Secrets in Sicily

by Penny Feeny

  ‘I don’t think you can lecture me on bringing up kids.’ Then, unexpectedly, he switched off the cassette recorder. ‘How about another coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  He hailed a waitress and ordered refills. At one end of the table was a large red plastic tomato containing ketchup. Alex picked it up, squeezed it, tossed it from hand to hand as if it were a grenade and said ruminatively, ‘I suppose things weren’t easy for you, back in Santa Margherita? Before the earthquake, I mean.’

  ‘We were so poor even the Mafia didn’t trouble us. Until afterwards.’

  He became animated. ‘When the funding got misappropriated, you mean? We hit an example of that on one of our trips: a road going nowhere. It was built on stilts above fields of poppies and sheep. We were driving along admiring the view, when suddenly there was a plastic barrier and no more tarmac. We nearly went over the edge, head first into the sheep.’

  ‘This is what we must put up with in Sicily.’

  He replaced the plastic tomato and pressed the record button. The tape began to spool again. ‘Why don’t you take me through it?’ he said. ‘What life was like for you there.’

  ‘You mean you want to hear how I ran around barefoot, how we fetched water from the pump in the piazza and kept chickens? This will make a good story for your newspaper?’

  ‘Don’t worry, it won’t be for public consumption.’ He sighed. ‘It’s too personal. I’d prefer the truth, whatever it is.’

  ‘Well, then, I can tell you I was well cared for because I was an only child. The problems came after my father died. We couldn’t stay on in the forge, so we lived with my mother’s brothers and sisters, one after another.’ Sleeping in the corners of rooms, trying to keep out of the way. Wanting to please her mother, but sneaking off for trysts with Francesco all the same… ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘Sorry. It’s because I can’t help thinking you’d be a dead ringer for Angelica. Before you went blonde, of course.’

  ‘Who is Angelica?’

  ‘The sultry young woman in The Leopard. Il Gattopardo? You must know it. Or be aware of it at least. The author, Tomasi di Lampedusa, was the duke who owned the palace in Santa Margherita. Did you never meet him?’

  ‘No, how could I? I was a peasant girl.’

  ‘You were the blacksmith’s daughter. Your father might have been called to the palace sometimes, to shoe the horses or fix the railings or whatever. Didn’t you get a peek inside some of the rooms before everything collapsed?’

  ‘I think you are making fun of me,’ said Carlotta.

  ‘I’m trying to picture you living there.’

  ‘Because you don’t believe me?’

  ‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t?’

  ‘No!’

  He knitted his hands together and rested his chin on them, leaning forward as if to study her more closely. ‘It seems to me you’ve come a long way from the life you might have led. If there’d been no earthquake, I mean. Here you are, independent, emancipated, well-travelled—’

  She couldn’t tell whether he was being sympathetic or provocative, but his words riled her. ‘How can you possibly understand what I have endured? Do you think it is easy to leave your home and everything you know? To live in strange cities? For years, I have difficulties. Some bad relationships. Some terrible jobs. When I was a cleaner, my hands, they swelled and grew red like, what do you say, a lobster? I had no money… Also, I am all alone because I have no family. Do you know how unusual this is, for an Italian?’ Sometimes, morbidly, she wondered what it was that set her apart – were all the losses in her life the result of an internal fault-line, a seismic crack in her construction?

  Alex said, ‘That doesn’t mean you can simply pick a kid you like the look of.’

  ‘This is what you did, when you took my baby to England.’

  ‘Oh, no, I’m not letting that pass! When we adopted Lily, it was because we were aiming to do the best we could. It was all above board. What makes you think the nuns would have given her to you, anyway? How could you have proved she was yours?’

  ‘There are the dates,’ said Carlotta.

  ‘There were other missing children.’

  ‘And other… signs.’ Her fingers twitched at the memory of touching the smooth stub of Lily’s belly button when they were on Favignana. ‘And she looks like me, you must admit. Especially the hair.’ She tugged angrily at her bleached cap, wishing she’d resisted Eva’s crazy suggestion.

