Yours Ghostly: An eternal love

Olivia

Olivia went to work on Monday morning with no idea that she was being followed. On her way, she stopped at St. Simon’s church. Over the past few years, it had become a habit of hers to slip inside for a few minutes, just to gather her thoughts.

The church was small, gravestones lurching drunkenly over overgrown grass. She stopped by a gravestone and tenderly laid a sprig of flowers on it. Then she pushed open the heavy door. As usual, the church was empty, except for a plump Italian woman who was kneeling before a statue of the Madonna, praying feverishly. Olivia pressed a smile. The woman had confided in her that six years ago she had prayed to the Virgin for fertility. Now, five children later, she was praying to Her to stop them from coming.

The woman got up to leave, rubbing her sore knees and tightening her clack embroidered scarf over her coat. She surreptitiously watched Olivia walk over to the altar and light a candle. She looks so pretty, the woman mused, with a pang of nostalgia for her youth. The girl’s curly black hair was pulled into a plait and a shaggy fringe fell into her dark eyes. She was wearing a coat with a furry collar and jeans and a pair of beige suede boots. She looks as if she belonged in a bar, laughing and drinking with friends, not entering a church every morning and squeezing her eyes shut and looking sad. The woman wondered what her story was.

Olivia opened her eyes and looked at the row of candles left by the people of London, a long line of flickering lines of hopes, joys, and fear. She smiled. Seeing those candles realizing that there were thousands of people sharing the same tragedies, always made her feel better, more human.

She checked her watch. Time for work.

“God, I have to get another job,” she thought for the hundredth time that week, as unlocked the door of Luigi’s Cibo.  Inside the café was ghostly grey, the upturned chairs on the tables liked large warped insects.

“Olivia, just what the hell are you doing working in this place?” She made a cup of tea, sighing, and thinking.

Olivia was born in New York and spent the first twenty-seven years of her life there. Eighteen months ago, she had moved to London. It had been a random decision, the result of a broken heart, a love affair that had cut her so deep that she couldn’t bear to be in the same country as her ex. She’d packed up all she had in a single suitcase, walked up to the airport desk, and asked for a flight that would take her as far as possible. The girl had offered her flight to Gatwick, England, or Melbourne, Australia. Olivia had tossed a coin. Heads: London. And that was the start of her new life.

There were times when she regretted that decision. Especially during her first week, when she was convinced a black cloud was following her, it rained so much; and when she discovered just how evil London pigeons could be, that standing beneath wasn’t a good idea unless you wanted a very unique sort of sham-pooing; and when she was appointed to discover that none of the men spoke or looked like Henry Cavill. But over time, she developed a huge affection for the city. She’d grown to love the big grey watery skies in the morning, the sweet picnicking greenness of the Hyde Park, and the jostling party-fun of Leicester Square on a Friday night. And it was all so different, so far from home, that she really did feel as though she’d made a fresh start.

Working at Luigi’s Cibo had been her first and only job since leaving New York. She sent postcards home telling her parents she was working in marketing and about to receive a promotion. If only. She’d been in such an emotional state when she arrived, and her CV was so awful, that the temping agency she’d registered with, on discovering she was interested in the catering business, had suggested getting some experience at Luigi’s Cibo first. And she’d made herself to work there for six weeks and then move on.

That had been well over a year ago.

Olivia lit up an illicit cigarette and signed again: the pleasure of the soothing smoke mixed with the guilt of her charred lungs. She’d managed to give up smoking, but since the stress of Mark’s funeral, she had started to slide again.

“I am stuck in a rut because I’m just so bloody lazy.” She realized.

She kept meaning to apply for jobs, but she was always so tired at the end of the work and there was something far more interesting on television.

“Oh, great- Luigi is here.” She saw filthy black Fiat pulling up outside. She quickly stood up, stubbed out her cigarette, and started unstacking the chairs to look industrious.

As Luigi entered, however, she realized that he wasn’t alone. He had his arms around a girl. She was about five foot, weighed about twenty, and had long black hair that flowed over her shoulders like tar. Her figure was not enhanced by her clothes: a large black tunic with a flamboyant golden brooch pinned to her bosom, and black leggings clinging to her thighs

She looked about fifteen years old.

“Should I be calling the police?” Olivia joked cheerily, raising an eyebrow.

Luigi wrapped up in his own excitement, thankfully didn’t even seem to hear. But the girl did. She gave Olivia a very frosty glance.

“Olivia. This is Florence.” Luigi said         

“Hi, Florence,” Olivia forced a smile

“She’ll be working here from now on.” Luigi said

Oh. Of course. Olivia cringed at her mistake. Since Mark had died, Luigi had been looking for a replacement, but nobody had been stupid enough to want to work for his measly wages, so it had been a few months to find someone. Olivia looked at Florence sympathetically. Perhaps the poor girl was a student and was saving up for tuition fees. Luigi was probably paying her 2p an hour.

