The Fault

by Kitty Sewell

  *

  ‘Tell me something about yourself?’ said Brian.

  The waiter sidled up to them and she was relieved at the interruption. Brian ordered coffee, fresh orange juice and croissants.

  ‘They bake them on the premises,’ he confided, ‘but only on Sundays. You’ll see, that’s why everyone is here and not next door.’

  They were sitting at a table on the uttermost end of a pier called Basser’s Landing. It was one of the three piers in Ocean Village, housing several eateries. A yacht had just motored in to its mooring beside them and water sloshed against the footings. They had an hour to kill before preparing for two customers who had called to book a spur-of-the-moment dive. She’d tried to tell Brian he should take the day off as she was available and was quite happy to handle the couple, but Brian had wanted to come as he’d nothing better to do.

  The coffee was delicious and she savoured it slowly, enjoying the elegance of the place and feeling like a hypocrite. Ocean Village reminded her of Dubai, the wealth of its residents ostentatiously on display. Dozens of mega-yachts jostled for space at the moorings around the village. The enormous casino sat on its own island and – behind it – the impressive Sunborn super-yacht, a ship made into a permanent 5-star hotel. High-rise apartment blocks in blue glass, fabulous pools and garden areas surrounded the leisure development.

  She recalled Sebastian’s contempt for the place, saying it was poorly planned and executed. She would have enjoyed living in one of those apartments. Instead she had to trudge up through the cramped and shabby Upper Town. Ultimately, that’s where she belonged, hidden among common folk who took little interest in each other’s background…yet, someone was interested – someone was looking for her, calling to her.

  ‘You sure found yourself a very good location here,’ she said. ‘Smart move.’

  ‘Yeah, but the rent and the rates are crippling… Did you just change the subject? Come on, don’t make me do all the talking.’

  She’d only known him for a couple of weeks yet it would be so easy to unburden herself on him, spew it all out: the phone calls, her fear, Adrian.

  Brian had mentioned a divorce, and his ex-wife taking their eight-year-old daughter to a new setup in Los Angeles with the British courts’ full approval. Eva was in sympathy with his predicament, and impressed that he’d not held her American citizenship against her.

  ‘Nothing much interesting to say about my person. As you gleaned from my diplomas, I’m a certified paramedic. I was teaching diving in Dubai when I met Sebastian.’

  ‘So you decided to give up your freedom and follow a mere man?’ Brian probed with a smile.

  She laughed. ‘Yes, I fell in love. He swept me off my feet completely. We’re like chalk and cheese, but as they say, opposites attract. He’s very special, a very unusual person.’

  So special she would not consider confiding in him? Why was she sitting here chatting with Brian when she rarely did so with Sebastian, the love of her life? It seemed Sebastian couldn’t cope with her being damaged goods, he seemed to have forgotten about the sinister phone calls. He certainly had reverted to his exalted view of her as the perfect specimen of womanhood.

  Brian was peering quizzically at her. ‘Are you happy?’

  ‘Sebastian has me on a bit of a pedestal,’ she confessed. ‘It can be hard work to stay up there. I feel as if I’m going to fall off sometimes. Sooner or later I probably will, and then the question is if he’ll love me as I really am.’

  She stopped, wondering what the hell she was saying. Her private thoughts were fluttering out of her mouth like demented butterflies. She went on hurriedly, ‘To answer your question, yes, I’m happy. There are no shackles in this relationship. Sebastian needs to be at liberty to pursue his career, and conversely he lets me get on with my life. That’s what I love about him.’

  Brian looked puzzled as though he wondered where intimacy fitted into all this freedom. Perhaps her face didn’t match her words. ‘And your parents, siblings?’

  ‘I’m an only child,’ she said, looking out over the water towards that distant land. ‘My parents are – or were – Jehovah’s Witnesses.’

  ‘Aren’t you in touch?’

  ‘No, I was cast out, excommunicated.’

  Brian leaned forward, a frown on his face. ‘What on earth for?’

