Date: Thu, 22 May 2008 07:34:14 EDT
From: Djedoric58@aol.com
Subject: 08 THE CUP BEARER CHAPTER SEVEN.DOC

THE CUP BEARER
By DJ
CHAPTER SEVEN

From chapter six

Edward stepped in front of Peter, blocking any attempt at retaliation, and
watched with satisfaction as Emilio shook Jonah's hand then gave Maisie a
hug and kissed her on the cheek. "Who knows," the boy said with a rare
smile, "maybe we'll bump into each other in England. You were like a mum
and dad, the way you looked after me. Those tickets are just a way of
saying thank you."

So, Tony was right, Edward thought with surprise, the boy does have a
caring side to his nature underneath all that bitterness. Moments later, as
the hired chauffeur steered the limousine down the curving driveway, Edward
asked Emilio why his words caused Peter so much fear. The boy frowned and
shook his head. "I don't know; the words just came into my head. Right now
I'd rather forget him."

Edward's thoughts ranged ahead to what the future might bring for this boy,
and for Peter. Dear me, what am I going to do with him? I'm a lawyer, not a
nursemaid. Let's hope Ms. Achres realises how much of a task she is taking
on.

* * *

Now read on

8.30pm 23rd December 1994

Emilio sat on the trainer's bench, behind the barrier, chewing on a Mars
bar and drinking orange juice from a plastic beaker. Most of the skaters
were one the ice, halfway through the show, and soon it would be time for
his second routine, but his heart wasn't in it. Everyone had been kind to
him when they heard about Tony, but their sympathy was beginning to jar on
his nerves. For George's sake, he had made a show of holding things
together, but he really didn't know how long he could contain his
anger. Someone had to pay for landing him in the shit, but who? The
Tamarigan police had drawn a blank, despite offers of help from the US
police department and the British government. They said, case closed. No
way; he was not going to let it rest there. Some how, some time, he would
find out who and why. But for now, he had another problem. His plans to go
to dance school here had fallen through and he no longer had the chance to
try for the County Championship, so Skate America was a no-no. What now?

He hoped Gillian was right about the rink in Altrincham, and the
possibility of getting him into a local dance school. He hated the idea of
going to school, and that was one thing that put him right off the idea of
moving to the UK; not that his wishes to stay in the States met with the
approval of the Graftons. They were determined to fulfil the terms of
Tony's will and they couldn't do that with them in London and him in the
States. The routine came to a close and he rose to take to the ice, placing
the sweet wrapper and the empty beaker in a nearby trashcan. The skaters
came off the ice to a round of applause, some of the older ones patting his
shoulder and wishing him luck on the ice. His name was announced over the
loudspeaker, his music, "The Thunder and Lightning Polka began and he
stepped out onto the ice. His close fitting costume echoed the music with
its silver sparkle zigzags on black, and he felt just like his costume
inside, full of fire and electricity as he scored the ice in a fast moving
race round the edge of the rink. With his routine containing the usual
range of double and triple jumps, he had the reputation of being the
fastest and most aggressive skater in the club, and had often been warned
by his coaches to slow down or have an accident. He wasn't called the
bullet or nothing.

At the end of the routine he took his bows and realised this was what he
wanted, to be one with his audience, whether on stage or the ice, and an
idea formed in his mind. Besting the Tamarigan police would take a lot of
money, so would helping the many kids suffering all over the world, just
like he had. Now he knew what Tony was about in the setting up of his trust
to help other kids. If that was what it took, then he would sacrifice his
private life and make his audiences the stepping stones to the future. It
might take a few years, but Tony had said he could do it. He'd already
tasted the thrill of the audience's adoration during his first routine when
he skated his own choreographed dance to James Last's rendition of `That's
Life' in which he wore a gold lame suit and bowler as the street dude. He
had the magic that people wanted to see, but they hadn't seen the last of
him tonight. The finale was also one of his own creations, with all the
members of the skating club, from tiny four years olds to and seniors,
doing his version of a French cabaret. It included the Can-can where he
joined a line of female skaters in their swirling skirts and frilly
knickers, matching their high kicks and other antics. At the end, the
audience were on their feet, clapping and roaring their heads off as the
skaters drew up in lines across the rink. Someone grabbed Emilio and pushed
him forward to take a special bow while the chairman of the club announced
his departure and their sadness at losing a talented skater and
choreographer. Most kids of his age would have cringed with embarrassment,
but not him. He milked that audience, that way he would milk every audience
he ever performed in front of in the future. At least till Tony rested in
peace.

