The Fault

by Kitty Sewell

  ‘Why must I turn off the light?’ Mohammed asked.

  ‘Don’t argue with me.’

  The kid looked unhappy, but did what he was told. He lay down on the floor and inched himself through the slit, disappearing from sight.

  All was silent for a couple of minutes. Sebastian knelt down, trying to look through the slit. He could still see a flicker of light, but it seemed to be quite far off. How could they be sure that there wasn’t a plunging void on the other side?

  ‘Are you through?’ Sebastian shouted after a long moment, fearful that the boy could fall to his death.

  ‘No,’ came the strangled reply. ‘I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Just keep pushing yourself through,’ shouted Carlo through the slit. ‘Don’t panic. Just keep going.’

  Another few minutes passed. Sebastian tried to shine his torch in but the crevice seemed empty, jagged and ominous; it was hard to imagine a body getting through it. He felt a growing sense of outrage. Why send the poor kid in first?

  Mohammed was shouting something. It sounded as though he were far away. The echo of his voice was muted by the narrow passage, but they couldn’t hear what he’d said. ‘Come quickly, please,’ he shouted again, now with obvious panic.

  Sebastian hurriedly lay himself down on his back and began pushing himself through the cavity, using his heels as propulsion. It was further than he’d imagined. He was squashed by the rock all around him and grazing his head and his hip as he went. A sense of dread assailed him when his chest became wedged and he found he could not move either forward or back. Sweat poured into his eyes as he tugged back and forth to get free. Finally, he was loose and he slithered the rest of the way, thankful that he had not given way to terror. When he got on his feet he found himself in yet another cave.

  Mohammed stood trembling with the torch pointed at the wall. There, in the light of the torch beam, sat two corpses, their grinning faces intact. They appeared to be soldiers, still in their uniform. Sebastian stared at the men, half expecting them to open their eyes. His heart thumped and he felt cold despite sweating profusely. After a minute, when he’d recovered a little from this gruesome encounter, he took a step closer to examine the remains. Apart from the flesh having shrunk back a little over their bones and features, there seemed to be not a speck of dust on their clothes, as though they’d died there just weeks ago, although their uniforms were clearly from some other era. No insects, bacteria or mould seemed to have affected them, and rodents surely didn’t live this far down.

  ‘We’re well over two hundred years too late in rescuing these gentlemen,’ said Carlo, who had joined them. ‘The records show them to have been missing in 1773. They went in to explore the interior cave system and never re-emerged.’

  ‘How are they so well preserved?’ asked Mohammed, staring at the corpses.

  ‘This is a dead cave,’ said Montegriffo. ‘Completely dry. Most of the caves in here are live, with water dripping constantly through the millennia.’

  ‘But why did they lie down and die?’ asked the boy. ‘Or were they killed?’

  Montegriffo regarded the corpses at length. ‘I imagine they got lost, then ended up here, disorientated, exhausted and dehydrated, and probably with their source of light extinguished. They obviously didn’t find the opening so low along the floor.’ He paused. ‘They thought they’d come to the end of the line.’

  All three were silent, looking at the men sitting there, shoulder to shoulder.

  ‘So…is this the end of the line?’ Sebastian spoke into the closed silence.

  ‘As far as you’re concerned, it is,’ Carlo said.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean…that’s all you get.’

  ‘There is more?’

  ‘No,’ said Carlo. Something about his voice gave him away. He obviously had more up his sleeve than he let on and was wavering between secrecy and his vanity. ‘That’s it. And just remember, this find is not known to the public. We’re waiting for the ‘experts’ to come from London to decide what to do. Probably the MOD would want to give them a proper burial. I think someone is looking into possible descendants.’

  Mohammed seemed to find his voice. ‘You shouldn’t have sent me in here without warning me.’

  Sebastian was glad to hear the boy speak up for himself. Making him enter the cave unprepared for what he might find had been a downright sadistic move on Montegriffo’s part. But he already knew that the man had a wicked streak. That fact that Carlo was alive gave him no comfort. More than ever he realised how much Mimi needed his protection.

  Mimi

  Approaching DiMoretti’s Ramp with her new friend, she saw a familiar-looking man coming towards them on the Castle Steps. It was Carlo Montegriffo. The sight of him startled her as she had not set eyes on him for ten days.

  Carlo looked dishevelled and weary; far from the immaculate figure he usually cut. He was wearing lace-up boots and some kind of flannell trousers that were wet and covered in mud stains, certainly not the sort of clothes you’d wear in summer. He slowed his steps and looked at her.