  ‘I was a rebel, I refused to conform. I had a liaison with a Catholic boy, I was caught drinking, smoking dope. It all led to being shunned by the community, shown the door.’

  Brian looked shocked. ‘Goodness, girl. That’s harsh.’

  ‘Don’t worry. That’s nearly twenty years ago.’ Then she added. ‘I had a ball to begin with – free as a bird and thought I was going to conquer the world – but sooner or later that early brainwashing comes back to haunt you. Deep down you’re defective, isolated…worthless.’

  They were silenced by the roar of a Monarch Airbus preparing for takeoff, then watched as the plane soared off over the bay. She wondered if Sebastian had asked about her family, she couldn’t remember ever talking to him about that murky pit of her youth.

  ‘I can’t think of anyone less defective,’ said Brian. ‘But self-esteem is a funny thing. It often has no connection with reality.’

  He was right, and right now, they were getting too connected to her reality for comfort. ‘Don’t ask me any more questions, Brian. I’ve re-invented myself and my past is dead, as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘I wish I could do the same,’ he said with a despondent sigh. ‘It doesn’t work when you have a child. I can’t stop thinking about her.’

  ‘I bet.’ She shook her head in empathy. ‘I hope I never have to discover what that feels like.’

  ‘So what’s the special and unusual boyfriend doing with his Sunday?’

  She gave him a wry look. ‘He’s swung a private tour of the lower tunnel system. He’ll be hours. All day, probably, if it’s up to him.’

  ‘Let’s have another coffee,’ said Brian and waved at the waitress. ‘And another heart-attack inducing croissant. On Sundays, anything goes.’

  Sebastian

  Sebastian was speechless, hardly able to catch his breath. He’d never seen a ghost; he had never believed in them. His heart was beating so fast that for a moment he thought that he was having some kind of seizure. After a long moment, he managed to nod.

  ‘Apologies on behalf of Jose Molina,’ said Carlo Montegriffo pleasantly. ‘His wife was rushed to the hospital in premature labour early this morning. She gave birth to a healthy boy only a couple of hours ago. So Molina called me to fill in for him. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Sebastian stared at him, searching his face for some clue to the mystery of his standing there before him in the flesh.

  ‘You don’t look happy.’ Montegriffo’s eyes narrowed a bit. ‘I can assure you I’m every bit as informed about the tunnels as Molina, actually, quite a bit more so.’

  ‘Where were…you?’ Sebastian stammered at last.

  ‘Me?’ Montegriffo pointed to his own chest in puzzlement.

  ‘Have you…have you been ill?’

  ‘Heavens, no! What makes you think that?’

  ‘You’ve…you’ve not been at home.’

  Montegriffo’s face broke into a repentant grimace. ‘Of course…but please tell Imogen I’ve revised the work she edited for me. Her input was ever so helpful. She’s got a sharp eye.’

  Sebastian could not stop himself staring at the man come alive. ‘Where you on holiday?’

  ‘Not exactly. I’ve got a little place in Both Worlds where I go when I need a bit of peace and quiet. You know it, don’t you? The little community near where you’re hoping to build your so-called Frontiers Development Project.’

  Despite the mayhem in his mind, Sebastian registered Montegriffo’s provocation but was too unnerved to react to it.

  ‘You see,’ Montegriffo leaned towards him as though to whisper a confidence, ‘I’m actually working hard on a book of my ow
n.’

  ‘A book?’

  ‘Yes, about the tunnel system itself. I’m almost there.’

  Sebastian flinched. ‘The tunnel system, Mr. Montegriffo?’

  ‘Call me Carlo, will you? Apart from writing about the history of Gibraltar, my scribblings are mainly of a spiritual nature, a way to express my deep personal awareness of the Divine Spirit. I’m not a little proud to say that two of my poetry collections have been published by Catholic World Publishers.’

