The Fault

by Kitty Sewell

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The music, it was all improvisation. But she didn’t write anything down. A big loss to the world of music, I am sure of it.’

  Mimi braced herself for her next question.

  ‘And…did she have a daughter?’

  Carlo looked away. After a moment, he said, ‘Yes, a long time ago she had a little girl. She died tragically at three months. She had a bout of diarrhoea, and Esther – who was only nineteen at the time – didn’t know about dehydration. After a couple of days, the baby seemed better. She slept peacefully but never woke up. All moisture had left her body and she was light as an eggshell.’

  ‘Oh, please,’ said Mimi, covering her face.

  ‘Esther never got over it,’ he said, ‘and she never stopped blaming herself for not taking the little girl to a doctor. And what’s worse, after the death she had a stillborn baby and a long series of miscarriages. She told me all this after her husband died. The two of them were bound by the tragedy and rarely interacted with others. Sol’s death was perhaps the last straw. That’s when she stopped making music and her addiction really took hold.’

  Shocked by the story, Mimi stood up and looked over the railing. The half-knitted cardigan… Esther didn’t just get bored with knitting.

  ‘Did she tell you the girl’s name?’

  ‘Sofia,’ said Carlo.

  ‘How strange,’ Mimi said. ‘That’s my middle name.’

  After a few moments of silence, Carlo got up too and together they stood watching the waves rolling up on the beach. A little girl threw a Frisbee right into the sea and her mother gave her a loud telling off. Nearby, two lovers were snogging heedlessly on a bright orange towel. They watched the lovers for a while.

  ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’ Carlo said at last. ‘I need to feed you some real food.’

  ‘Let’s eat out here,’ she said.

  ‘Please,’ he insisted. ‘It’s too hot.’

  In the living room he put his arms around her. They kissed for the first time, and she thought the kiss was – if anything – quite childish. He clearly was not practised at snogging and seemed to be trying to avoid their tongues coming into contact.

  ‘I better see to that lunch,’ he said, drawing back.

  ‘It can wait,’ she said, holding on to him.

  After a moment, his long fingers worked their way over the surface of her dress to her breast. She found herself enjoying being touched. He fondled her ever so gently, teasing her nipple to a hard point. Her breath came faster and she felt herself weaken at the knees. She was getting turned on, hallelujah, she was actually wanting it for herself. Perhaps this was the man who could give her the first orgasm… That would make her coming of age truly memorable.

  For a long time, they stood there. His eyes were closed, seemingly in a trance just over her pathetic little nipple. She felt a bubble of mirth rise in her throat and impatiently moved his hand down over her belly.

  ‘Was that not okay?’ he asked anxiously, peering down at her.

  ‘Yeah, it was okay,’ she said. ‘How would you feel about going to bed?

  He searched her eyes. ‘How do you feel about it?’

  ‘I’m more concerned about you, the chastity and all that.’ She tried not to smile. ‘We don’t have to do anything.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, looking relieved. ‘You’re in charge.’

  The bedroom was small and ascetic, like a monk’s cell. Heavy black curtains were drawn over the window, and in the gloom she saw that Jesus was there too. He hung bleeding on a cross above the headboard. That’s going to be helpful, she thought as she kicked off her sandals and flung herself onto the narrow bed. Her head was spinning pleasantly, and she could feel the awakening inside her. Her whole body felt jittery and alive.

  He stood by the bed looking down on her for a moment, as though still trying to resist the ultimate and fatal temptation. Then he took off the chain with the silver cross and laid it carefully on the bedside table.

  They lay facing each other, fully clothed. ‘I won’t do anything to hurt you,’ he said.

  ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘But just so you know, I’m not a virgin.’

  She saw his frown in the gloom. ‘I meant, I couldn’t penetrate you.’

  ‘Why not?’ she asked, flustered, remembering the condoms.

  ‘It’s too soon. We need to be sure.’

  ‘If you say so, but we can touch, right?’

  When he didn’t seem to know what she meant, she took his hand and guided it over her body, her hip and belly and down under the waistband of her knickers. He clearly had no idea what was down there or what to do with it. She was wet and ready and arched her back in frustration. She put her hand under his vest and explored his cool skin, smooth and hairless, but he tensed when she began fiddling with the button of his shorts.

  ‘Hold on,’ she exclaimed, pulling away from him. ‘This is no good. It’s just too formal. Open the curtains and let’s get some light and air in here.’

  ‘Won’t it be too bright? It’ll get very hot,’ he protested feebly.

  She chuckled. ‘You just don’t want to see what you’re doing.’

  He hopped up and did as he was told, then lay back again and sighed deeply, as if preparing for round two.

  She burst out laughing. ‘This is supposed to be fun, you know. It’s not some kind of march to the gallows.’

  ‘It’s a historic occasion,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘What would you like me to do?’ she said huskily, feeling brave and mature.

  ‘Let’s practise kissing,’ he ventured.

  Kissing got better, but at the same time she felt exasperated. For once she actually felt a physical urge, the real deal: sexual arousal. It was rare, it happened mainly in her head, the thought of power over a guy and him helpless with lust. This was the other way around, Carlo was holding out on her.

