by Penny Feeny
The interpreter, having trouble playing both roles, was becoming more flustered.
‘But you want us to find the boy?’
‘Of course!’
The detective’s eyes were like currants poking through the glazed crust of a teacake. The rolls of flesh at his neck padded his vocal chords, gave his speech a warm mellifluous tenor, in contrast to the translator’s squeak. ‘There’s no hurry. Take as long as you need.’
A decision was clearly expected. Anybody can make a mistake, Jake had said once. They’d been in the courtyard of the Vesuvio. She could recall the weight of his arm circling her waist, but she couldn’t remember the context of their conversation. What’s unforgivable, he’d continued, is sitting on the fence.
Liddy’s hand skated over the blur of faces. ‘This one,’ she said.
‘Thank you, signorina.’
She didn’t like the tone of his voice. Even less did she like the expression on his face. It was too triumphant. What was there to feel so pleased about when Mimmo was still held captive? She watched him pack up his box of tricks and lumber to the door. The pair could see themselves out. She sat waiting for several moments to be sure they had gone, until she was startled by a series of crashes outside. She crossed the room to look through the long windows. Three large pots containing lemon trees had blown over and smashed on the terrace. The terracotta lay in jagged shards; earth and exposed tendrils of root spilled over the flags. Dimpled yellow globes rolled and bounced and came to rest under the heap of canvas chairs that had also been bullied by the sirocco. She opened one of the windows a crack and the wind seared her cheek. She pulled her head back at once like a tortoise and closed it again. She could hear Bobo’s renewed cries from the kitchen, more ferocious than ever: ‘Lasciami andare! Lasciami andare! Let me out!’ His fists thudded against the door.
Rosaria, widowed and childless herself, always indulged the children. She didn’t try to remonstrate or influence their behaviour; she simply stopped their mouths with food – home-made grissini, candied fruits or salted almonds – like plugging a bottle into a baby. Her methods were no longer working: Bobo was stuffed to the gills and cross that he was being sidelined in this great adventure. He had thrilled to the hum of the helicopter blades and the power of the motorbikes; he’d wanted to play with the guns in their black holsters. At first, as a miniature model of machismo, he’d been found amusing, but this was a serious business and he couldn’t be allowed to become a nuisance; hence the indignity of being locked away with his sister.
Finally he succeeded in shooting out of the kitchen and along the hallway. Rosaria, with no great enthusiasm, panted in pursuit. Maresa slammed down the phone. ‘Mannaggia la miseria!’ she shrieked. ‘Is there no end to all this!’
‘I’ll get him back,’ offered Liddy. She soon gained on the boy who’d run outside but was being driven off course by the wind. The gates at the end of the drive had been left open. The road wasn’t busy, but it was full of blind bends; a low barrier was the only indication of the sheer drop beyond. She put on an extra spurt of speed and hauled him towards her just as an old camionetta trundled past, laden with firewood. As she carried him writhing back into the house, he closed his teeth on her upper arm. The attack and the pain shocked her into dropping him. He rolled away and hid under the glass dining table.
His bite had stamped a perfect circular mark; in places the skin was punctured and little beads of blood had formed. She confronted Maresa. ‘Look what he’s done!’
Maresa’s hands flew skywards. ‘What a disaster we’re having! One thing after another!’
‘I think I should see a doctor.’
‘A doctor? Are you sure? It’s only a little scratch.’
‘You never know with bites,’ said Liddy. ‘They can get infected and I haven’t had an anti-tetanus jab for ages.’ She grimaced. ‘And actually it’s quite painful.’
‘I will deal with it,’ Maresa said irritably. ‘Come with me to the bathroom. I know how to dress wounds and I have a comprehensive first aid box.’
This was true. Potions and lotions, ointments, unguents, cotton wool, gauze, lint, plasters, painkillers, scissors, tweezers – Maresa’s first aid collection was as magnificent as her cosmetics. ‘Truly, you cannot get tetanus from such a shallow piercing,’ she said. ‘I will use witch-hazel to counteract the bruising. And iodine to stop infection. Be sure to keep it clean and the mark will fade speedily.’ Her handiwork was neat: a large pink rectangle hid every scrap of the bite. ‘We are all under stress at this time, including the children. You must understand this.’