  Montegriffo peered at him. ‘Are you all right, Sebastian? Look…what are we doing standing here in the sun? Let’s get into the tunnels. The temperature down there is a perfect twenty-two degrees. It never changes.’

  Sebastian flinched, taking a step backwards. The very idea of going into that alien space with Montegriffo seemed inconceivable. How could he go into that dark interior with a man he thought he had killed? Perhaps this was a plan to take revenge on him in some way… In fact, the ways to inflict harm on a person in the bowels of the Rock seemed infinitely varied and sinister. What could he say to get out of it? Perhaps the only way was to bring up the dreadful incident. He needed to know what had really happened between them in that hallway. But what to say? The sheer sense of unreality he felt about this encounter made his thoughts fuzzy, and he found it difficult to formulate his words. He thought frantically about how to broach the subject.

  Montegriffo was looking at him with a puzzled expression. He seemed oblivious to Sebastian’s confusion. Perhaps it was better not to bring it up at all? No, he simply had to try and find out what had really occurred that terrible afternoon, and Montegriffo’s own perception of it. He had to keep him talking while they were still outside.

  ‘Listen, Mont— Carlo. Let’s not ignore what happened last time we met. I’m sure you agree that it was bloody unpleasant. I was very upset and I think I lost my temper.’

  Montegriffo frowned. ‘Well, yes, you did. But why bring it up again? I thought we dealt with it at the time.’

  Sebastian felt increasingly bewildered. How far should he press this? Was it possible that Montegriffo had had a lapse of memory after the blow? Maybe he himself had had a blow to the head, been concussed and delirious and imagined the whole thing?

  ‘But…I want to apologise for any…pain or…harm…I might have caused.’

  ‘You already did!’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘Oh…you mean the door.’ Carlo put the tips of his long fingers together as though to think of some appropriate reprimand. ‘I admit I was shocked and surprised to come home and find a brand new front door to my apartment. I liked my old door, it had history, but apparently it was damaged beyond repair. A bit of unnecessary vandalism, I dare say.’

  His demeanour had changed and he looked peeved, waving his hand dismissively. ‘No need to go into it, I know I’ve been reimbursed. Stagnetto explained it all to me. You’d been under a lot of stress and you have a thing about smelly cats. Raven doesn’t like coming to Both Worlds so I always leave a window open for him and plenty of food and water. Raven happens to be totally tomcat, and why shouldn’t he be true to his nature? I think you should just accept it. He’s been in the building a lot longer than you, and he’ll still be there after you’ve moved on.’

  Sebastian couldn’t think of an answer to this absurd declaration. Everything about this encounter had unhinged him and he didn’t want to be there. He was thinking of how best to get out of the tour, what excuse he could give that would not cause offence. In the meantime Carlo got a key from his pocket and unlocked a padlock on the doors to the tunnel.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t feel well,’ Sebastian said. ‘I don’t think I can do this.’

  Carlo turned to look him over. ‘For heaven’s sake, man, you look pale as a ghost. It’s the heat. Come on, you’d better step into the shade or you’ll get heatstroke. It’s cool in here.’

  Against his will, he allowed Carlo to lead him into the entrance of the tunnel. Carlo was right; the darkness and constant flow of cool air from the interior instantly made him feel better. A single light bulb hung from the roof near the entrance, dimly illuminating it, but the sunlight cast their shadows along the floor.

  As he stood there peering into the alien space, he saw another shadow join theirs. He spun around. A figure stood in the opening of the tunnel, clad in a dark robe. The person was short, and against the intense light it was impossible to see if it was a man or a woman. Sebastian squinted and saw that the robe was a Berber djellaba, such as those worn mainly by men, with the distinguishing pointy hood pulled low over his face. The weather was too hot for the djellaba, yet Sebastian remembered seeing men in the Saharan desert wearing them in forty-degree heat.

  ‘You’re late,’ Carlo said. ‘We were about to leave without you.’

  ‘Who is this?’ Sebastian said, his voice cracking slightly.

