Chapter Three - Dragomir

I can’t quite recall how many drinks I’d knocked back at that point all I cared about was numbing the pain. I dug deep into my coat pocket to look for my cigarettes only to discover that I didn’t have them with me; so to compensate I ordered a Hamlet cigar from the bar. I’d never had one before and quite frankly it had the foulest taste not forgetting to mention that it was so harsh on the throat I felt like my lungs were caving in with every puff.

“You know you’re not supposed to inhale that…you’re supposed to taste the flavour in your mouth and then blow it back out. That’s how a cigar should be appreciated.”

I looked to my left to see the owner of the annoying advice that I hadn’t requested. He was an old man, probably in his late sixties with long greying hair down to his shoulders; he had an equally greying beard and was puffing away on a similar looking cigar. He had the deepest frown lines I had seen centring on his forehead and eyes, he was a man who liked to smile and frown a lot too; quite a balanced personality if I ever saw one and a rare thing to see. Normally people gravitate one way or another, they’re either big ‘smilers’ or ‘constant frowners’. I grinned at my own little joke there and then turned away ignoring him; looking back at the bar for the barmen who seemed to have disappeared. I was in desperate need of a refill.

“You’ve been knocking them back quite heavily…you a regular drinker?”

He had a slight accent but I couldn’t quite place it. I continued to ignore him having decided that I wasn’t in the mood for any company; my only interest now lay in self pity and drowning my sorrows. I spotted the barman and waved my empty glass at him; he walked over hurriedly grabbing a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the way. I threw a £20 note at him as he filled my glass up to the brim. “That’ll be a fiver mate,” he stammered nervously at me holding the money in his clenched fist. I smiled and said “that’s for the bottle that you’re going to leave.” He nodded his head in understanding and promptly walked off leaving me with the bottle of whiskey to myself.

“You know £20 is still a lot for a half full bottle of…”

I turned to him and stared him in the eyes, trying my best to see him clearly as my vision was starting to blur. “Look I don’t know who you are and frankly I couldn’t care less. I just want to drink in peace…is that ok with you old man?” I was turning into a right prat but at this point I was too drunk to care. He didn’t seem to be affected by my words either; he simply turned towards me leaning on the bar with his left elbow while balancing his drink in the same hand.

“How about calling me Dragomir that’s my name so it’s only polite…or if you prefer you can call me by my nickname Dragos, it’s less of a mouthful.”

“Ok Dragos…how about you leave me alone please? Is that polite enough for you?”

I hunched over and slowly sipped my drink. My mind was awash with confusion and I knew the alcohol wasn’t helping. I thought about discontinuing the self destruction and going home for the night but then I thought of Lucian again and the pain came back with vengeance so I finished the remaining whiskey in my glass. I reached out for the bottle a few inches away from my face but my aim was off as I tried to grab a hold of it, I had definitely gone beyond my limit.

“I tell you what Aurora…how about I call you a cab and take you home as it looks like you’ve had enough…I’m not prepared to sit here and watch you drink yourself to death.”

I stopped suddenly and looked at him. My heart was racing so fast it made the room spin. How the hell did he know my name? As drunk as I was I knew for a fact that I hadn’t told him. In fact no matter how inebriated I became I never had the habit of introducing myself to anyone. I’m a solitary drinker by habit. He sensed my alarm; I watched his face soften as he sighed heavily.

“Look Aurora I’m not going to bullshit you. You didn’t come here by chance, you came here because of reasons far beyond your comprehension and it is not wise to ask me any questions as we sit here in the open.”

“Who are you?” I almost whispered the question to him.

“I am a friend of your Father’s, we grew up together…he was hoping that this day would never come…but you are in danger…so the sooner we get out of here and the sooner I can explain to you what’s going on the better your chances of survival will be.”

I sat there contemplating what Dragos had just said. He knew my Father? I was getting very confused, as far as I was aware my Father was killed in a car accident before I was even born…or at least that was what my Mother had always told me. Yet I had always wondered if she was telling the truth, on the rare occasion she did speak of him – and this usually occurred when she was so drunk she could barely stand - she never had a kind word to say about him. In fact I remember a time when I was 15 years old she had made the strangest remark that still had me puzzled to this day. She was sitting in the garden on an unusually sunny winter day sipping on her glass of port; it was her preferred alcoholic beverage. I’d arrived home from school rather early and had run out into the garden with Lucian to enjoy as much of the sunshine as possible.