Liddy, still agitated, said, ‘Can I go out for an hour or two? Will you be able to give me a lift to the Vesuvio?’
Maresa considered. ‘Very well. So long as we know where you are.’
Leaving one child sulking under the table and the other arguing with the maid, they both got into the car. Halfway down the hillside they passed another police car making its way up. Maresa slowed and glanced in her mirror, but it proceeded on to Casa Colonnata.
Jake’s room was locked and empty. Liddy tracked him down in a nearby bar he’d taken to frequenting, a dark and virtually deserted place. Garish lights flashed on the pinball machine in the corner; yellowing flypapers flapped from the ceiling; a pair of old men rattled backgammon dice. He turned his head but didn’t get off his stool when he saw her.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi, you.’
‘Want a drink?’
‘Coke, please. Lots of ice.’ She kissed his cheek and murmured, ‘I thought we could go up to your room.’
‘No chance. You’ve no idea how stifling it is up there under the eaves. We’d suffocate.’
‘Oh.’ She held the cold glass against the side of her neck. She hoped he’d ask how she’d come by her plaster, but when he didn’t she gave him the full story anyway. ‘I save his life practically and he takes a lump out of me! Why couldn’t they have stolen him instead of Mimmo?’
Jake hadn’t shown much interest in her wounding. ‘Because he’s bonkers. You know that already. Have they let Helena out yet?’
‘No.’ She moved her stool to close the gap between them and her knee jogged against his. ‘I don’t understand what she’s supposed to have done.’
‘I guess they have to look as though they’re taking action and she’s an easy target.’
‘They think people might have been watching us with the children.’
‘People? Who?’
‘The kidnappers, I mean. That they’d been following our movements, the beaches we went to, that sort of thing. Like it’s supposed to be significant we went somewhere we’d never been before.’ She paused. ‘That was your idea, wasn’t it?’
‘What are you getting at?’
‘Nothing. I simply –’
He was defensive. ‘Look, I’m not hiding anything. I’ve been straight with everyone. I’ve not been sneaking around behind people’s backs, like some I could mention.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just forget it.’
The strap of her sandal loosened and it fell from her foot. She rubbed her bare toes against his leg but he didn’t react.
‘So abduction’s the top theory today, is it?’
Her eyes widened. ‘Didn’t you hear? There’s been a note.’
He mocked her excitement. ‘A note!’
‘I think that’s why they haven’t let Helena go. They’re trying to get her to remember something.’
‘Even so, I’m surprised Fabrizio hasn’t stormed the citadel and set her free. You know, the knight in shining armour scenario.’
Liddy sucked the last dregs of her Coke through her straw. ‘Knight in shining armour? What on earth are you talking about?’
Jake’s face was more flushed than usual, his eyes bloodshot. We’re all functioning below par, thought Liddy.
He ordered further drinks and offered one to the young barman. The latter inclined his head in acceptance, pushed the
glasses along the counter and went back to reading the Corriere dello Sport.
‘And I thought you were best mates,’ Jake said.
The hot air was like cotton wool. It filled her lungs so she couldn’t breathe. She’d hoped for comfort but he was unusually distant, making her feel troublesome instead of a perfect joy. And now he was implying her friendship with Helena was not what she’d thought.
‘Well, she’s a bit of a dark horse, so I daresay she had her reasons.’
‘Reasons for what? For telling you something she’s been keeping from me?’
‘Keeping from everybody, sweetheart,’ said Jake, tapping his long, deft fingers on the counter top. ‘Only I saw through her.’
‘What, because you’re the wizard with X-ray vision?’
‘Because I’m bloody observant, that’s why. I have to be. Studying people’s mannerisms, working out their motivations . . . It’s all grist, isn’t it?’ At the far end of the bar, a German youth, bent under the frame of his backpack, was reaching for his beer. Hunching his shoulders, Jake copied the motion exactly. ‘I’ve made a habit of keeping my eyes open – whereas you are pretty little miss head-in-the-clouds.’
