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Bewilder

  James Eddy

  Copyright 2012 James Eddy

  Heart over Head over Heels

  Bonfire Blues

  Lily Green

  The Devil eats Coleslaw

  Fading Polaroids in Reverse

  The Graveyard

  Hello, Emptiness

  Revelations

  The Ghosts Are Out Tonight

  In Dreams

  Diamonds

  Cover by Rachel Arguelles, Michael S Richter, Lauren Bathurst

  Publishers Notes

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Manufactured in the United Kingdom.

  Bewilder

  Neal Moriarty told me that the first time he saw Marie was on the way home from work, on the tube between Liverpool Street and Mile End. Anyone who knows that journey knows how brief it is. But in those few minutes he'd managed to drink in every detail of her face, reflected in one of the carriage windows.

  He'd found her fascinating. She had darkened eyes and hair like black ribbons, which fell onto her shoulders to highlight her strong Mediterranean colouring and long neck. In the unnaturalness of the strip neon lighting in the carriage, he had peered past mustard coloured poles at a mirror image of loveliness.

  The train had slowed as it approached Mile End station. He looked away from Marie and out of the window next to him. Staring through his reflection into the darkness of the underground and then at the sudden brightness of the station. His eyes weren't surprised by the change. The light in the station was just as unreal as the carriage interior. When he turned his face back towards Marie she was gone.

  He saw her three more times on that route, although it was only on the last journey that he’d decided he needed to see where she went when she got off the train. Neal followed her out of the station. She was slow and relaxed, like she was in no rush to get to where she was going. It had almost been as if everything would unfold in her time, on her terms and that no-one would ever encroach upon that.

  She had walked into a bar with a battered sign above the door that read ‘Eldorado.’ He’d paid little attention to it. He just passed underneath and walked inside. The room was small and the walls were a shade of terracotta or burnt umber, which gave the light warm feeling of a Spanish sunset. The dominant feature though, was a large, oak-carved bar, positioned at the far wall, away from the entrance. The ancient, darkened wood looking like it had grown through the cracks in the dirty floor tiles.

  For Neal, that had been one of the reasons he immediately felt at home there. It was different. Not too polished, too slick and charm-free, like so many of the bars that seem to be everywhere now. The other thing that made it stand out was the man who owned it. Juan Orellana was almost as physically big as the bar he was standing behind. He was also the most genuinely friendly man Neal could ever remember meeting.

  Neal had approached the bar and sat at one of the seven stools placed in front of it. He stared at the intimidating figure behind the bar and realized that he found him almost as fascinating as Marie. The man’s tanned skin wasn't as taut as hers and there was something about his face that seemed out of time. All the generations of his family, the past, present and even the future, seemed to be written into the lines on his face. Perhaps that was why nothing seemed to be unexpected to Juan. If Neal had needed to guess, he'd have said he was a man cursed with knowing something terrible and unchangeable about his future.

  Even so, the welcome he had received that evening was warm and came with plenty of tapas and sangria. And it was between mouthfuls of each that Neal found out about Juan's family; his wife, Francisca, his son Gonzalo, and, most importantly, the beautiful Marie. It was a wonderful night that had only ended when the spinning of the room became too much for him to take.

  He had woken up the next morning in his own bed feeling surprisingly well. So, he went back to 'Eldorado'. He told himself it was only to thank the owner. He really went to try to get another glimpse of Marie.

  She was not there but he found Juan and Gonzalo instead. It seems that the youngest member of the Orellana family was blessed with the same imposing physicality as his father. What he lacked was the melancholic undercurrent that tied Juan down. The glint of mischief and infinite possibilities was always somewhere within Gonzalo.

  He was the one who suggested the first drink. So it could be said that he was to blame for the fact that their senses had been lost by lunchtime. That was when Marie had walked in. What she would've found then was a room filled to the ceiling by nothing but blurry vagueness and laughter.

  That doesn’t mean that Neal wasn’t able to show how pleased he was to meet her though. In fact, he would later admit that the Spanish beer had made his happiness rather more obvious than he'd have liked.

  Up close, he saw that Marie was an immensely womanly figure. She also seemed older than nineteen. When he had looked into her enchanting eyes, he saw the reflection of inherited sadness. Maybe it was the alcohol but he found the sight strange and bewildering.

  Despite his drunkenness, he managed to strike up a conversation with her. Exactly what they spoke about isn't clear, but somewhere during the course of it, she had mentioned the name Salvatore. He was Marie’s boyfriend and Neal immediately hated him. He was never going to like him, of course, but, from what he heard, this guy sounded like a cruel controlling bastard.

  He explained this to me by talking about Marie’s great love for making textiles. From the spinning of yarn, to the designing and the sewing, there was no part of it that she didn't enjoy. It was her release from working all day as a teacher. The problem was that Salvatore wasn’t so keen on her doing this. He'd decided she should give her free time over to him, along with most of her money.

  Naturally, her father couldn't stand the man and Neal had expected him to intervene. Something had stopped him though. Perhaps it was fear or resignation. But whatever the reason, it was clear that Juan didn’t know how bad the bullying of his daughter had become. And, all that meant was that Marie had to give up almost everything. Her wants, her needs and her dreams were all pushed aside for Salvatore.

  Neal hadn't felt able to step in either. One thing he'd never been was aggressive and since he'd never met Salvatore, he thought it was wrong to get involved. Besides, he had no desire to risk his new friendship with Marie. That she was in his life at all was enough for him. He could put up with the anger and the pain of hearing all she did for such an undeserving man. After all, he'd dealt with far worse in the past.

  He still couldn't resist the urge to let a little joy into her life. And so, when he spotted an old spinning wheel in a second-hand shop, he had to buy it for her. The smile he received in return provided a bewilderment only matched by the wheel's wooden spokes in motion and the electric touch of her hand on his.

  Such small things can sometimes change worlds or appear like a tidal wave within a life. That was how it proved to be for Neal. The gift and that touch gave Marie strength. She left Salvatore. She was no longer willing to put up with the little he gave and how much he took from her. Three months after Neal had walked in looking for her, she wandered into 'Eldorado' to tell him that she wanted to be with him.

  From then, Neal said their life together had few complications. He talked about all the moments spent in a simple warm embrace, or just eating meals together. It was usually the tempting tapas she'd learned to make by watching her mother, or something concocted from whatever was in the cupboards. It had made little difference. It was all good.

  Mostly, he recounted wa
tching her creating beautiful clothes and rugs. Often sat at her spinning wheel and always with her long black hair cascading down her back in waves. The contours of each strand catching the light and shining, as it had in the unreal glow of the train carriage all those months before.

  Then one day there was a phone call for Neal. A tragedy. Daniel Liman, one of our best friends, had been killed. The shock was horrific for me and I can only imagine what it must've felt like for him.

  There had been a time, only a couple of years before then that the three of us had been like brothers. Neal and me both looked up to Dan. He was a bit older. He was clever and ballsy and I guess the two of us spent most of our time competing for his attention. Looking back, it's weird to recognise that he'd never even attempted to play us off against each other. He was far