  ‘Hello, Imogen.’ He looked Horst over. ‘Who is your friend?’

  ‘This is Horst,’ she said, flustered. ‘He’s a musician.’

  ‘That’s debatable, but I’ve seen him hanging around the passages, trying to get money off people.’ He addressed the young man. ‘I’m amazed you got across the border!’

  ‘I don’t beg, I busk,’ said Horst defiantly. ‘Anyway, it’s none of your business.’

  ‘It is my business, as it happens. Where do you live?’

  Horst turned to Mimi. ‘This isn’t your brother, is it?’

  ‘God no, he’s—’

  Carlo cut her off. ‘You’re not planning to bring that animal into our building, are you?’

  Mimi thought for a moment he was referring to Horst and felt her hackles rise, but belatedly he pointed to the dusty dog. She battled with her feelings about Carlo, being both cowed and angry. All this time she’d been agonising about what she’d done wrong and what had become of their budding friendship, but she couldn’t let him get away with being so rude to Horst and treating them like naughty schoolchildren up to no good.

  ‘Actually, Horst and his dog are coming into the building. I’ve invited them for dinner.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ said Carlo. ‘The only pet allowed in this building is Raven, and Raven would not tolerate that scabby mutt.’

  Mimi glared at him. ‘You have no rights over our apartment. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

  Horst tapped her on the shoulder. ‘I don’t need this shit, but nice to have met you, Imogen. Have a good life.’ He turned and began walking back from where they’d come. The dog turned lethargically and followed. She was about to call him back, but the whole scene had become too humiliating.

  Carlo’s eyes followed the young man and his dog as they ambled away. ‘You shouldn’t have shown him where you live. That sort of element is…’

  ‘What’s it to you?’ she cried, her voice choked up. ‘I know I can be fucking rude, but you sure as hell won the prize. How dare you? I really liked that guy.’

  She turned and started walking quickly up the ramp. Something was welling up in her – tears probably – but to cry would be totally ridiculous.

  Carlo was right behind her but said nothing, just followed quietly in her steps. She ran up the stairs and he ran too. When she passed his door he reached out and grabbed her by the arm. ‘Imogen, stop! Stop! Don’t pull away. You’re angry. I understand that.’

  ‘Let go of me!’ She struggled to get out of his grasp, but he held on.

  ‘Don’t you understand that I got concerned, well frankly…jealous when I saw you with that waster.’

  She stopped trying to tug herself free and stared at him. ‘You and I are not…you have no reason to be jealous, no right…

  ‘Dear girl… you must know how I feel about you.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

>   He looked into her eyes. ‘Don’t you really?’

  She wanted to halt this crazy conversation. ‘So where the hell were you?’

  ‘In both worlds.’

  He was talking gibberish. ‘Both worlds? What does that mean?’

  He laughed a little. ‘Both Worlds is a place, Imogen, a little community on the east side of Gibraltar. I have a place there. It’s my spiritual retreat.’

  ‘You could have just told me you were going away? If you like me that much, you could at least have sent me a text.’

  He held her by the shoulders. He looked intently into her eyes. ‘I thought you were quite worldly, more worldly than me, in fact. But I see now you don’t understand what’s going on here.’

  ‘What don’t I understand?’

  ‘I’m only human, Imogen, and you’re only seventeen.’

  Her mouth was open. She didn’t want to fathom what he was getting at.

  ‘I should have known the minute I laid eyes on you, Imogen. Look at us! We’ve been drawn together against all odds. Don’t you find our attraction a bit bizarre?

  ‘Well, yes,’ she admitted. He had a point.

  ‘Apart from the age gap and cultural disparity, there is another important factor that will keep us apart…must keep us apart.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Your brother.’

  ‘What’s he got to do with it?’

  ‘Exactly! I agree with you absolutely that his opinion is of no consequence in regard to our relationship, but I’ve told you this already: the problem is the Frontiers Development Project. I firmly believe your brother has no place here, and I’m doing everything in my power to stop his development from being built.’

  ‘Oh, my God! Please don’t. You can’t do anything anyway, can you?’

  Carlo clenched his teeth. ‘Oh, no? Watch me!’

  He looked down at her, his face hard, but seeing her expression softened him instantly. With one firm movement he drew her into his arms.

