Page 37 of A Wistful Symphony

“Yes, we.” I put the phone back in her purse as if nothing happened. “I need my boyfriend as emotional backup.”

“No,” you state, every residue of a smile leaving your face. “Be the creepy stalker if you will, but don’t drag me into your mess.”

“Traitor,” I joke, but you don’t laugh. “Meet me here when I come back, at least?”

“Fine,” you huff, just before Delia emerges from the loo.

When Sunday comes, I’m too distracted to concentrate on work. For once we spend the day at your flat, watching old films while Danny blabbers and makes us outrageous amounts of popcorn until it’s time to put my plan into action.

The date was set at 7:00 p.m., but other than that, there weren’t many details.

Delia never called him by name, only ‘daddy,’ and the contact didn’t have a photo, which made it impossible for me to dig up anything about the guy beforehand.

You keep saying how twisted my plan is, but I pay you no mind.

If I can keep a creeper away from my sister, it’s worth a little wrongdoing.

I get off at Green Park station twenty minutes before the set time and roam the fancy streets.

Of course they’re meeting here. Mayfair is where rich, stuck-up people flock.

Close enough to Soho and Covent Garden for them to enjoy the vibrant and artsy London nightlife, but far enough so they don’t mix with the dirty, bohemian environment.

Where Georgian buildings line up like a period drama movie set, where the cheapest flat is sold for over a million quid, and where casual bistros serve three drops of sauce for the cost of my monthly wage. That’s the kind of life Delia is into.

The restaurant is the posh, falsely nonchalant type. Parisian-style tables on the pavement covered by a striped awning, masking the fancy cushioned chairs and wooden tables on the inside. There’s even a designer chandelier hanging from the ceiling. This bloke knows how to pick a place.

I spot Delia at a table near the glass window, in a childish flower-patterned dress that almost makes me throw up. Luckily, alone. I ignore the fact that she’s early (maybe I should watch the sky for flying pigs) and talk some bullshit to the hostess so I can get in.

“Is daddy late?” I say, taking the spare seat in front of her.

“Eric?” Her eyes bulge while she cleans her lips with a napkin. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to put some sense into your head.” I lean forward. “Delia, you don’t have to do this just for some fancy designer stuff. There’s still time for you to walk away.”

She frowns in utmost confusion. “What are you on about?”

“Look, I’m sure this is all too enticing, but it’s not worth selling yourself to a sugar daddy.”

Delia’s lips compress together and her nostrils flare. “First of all, I’m twenty-four. I’m allowed to do whatever the fuck I want. And second, you don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”

“No?” I lean back and cross my arms. “Then who is this ‘daddy’ you keep texting with?”

Like he heard my plea, a man approaches our table. Tailored navy suit, dark hair peppered in grey, an entitled smile. And the eyes. Piercing sky-blue eyes, exactly like mine.

No. It can’t be.

“I’m so glad to see you join us, son.” Marvin touches the back of my chair and all the hairs on my neck jolt in repulsion. He gestures to a server, who promptly brings an extra chair. “Did you kids order entrees? Their steak tartar is divine.”

Seeing my father join me and Delia at the table makes acid rise to my throat. Pretending we’re still a family after everything he did.

“What the fuck are you doing with this man?” I spit at Delia, balling my fists hard enough to carve half-circles into my palms.

Her mouth falls agape, and no answer comes out.

“That’s no way to talk to your sister, Eric.” His low mellow voice gives me nausea. “It’s a shame that you cut me out of your life, but Cordelia has the right to reacquaint with me if she so decides.”

“Yeah,” Delia adds. “I don’t know what went on between you two, but—”

“So you went behind my back.”

“Yes, I did.” She raises a stubborn chin. “I knew you’d overreact about it, and I’m allowed to have both of my parents. When I found out dad still lived in London, I reached out.”

“And I suppose all his gifts have nothing to do with this.” I smirk, oozing poison.

He cuts in. “That’s terribly unfair, son.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, Marvin.”

“Eric!” Delia gasps. “What the hell is wrong with you? Dad is just trying to be nice.”