  A couple of times she opened her eyes and saw a man with greying hair and lines around his eyes, a man old enough to be her father. It was best to keep her eyes closed and just remember she was kissing a poet.

  Their kissing petered out after a long while, and they lay on their sides trying to read each other. While she debated whether to give up on the endeavour and go get a drink of water, he reached over, pushing her dress up a little more, baring her to the waist. He hooked a finger into the elastic of her knickers and pulled it gently downwards off her hip. She could feel his eyes hot on her skin and his scrutiny paralysed her.

  ‘That is a very sinister tattoo,’ he said. ‘A human skull! How could you do that to yourself?’

  ‘I bet you like it, really,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Pull down my knickers and you can inspect it more closely.’

  He didn’t move, just kept looking. Suddenly he leaned down and touched her tattoo with his tongue. A long raw groan escaped his throat and his body twitched. A stunned silence followed where only a gull shrieked in laughter outside the window. He flopped onto his back and covered his face with his hands.

  ‘So, what’s for lunch?’ she said. ‘I could eat a horse after all that.’

  After a quiet lunch he wanted to call her a taxi, but she insisted she preferred to take the bus back to town, and Carlo did not protest for too long. He didn’t look her in the eye when they said goodbye at the door.

  ‘I’ll get better at this,’ he murmured, lifting her hand to his lips. ‘Like you said, there must be a manual.’

  ‘Thanks for my birthday party, and for the roses,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t sound so formal,’ he said. ‘My hope is to give you roses and champagne on every birthday.’

  She walked away without looking back. Roses and champagne, my God, he’s planning ahead, she thought. At once the expression ‘sugar daddy’ popped uninvited into her head. She cringed in mortification. With her back turned to it, the whole event had an unhealthy feel. Though you could say he’d been plying her with alcohol, it was in fact she who had made the first move
, merrily portraying her own idea of the mature, sophisticated seductress. She hoped she’d not awakened something in him she couldn’t deal with. What the hell was she doing, treading on such thoroughly dodgy ground? For all her sexual experimentation, she was still a kid, a virgin where orgasms were concerned. As for her feelings for the man, he was nice enough, but her yearning for a substitute father was just a fucking cliché! Dad had loved her, her older brother loved her, she did not need a sugar daddy.

  It was a short walk to the bus stop between Both Worlds and Caleta Hotel. Mohammed was standing in the shade of the bus shelter, waiting for her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said with a sigh, but in fact she was ridiculously happy to find him there. If ever she needed someone normal to keep her company!

  The number four came almost straight away from town. It was the end stop and it turned in a layby to go back. They waited, alone in the bus, while the driver stood outside and ate a cheese sandwich. They watched a blonde woman, whose car had been towed away, fire questions at him.

  Her head was buzzing now and her mouth dry, the alcohol spent and paving the way for a hangover. She was desperate to brush her teeth, get out of her clothes and makeup and have a long hot soak in Mrs. Cohen’s giant tub. Mohammed must have sensed her discomfort.

  ‘Was it bad?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. It was a very nice lunch. Lobster salad and champagne.’

  Mohammed’s dark eyes were trying to read the truth in her face. She wanted to hug him, thank him for waiting for her, but suspicion crept into her gratitude. ‘Did Carlo tell you to wait for me and take me home, or what?’

  ‘Of course not. I told you. I do everything for him, but I’m not spying on you any more or buying condoms.’

  ‘No worries, he’s got no need for them.’

  The driver had finished his sandwich but he took out a comb and began to rake it through his greasy hair. Finally, he boarded and started up the bus. There were no other passengers.

  ‘I looked it up on the net the other day,’ she said as they watched the scenery go past along Devil’s Tower Road. ‘Moroccans can apply for a resident’s permit as long as they’ve got a legitimate job in Gib. Didn’t you say you got a job in the mosque?’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  ‘And you won’t need Carlo Montegriffo,’ she insisted, ‘or his permission.’

  ‘I owe him, you see, or I should say my parents are in his debt.’

  ‘Really? How come?’

  ‘Mr. Montegriffo is a director of a charity that helps destitute Moroccan people. He gave my parents a personal loan to pay off a debt, as long as I stay under him.’ He turned to her. ‘You are not to speak about it, Imogen. He would be very angry. This is a confidential arrangement between him and my parents.’

  She felt terrible for him, and slightly outraged. Behind his pious front, was Carlo exploiting a vulnerable foreign kid? He did treat Mohammed as his personal dogsbody.

  ‘Can he really hold you to a loan made to your parents?’

  ‘Mr. Montegriffo is very powerful. He usually gets what he wants. The loan was nothing.’ Mohammed tapped his forehead. ‘It’s here where he has the power.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s my turn now. I’ll protect you.’

  The young man smiled through that grim expression he wore. She noticed that his hand was holding hers. They studied each other for a moment. A glimpse of joy began to lighten his features. God, he was sweet. She leaned towards him. He was the second man she’d kissed in year eighteen.