  After a moment, he spoke, his mouth in her hair. ‘I need to be totally honest with you, so you know where we stand. What your brother is doing will bring ultimate ruin to this unique corner of the world. It’s nothing personal, but I want to dispatch Sebastian Luna and his concrete monstrosity as far away from the Rock as it is possible to send them.’ He stroked her neck with his long fingers. ‘So, my little flower, you see how even just a friendship between us would be fraught with conflict.’

  Her anger and confusion had ebbed away and – pressing her face against his shirt – she mumbled, ‘We don’t have to feel the same way about Sebastian’s project. Whatever you might think, I’m pretty sure you’ve lost your cause anyway.’

  ‘Nothing is ever set in stone,’ Carlo murmured, holding her firmly in his arms. ‘But then there is still the problem of us. I’ve been deep in prayer to receive the strength to subdue the feelings I have for you.’

  ‘But, Carlo! Let’s not mix things up. We can be friends, right?’

  She knew she had been giving him jumbled messages, being flirtatious, getting pie-eyed on vodka and probing him about his love life. And right now, she ought to pull away but was enjoying his embrace. She was lonely and besides, their relationship might even be for the good. With some cunning female persuasion, she might make Carlo see what a wonderful contribution Sebastian’s project was to Gibraltar.

  ‘Just don’t ever say anything bad about my brother to me. He’s an amazing guy and he’s been through a lot in his life.’ She hoped that she’d scanned her writings carefully enough and not given Carlo further ammunition against Sebastian. The way he was talking, he might stoop to use any damaging information to support his cause.

  A sound made them turn towards the stairs. They stepped away from each other while Sebastian, standing on the top step, peered at them through the gloom. He was wringing his hands. She felt a familiar dread, seeing his impending rage and knowing he might pounce on Carlo and punch his lights out. He’d done a bit of boxing when he was younger and was still good at it. That would be an end to her friendship with Carlo for certain. He would’ve had enough of her and her whole damned family.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Sebastian.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ Carlo said.

  Mimi coughed up a shrill little laugh that echoed around the stairwell. ‘Hey, bro. Where have you been in that gear? Come to think of it, you’re both dressed as if you’d been hiking in the arctic or something.’

  ‘We’ve been on a hike, alright,’ said Carlo. ‘I was showing your brother the tunnel system. It’s not something I do for just anybody.’

  ‘What? You two have been down the tunnels together?’

  Sebastian was no longer wringing his hands, but gripping them in restraint. His brow was shining with moisture. ‘I appreciate the time you’ve taken and it’s been a fascinating day, but it doesn’t entitle you to grope my little sister.’

  ‘Carlo wasn’t “groping” me,’ she protested, ‘and don’t call me little.’

  ‘I saw him with my own eyes.’

  Sebastian bounded up to her and put a protective arm around her shoulder. ‘We’re going home, Mimi. This instant!’

  She should have objected to his command, but she couldn’t bear to see Sebastian humiliated by her refusal. He mattered more than Carlo, he mattered more than her pride.

  ‘See you around,’ she said to Carlo.

  ‘Good night, Imogen. You know where I am.’

  Eva

  She smacked her hand down on the living-room sofa and a cloud puffed into the air. Waiting for the dust to settle she sat down, realising that none of them had ever used the room. It was large and elegant but suffused in perpetual twilight. In some bygone century, bishops had sat here looking at the view of the Moorish castle and the pinnacles of the Rock, while waited on hand and foot by Irish nuns.

  She had the phone in her hand, and was trying to forget that battered and broken woman whose name was Chantelle. How hard it was to shed that persona and assume the shiny casing named Eva. Adrian had hated the Hebrew origins of the name, even though she’d tried to prove to him that Eva was universal. He insisted she rename herself Chantelle, properly, by court petition. She never knew exactly why ‘Chantelle’. It wasn’t as if he had a relative by such a name.

  When he told her to apply for a passport in her new name, some instinct of self-preservation made her hide her Eva Eriksson’s passport above a ceiling tile and claim that it was lost. Into the same space had gone her diving certificates and her paramedics diploma, before he thought to confiscate them. Had she seen into the future, a future where her identity had been eradicated and she no longer owned a credit card, a driver’s licence or money, a future where she was totally flattened beneath the boot of Adrian’s escalating tyranny?

  She tapped in the numbers. It rang for a long time before Linda picked it up.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Hello, Linda. It’s Eva.’

  ‘Hey, is that you Chantelle?’

  Eva realised her mistake and cursed silently. It was Lucinda, Linda’s fifteen-year-old daughter.

  ‘No,’ she blurted. ