by Kitty Sewell
‘Well, he got into our apartment yesterday with the front half of a rat.’
‘Ah, yes, he still misses Mrs. Cohen. She used to give him full fat cream by the bowl full. Her passing was a great loss for him,’ he said pensively. ‘But not for his arteries, of course.’
‘Eva doesn’t much like uninvited visitors through windows. She gets jumpy.’
‘It’s the Eucalyptus. He climbs up just about anything. I guess we could try cutting off some of the branches.’
‘With a name like that, he’ll probably just fly in.’
He turned and studied her for a moment as they walked. ‘You’re a funny young woman.’
She narrowed her eyes and looked back at him through the black clumps of her mascara, grudgingly pleased that he’d called her a woman, not just once but twice. ‘I’m just warning you. Eva might look like an angel, but don’t mess with her.’
He laughed. ‘Warning logged.’
After a little while she asked, ‘So, did you know her?’
‘Who?’
‘Mrs. Cohen, the lady who died in our apartment.’
‘Yes.’
It was such a short answer she resolved to grill him at some future opportunity. When they got to DiMoretti’s Ramp, they were walking abreast, but as the ramp narrowed their bodies were gradually brought closer, until her shoulder touched his arm. He was a gentleman and motioned her ahead. As they climbed up the stairwell she became mortified about the length of her skirt. How much could he see from behind?
On the landing he reached out to shake her hand.
‘You need to make friends with Raven. That way you can tell him off yourself. He does listen if he respects you.’
‘Preposterousness,’ she said under her breath.
Carlo waggled a forefinger at her. ‘You’ve petted him. He told me.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Kiss and tell. Damned cat! You can’t trust anyone these days.’
They looked at each other for a long moment. He had very white teeth when he smiled.
*
Mimi had been writing about Mother Jane before falling asleep, and the text had morphed into dreams. Always reverting to a black-clad little girl, she ran down a tree-lined avenue in an otherwise barren landscape, pursuing a car in which she could see Jane in the back seat. Her mother’s immaculate head had not a hair out of place, and she never turned to look at the child running behind the car, forever trying to reach her.
Mimi was out of breath as she struggled towards wakefulness, the lingering cloud of sadness gradually turning to anger. Was it too fucking much to ask that a mother should be a little bit concerned about her child? She’d not heard a dickie-bird from Jane, and she knew she never would. She had probably got Mrs. Carmichael to clear her room of every trace of her residence, then got the decorators in. No expense spared to exorcise her daughter, the Princess of Darkness.
She switched on the light and reached down to pick up her iPad off the floor.
When Marcus opened the door, he found his mother on the doorstep. She was holding Christiana by the hand. Christiana had not grown much in size since he’d last seen her, but her little face had changed and her hair had darkened.
Marcus fell to his knees and gently took her by the shoulders. ‘Look at you, sis. Six years old. Did you get my present?’
She stared at him shyly but suddenly grinned in recognition. ‘I didn’t see you for a long time.’
‘I know, sweetie. A whole year. I’ve been in Japan.’
‘Why?’
‘I was being a student there, learning lots of great things.’ he said and pulled her close. ‘Come here, give me a hug.’ She didn’t resist. Her soft little arms wrapped around his neck. He looked up at Antonia. ‘You could have called first.’
She just stood there, her tightened cheeks and botoxed forehead not reaching any definable expression. Her hair was cut into a pixie style and she was slimmer, her new figure draped in an expensive-looking cream suit. Altogether she looked young, untouched by iniquity.
‘So how are you, Marcus?’
‘I’ve been good. My ambition has cured me.’
She looked sceptical but said, ‘Glad to hear it. How is your dad?’
‘Tired. Forgetful.’
‘Are you going to invite me in? I need to talk to the two of you.’
‘Dad’s at the club,’ he said, ‘but we’re happy to have Christiana for the weekend. I’m assuming that’s why you’ve brought her.’ He squeezed Christiana’s little hand and winked at her.
Antonia shifted on the step, looking anxious and trying to peer past him.
He released Christiana and stood up. ‘Did you know I’m doing my PhD at Imperial College London?’
Her eyes softened a little. ‘Well done. Make sure you stay… healthy.’
Now he saw the bags and luggage on the walkway below. His eyes widened. ‘You’re not wanting to move back in, are you?
She gave a short sharp laugh. ‘Good Lord, no. But I’m leaving her with you. Tell dad it’s his turn.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘What I just said.’ She paused. ‘I’m going to the Bahamas next week, to get married.’
He stared at her. ‘I’m assuming it’s the Featherington-Haugh bloke.’ He saw no denial in her taught expression. ‘Well good for you, mother. Coming up in the world. I guess Dad and I can manage for a week or two. I’ll ask Auntie Beth if she can pitch in, but you could have forewarned us.’ He gestured at the pile behind her. ‘A bit of an overkill, don’t you think? We do have a washing machine.’
‘I’m not coming back for her. Your dad has to do his bit from now on.’
Her words took a while to sink in.