* * *



3.15 pm, Saturday, New Year's Eve 1994. England

Rita Gomez expected the knock at the door but it still made her jump when
it came. Her heart started to beat erratically and she forced herself to
take slower, deeper breaths. She checked the second floor hotel bedroom,
with its faded blue carpet, and carefully darned twin bed covers, the sofa
and armchair covered in cheerful throws to hide the worst of the wear. To
her this was luxury, but her visitor was used to travel and staying in big
hotels; what would his impression be of this room? The choice hadn't been
hers, of course.

Thomas Grafton had taken care of everything then called her on the
phone. "We often use the place when we're in the Manchester area. It's a
bit old fashioned but the owners have been friends for years and provide
excellent service. As our booking was at short notice we found our normal
first floor bedroom already taken. Refurbishing hasn't reached the second
floor yet but I can guarantee the place will be clean and warm. We'll be
arriving around four fifteen in the afternoon and I shall stay downstairs
with Mr. Clooney and Mz. Achres while you and Emilio talk in private. I'll
arrange for afternoon tea to be sent to the room and, please, call me
Thomas."

Dear man, I've only known him for five weeks and already he feels like a
favourite uncle. Only five minutes ago, a small table had been placed in
front of the sofa and laid with plates of sandwiches and pastries,
snow-white crockery, and a teapot covered with a crocheted cosy. Rita
scanned the room a second time in case she had forgotten anything. Her legs
trembled as she walked to the door. It was rapped again, this time rather
sharply. Oh, my! What if it all goes wrong? Mr. Grafton said the boy did
not want to come. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and opened the
door. Her eyes widened and her hands flew to her mouth as she saw a face
from her past. "Oh, my goodness, Manuel!"

The boy frowned. "Excuse me?"

Rita backed away, her heart beating even faster. Her vision blurred as
tears welled up.  This boy was so like him, the petite face and stature,
the raven black curls, and startling black eyes. She fished for a tissue
from her cardigan sleeve to hide her panic, and remembered the worn patch
at the elbow of her right sleeve. Her son's immaculate polished shoes, dark
blue shirt and expensive suit compared sharply with her thin grey skirt and
down at heel winter boots. "I'm sorry, you look so like...  like someone
else. I thought you were him, but of course, you can't be. Please, won't
you come in?"

   Rita's head whirled as the breathlessness returned. Leaving the boy to
close the door, she hurried to a cabinet between the beds and picked up her
inhaler, then remembered she had already taken a dose a few minutes
ago. She put it down again, and looked for something else to occupy her
shaking hands.

"I'm not staying long."  The note of finality in the boy's low alto voice
brought a feeling of hopelessness to Rita.

So, he's already made up his mind not to stay. Rita forced herself to turn
and face him. "That's all right, I understand." She watched him look about
the room before fixing his gaze on the table. "Are you hungry?" She moved
towards the sofa and pointed to the table. "Come and sit down and help
yourself. Thomas said you'd be hungry." Her legs would not support her any
longer and she sat down, but the boy remained standing. He picked up a
sandwich and continued inspecting the room. She poured the tea and watched
him sweep the top of the dressing table with a finger. Rita smiled to
herself, having already verified the cleanliness of the room. Even in their
rough village shack in South America, with its hard packed earth floor, she
had brought up her children to appreciate cleanliness. Emilio had always
been a clean little boy, and a hungry one. "You always were hungry."

The boy nodded and came back for a second sandwich then looking dismayed at
his own lack of manners. "Sorry, ladies first." He sat own beside her and
picked up the plate to offer her one.

It pleased Rita that Tony Grafton had made a gentleman of her son. "I'm not
the hungry one, to be sure. I'm used to hungry kids. I have five more at
home, don't forget." At once she wished she could retract her words. "Of
course, you don't remember, do you? Mr. Grafton explained in his letter."

Emilio looked sideways at her. "Why didn't you want me to come to your
flat?"

Rita's cup rattled as she placed it back on its saucer. No turning back now
but how could she say what she wanted to say that wouldn't sound like a
snub? "You said you weren't going to stay long. Is that true?"

"I'll hear you out, say my piece and then decide."

 "Well, there's your answer. I wanted to give you the chance to do just
that and not cause any upset to the family. Of course, they'll be
disappointed if you do go back; they're all longing to meet their big
brother but I'll surely not stop you if that's what you want to do. This
way will be easier for them, not seeing you."

Rita's old leather handbag lay on the sofa. Her son resumed his eating, and
had almost cleared the plate when Rita pulled the bag closer to her,
unzipped one of the many pockets, and rummaged in it.  "I've brought a
photo of the kids with me, if you'd like to see it."