  ‘Circumstantial evidence can seem overwhelming.’ Alex was speaking calmly, secure in his position. ‘But it’s not enough. It doesn’t mean people will accept it for the truth, whatever the balance of probabilities.’

  ‘Which people?’

  ‘People with vested interests, for instance.’

  ‘Like you and your wife?’

  ‘It wouldn’t stand up in a court of law either. I’m afraid there’s no case to answer.’

  Nothing would stop Carlotta holding steadfast to her convictions. ‘When she grows up…’ she began.

  ‘When she’s an adult, Lily can do what she wants. In the meantime, she has a right to a happy, carefree youth.’

  ‘But she is not happy.’

  The muscles in his jaw tightened. ‘Adolescence isn’t easy for anyone. She needs stability and I won’t let you threaten that, Carlotta… or whatever your name is.’

  ‘You want to see my passport?’ she said, brandishing it.

  ‘Yeah, show me.’ He opened the page with her photograph and snorted. ‘Let’s hope you don’t have too much trouble explaining who you are when you get back home! What were you called originally, anyway?’

  ‘Concetta. It’s a very old-fashioned name. I prefer my new one.’

  He returned the passport and said casually, ‘And your daughter?’

  ‘She was named after my mother, Serafina. That’s old-fashioned too.’

  ‘Serafina?’ he said. ‘Strewth! Lily should be grateful to the nuns.’

  She felt a quiet surge of satisfaction when this slipped out, but before she could challenge him Alex had moved on. ‘So now, Carlotta-Concetta,’ he said. ‘What will it take to persuade you to leave us alone?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I hope it’s not money, because we don’t have masses to spare and I don’t give in to blackmail.’

  ‘Money! You think I would sell my daughter!’

  ‘She’s our daughter,’ said Alex. ‘You have no claim, no parental rights. But I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m not vindictive, even to stalkers or would-be abductors. But I also want to protect Lily and I want to protect my wife, who’s under a lot of family pressure at the minute. So I’ll ask again: what would it take for you to go quietly back to Italy and stop writing or sending messages – at least until Lily is eighteen and chooses to get in touch with any potential relatives?’

  It had taken Carlotta months to save up for this trip; the prospect of going back to Rome with nothing to show for it was devastating. ‘I can’t see her again?’

  ‘Certainly not. What kind of havoc would that create for the poor kid?’

  ‘But I have waited so long!’

  He was heartless. ‘Then a few more years won’t make any difference, will they?’

  ‘Will you send me photographs? So I can see her growing up.’

  This time he nodded. ‘Aye. That seems reasonable, I suppose. Twice a year?’

  ‘More often. Every two months. In colour.’ How pathetic she was!

  ‘Are you sure this won’t make it harder for you?’

  That was what Eva was always saying to her: Forget the past. But her daughter wasn’t among the dead, she was among the living. Why would she want to forget her? ‘No.’

  He looked at his watch. ‘I need to get going. Right, then, I’ll send you regular photos and in return you promise not to contact any of us. Ever. Is that a deal?’

  Her hands shook as she wrote out her address for him. This
time he accepted it.

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  19

  Andi came back to school with her arm in a sling. She and Michelle had been suspended for two days; Beverley and Faye had been given detention. No one was speaking to Lily. It was the worst of all possible worlds. Alex had caused a fine rumpus, marching into the head’s study and demanding action, and the head had given a long lecture in assembly about how the school would not tolerate bullying.

  Alex was always telling Lily about the power of words, about how the pen was mightier than the sword and how he was a warrior for justice. What about when there were no words? Lily wondered. When you’d been sent to Coventry and were met at every turn with silence? What was the power of words worth then? She wished Alex hadn’t got involved. The man who owned the garage had been perplexed but not aggressive. She could have pretended she’d got trapped giving chase to a cat, any excuse would have done. Andi might even have admired her initiative. Instead of which, Alex had come crusading along and Lily had suffered the consequences.

  ‘That’s what happens,’ he said. ‘To people who stand up to the mob. It’s not an excuse for letting them get away with it. The school has to be informed. You have to do the right thing.’