‘Wait! You can’t just do this,’ he blurted. ‘Dad’s not up to it. He’s all over the place, and I’m deep into my work. You left us. She’s your responsibility.’
Her expression changed. Anger was just beneath the surface. ‘I’ve done my bit and it was his idea to… keep the baby. I wouldn’t have.’
His bewildered stare travelled from Antonia’s face to Christiana’s. She was looking at her mother, her face crumpling. She was just a little girl, but of course she understood the gist of the rejection.
‘You bitch,’ he growled at his mother, grabbing Christiana by the hand and pulling her towards him. ‘So fuck off. You don’t deserve her.’
‘Be good,’ she said to Christiana, kissing her own forefinger and not quite touching it to the child’s cheek. Down on the walkway, she almost stumbled over one of the bags, then hurried away to a taxi idling at the curb.
Mimi tossed aside her iPad and wondered how different this scene would look if Sebastian himself had written it. Had he actually told her, word for word? She remembered it clearly, but she had been only six, so surely she wouldn’t have understood all that was said. Did it matter? It was semi-autobiographical after all.
She got up, then stubbed her toe hard on a suitcase, swore under her breath and staggered towards the kitchen. It was a starry night and she had no idea what time it was, but a slightly purplish hue was spreading over the sky. There was Sebastian sitting at the table, papers and charts and drawings spread out all around him. Dressed in black shorts and a T-shirt, he hammered away on his laptop, his curly black hair on end. She walked past, touching him on the head.
‘Hey, sis,’ he said, startled. ‘What’s up?’
‘I am, and so are you.’
He glanced at the clock above the cooker. ‘But it’s five in the morning.’
His eyes had shadows, all the darker against the paleness of his skin. A tide of conflicting feelings surged through her, part affection, part alarm. ‘Likewise.’ She headed for the kettle. ‘Coffee?’
‘No thanks. I’m well and truly weaned.’
‘How long have you been sitting here?’
‘No idea. Hours.’
‘Shouldn’t you be servicing your new lover?’
Oh, God! Why had she said that? She turned her back to him and stuck
the kettle under the tap so he couldn’t see her reddening face, but she heard him sigh and his chair scrape back. She braced herself for some reprimand, or worse, some gentle questioning or reassurance. He probably thought she was jealous, which of course she was. She’d hoped her presence would prove the fatal passion-killer, or that the American beauty queen would get fed up with Sebastian and his strange ways.
She felt his hand on her shoulder. ‘What’s the matter, Mimi?’
‘Forget it,’ she said to the sink. ‘I was just being a bitch.’
He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Give Eva a proper chance, will you?’
‘What choice do I have? I’m never going back to Jane’s, that’s for fucking certain.’
He turned her around and wrapped his arms around her. She wanted to resist but found herself giving in. He didn’t hug her very often these days, probably because she’d grown too many thorns.
‘I promise –’ he said into her hair, ‘as long as you act like an adult, don’t do drugs, don’t run away, don’t sleep with weird unsuitable men, and don’t try to wreck my romance with Eva – I will never ask you to leave or suggest you go back to Mother’s.’
‘That’s a fucking long list of dont’s,’ she said, her face in his armpit. ‘What about you? Are you doing all your should-do’s? Like still taking all your tablets, Sebastian?’
‘Oh sweetie, how old am I?’
She hated having to do this. ‘Just answer me, will you?’
He pulled away and sat down, his eyes on his laptop. ‘Yes, of course I’m taking care of it.’
‘How much does Eva know?’
‘I can’t see the point of involving her. I’m perfectly fine and she’s got her own problems to deal with.’
‘Miss Perfect? What kind of problems?’
He thought for a moment. ‘That’s her business. Some skeletons in the cupboard, just like everyone else. I already told you, neither of us believes in wallowing in the past.’
Mimi considered this for a moment. ‘So…I’m the only one around here who knows?’
‘Does it look as if I’m having problems? I’m hurtling towards the zenith of my career.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Hurtling?’
Sebastian reached for her hand. Getting up, he stretched and yawned loudly. ‘God, I’m stiff. I never get any proper exercise.’ He closed his laptop. ‘Hey! Let’s go for a walk?’
Quietly they got dressed. Sebastian wrote a note for Eva and propped it against the coffeemaker. They put on their shoes in the hallway and left the apartment. A wind had whipped up outside, making the dim light bulb in the stairwell swing on its long wire. They tiptoed down the stairs. When they passed Carlo Montegriffo’s door, the man himself stepped out as if he’d been waiting for them.
‘Hey, Carlo,’ Mimi said, surprised. She’d not seen him since he’d invited her in for a cuppa in order to give her a couple of poems to read. Whatever else he did in his apartment, he was definitely noiseless about it.
‘Hey yourself.’
She eyed up his black suit and starched white shirt. ‘You going to a funeral?’
‘No, Imogen,’ he said, fiddling with the keys to his door. ‘I’m going to a special dawn Mass.’
‘Really? What happens in a dawn Mass?’
‘For many of us it’s a deeply moving experience. You could attend it sometime and see for yourself.’
