by Kitty Sewell
Not that she was grieving over Carlo. Even if she had been a bit infatuated, she didn’t have a speck of grief left over to cover him as well as Sebastian. However, as her father was the cause of Carlo’s death, it was right that at least one Luna ought to be there to pay their respects.
‘Won’t you come with me?’ she said to Mohammed as they stood in front of the cathedral. ‘You’re getting the guide job, after all, and it was Carlo who put in a good word.’
‘My face doesn’t fit in there,’ he said, sitting down on a bench where the Jewish mothers always sat. ‘I’ll wait for you here. I’ll think about Mr. Montegriffo and wish him Godspeed.’
She sat at the back and listened to all the eulogies, the tributes and the praises. Carlo’s brother read several of his poems. Mimi recognised one that she’d edited. A curator from the Gibraltar Museum came forward to say a few words about Carlo’s contribution to Historical Gibraltar, and how his books, explorations and research into the tunnel system had enriched their knowledge of past military installations. He was followed by a whole queue of people wanting to say something about Carlo Montegriffo. Most of it was formal and impersonal yet he had clearly commanded people’s respect.
Mimi was certain she’d known him more intimately than most. She’d touched him, and he’d questioned his entire belief system because of her. She’d opened a few of his doors, just as he’d opened some of hers. But despite all this praise and accolades…he was not as pious or as perfect as they made him out to be. He was just a man, as self-serving and inadequate as any other.
‘How was it?’ asked Mohammed.
‘Stiff and formal. No wailing or tears shed,’ she said. She leaned her head against his shoulder and cried a little. She’d cried buckets during the last weeks, all the tears for Sebastian and then all the ones she’d been storing up from before. And there were more to come, the tears for her sorrow because she’d unknowingly denied the father in Sebastian, for losing ‘Dad’– her grandfather – and for hating the mother who wasn’t her mother, as well as tears for Esther Cohen whose grief for her daughter felt like her own. And then the tears she should have cried each time she’d given herself away without so much as a scrap of love in return.
*
The three of them were standing beside the grey Citroen in the airport carpark. It had rained all morning and there were puddles everywhere. The air was autumnal and most of the tourists were gone.
‘You’re not going anywhere, are you?’ she said to Eva. She felt stupid asking, like a kid worrying about her mum disappearing with a travelling circus.
‘I’ll be here. You and I are family. Just make sure you email me every day.’
‘Of course I will. I’ll call you, too. But I’ve got to get into this emancipation lark.’
‘You’re doing just fine with that,’ Eva said. ‘I’m the one needing to catch up.’
‘We can compare notes on our progress, can’t we?’
Eva held on to her arm for what seemed ages, hesitating, then led her a few paces away from Mohammed. ‘Listen, Mimi. I was going to wait till you came back to tell you, but…I will really need you, you know… Don’t make long term plans, please.’
Mimi peered at her, intently. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not ill, are you?’
‘No, not ill,’ she said with a weak smile. ‘Mimi, you’re going to be a sister in six months’ time, so don’t get any ideas about staying in the UK, all right?’
Mimi jumped back, her eyes wide. Her mouth hung open and for a moment she was speechless. ‘Fucking hell! Are you serious?’
‘I never actually intended it. Sebastian didn’t want children, but my injections must have been running low or something. It happened, and I’m hurtling towards forty. Last chance, and all that.’
‘Oh, but Eva…do you want his baby?’
Eva’s chin quivered and her eyes looked blurred. ‘Of course I do. Some genes you got there.’ She tried to laugh and poked Mimi’s nose with her forefinger. ‘Besides, I loved your father. I don’t have to remind you of that, do I?’
Mimi rolled her eyes. ‘God, no! But what about his crazy genes? Aren’t you worried?’
‘Nah,’ said Eva with a shrug. ‘Look at you! You’re totally whacky, but you’re perfectly sane.’
Mimi studied the puddles at her feet. ‘I guess I still don’t know enough about mental illness but I wouldn’t be surprised if Sebastian’s problems were partly caused by childhood trauma or emotional neglect. Jane had a psychopathic gene herself; a sadistic one. She never touched children except to punish.’
Eva closed her eyes for a moment. ‘Why couldn’t he just have talked about it?’
‘For Sebastian, all that mattered was what he was going to become, not what he was before. You know what he was like.’
Eva nodded, wiping something from her eye.
‘Do you want me to stay? I don’t have to go.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Eva snorted. ‘You’ve got to meet this Tanya woman, no matter how she turns out to be. And with Linda coming over, I’ll be well looked after. She’s awesome. I hope you’re back in time to meet her.’
‘And then? Will we stay in Gibraltar…the three of us? Mimi looked at Eva’s tummy. It seemed perfectly flat like it always had been, but it was early days.
‘Let’s talk about it when you come back,’ said Eva. ‘Who knows how we’ll feel when the dust has settled?’
They clung to each other for a moment. Mimi was filled with some unfamiliar emotion, a sort of vicarious maternal tenderness for that speck inside Eva. She’d never herself had a mother who’d loved her and cared about her, but now she was to be a big sister, an aunt and best friend rolled into one. That would make up for it. And the speck. It was like a miracle. They’d lost Sebastian, but the universe had seen to it that they got something of him back.
Mohammed kissed her on both cheeks and held her briefly in his arms. ‘I’ll check on Eva and make sure she’s okay. And you be careful. I heard there are lots of pickpockets in London.’