  She should have guessed he’d react like this. If only she’d been more patient, if only she hadn’t been stupid and given out their telephone number. Already she nursed a steady hatred for the annoying little foreign woman who had alerted him, the one who’d bobbed up when she wasn’t needed any more to say Alex was on his way. She had stared at Lily curiously. ‘What did you expect to see?’ Lily had wanted to ask her. ‘Didn’t I sound like a schoolgirl?’ But the woman hadn’t said anything more. She’d screwed up her face and scuttled off again as if she’d realised she’d caused almost as much bother as Andi. Now that Lily’s misery was magnified, the foreign woman was a handy scapegoat.

  Andi winced if anyone touched her and compressed her lips in a brave smile, but she was very mysterious about her injury. She claimed she’d fallen downstairs in such an evasive way that no one knew what to believe. It was rumoured that her stepfather had a cruel streak: he’d lashed out to punish her and that was how she’d fallen. Which meant it was really Lily’s fault – and yet another reason for her to be shunned. More than anything else in the world she longed for her mother to come home.

  *

  ‘Whatever’s the matter, sweetheart?’ said Jess, when Lily slammed into the flat, kicking her bag under the hall table, ready to fight Harry for the television. She didn’t care what he was watching. Even if it was Rentaghost, his favourite programme, she’d demand he change channel.

  ‘Oh!’ She stopped in her tracks. ‘I didn’t know you were back.’

  Jess enfolded her in her arms. ‘I’m sorry. It’s been a tough week.’

  ‘Is Grandpa still in hospital?’

  ‘Yes. But they think he’s making progress.’ Jess smiled wanly.

  Lily said, ‘It’s been tough here too. Did Alex tell you?’

  ‘No, what happened?’

  ‘Perhaps he didn’t want to worry you,’ said Lily, trying to be generous. ‘He probably thought he’d sorted it.’

  ‘Sorted what?’

  There was no point in covering up. Jess would find out everything eventually and the damage was done. So she launched into her account, dwelling less on being locked in the garage than on the recent fallout, partly because this could be a torment without end. Jess interrupted only once: ‘But I thought Andrea was your friend!’ When she’d finished, she stroked Lily’s hair back from her face and said gently, ‘Oh, my goodness, kids can be so cruel. But it won’t last, darling. Those silly girls may not be talking to you but you don’t want to have anything to do with people like that anyway; everybody else will forget soon enough. You’re strong and you have a family who love you; you aren’t a victim.’ Then, after a pause, ‘Did Andi’s stepfather really break her arm?’

  ‘It’s not broken. Sprained or dislocated or something. She has to keep it strapped up for weeks.’

  ‘Poor thing. She must have a very troubled background.’

  It was typical of Jess to sympathise with the perceived underdog and Lily found it exasperating, though while her mother was in this frame of mind – warmly empathetic but a little bit guilty too – it was worth pushing harder for what she really wanted.

  ‘Do I have to stay there?’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At that school. I mean, they hate me and I hate them and…’ Her voice wobbled. ‘Please don’t tell me it’s all in my head because it isn’t and it’s never going to get any better!’

  ‘Oh, my darling,’ Jess cuddled her again. ‘Actually, you know, I have an idea.’

  ‘You do?’ Was she going to offer home-schooling again? Would it be allowed now she was older?

  Jess said, ‘Come on, help me get the dinner ready and I’ll run it past Alex when he comes in.’

  Lily didn’t ask why Harry was being let off the chores. She peeled potatoes and carrots conscientiously; she wanted to keep Jess on her side.

  Alex breezed into the flat as if there was no problem he couldn’t handle. He greeted Lily and Harry with a hug and enveloped Jess in a lingering embrace, kissing her for so long that Lily had to look away. ‘Thank God you’re back,’ he said. ‘We missed you, didn’t we, kiddies? What’s the prognosis?’

  ‘Let’s eat first,’ said Jess, as if she knew you couldn’t have a serious discussion on an empty stomach.

  Afterwards, when Harry slid off his chair, impatient to get back to his Blue Peter construction of cardboard and tinfoil, Jess didn’t stop him or ask him to clear the plates. The three of them sat amongst the debris of dirty dishes, of crusted mash and congealed gravy and empty Ski yoghurt pots. She reached for Lily’s hand and said, ‘I hear there’s been a little local difficulty.’

