by Kitty Sewell
He grabbed his keys and his wallet and stormed out of the apartment. On the middle floor landing he came upon the very man he’d come to hate with an unbridled passion. Carlo Montegriffo stood there, talking to Mimi in his oily voice. He had his hand on her shoulder in a downright insolent attitude, and Mimi was looking up at him with an uneasy smile.
‘What’s going on here?’ Sebastian said sharply.
‘Nothing,’ said Mimi. ‘We’re talking.’
‘Mimi. Go upstairs, please. I want to talk to Carlo alone for a moment.’
‘Okay, bro,’ she said and ran up the stairs. If he wasn’t mistaken, she seemed positively relieved by the request. When they’d heard her close the door to the apartment, Montegriffo pre-empted him.
‘Stay out of it, Luna. Imogen is eighteen years old and an adult in law. If she wants to be with me, there is nothing you can do about it.’
‘I’ve had enough. Keep away from her, you fucking pervert.’
Carlo regarded him coldly. ‘I’ve said it before: you’re the one with the problem. You’re in love with your own sister, and you can’t cope with the idea of her having another man in her life.’
He could easily have attacked Carlo, but despite his anger, Sebastian knew this was a trap. The taunts were a way to get him to do something unacceptable. The sensible thing was to just go, walk away before he lost his temper and did what Montegriffo obviously was goading him to do.
He turned and continued down the stairs, biting his lip hard, his hands wringing each other so tightly they were numb.
‘Stop interfering,’ Montegriffo shouted down after him. ‘Your sister is a free woman.’
Mimi
She stopped inside the door to try and listen to the muffled conversation below, but only heard Carlo shout ‘Your sister is a free woman’. She covered her ears with both hands. Bloody men! Both Carlo and Sebastian were control freaks – each in different ways – and she’d had enough of being controlled. All the same, she knew she was to blame for all this male aggression. She was a monumental idiot to have allowed things to go this far.
She wasn’t the only fucked-up member of the household. She could tell Sebastian was heading towards some dark place, but he was good at covering it up. It was not just about losing Eva and the trouble he’d been having with his project. He kept telling her he was perfectly all right and warned her not to meddle where she wasn’t needed. What should she do? What could she do?
She stood at the door a little while longer but could hear no more angry exchanges from the downstairs landing. She went back into her room and almost went flying over her holdall. The place was in complete chaos. Looking around, she felt a sudden overwhelming need to put order into her life. She gathered up her clothes and ripped the sheets off the bed, stuffing it all into the washing machine. With a large garden-sized rubbish bag she gathered up all the shit she’d accumulated over the last few weeks; all the paper balls, cartons of sour milk, empty packets of this and that, some leftover cigarettes and the foul cannabis. Lastly, she grabbed the blossoming roses from the wine cooling bucket and scrunched them head-down into the bag.
*
Carlo intercepted her on the landing when she was on her way out.
‘We didn’t finish our conversation,’ he said.
‘Well, Sebastian finished it for us,’ she said with a weak smile.
‘You don’t have to obey him, you know.’
‘I know,’ she said to cut the conversation short. ‘I do it out of habit.’
He reached for her hand. ‘Look, I have a proposition for you.’
‘Carlo, please—’
‘No, hear me out. This has nothing to do with you and me. I can see that you’re having a stressful time at home. I’ve deduced that Eva has left, and you’re struggling to keep some semblance of normality with your brother. I can offer you a place where you have peace and quiet to write. I would like to give you the keys to Both World, rent free. You can move in there and make yourself at home. I could bring you groceries, but otherwise I would stay clear of the place…unless invited.’ He put his hand over his crucifix. ‘That’s a promise.’
She was both touched and wary. ‘It’s a very generous offer, Carlo. But Sebastian needs me.’
‘You need to think of yourself.’
She pulled her hand away. ‘Thanks, but no,’ she said. ‘I don’t have that same need for isolation as you do. I like it here.’
He looked disappointed. ‘The other thing – we’ve not got around to finishing our tour.’
‘Give me a few days, Carlo. I’ve got a lot on at the moment.’
*
‘Wait!’ he called out, catching up with her on Fish Market Road. ‘I wondered where you went to.’
‘Were you following me?’ she said with a frown.
‘Of course not,’ he said with a laugh. ‘But you’re always prowling around town. Where are you off to now?’
‘I’ve just got out for a bit of air,’ she said in irritation.
‘I know what you mean. The Levante makes the atmosphere so oppressive. I haven’t asked you lately…how is the writing going?’
She hesitated. ‘I’ve started something new. The story of Mrs. Cohen. Of course it’s fiction, but living with her presence has affected me. It’s as if she were asking something of me.’
‘The story of Mrs. Cohen!’ He smiled and nodded. ‘Interesting idea.’
They came out by the bus station and went through the arches into Casemates Square. He pointed towards the thick wooded area high above the square. ‘Have you ever been to the Jungle?’
‘What is it?’
