I was a little girl, he used to read me bedtime stories about heroes. Stories of great battles and encounters with monsters. You remind me of a Greek king he told me about, who sat and wept on a lonely shore.’

  She brushed her lips against mine. I moved my face away from hers and staggered over to a mirror hanging on the wall. I took it all in: the sallow skin, my sunken eyes and dimpled cheeks. I could have been inspecting Dorian Gray’s portrait, after it had endured the sins of time. I was still handsome in my own way, but my looks were definitely diminishing.

  The first rays of morning sunshine burst through the shutters.

  ‘I think it’s time to go to bed,’ I whispered.

  ‘I think so too…’

  I took hold of an oil lamp from the kitchen and crept upstairs.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Adulthood Games

  Branches whipped my skin and the wind ran its probing fingers through my hair. As I jogged through the verdant forest, my nostrils open to the odorous scents of budding flowers, memories of the games I’d played as a child meandered through my mind. The thriving undergrowth grew grey, and the carpet of twigs and stones under my feet became a cobbled path. I went back to my childhood days, riding my bike Elvis through my old neighborhood. All I had to do was imagine and the bike could be
come any vehicle I wanted. My street could morph into different locations.

  The tall trees were now a row of houses, casting perfect shadows on a sunshine day. Neighbors mowed their lawns and the scent of freshly cut grass sifted through the air. Cats slinked across the road, towards the thorny bushes and the railway track. I peddled hard. Elvis was a spaceship, flying me through time and space, to another world. Alien crafts fired laser beams at me, the imaginary missiles hurtling through vacuous space as I did a wheelie.

  My mother stood by our front door with a furrowed brow, evidently wondering why I’d been riding up and down the street like a lunatic.

  ‘Your dinner’s ready,’ she said.

  I jumped off my bike and skipped through the door.

  Bangers and mash. My favorite! I ate my food in silence until my mother sat opposite me at the dinner table, a mug of steaming hot coffee in her hands.

  ‘Nice?’ She inhaled the steam and took a tentative sip from her mug.

  ‘Lovely as always, mum.’

  ‘You want some chips?’

  ‘Nah. Mash is enough, thanks.’

  ‘When I was a girl, we used to go to the chippy and ask for scrumpies.’

  ‘What are scrumpies?’ I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘They’re those little, hard chips you get at the bottom of the bag. Yeah, that’s what we used to call them. Scrumpies.’

  ‘How weird!’

  ‘I used to ask for them all the time. The shop owner knew me and your aunties were starving, so he gave them to us whenever we walked in there.’

  ‘Really?’ I chomped my sausages.

  ‘Yeah, so be thankful that you have a caring mother. Your grandmother hardly ever cooked for us.’

  ‘I’m very thankful.’ I grinned.

  ‘Is anybody out?’ She took another sip of her coffee.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Where to is Elliott?’

  ‘Gone down his granddad’s house.’

  ‘Where’s Lisa?’