Emilio sat back with a sigh, the sandwiches and cup of tea
abandoned. "What's the point? I have a life in the States. Right now, I
don't feel like starting another."

"But your family -."

"What family? The one that ditched me?"

His words stung her but then he had a right to be angry. She wondered how
she would feel in his shoes. "I'm sorry for what happened." Fresh tears
filled her eyes and this time she let them fall unchecked. "Father Angelo
was so sure it was you.... the dead boy.... I was too ill to go down to see
the body myself. After you ran away, you used to send me little bits of
money. I don't know how you earned it; you hear all sorts of stories about
kids on the city streets, don't you?  It stopped around the time the body
was found and I thought maybe Guido had something to do with that. My
parents sent me money to get the children away to safety and we came back
here." She found her already damp tissue and lowered her head to hide her
tears and wept into it.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry too, I guess I'm wrong to blame
you for all this. It's Guido's fault."

Rita straightened up to stare at him through her tears. "You remember
Guido?" She watched his mouth draw into a tight line as he looked away.

"Emmie, I have something to tell you that might stop you feeling so bad."
Rita wiped her eyes and fished into the depths of her bag. Taking out a
paper photo wallet, she opened it and drew out a small photograph of a
youth, in the colourful costume of a Spanish gypsy, holding a guitar across
his knee. She held out the photograph. "Guido isn't your real dad."

"I know, Guido told me." Emilio took the photograph and studied it for a
moment. "Is this my dad? I do look like him, don't I?"

"Yes, his name is Manuel Diaz Lupino. Now you understand my reaction when I
saw you at the door. I'm sorry if you think I'm an unfaithful -."

"Don't be. Who'd want Guido for a father, anyway?"

"His five kids."

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I play the guitar too."

"I know," Rita blinked back fresh tears. "As a toddler, you were fascinated
with your Uncle Julio's guitar and wouldn't leave it alone. He made you a
half size one and taught you to play."

"I know about that too. He gave it me when I went to see him."

"Really? Do you still dance?"

"Of course." Rita watched him loosen his tie and open his top shirt button;
a positive sign. "Tell me about Manuel. How did you meet him?"

Rita blushed. "I went to Spain with some friends for two weeks. Guido was
on board ship somewhere in the Far East and I thought it wouldn't do any
harm to have a few days in the sun. Manuel and his family came down to our
hotel and entertained the guests. I fell in love with him as soon as I saw
him. We spent as much time together as we could. It was just a holiday
romance as far as I was concerned. He went to Madrid to study music and I
came home to Perquita, your elder sister. When I found out I was pregnant,
I told Guido as soon as he arrived home. I expected him to be angry but he
broke down and told me he'd been unfaithful as well. We promised to stick
together and Guido said he'd adopt you. He never did, of course. Then the
trouble started. He'd got involved with some criminals. I never did
understand any of it, but he said they were trying to kill him because he
owed them some money. My parents lent him enough to pay them back but they
weren't satisfied, and Guido begged me to go back to Tamarigo with him. He
said we'd be safe there. I told my parents not to tell anyone where we'd
gone, in case these men came looking for us. I wish I hadn't now, because a
young man answering Manuel's description visited their farm in Lancashire
about eight years ago. They were on holiday in Ireland at the time. Their
farm hand told the visitor I had gone away, he didn't know where. The young
man said he'd come back but he never did."

"Have you tried to find him?"

"I've been too ill and I have the family to look after. One of my friends
went back to Spain last year and tried to find him but the gypsies had
disappeared."

"So, he doesn't know I exist?"

"No."

Emilio handed the photograph back. "I could find him if you want me to."

Rita shook her head as she popped the photograph back in the wallet and
thought of the missed romance. "Don't find him for my sake.  Find him
because you want to meet your father."

 "I might do that. Now tell me about the family. I guess I'll have to meet
them sometime." The corners of Emilio's mouth lifted in a soft smile.

Pleased, Rita took out another photograph, handed it to him and pointed to
each face in turn. "This young lady is Perquita, she's seventeen. The
pretty one who looks like me is Maria, thirteen. The big boy who's the
image of his dad is Jose, eleven. This is Ramon, he's seven, and the little
madam in charge of everyone is Lucia."

Emilio frowned at the picture for a moment. "Maria looks familiar. I seem
to remember her following me about."

"She adored you. You were her champion."

"I don't remember Lucia."

"You wouldn't, she was born the day you ran away. In fact, it was you who
delivered her."

"You're kidding me."