“Oh, right.” I roll my eyes. “That’s his MO. Buy you out with lovely words and expensive gifts until you’re in his palm.”

“Jesus, son, why would you assume I come with hidden intentions?” His wounded countenance is priceless. The man is such an excellent actor.

I snort. “Like a tiger would change its stripes.”

Marvin grimaces. “All I wish for is another chance.”

“There are no second chances after the shit you pulled.” My nostrils flare.

“Either way, I have my life together now. A nice flat, a lovely boyfriend, and a rising career. Did you know I’m composing for the BBC?

” Shut up, Eric. Why am I trying so hard to impress the man?

He should mean nothing to me. “And I did it all without your help, so thanks, but no thanks.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” he adds, browsing the menu.

My stomach fills with ice. “What?”

“When Cordelia told me the BBC was considering your studio, I put in a word with Harrow from the production team. He’s an old friend.”

My body sinks deep into the cushioned chair, and I absentmindedly scratch the corner of my thumbnail.

He’s speaking the truth. Harrow only seemed interested in me when he mentioned Marvin was my father.

I paid it no mind at the time, but now it makes sense.

The BBC couldn’t care less about my talents. Only my family name.

“You ….” I face Delia. “You told him about it?”

“I thought he could help.” Her voice dims, and she shrinks in place.

“I’m sorry, son.” He flashes me a disgusting smile. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Fuck you, Marvin,” I spit. “I never wanted your help and sure as hell don’t need it now.”

“Always so stubborn.” He shakes his head.

“Eric, you work for an independent studio with little to no name in the film industry to account for. You think the BBC would risk a production this big based on your qualifications alone? You’re talented, sure, but there are tons of talented people out there.

It’s connections that make a difference in this industry.

Can’t you see you’ll never make it without my help? ”

I remain quiet, the words sinking in syllable by syllable.

I feel small. Minuscule. The tiniest, most irrelevant man to ever walk the Earth.

It was like that my entire childhood. With a handful of words, Marvin has the power to put me under his heel and squash me.

My self-confidence jammed inside a shredder and tossed in the bin.

And the worst part is, he has a point.

“I need to hit the loo,” I mutter, and jump from my seat before anyone has the chance to reply.

Two other guys are using the restroom, and I lock myself in one of the stalls for privacy.

I breathe hard, all the horror from my childhood rushing up in a turbid whirlwind.

To think the wretched man I’ve tried so hard to forget gave me my best option to thrive in the music industry; to think my greatest nightmare is my only ticket to success. It’s too much to bear.

After minutes recollecting myself, I go for the sinks. I wash my hands in rough moves, rubbing soap on every inch of my palms time and time again. Dirty. Still dirty. Not enough . One more time, just to be sure.

“Mate, I think they’re clean,” some bloke says, eying me like I’m a lunatic.

“Fuck off,” I shout, and he walks away cursing.

When I finally leave the restroom, I cross the parlour and walk out the door. There’s no energy left in me. Nothing that could possibly make me sit at that table again. And yet, a clack of shoes follows me to the pavement, closer and closer, until Delia grabs me by the arm.

“What the hell was that?” Her yell rings in my ears. “Dad was only trying to help, and you were a total arsehole!”

I snort aloud. “Like you even care. You’re only riled up because I might spoil your chance to be Daddy’s pretty princess again.”

“And what’s wrong with that, huh?” She flings up her hands. “You’ve always had Mum, Eric. Ever since your OCD started, she’s catered to your every need, while I’ve been nothing but a side note. Why can’t I have a parent who puts me first for a change?”

I stand still, taken aback by her reasoning.

She’s right. Mum and I went through some pretty dark shit together, and naturally, it brought us closer.

Like a lost sheep, I was her priority. Deep down I’ve always known that, but I never realised the extent of Delia’s resentment.

On another day, I would’ve given Delia the attention she needs.

But right now, feeling betrayed as I am, I couldn’t care less.

“Delia, if you want to have Marvin in your life, be my guest. But don’t bother talking to me again.”