Mimi put her hand over his mouth. ‘Mohammed, for Christ’s sake, you can stop that now, the protective thing. I’ve had enough protection to last me till Doomsday.’
‘When you come back, perhaps we’ll go to Morocco for a little visit.’
‘We will, but one thing at a time, sweetie. Get stuck into that new job now, and put those yellow trainers in the nearest bin. That’s enough!’
Mimi turned around and waved twice as she joined the queue. Grief still clung to her like a heavy blanket, but knowing the mystery of her birth had made her feel more whole. Despite losing the brother/father she loved, she felt lighter than she had in years. Not only was she sane, she’d grown up, and through the terror she’d experienced in the bowels of the Rock, she’d found a strength she could call forth whenever she needed it. Something important had happened to her underground. She’d experienced the illusion of being at the centre of the universe, at its very core. Any time she felt like it, she could close her eyes and summon up that powerful state.
Epilogue
He came out on the cliff ledge above the Jungle. It had been a long time – he couldn’t tell how long – since he stood on the surface. The sun glared without pity and he used his hands to shield his night-adapted eyes.
The air was humid, so different from the dryness below, and breathing it felt a bit like drowning. He panted and coughed as he inhaled it. After a moment, he calmed and peeked between his fingers. There was the expanse of land that was Spain spreading far into the distance. There was the sea dissolving into grey mist.
He wasn’t sure what had brought him up; nothing in particular, just some strange longing, some misplaced nostalgia. He sometimes missed his beloved child, but surely she would not have stayed on this craggy Rock, and anyway, it would be unsafe to venture into the city to look for her. Not that anyone would recognise his face – as it was now. He thought there had been a woman too, some creature of the sea with fins and hair of seaweed
. He smiled to himself; in the days of his sickness he’d been prone to wild fantasies.
He’d forgotten the peculiar nature of time: that the earth turned and revolved around the sun. It had turned as he stood there and was now entering its shadow phase. As the light faded, he felt more comfortable, and with unpractised gait he made his way towards the very summit of the Rock. Again he panted like a sick man. It tired him to walk.
Once there he sat down on a patch of grass, shivering in the chill of the night, and watched the lights of the tankers for a while. Searching the horizon and the glittering city below, he found to his satisfaction that the surface held nothing for him. The life and work he had now constituted a different dimension, outside of time and space.
Morning came and he had not moved. His naked skin had frozen; from time to time, his body was seized by violent shudders. He watched the roll of the earth, how it tipped forward, making it look as though the sun rose from the sea. His mouth was dry but there was nothing to wet it with.
Sometime later in the phase of the sun, he saw them approach. He tried to get up but his body was rigid and refused to obey him. Something was draped around him that made a barrier against the cool wind. They wanted to straighten his legs and had to hold him under the armpits. As they helped him down the slope towards a road and a red light that flashed, he turned one last time to catch a glimpse of the open sea. Rising majestically out of the mist, he saw the arch of a giant bridge.
‘See that,’ he croaked, turning his head towards the man on his left. ‘That’s my brainchild.’
‘What is?’ asked the man, peering out over the water.
‘The bridge.’
‘What bridge, where?’
‘Right there, in the mist. The one that joins what Hercules split asunder.’
‘Ah, yes, I see it now,’ said the man and smiled. ‘Impressive!’
Sebastian smiled too, finding he was no longer interested in praise. The austerity of life below had detached him from the vagaries of the ego and made him humble. As long as Luna’s Crossing was to link the continents as he’d intended, it didn’t matter who basked in the glory of its conception. The author’s name would fade and be forgotten with the passing millennia. It was enough to see this miracle and know that it was his own – that he was the creator.
Kitty Sewell was born in Sweden, and has had four successive nationalities, living in the Canary Islands, Central and South America, Canada, England, Wales and Spain where she now lives in the mountains of Andalucía. She is a successful sculptor, and bestselling author. Her books have been translated into 15 languages and she has been short-listed for the CWA New Blood Dagger Award, the Wales Book of the Year, Winner of the “People’s Choice” BBC Radio Wales Prize, and Bertelsmann Book Clubs International Book of the Month. With Honno she has published Ice Trap (2005, later bought by Simon & Schuster) and Hector’s Talent for Miracles (2007) (as Kitty Harri).
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Honno Welsh Women’s Press was set up in 1986 by a group of women who felt strongly that women in Wales needed wider opportunities to see their writing in print and to become involved in the publishing process. Our aim is to develop the writing talents of women in Wales, give them new and exciting opportunities to see their work published and often to give them their first ‘break’ as a writer. Honno is registered as a community co-operative. Any profit that Honno makes is invested in the publishing programme. Women from Wales and around the world have expressed their support for Honno. Each supporter has a vote at the Annual General Meeting. For more information and to buy our publications, please write to Honno at the address below, or visit our website: www.honno.co.uk
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First published in 2019 by Honno Press, ‘Ailsa Craig’, Heol y Cawl, Dinas Powys, Vale of Glamorgan, Wales, CF64 4AH
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Copyright: Kitty Sewell © 2019
The right of Kitty Sewell to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
The Author would like to stress that this is a work of fiction and no resemblance to any actual individual or institution is intended or implied.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Published with the financial support of the Welsh Books Council.
ISBN 978-1-909983-99-1 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-912905-00-3 (ebook)
Cover design: Graham Preston
Cover image: Jukkis/Shutterstock Inc.