Rita smiled at the sick look on Emilio's face. "I'd gone to the next
village to help make a wedding dress. We all used to help out like
that. You went with me as I was near my time. I'd been having backache for
a few days but Lucia wasn't due for another two weeks so I didn't think
anything of it. My babies always arrived on time. Halfway home, Lucia
decided to make an early appearance, and a quick one. You delivered her and
cut the cord with my sewing scissors and wrapped her in your shirt. Then
you ran home to get help and Julio and Perquita carried us home. But by the
time we arrived you had gone. Don't feel guilty about leaving me to handle
a brutal husband on my own. I put the idea of running away into your head,
myself."

"Why?"

Rita's eyes misted over and she swallowed hard. "I couldn't bear to see him
beat you any more. You used to protect me, you know? You were my little
soldier, always looking out for me and the kids, and taking the brunt of
his temper. I don't know how, but you used to know how to get him away from
me. Those were the times you used to come home bruised and bloody."

"Why did he pick on me and not the others?"

"Because you weren't his."

"That didn't give him the right to beat me. At least he'll never find me
here."

Rita's hopes lifted. "I thought you weren't going to stay?"

Emilio gave her a ghost of a smile. "We'll see. I have three plans to
choose from. Plan A, I give you enough money to see you and kids right, and
head back to Nashville with no strings to hold me down. Plan B, I stick
around for a bit, get to know you and the family enough to help, then head
for home. Plan C is more complicated. My formal schooling in the States
lasted two weeks. After that Tony had me tutored, so I'd have to get used
to the British education system. I'd have to find new teachers for music,
dance and skating. It would be a whole new life and I don't think I want
that right now."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not now. I need to sleep." Emilio put his head back against the settee and
let out a wide yawn. "Air Travel does that to you."

Rita got to her feet. "You can stretch out on the spare bed if you like."
Still yawning, Emilio followed her to the spare bed and lay down on his
side with his hands under his left cheek. Rita bit back more tears as she
saw again the child of ten years ago. She took the cover from her own bed
and bent to tuck it round him then a thought crossed her mind. "Emmie?"

"Mmm?"

"Mr. Grafton said in his letter that you don't have a home to go back
to. Where will you live?"

Emilio opened his eyes and gazed up at her. "In a kids home or with foster
parents till I'm eighteen or I can go to court and declare myself
emancipated."

"To be sure, I wouldn't know what that means."

"It means I'd get the Graftons off my back but I'd have to fend for myself.

"Surely not!"

"It's no big deal. I've done it before, I'll do it again." He closed his
eyes and Rita thought he had finished, but saw his lips move. "Irish."

"What?"

"The way you talk, are you Irish?"

"My parents are, but I was born in Manchester, just like you." After
planting a kiss on his cheek she unlaced his shoes, and slipped them off,
and carried them and his jacket to the wardrobe.  By the time she had put
them away and turned round, her son was breathing steadily. She sat down on
her own bed, thankful that their first meeting was over, and happy just to
sit and feast her eyes on the image of Manuel.

She was sure in her heart, that everything would work out fine for them;
she let visions of a complete family fill her thoughts. She let her
imagination range through scenes of Emilio having fun with the boys who
would learn to look up to an older brother. No doubt Lucia would work her
charms on him and claim him for her own. Maybe, now, she could relax and
think about herself for a change. She needed rest and a chance to think
about what the doctors had said about needing an operation on her
heart. Something about a bi-pass; she didn't understand half what she had
been told. What if it all went wrong? You heard such stories about
that. Well, if it did, Emilio's was here now and... A soft knock on the
door brought her out of her daydream.

She crossed the room on tip-toe, which she realised was a silly precaution,
and opened the door to find Thomas Grafton and Don Clooney standing in the
hall with a blonde haired lady Rita guessed was Mz. Achres. Don Clooney's
bulk towered over them, his usually cheerful face sober with concern. She
placed a finger to her lips and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the
door behind her. "My son is sleeping. Well fed but very tired."

Thomas smiled. "I take it the afternoon tea was a good idea and things went
well?"

"Better than I had hoped, thank you."

"In that case I shall follow Emilio's example and get some rest
myself. Mr. Clooney and Mz. Achres will look after any further
arrangements, if that's all right with you?"

"Would you be staying in Manchester overnight, Mr. Grafton?"

"I believe that would be best, under the circumstances, although it seems
you are doing a far better job of melting an iceberg than Edward and I."

Rita smiled with relief. "In that case, why don't the three of you let in
the New Year in true Irish style? The flat will be a bit overcrowded but I
have an idea which will melt the iceberg a little bit more, if Mr. Clooney
and Mz. Achres wouldn't mind helping me?"

* * *