‘That wooded slope above the cliff. I was just heading up there. I’ve been dying to show someone this secret way into the tunnel system.’ He pointed to his rucksack. ‘I’ve even got two torches, as it happens. The writer in you would find this fascinating.’
‘Not today.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s too hot,’ she said.
‘It’s ever so cool in the tunnels.’
She liked to think of herself as adventurous and up for a challenge, but was that self-image in fact a fake, a construct of wishful thinking? In some ways she was actually quite chicken. A chicken hidden under puffed-up words and clothes with attitude.
‘All right. What the hell! Let’s do it,’ she said.
They walked a few steps up Main street and turned left up Crutchett’s Ramp. Further up the hill, they took a hairpin turn up Demara’s Ramp which was in fact a long staircase up to the weirdly named Road-to-the-Lines.
Further up the steps and passage, they wedged themselves through a narrow gap in a fence. The fence was made of thick vertical iron bars – obviously meant to keep out trespassers – but one bar had been cut by some heavy-duty tool and bent sideways. Once on the wrong side, she stopped and took a deep breath. They were high above Casemates Square, but she could still see and hear the crowds down there. She could even see the ants’ trail of people walking, cycling and driving across the airport runway. The landing strip, beginning and ending in the sea, stretched like a taut ribbon between the two countries. On the other side was the whole expanse of southern Spain. All those people seemed so nearby. Yet up here, squeezing through a vandalised barrier, one entered forgotten territory.
Eva
‘Dead? Adrian is dead?’
‘Jesus H. Christ! Don’t tell me you didn’t know?’ said Martin.
Eva threw herself back onto the bed, her hand pressed over her mouth.
A moment passed.
‘Are you there, Chantelle? Hello?’
‘I’m here,’ Eva murmured. ‘Adrian dead? Are you serious?’
‘Come on now, would I lie to you about something like that?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, still reeling in confusion. ‘But I’ve had these silent phone calls, and when I asked, well, he didn’t deny being Adrian.’
Martin was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t think he can call you from beyon
d the grave, Chantelle. Adrian is not your man.’
‘Martin, I’m so sorry. I feel awful now, making that assumption, but you know it was not unlike Adrian to –’ she stopped herself. It was unacceptable to speak ill of the dead. For a mere moment she wondered if Martin was lying, if Adrian had put him up to this, but no. Martin was so totally unlike his brother: a decent man, honest to a fault.
‘What happened…was he ill?’
‘Ah…well, I guess you have no idea. It was just a few days after you scarpered. He had a traffic accident in a camper van. He was driving on the Lyon-Paris péage, lost control and hit the central barrier at hundred-and-twenty miles per hour. It was instant, apparently!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘Please give your mother my condolences.’
‘You need to contact a lawyer, Chantelle, so we can finally put his affairs in order.’
‘Of course. I’ll be in touch soon.’
She sat stock-still on the hotel bed and stared at her phone.
Adrian dead! It wasn’t possible! Dead…he was dead! The relief of it, the ecstasy of it. She was free.
Another part of her was strangely frustrated. The news of Adrian’s death was an anti-climax. She’d come into her own power and was ready, willing and able to get him out of her life by fighting back. Now she didn’t have to.
She fell back, rolling around on the bed, not sure whether to hoot with joy or smash the pillows with her fists, so she did both. After a couple of seconds she stopped and lay still, staring at the ceiling.
So who had been making the phone calls? She bit her knuckles in bewilderment. If it wasn’t Adrian, it had to be Carlo Montegriffo, after all. Hadn’t she suspected him at the start? She’d found him weird from the very first time she’d met him, and his unhealthy interest in a teenage girl should have been proof enough of some character flaw.
She sat up abruptly. What a stupid lack of strategy not to call Martin in the first instance! The possible consequences made her insides turn unpleasantly. Why hadn’t she taken Sebastian’s gut feeling about Montegriffo seriously? She’d dismissed his concern for Mimi as neurotic over-protectiveness.
She grabbed the phone and dialled Sebastian’s number. She had to let Sebastian and Mimi know what a – possibly – dangerous and deviant character they had as a neighbour. He answered instantly.
Before she had time to speak he cried out, ‘Have you found her?’
Her heart skipped a beat. ‘I’m here,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re talking to me.’
‘Not you,’ he barked. ‘I can’t speak right now, Eva. I’ve got the keep the line free.’
‘Wait!’ she shouted. ‘Don’t cut me off. What did you mean, “have you found her”?’
‘It’s Mimi. She’s gone missing.’
Mimi
The chemical smell burned in her nostrils and she was in a fog, as if she’d been blinded. Some light-source made grey liquid streaks appear along curved walls. She felt herself being dragged, then carried, then dragged again. Her arm hurt, her head too. Her stomach churned and she vomited suddenly. Then the fog closed over her. All she knew was that soothing voice, making promises. But she hurt too much to listen and her body wanted to sleep.