‘Don’t patronize me.’
‘Okay, sorry.’ He deposited a kiss, which was too light to be sincere.
‘Don’t leave me in suspense either. Tell me what you’re getting at.’
‘Helena and Fabrizio . . .’
‘Helena and Fabrizio what?’
‘Helena and Fabrizio fuck.’
‘Each other?’
‘Well, yes.’
Liddy inhaled the bubbles from her Coke by mistake. Spluttering, she set down her glass. He thumped her on the back. Her throat was raw with coughing. ‘Do you mean that she’s been sleeping with him right under Gabi’s nose?’
‘I imagine they employ some discretion.’
‘But how could she not notice? Her husband and the au pair . . .’
‘I think you’ll find there’s a long-running tradition. It won’t be the first time anyone’s asked that particular question. Anyway, you didn’t notice either.’
‘No . . . but . . .’ It was becoming clearer now: Helena’s curious reluctance to get involved with any of the men they met at the club and her caginess on the subject of boyfriends in general. ‘Oh God.’ She wrung her hands together. ‘She’s been using me.’
‘How?’
Liddy loved the way Jake raised one eyebrow incredulously. She loved all his mannerisms, the way he bared his teeth or pinched the bridge of his nose, the way he could adopt any accent. She was, she knew, besotted. ‘As a decoy of course! If there are two of us, she doesn’t stand out so much, does she? When she talked me into coming to work over here, I thought it was because she wanted my company. Whereas all the while I was just a handy alibi . . .’
‘Fido,’ said Jake.
‘What?’
‘It’s only a nickname. No need to get hot under the dog collar.’ Was he trying not to smirk?
‘Fuck off! Did she really call me that? I hope you stood up for me.’
‘I couldn’t. I didn’t know you at the time.’
In Liddy’s gut a fireball of fury was gathering strength. Her so-called friend had not only lied about her affair with Fabrizio, she lied about Jake too. The pair of them had probably been in bed, post-coital, when Helena had mocked and derided her. And on how many other occasions? With how many other people, here or at home? So many possibilities, of slights imagined or endured, overwhelmed her. ‘Right. I’m nobody’s stooge. If that’s what she thinks of me, I’m going to have it out with her.’
‘They won’t let you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, for a start they’ve probably got her under lock and key so you can’t just waltz in. And this being Italy, they’ll be inventing the law as they go along.’ He jiggled his beer and spoke wearily. ‘Actually, they don’t need to invent it. It’s so convoluted that all you have to do is stick a pin on any page of the statute book and you’ll find the obfuscating bit of bureaucracy that you need.’
She wished he wouldn’t use long, difficult words. It was so pretentious. A nice simple phrase – like, I love you Liddy – would do just fine. And if at that moment he’d offered any hint of a caress, any proof of his feelings, she’d have stayed put. They wouldn’t have to struggle against the torpor of his attic room, they could go down the Vesuvio’s cellar where bottles of pop and Peroni were stored, where once they’d sneaked behind a tower of crates and he’d pinned her to the cold wall.
She slid from her stool, but he didn’t move. His elbows were slumped on the bar. God knows, they were all exhausted, but she’d have appreciated the reassurance that they’d get through this together.
‘See you later, Lid,’ he said.
She didn’t like being called Lid; it made her think of dustbins. She shuffled towards the door, past the German youth and the backgammon players, hoping he might call her back. She turned when she heard him speak, but he was only ordering a whisky.
‘We’re running out of ice,’ said the barman regretfully.
It was not an afternoon to be on the streets. A child’s buggy was bowling away from its mother’s grasp, old men were clutching their hats to their heads, dogs were beaten into the gutter by the wind. Shop awnings bellied like spinnakers with bright bold stripes; some had been torn from their moorings and dangled like tattered flags of battle. Pink and green plastic bags sailed across the creaking treetops. If Liddy had a coin, she would have tossed it: heads for Helena, tails for home. But Jake was right; she couldn’t march into the police station and stage a scene. Possibly she’d been let out now anyway, possibly the police car they’d passed had Helena inside it. If she hadn’t been distracted by her throbbing arm and her need for Jake, she’d have paid more attention. She’d expected to spend longer with him, she’d expected to return, soothed and sated, to face the impossible Bobo and the perfectly horrible distress of a family whose child has gone missing. Well, she wasn’t soothed and sated, but her need to get back was as urgent as her need to leave in the first place. She hailed a taxi.
