Elegy in the Shadows

1 July 2024

Irene Lunardi to Eunomia Lunardi

In the end, I took your advice, Mia. Despite my initial reluctance, I finally made up my mind: I packed my suitcase and boarded the first available flight to London. You always told me to get away for a while, to escape the frenzy of Milan and take a proper holiday. And so, almost without realising it, I found myself on a plane- me, of all people, who is terrified of flying and still hesitates to visit you for that very reason.

The two-hour flight passed quickly enough, though I couldn’t stop brooding over everything that happened last month. I know I shouldn’t dwell on these thoughts — they only make me feel worse — but how am I supposed to let it all go, now that I have nothing to hold on to? I fear these memories will haunt me even here, in England, but I’ll do my best to distract myself and enjoy the change of scenery.

The moment I stepped off the plane, I was met with a gloomy sky and a light drizzle — neither of which did anything to lift my spirits.

It was cold, and I was wearing only a cardigan over a summer blouse. I shivered as I dragged my suitcase towards the exit, and I was immensely relieved to see Caterina waiting for me.

I got into the car straight away, grateful to be sheltered from the dreary weather. For a while, we didn’t speak — both of us feeling awkward, I think. After all, it had been years since we last saw each other, and I felt uneasy at the thought of talking to her about my life in Milan, a life that had grown suffocating and one I was desperate to leave behind.

‘Are English summers always this gloomy?’ I asked, attempting to break the silence, punctuated only by the soft hum of the radio.

‘Sometimes worse,’ Caterina smiled. ‘But I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon enough.’

‘I hope so,’ I sighed, unconvinced.

‘You’ll love Moondon,’ she went on, regaining the lively tone I remembered. ‘There are loads of parks and old churches... the perfect setting for your drawings.’

‘It sounds wonderfully atmospheric,’ I said. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t draw anymore.’

‘Really? But you were so talented.’

‘I’m just not interested anymore, and I don’t have the time,’ I replied.

I wanted to tell her I’ve changed, but I didn’t. As you know, I gave up drawing after university, once I realised I wouldn’t get anywhere with art. But I didn’t want to dampen Caterina’s enthusiasm, so I left it at that.

‘I suppose work keeps you busy?’

‘Yes,’ I said.

I turned to look out the window. The English countryside slipped past us: stretches of flowers, trees, and lush green hills, a shade of green quite unlike anything we’re used to.

‘But now, I just want to focus on having a bit of fun.’

‘That’s the spirit’ she said approvingly.

I kept gazing at the landscape, now blurred and distorted by the persistent rain streaming down the windows.

‘I have to go to work tomorrow morning, but in the evening we can go out with some of my friends. There’s a lovely pub just around the corner from my place.’

‘Perfect, I can’t wait,’ I replied, trying my best to sound cheerful.

In truth, my mind was still preoccupied with the events of a few weeks ago — what happened with Leo, how my whole life had fallen apart.

I didn’t say anything to Caterina; even though she knows why I came to visit, I didn’t feel like going over it again.

As I stared out at the countryside, I couldn’t help but think how strange —and in some ways, ironic—my fate has turned out to be.

Mum always said she named meIreneafter the Greek goddess of peace, because I seemed to be such a calm and quiet child, full of promise. And look at me now! I feel constantly unsettled, like a sea in turmoil. It’s as though a fire is consuming my soul, and the reason I once prided myself on can barely keep my emotions in check.

But I promised to keep you updated on my English adventure, and I’m rambling.

We reached Moondon, a town in Essex, around seven in the evening. The sky was still light, and the dark clouds had finally dispersed. As the car drove down the High Street, I took in the scene before me: a church with a medieval appearance, surrounded by a quaint little garden; old black-and-white timber-framed houses (I later discovered they’re Tudor!); an elegant town hall, and the edge of a park...

At first glance, Moondon struck me as idyllic—just the kind of place where I might finally recover and sort out my life. Who knows, perhaps England really will help me find the peace I fear I’ve lost forever.

2 July 2024

I haven’t yet received a reply to my last email, but I suppose it’s the time difference. I’m writing again because I absolutely must tell you what happened today, my first proper encounter with Moondon and Essex.

Caterina left early for work, and I found myself with a whole day ahead and nothing planned. I wasn’t sure how to pass the time while waiting for her return, so I decided to go for a walk around town, to distract myself from my wretched thoughts, if nothing else.