She became aware that Sebastian and Carlo had not so much as exchanged a word. ‘Bro, have you met our neighbour?’ she said awkwardly.
The air had that rubber-band quality – ready to snap – but she wasn’t sure exactly who had created the tension.
‘Yes, we have introduced ourselves,’ said Sebastian tersely. ‘My sister is not a Catholic, Mr. Montegriffo.’
‘There is no such prerequisite to attend a Mass,’ Carlo answered with a serene expression. ‘Our God doesn’t discriminate.’
‘I’d love to witness a dawn Mass. Sounds intriguing,’ Mimi said cheerfully.
Sebastian had no religion but engineering, and she could see how Carlo’s piety grated on him. She grabbed her brother by the arm and pulled him away. ‘Have a good one, Carlo.’
Once they were out in the empty street, Mimi glanced back to see if they were alone.
‘Why did you pull a snooty on Carlo? He’s quite an interesting guy. You could talk to him, you know. He knows everything about Gibraltar and he writes poetry. He’s asked me to look over some of his work.’
‘Jesus, Mimi! You’re not to go into his apartment.’
‘I did already. We had chamomile tea in fine bone china cups,’ she grimaced. ‘Just like at Mother’s.’
‘Mimi, it’s not appropriate. In fact, I forbid it.’
‘I was only there for ten minutes and he gave me some of his poems to read. He’s an ex-priest, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Ha, what you don’t know about Catholic priests,’ said Sebastian with a derisive chuckle. ‘I don’t like the way he eats you up with his eyes.’
She looked at him in surprise. ‘When? Just now?’
He didn’t answer right away. ‘I saw him following you the other day.’
She frowned. ‘You saw him following me?’ Where?’
‘In town.’
‘In town? Where in town?’
‘I think it was the road going to the Cruise Liner Terminal,’ he said evasively.
Her frown deepened. ‘Are you sure it wasn’t you following me?’
Sebastian avoided her eyes. He knew damned well how she felt about his overbearing protectiveness. Didn’t he realise that she’d grown up since they last lived together? She wasn’t thirteen.
‘I’m not having you police my movements!’ she exclaimed.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have, but still, it was bloody unnerving.’
‘Why don’t I believe you?’
Sebastian had that pinched look on his face as he marched ahead, and she regretted that what had started so well had now been fractured. She followed him as he picked his way down the steps and alleys towards the lower town. A small dog yapped at them from an open window and the noise echoed down a passage. The wind picked up a sheet of newsprint which chased them down the steps. In the early morning the dilapidation of Upper Town seemed starker. Walls had conserved the heat of yesterday’s sun and a whiff of sewage pervaded the air between the buildings. Everywhere were signs of times gone by: ancient stone ramparts, flagstone steps worn down by centuries of feet, strange passageways leading deep into crumbling buildings, archways, tunnels and enormous wooden gates opened hundreds of years ago and never shut again.
In the lower town there was the stirring of activity. They followed a group of Jewish school children walking purposefully in single file along the impossibly narrow Governor’s Street, the girls modest in their head coverings and the boys in ties and skull caps, no doubt on their way to an appointment with some spiritual activity. From the little mosque on the Line Wall came that eerie wailing, the call to prayer. It seemed that dawn summoned believers of every faith. She felt a gnawing emptiness, always yearning for some faith herself but never finding any she could take seriously.
‘Why don’t we keep walking and I’ll show you my development,’ said Sebastian, nudging her with his elbow.
She knew she should take a bit of interest, but the site was like a thousand miles away and it would take them at least an hour. ‘Okay, okay but for God’s sake, don’t run.’
The sky was lightening and the gulls were beginning to circle high above the limestone ridges of the Rock. The huge harbour was filled with what looked like toy ships. They walked through an arched gate coming out onto Europa Road and were met by the first rays of sun. Like opening the door to a sauna, the heat welled towards them.
When finally Europa Point came into view Sebastian paused, waiting for her to catch him up.
‘Look! Jebel Musa,’ he whispered, pointing to a huge black mountain rising out of the mist on the Moroccan coast. ‘The Rock�
��s twin.’
‘Stupendous,’ she conceded.
‘Did you know that Hercules smashed through the Atlas Mountains to open this strait between the Mediterranean and the Atlantic?’ He put one arm around her shoulders and with an extravagant sweep of the other arm, laid claim to the horizon. ‘One day I’m going to re-connect Europe with Africa.’
‘How the hell do you plan to accomplish that?’
‘I’m going to build the bridge.’
‘Oh, right!’ she pulled herself out of his grasp. ‘Here we go.’
His gaze shifted towards the black mountain in the mist. ‘Every structural engineer worth his salt must have a bridge to his name. Mine will be monumental, the most beautiful and majestic structure ever built. Luna’s Crossing… It’ll be the absolute climax of my work.’
‘Be careful, Sebastian. Sometimes you give yourself away.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with having a vision, Imogen,’ he countered vehemently. ‘You want to become a novelist. Isn’t that a grand vision?’