They were there again, waiting for her, the fat detective and his sidekick. He’s come to arrest me, she panicked. He’s going to haul me off to the cells like Helena. I should have stayed with Jake.
The hallway was wide and filled with flowers and mirrors, but it didn’t feel welcoming. Maresa intercepted her. ‘You were not at the Vesuvio.’
‘We were just having a drink in a bar.’
‘He said he would wait for your return. He wants to see you in private. I think they may have some leads but they are telling us nothing. Whatever he asks about Mimmo you must answer, even if it doesn’t seem important.’
‘Of course I will.’ One piece of information had come to light since her previous interview, but would it interest the police? Would they see Helena’s relationship with Fabrizio as part of a wider conspiracy? Unlikely. No doubt they had mistresses themselves and regarded inf-delity as perfectly natural and completely irrelevant.
The detective rose. He’d changed into short sleeves, and a dark thicket bristled on his arms. The buckle on his belt shone with an eager glint, like his tiny eyes. ‘Di nuovo, signorina,’ he said.
‘Again,’ echoed Liddy feebly. At least he wasn’t brandishing handcuffs or a revolver. He’d probably forgotten to ask her something.
‘I am going to Gabi,’ said Maresa. ‘Until her parents arrive she needs me. You have no idea what agony the poor woman is going through. I shall take the children with me,’ she added as an afterthought. ‘You will have the house to yourself.’
They took up their previous positions, facing each other across the big table, the interpreter at the far end. ‘What do you want from me now?’ Liddy said.
When he smiled his jowls overlapped his collar. ‘You have been very helpful, signorina. I have passed on your information and we have good hope of catching the criminals.’
‘And rescuing
Mimmo?’
‘Indeed – though we are still looking for clues. We have searched the room of the English girl. Unfortunately we have not found her papers. This is important to establish her identity.’ He tapped his pen against his teeth. She wondered if he had done this once too often as one of his upper incisors had a jagged piece missing. The hair on his arms crept under his watch strap and over the backs of his hands; would it feel soft and furry or stiff and coarse? Would anyone’s brain be in good working order if they hadn’t slept properly in forty-eight hours?’
‘Oh . . . right.’
‘Do you know where they might be?’
‘No,’ said Liddy. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t.’
‘You can show me yours, however?’
‘Do you want me to go and get them?’
‘Please.’
He didn’t accompany her. Liddy went to the white lacquered chest in her bedroom and pulled out the document folder that she’d offered to look after. She balanced her own stiff navy-blue passport on the palm of one hand and Helena’s on the other: she deserved to suffer a little longer.
She returned to the policeman and he spent a long time thumbing the empty pages, writing down the number. ‘I could confiscate this,’ he said, waving it in her face, ‘if I thought you would leave the country. We may need to see you again.’
‘Believe me, I’m not going anywhere. My boyfriend is here. I have the job too.’ She made it sound as if she were settled, a fixture, and he must have been convinced. He took his leave with elaborate formality but no further threats.
She took her passport back to her room and stared into the open drawer. In truth, she felt as if there were a great yawning abyss around and within her. She was astonished her voice hadn’t shaken with the force of her rage which, now the interview was over, sprang back at her, redoubled. Fido! She couldn’t bear the idea of the two of them laughing at her and she was so livid with Helena – for her deception and disloyalty – she needed to do something wicked and destructive, like punching a hole through the crown of her straw hat, or shearing her favourite skirt into ribbons. Since she could hardly rush over to Casa Colonnata brandishing a knife, she made do with the closest thing to hand: Helena’s permesso di soggiorno, folded into her passport. Liddy went out on to the balcony and began to shred it, tossing the fragments into the air. The action was petty and pointless but every rip gave her a shocking satisfaction; she enjoyed the fleeting sensation of power.