  Eva

  She ran into Sebastian on DiMoretti’s Ramp. He was on his way out, apparently in a hurry. Brian had dropped her off on Engineer’s Lane, the closest point to which he could bring her in his car. She was carrying her wetsuit in a big plastic bag and all her other paraphernalia in another.

  ‘Hi honey,’ she said, running up to give him a hug.

  He put his arms around her. ‘My beautiful mermaid. Thank God you’re back. Where have you been?’

  Her heart sank. Normally he didn’t ask her many questions, and this was one that she could have done without, but she was too aware of – and fed up with – all the subterfuge between them.

  ‘Remember, I told you I let Brian in on our secret cave! Well, our French group cancelled this morning, so I thought it was an opportunity to show him the place. And Jonny was free, though terribly hung over. He’d been partying with—’

  ‘You showed Brian our find?’

  ‘Yes, well, I told you I might.’

  ‘I thought we’d talk it through, not jump into some action we’d regret.’

  ‘Well, you said that, Sebastian. Then you said you didn’t care. This was an opportunity to—’

  He put a hand up to stop her. ‘Sorry, Eva. I’ve got to go.’

  She frowned at him, then sighed in frustration. She could have expected this. ‘Are you mad at me again?’

  ‘I’m disappointed, but right now all I care about is Mimi. She went off to Montegriffo’s lair in Both Worlds this morning and she’s not back yet. I’m going to go looking for her.’

  She put a hand on his arm. ‘Do you know where his place is? There must be nearly a hundred apartments there. Have you tried her phone?’

  ‘It’s switched off.’

  She shook her head. ‘Come on, honey! Carlo is a known person in town and works for the Ministry of Defence. I don’t think for a moment that he’s any kind of rapist.’

  ‘You wouldn’t! You obviously don’t know what men are capable of.’

  At once, an image appeared in her mind and she looked away to prevent him seeing the shadow of pain cross her face. She knew better than anyone what men were capable of. Some men.

  ‘Have you thrown away any of my drawings?’ Sebastian asked out of the blue.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘But if they’re scrunched-up and on the floor, I assume they’re for throwing away. We’d be drowning in paper balls if I didn’t.’

  He nodded, looking at her. Then he cocked his head. ‘How was it?’ he enquired flippantly. ‘Did you find a Neanderthal hotspot in your cave: bones, drinking vessels, spears?’

  She responded to his mocking tone in turn. ‘Oh yes, we certainly did. You’ll be amazed to hear that our stone-age ancestors smoked tobacco. It’ll make headline news, I’m telling you.’

  He frowned. ‘Tobacco? What did you find to figure that?’

  ‘A cigarette butt. There was no mistaking it.’

  Despite his mood, he burst out laughing. ‘You found a cigarette butt.’

  ‘I thought you’d find that amusing.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is, someone swam in through the hole we made the other day, and smoked a fag? Who’d carry cigarettes on a dive? Come now! You’re taking the piss.’

  Seeing that he was moving away from her, she said, ‘Is it really sensible to go looking for Mimi? She could be anywhere right now, probably on her way home. Look, it’s not even five o’clock.’

  ‘I’m fucking worried about her! It’s all very well for you, off diving with some guy, with not a care in the world.’

  She almost smiled. ‘You’re being childish now, Sebastian. All right, I’ll tell you all about the cigarette butt when you come home.’

  Droplets sprinkled her bare arms. She looked up. Mrs. Amirah, the Moroccan woman who’d moved in next door, was hanging out wet sheets on a wheeled line between the buildings.

  ‘Tell me now, but quickly. I’m in a hurry.’

  ‘Here? Must we stand here and talk?’

  She’d been looking forward to sitting down with him and telling him what they’d found. After last night’s fun, she was determined to deepen their restored intimacy. But he stood there, expecting her to just blurt out her story.

  ‘All right then,’ she said, exasperated. ‘After finding the butt, we also found an empty metal tin. It had Duke of Durham Cigarettes stamped on it, have you heard of it?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘We thou
ght the only way it could have got there was if the cave were connected to the outside world in some other way, so we decided to explore. The passage at the back was about fifty metres deep and narrowed to a point. We had to crawl on our bellies for the last five metres, and we were right. The end of the passage connected with the roof of a manmade tunnel. I’ve no idea what tunnel it was; for sure it was an older one, not a World War Two job. We didn’t jump down into the passage because we might not have been able to haul ourselves back up again. So there you have it. The cigarette butt was pristine, but the tin looked very dated; not a current brand. We thought we’d best leave it exactly where we found it. To think someone in some distant past took a ladder up to the hole in the roof of the tunnel, crawled along and found the enclosed cave.’

  She prodded him lightly in the shoulder. ‘Don’t run off on me, honey.’

  He softened a little. ‘Maybe I just don’t like you spending so much time with Brian.’

  ‘Well, if you’re jealous, spend more time with me – not just in bed. Come for a walk with me…for coffee in the piazza. You rarely even take the time out to have a drink with me on the terrace, or make good your own suggestion to join me and Mimi for dinner.’