Eons later, the fog began to lift. She was lying on a soft surface, but the smell of it was wrong. There were many sounds – hollow and echoing – as though someone were throwing rocks against a metal sheet. The clanging made her head pound unbearably and she covered her ears with her hands.
Eventually she began to wonder what these noises were. She opened her eyes. There was a faint glow somewhere. Gradually she realised it wasn’t her eyes that were faulty, it was the place. She sat up and everything spun around. She heaved, but there was nothing but bile in her stomach.
The sounds ceased suddenly and everything was quiet. Patting the surface on which she was sitting, she recognised it as a mattress on a hard floor. Gingerly, she explored the space, and her hand encountered a tubular object. She picked it up and – turning it in her hand – the faint glow suddenly turned into harsh light. It was a large torch. Her eyes took a while to adjust to the brightness. She looked up and realised what this was, then remembered everything.
She began to scream.
Eva
The queue to get across the frontier into Gibraltar was snaking far back along the La Linea seafront. Her nerves were getting more and more frayed as maverick drivers in the parallel lane kept jumping the slow-moving line, taking advantage of every little gap. Road rage clearly got its name from this lineup, with its crazed drivers constantly beeping their horns. She tried to be calm, but it felt as if every moment counted.
Finally, she passed the border but was thwarted again, as a plane was approaching and the road across the runway closed for fifteen minutes. Once into the city she drove as fast as the traffic allowed and found parking in one of the free carparks near Ragged Staff Gate. Trying to hail a taxi was a non-starter so she had no choice but to walk all the way up to Upper Town carrying her suitcase.
She still had the key in her bag and she opened the door. The apartment was quiet and already had a scruffy air about it. She found Sebastian sitting in the kitchen looking awful. His hair was greasy and unkempt, and he had dark circles under his eyes. His clothes were rumpled as though he’d slept in them for days. The floor was littered with hundreds of screwed-up papers.
In trepidation, Eva went up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Has Mimi come back?’
He looked away from her and didn’t answer.
‘Listen. I just want to tell you. Adrian, the man I was married to, is dead. He died days after I left him, over a year ago now. He is dead, do you hear me? I’m a widow… Sebastian…are you listening to me?’
He still refused to acknowledge her. She could see that he had been crying. With a rush of pity, she put her arms around him. ‘Please, talk to me, Sebastian. I do love you. I’ve never done anything to make you doubt it.’
Slowly he turned his head and looked at her. The expression on his face as he studied her made her heart race. It was as if he didn’t know her, as though the Eva that he’d loved had ceased to exist. She let go of him and stood back.
‘I loved you too, Eva,’ he said in a detached voice, ‘but none of that matters now. All I care about is Mimi.’
‘Since when has she been missing?’
‘Since yesterday morning.’
‘What’s happened? Did you have an argument or something?’
‘No,’ he said, his voice anguished. ‘She just disappeared.’
‘Are you sure? I mean, perhaps she…’ She put her hand out and stroked his hair. ‘You know, she did tell me, last thing before I left, that she’d met someone. Someone her own age. Surely she must be with him. And there’s Carlo too, remember. We know she’s attracted to him.’
He snarled at her like a dog. ‘Oh, you think it’s that easy to explain, do you? Just off for a fuck with some guy or other.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
Again he buried his face in his hands. ‘I just have a bad feeling about it!’
‘She’s always come back, hasn’t she? I mean, you told me she used to run away when she was younger, but she always came back. Even in Dubai, she…’
‘Shit, Eva!’ he cried. ‘Do I really need reminding of that?’
She couldn’t blame him for being sharp with her. ‘Do you want me to go down and ask Montegriffo?’ she offered.
‘I’ve already asked both him and the lad, but they claim they’ve no idea where she is.’
‘You know the boy?’ she said, surprised.
‘Yes, of course I know him. It’s that Moroccan I told you about, the trainee tunnel guide. He was there, at Montegriffo’s. Neither of them have seen her since yesterday. Or so they say.’
‘Do you want to call the police? Perhaps they should be informed.’
‘I called them this morning, but since Mimi’s eighteen they’re reluctant
to do anything this early on. She could be anywhere and she doesn’t need permission – in their words – to go walkabout.’
‘I think the police have a point,’ she said. ‘Let’s just sit tight for a day, Sebastian.’
‘Oh,’ he said with feeling. ‘You wouldn’t be saying that if it was your child.’
‘Mimi isn’t your child, Sebastian. She’s your sister and she’s a grown woman.’
He buried his face in his hands again and began to sob. She couldn’t bear to see him so distressed. She tried to calm him, stroking his shoulder.
‘Listen, Sebastian,’ she said gently. ‘Have you given Mimi a large amount of money for some reason?’
He looked up, his face blotchy and tearstained. ‘No.’
‘What about that trust fund she had?’
‘She can cash it in when she’s twenty-one. What’s that got to do with anything?’
Eva paused for a moment. Did he need this now? But perhaps it was relevant. ‘She gave me a whole wad of cash before I left. Where could she have gotten it?’
‘Did she? How much are we talking about?’