Luckily, the weather had improved: not a cloud in the sky, and the sun lit up the buildings, casting striking contrasts of light on the cathedral’s brick walls and on the statues adorning its façade. There were still puddles on the pavements, but overall, it was a glorious day. Incredible how changeable the weather is here—but according to Caterina, that’s perfectly normal. (She would know, she’s lived here for seven years.)

I strolled along the High Street and wandered down the side streets, narrow, slightly winding, but utterly charming, with their brick buildings and abundant greenery, making you feel as though you’ve stepped out of time. I went into a few charity shops — apparently very common here — and spent several hours browsing.

In one of the shops, I saw a curious poster, echoed on a few lampposts, advertising a ghost-themed play, or rather, a play aboutaghost.

The Legend of Edward Locke, it said. I assumed it was a fictional name, a character from a local novel or film, but when I turned into a little lane calledMisty Close, I realised I was mistaken.

There stood a pale, slightly weathered house with a blue plaque that read:The unfortunate poet Edward Locke lived in this house until 1824.I shrugged and dismissed it. I bought a sandwich for lunch and sat on a bench in a green space near the cathedral.

‘Mum, can we go see the ghost play?’ a boy asked, passing by.

His mother held his hand and shook her head. ‘Better not, otherwise you’ll have nightmares all night.’

I smiled, remembering how such stories once used to stir my imagination, though that was long ago.

I sat on the bench for quite some time, contemplating the brick façade of St John’s, and for a brief moment I let the summer breeze soothe me, forgetting all my troubles.

Maybe I can start over, I told myself.

And yet, I can feel that something inside me has broken—more so than when I suffered through that terrible event ten years ago.

Because Leo was my one certainty, and now I have no idea where to turn. I feel lost, Mia, and I’m afraid that simply changing places won’t be enough to leave it all behind.

Caterina arrived in the afternoon, as soon as she was able to leave work.

‘I see you’re already settling in,’ she said, clearly pleased when I told her how I’d spent my day.

‘You were right. It really is a lovely town,’ I replied.

‘And you haven’t even seen my favourite place yet.’

I looked at her quizzically.

‘The Red Lion, obviously. The most popular pub in all of Moondon.’

I smiled at her enthusiasm. There was the Caterina I remembered: our lively, social cousin, always choosing a night out over a good book. I used to find her a bit too exuberant when we were younger, but now I think spending time with her might do me good.

‘Well then, I can’t wait.’

‘I’m just going to do my makeup, then we’ll head out.’

‘Alright.’

I slipped on a pair of black trousers and a simple blouse. I’ve never cared much for fashion, and I don’t intend to start now. Besides, I figured, no one in England will care what I’m wearing.

‘That won’t do at all,’ Caterina said the moment she saw me. ‘You absolutely need some mascara and a bit of powder to liven up those cheeks.’

I rolled my eyes but let her get on with it.

′ Now you’re perfect,′ she said.

I looked at myself in the mirror: my hazel eyes did seem larger, more defined, and overall, I looked...different.

‘Thanks.’

‘No worries. I couldn’t let you go out looking like a ghost,’ she laughed.

‘Speaking of ghosts... do you know anything about the legend of Edward Locke?“’ I asked, recalling what I’d discovered that morning.

‘Oh, it’s just a local superstition... Only old people believe in it.’

‘What’s the story?’

‘They say the town is haunted by the restless spirit of a young Regency poet who died under mysterious circumstances. Supposedly, strange things happen near his former home—now a museum—and especially in the graveyard of St John’s, where he’s buried. But obviously, it’s all nonsense.’

‘I see. I suppose the legend also serves as a bit of tourist bait.’

’Exactly, though therearepeople who genuinely believe Moondon is cursed or haunted.′

I pondered her words as we finished getting ready. Isn’t it odd how easily people are swayed by such things? Believing in ghosts... I wonder how many naïve souls have been drawn to Moondon by that tale—or perhaps fled from it altogether. I simply can’t understand how anyone can put faith in the supernatural or believe in such legends.

Author’s Note

I hope you liked this first part, which is formed by two letters sent by Irene to her sister Mia.

Moondon is a fictional place, but it is inspired by several places I’ve really visited in Essex, England, mainly the town of Maldon :)