“Florence is my niece,” Luigi added grandly

“A-ha. That explains everything.” Olivia thought

From then on, the morning was total hell. Olivia tried her best to get along with Florence, but it was impossible. She gave her a guided tour and work instructions, but instead of paying attention, Florence merely waved her hand and nodded grandly, as though she was mistress approving of her maid’s activities. Olivia was friendly and normally got on well with people, but trying to spark up a conversation with Florence was impossible. The girl answered in withering monosyllables to Olivia’s chit chat about her school, and she had a boyfriend. When she asked Florence what she wanted to do when she grew up, Olivia caught herself patronizing. Florence, however, lit up and announced that she wanted to sing in a girl band.

“And what it’ll be called Heffalumps?” Olivia wondered

“Everyone at drama school wants to be my friend, but I keep telling them they have to learn to share.” Florence said gravely

“How generous of you. Come on, give me a demonstration.” Olivia said. She bit a smile and waited for a dreadful whine.

She was taken aback, however, when Florence burst into ‘Everything I need’. When she sang, the girl became an angel, and her lumpy figure swelled with dignity and passion. Her voice was like a fine opera singer’s, the amazing lyrics incongruous with her beautiful thrills.

“Wow, that was pretty good.” Olivia breathed, and then felt irked when Florence gave a smug little smile.

By the time she sat down for her tea-break at eleven ‘o'clock, Olivia felt fed-up and exhausted. She suddenly suffered a wave of longing for her old friend and co-worker, Mark.

She recalled the day she’d started at ‘LUIGI’S CIBO’. She’d been falling nervous, and when Luigi had introduced him as ‘Markie-boy’, she’d felt a blush come to her cheeks and thought “Yum!”

He was very tall-about six feet two- and he walked with slightly hunched shoulders, as though he wished he could shrink a few inches. He had silky, floppy brown hair that seemed to irritate him- h kept gathering it up in his fingers and raking it back-sweet blue-green eyes and freckles on his turned-up nose.

He wasn’t conventionally attractive. Later she noticed his faults- the fact that he was too thin and his ribs showed through his T-shirt and that his fingers were knobbly. No, he was just cute. Lovable. Huggable. Like an overgrown, gangly teddy-bear. Olivia felt very motherly towards him; she wanted to take him home and cook him a huge meal. Fatten him up and sort him out.

Over time, she had concluded they weren’t suited as lovers. Mark would have been way too weird to go out with. He was always reading boring magazines and avidly watched boring programs. He even had a Goldfish which ought to be called something like Brian or James but no, Mark had called it Einstein.

“Mark, I love you but you are a total nutter.” Olivia was always telling him, ruffling his hair. Mark would just blush and give a resigned shrug.

As friends, however, they had a lot of fun. Olivia felt that Mark took life way too seriously and she was always trying to get him to lighten up.

They’d had so many good times together. She had fond memories of the nights they’d gone back to his flat and played chess in the moonlight. Olivia was too impatient and careless to be any good at the game, so Mark always won. Although she was better at rummy and poker since she was good at cheating.

“And oh, what about the time we found Luigi’s flask in the back kitchen, filled with brandy instead of the so-called Colombian coffee he claimed it contained.” Olivia thought smiling fondly. They had drunk it and refilled it with watery tea from the machine. Then, totally smashed, Olivia had forced shy Mark to get up on the tables with her; using brooms as mikes, they’d conducted their own karaoke duet. Luigi had unfortunately entered their grand finale and nearly sacked them; they’d spent the rest of the evening walking on the eggshells around him, red-faced trying not to explode with giggles.

But it hadn’t all been about laughs. They’d shared deeper moments together too. The nice thing about Mark was that he was such a good listener. Whenever Olivia was upset, he was sensitive enough to pick on it, sit her down, and say “Come on-tell me everything.” He never thought she was silly; while wasn’t good at giving worldly wisdom, he would always cheer her up with a hug or hurry off down to the shops to buy her a KitKat.

Olivia signed and came back to reality: sitting in the glum café without him. Florence really was no replacement.

Olivia couldn’t resist reaching into her pocket and removing a crumpled newspaper article. It had appeared in the local newspaper after Mark had died, and back in those days, she found herself reading it over and over, scratching her broken heart like a bloody scab that she refused to heal.

Recently, she’d almost forgotten about it, but now she found herself going over the familiar words again. Tears welled up in her eyes, but at the same time, she bit back a smile, for it was full of so many painful inaccuracies.

                                                                                       YOUTH DROWNS IN RIVER-

                                                                                        POLICE SUSPECTS DRUGS

Local youth Mark Macfadden (16) has been found dead in the Hythe Road canal- tragically, the night of his birthday. He was last seen by Miss Olivia Hardman (27), who confirmed that he had been drinking that evening. Police also believe that Mr. Macfadden may have taken drugs, possibly dabbling in LSD, cocaine, and heroin before taking his final fall. Local schools have responded by setting up talks on the dangers of drugs.

Well, at least they had got her age wrong by only a year; compared to the fourteen they had knocked off Mark’s. Olivia pursed her lips. But Mark would never have gone near drugs. He was much too responsible and sensible. The wildest thing he had ever taken was probably a peanut M&M.