We were kicking a ball about until I got bored (as I’m a terrible shot) so I decided to pick up the ball and run off with it. Lucian promptly chased after me. If truth be told I was hoping he would react that way. I could hear my mother ‘tutting’ in the background as she sat on her reclining chair refilling her glass. I stopped short and looked at her as she continued shaking her head, her long brown locks shimmering; she had a contented smile on her face. I couldn’t see her eyes as they were hidden behind her favourite dark brown sunglasses, I could never tell whether my mother was really smiling without looking at her eyes. My mother was the type of woman who had grown accustomed to the ‘poker’ face. When she was younger and women were considered to be second class citizens – even in high society – she had learned to perfect the art of ‘no emotional display’; so her smiles sometimes gravitated towards being considered 'as cold as ice'. I knew she had been unhappy for years leading up to her death, she was lonely, but I never once thought that she would commit suicide. She was a strong person. I still find it difficult to come to terms with to this day.

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my gut as my breath was knocked out of me, I closed my eyes for a second and doubled over trying to breathe. I opened my eyes to find myself staring up at Lucian’s grinning face as he sat astride me pinning me to the ground.

“What’s the matter mouse?” That was Lucian’s nickname for me and at the risk of seeming too sentimental I’ll tell you how it came about. It was a stormy day about a week after we had moved to West Hills. I stood outside his bedroom window calling for him to come out and play but his parents wouldn’t let him out in the torrential rain. I was soaked, my clothes sticking to me like second skin. I recalled his parents running out of the house with an umbrella and ushering me in, fearful that I would catch pneumonia. After his father finished drying my hair with a towel Lucian came in and bought me a warm glass of milk with cookies and grinned at me before saying “you look like a drowned field mouse.”

“Don’t tell me that a tom boy like you can’t handle a simple tackle!” he said smiling at me and bringing me out of my reverie. He was still on top of me, his body weighing down heavily. I tried to move but he pinned my arms up above my head.

“Give up?”

I continued struggling but to no avail. He laughed softly to himself before I caught his eye. They were greyer than usual today, like sparkling jewels, full of mischief. He stopped laughing and we continued staring at each other, forgetting that my mother was still in the garden he leaned over to kiss me.

“Lucian!”

I heard my mother’s stern commanding voice. I felt his body jerk up in surprise turning his head towards her. He mumbled an apology before jumping up suddenly as if he’d been bitten by an angry pest. He looked down at me still lying on the grass avoiding all eye contact, staring at a spot next to my head instead.

“I ought to go home…I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

He walked away slowly as he always had. Lucian was never in a hurry, and before he disappeared round the corner he waved a final goodbye. I was annoyed with my mother, but admittedly what parent would want to see their daughter behaving in that way? I stood up slowly brushing away blades of grass that have stuck to my jeans and walked towards my mother with my head held down.

“Really Aurora I had thought better of you.”

“I know mother…I’m sorry.” I felt my face burning with shame.

“Although he is a nice boy he can be very mischievous too…your father is the exact same way.”

My head shot up as I looked at her.

“What do you mean my father IS the exact same way?”

She sipped her drink and casually raised her hand, waving it at me as if to dismiss her earlier remark, “silly me, what I meant was…I still feel as if he is alive today.” I searched her face for some signs of expression that would give away what she was thinking but it was futile. She was still wearing her sunglasses and had her lips pursed, she was going to start ‘tutting’ at me again if I didn’t leave but I wanted to question her some more. I knew it would be of no use, she was more stubborn than a mule…and perhaps it was a simple mistake, she had been drinking after all. I sighed heavily and gave up.

That night as I fell asleep hugging the bedcovers I couldn’t help but wonder if my father was really alive; and if so why hadn’t he come to see me? I resigned to the fact that my mother was playing games with me to test my reaction as she often had done in the past during her heavy drinking sessions; her way of amusing herself at my expense.

But as I sat there staring at Dragos through my blurry vision I couldn’t help but doubt all the things I had been led to believe. What if my father was alive?