  ‘Mohammed,’ was Carlo’s curt reply, as though the man who had joined them were worthy of no explanation whatsoever.

  The man acknowledged the one-sided introduction with a reserved bow.

  ‘So…why’s Mohammed here?’

  Carlo pulled out three torches from his rucksack. ‘You’re getting this complimentary tour courtesy of the MOD. You can’t expect it to be exclusively for you.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He could hardly argue with this rebuke.

  ‘We’re running a bit late,’ said Carlo and swiftly locked the door from the inside.

  ‘Wait,’ Sebastian exclaimed.

  ‘All right, Sebastian? Feeling better?’

  ‘Well… yes, but I think I’ll…’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Carlo interrupted, smiling knowingly in the dim light. ‘Lots of people feel that initial sense of dread, even panic. It usually passes. We can always turn back if you can’t cope.’

  The patronising comment grated, and Sebastian’s pride won over. Once he’d made the decision he looked ahead into the darkness and felt an inexorable draw towards the interior. Carlo gave them each a torch and told Mohammed to leave his djellaba by the door.

  Sebastian followed the two men towards the interior. Walking in Mohammed’s footsteps he wondered who the man was. He was short and slight, and something about his walk made Sebastian guess that he was quite young. So far he’d not really seen his face or heard his voice.

  There was little chance to look around, having to tread carefully as they went. Sebastian kept his eyes on Mohammed’s yellow trainers in front of him. The tunnel was wide and high, with a flat floor which at some stage must have been tarmacked or concreted but now was strewn with rubble, rocks and grit. Were it cleared, there would be room enough for a vehicle to drive through it, even a military truck.

  As though he’d read his thoughts, Carlo said, ‘This is part of the World War Two tunnel system. Follow me.’

  They passed over several intersections, all wide and high, fit for driving through. Large rooms opened to the sides at regular intervals, and Carlo explained the use of some of them. ‘Troops were stationed in here, working on the excavations. They were accommodated in comfortable Nissen huts, some forty men to a hut. These had windows and every amenity to imitate life on ‘the outside’. The men didn’t see daylight for weeks on end.’

  One huge chamber had been a hospital. Carlo stopped and switched on some dim lights to let Sebastian look around. The open ward was vast in size. Sebastian was keen to have a good poke around and he left the two men sitting on a stone ledge in murmured conversation.

  He’d been riddled with doubts and mistrust, especially after the shock of finding Montegriffo alive, but as soon as he was alone, all these feelings dissipated. Something about these underground rooms calmed him: the temperature, the darkness, the lack of sound. It had a womb-like feel, safe and solid, a shelter from the sensory bombardment of life under the sky. He felt strangely comfortable, as though he belonged to some species that had evolved underground.

  Taking his time, he walked the perimeter of the chamber, noting the operating
theatres and store rooms. His imagination took wider and wider sweeps of fantastic engineering feats: whole cities – countries, even – evolving under a world that had lost its ozone protection and grown too dangerous, too polluted or overpopulated. At the same time, he felt like a kid playing house in a cave.

  When he returned, Carlo and Mohammed were still in intense discussion. He had an uneasy feeling that they were arguing about him, even plotting something. Approaching them quietly, Mohammed sensed his presence and went quiet. He saw now that Mohammed was a mere teenager. He had a pleasant smile and an air of innocence. He certainly didn’t look like someone who’d drag an unsuspecting person down into some cave and inflict unspeakable tortures on him. But you could never be sure of a man’s capacity for violence, or what went on in his head. And he could not get over the feeling that there was something very odd about Montegriffo. Everything he said was pleasant and reasonable on the outside, but had a compelling and sinister undertone. If he’d had some sort of power over Mimi, he might well wield similar influence over Mohammed.

  Sebastian waited for Carlo to stop talking, but the feeling that this expedition was ill-fated intensified in him.

  ‘You know, it’s none of my business what you two are discussing, but it seems that you have other things on your mind and this is not the right time for you to conduct this tour.’