“Now that’s ridiculous.” She huffs, tucking an unkempt lock of hair behind her ear. “Why do you hate Dad so much?”

“Do you want to know?” I snap, coming closer. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“He used to beat the shit out of our mum,” I say between gritted teeth.

Delia freezes and her mouth falls half-open.

“That … that’s not true. I would remember.”

“Because Mum and I worked damn hard for that. For at least one of us to grow up normal.” I swallow hard, my eyes stinging.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why you had so many sleepovers?

Why Mum wore so much makeup, even inside the house?

The ‘accident’ that ended her career? So many ‘accidents.’ What did you think? Our mum was just a clumsy one?”

“I ….” She puts a hand to her chest, her voice dimming with the evening wind.

“I’m too tired, Delia. And I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

I turn on my heel and leave her in the middle of the street.

My head spins and hurts, screaming that I need to run as far as I can from that man.

Damn Delia. Damn her. Of course Marvin would try to stretch his claws into our family through her.

She was always his favourite. The only one who didn’t know him for what he truly was.

Hatred boils inside my gut, scorning my sister for her heedlessness.

And now he’s tarnished my chance. It was never my merit. Never the recognition of my talents, like I thought after so many years of hard work. My biggest achievement was nothing but a bone thrown by the hideous hands of my abusive father.

I think I’m going to be sick.

With rapid breaths, my pace hastens, faltering steps almost making me trip. I don’t want to think about it. I can’t think about it. Yet, all the memories I’ve suppressed for so long come pouring into my mind.

I furiously shake my head. They don’t go away.

Marvin’s voice echoes incessantly, saying I’m not good enough.

I’ll never be good enough. Time and time again, carving dents in my self-image.

He has me in a chokehold, imposing his presence on my work.

“Can’t you see you’ll never make it without my help?

” He’ll always be there. I’ll never be rid of him.

The way back home feels like sleepwalking.

I miss my stop twice and reach my building by the good grace of muscle memory.

You lean on the brick wall by the front door, and as soon as you see me, you perk up, massaging your neck.

“You took forever to get home. Delia’s been calling non-stop, saying you refuse to talk to her. ”

“I don’t want to talk to Delia, Andrew. Not now, nor later.” I angrily turn my key in the lock and rush to the stairs.

“You can’t seriously be mad about the sugar daddy thing,” you blare at my back as I stomp through the narrow corridor. “I know you don’t approve, but she has the right to do whatever she wants with her life. Stop being a baby about it.”

It’s as if you’ve slapped me in the face. “There’s no sugar daddy, Andrew. Delia is being pampered by our fucking father,” I spit, slamming the door after you get in.

“Oh.” Your brow furrows. “I’m failing to see the problem here.”

“The man is a manipulative prick.” I fight with one of my coat sleeves before hanging it. The lump in my throat prevents me from saying anything else.

“Alright.” You tilt your head. “She still has the right to talk to him, even if you two are estranged.” You come closer and put a hand on my shoulder, your voice gaining a tender tone. “She’s an adult woman, Eric. Capable of making her own choices. You can’t control everything she does.”

Your words make acid burn all the way through my throat, and I yank my shoulder away. “I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

“I would if you cared to explain it to me,” you retort.

My hands tremble, my mouth as dry as a desert.

I want to share it with you. Spill out every wrong that man has ever done to me and receive your comfort.

But doing so means I have to relive everything that happened and face all the horrors of my past. I’m not ready.

Everything would pour out of me so quickly I would drown.

“Fuck this,” I spit out, my breathing ragged. “I don’t want to have this conversation right now.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice becomes louder. “You’re my boyfriend, Eric. We should be able to talk about shit.”

I can’t. I just can’t.

In a cowardly move, I take off my hearing aids and leave them on the dining table. Your muffled voice fades in the sitting room. When I turn back to you, the words “very mature” morph on your lips.

“Are you done?” It takes every inch of strength in my body to keep a straight face.

You shake your head and slam the door in your wake, and I let myself fall apart on the sofa.

You’ll never make it without my help.

The words keep echoing in my mind.