  Most parents would have debated Lily’s situation in her absence, but hers had always stressed the importance of being upfront. She was often included in their discussions – even if they sometimes made her squirm. On this occasion, it was Alex who squirmed. ‘What do you know about it?’ he said gruffly.

  ‘What Lily has told me. In fact, I think I’m more up to date than you are. Did you know those girls are still making her life a misery?’

  ‘Oh, Christ, I’m sorry, love.’ He looked more relieved than apologetic. ‘But it will blow over.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve told her,’ said Jess. ‘But as it happens, while I’ve been away, I’ve been thinking…’

  ‘That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Yes, well, you’re probably not going to like what I suggest. I think we should move out of London.’

  Lily hadn’t expected this. She understood now why Jess was still squeezing her hand and not letting go: she was to be her ally. Sitting opposite, Alex was gripping the edges of the table; Lily could see his arm muscles tense beneath his shirtsleeves, his knuckles rise in white peaks. ‘Why?’

  ‘I think Dinah’s right – I know I don’t often say that – but I think the kids would do a lot better at school in Wiltshire. I’m not talking about boarding,’ she added quickly. ‘God forbid. Just ordinary uncontentious state schools.’

  ‘I suppose the need to earn a living isn’t a factor when you’re as well-heeled as Dinah.’

  ‘Johnnie commutes. It’s perfectly possible.’

  ‘Why are you going over to the dark side, Jess? We don’t belong in the fucking pony club.’

  ‘Not everyone who lives in the country is landed gentry,’ she flashed. ‘And we don’t have to be like Dinah and Johnnie. Up in the big house, cutting ourselves off from the locals. That’s not our way of doing stuff.’

  ‘No,’ Alex said. ‘But we’ll be isolated from all the things we believe in and the people who might be on our wavelength. As soon as you move there the tribe will pressurise you to become like them. Or take advantage of you. You lose either way.’

  ‘My father’s probably going to need a wheel
chair.’ She blinked away tears. ‘And my mother’s too frail to push him around.’

  ‘Marjorie’s as much of a battle-axe as Dinah. You’ll end up being at everyone’s beck and call.’ His tone softened. ‘I’m sorry, Jess, but you haven’t thought this through. How could we afford it? Where would we live? Hope to God you’re not planning to move in with your parents.’

  Over the years Lily’s grandparents had been shrinking and their living quarters had shrunk too. They occupied a fraction of their large house and many of their rooms had a pickled quality. The attics had long been abandoned and Lily and Harry liked to charge about in them, disturbing the dust and hunting for relics.

  ‘There’s the cottage,’ said Jess.

  ‘What cottage?’

  ‘The one that was rented out to the gardener, but he’s retired now so—’

  ‘I am not going to be responsible,’ Alex declared, ‘for evicting some old retainer because he’s past his sell-by date.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Jess. ‘He’s gone to Torbay to be near his daughter – he’s always wanted to live by the sea. The place is empty. It needs work but there’s plenty of room for the four of us and I could turn the outbuildings into a studio. And it wouldn’t cost much to live there, so we could probably afford to keep on the flat for a while.’

  ‘What about your job?’

  ‘I’ll find something locally. I don’t do much teaching anyway. It’s only to get access to equipment. You know how I’ve longed for a studio of my own. I could be more productive too.’

  ‘There’s a lot of wishful thinking here,’ he observed.

  The remark sounded sarcastic to Lily’s ears, but Jess was flushed with inspiration. ‘I’ve had a week, haven’t I, to work it all out? Originally, I was concerned about being around to help Dad when he comes out of hospital – but since I’ve heard what Lily’s had to put up with, it all sort of fell into place.’

  Alex expelled a long breath. ‘I could do with a beer.’ He rose. ‘Any in the fridge?’

  ‘I doubt it. It didn’t look like you stocked up on anything while I was gone. I had to pop over to Norman’s to get stuff for supper because the cupboard was bare.’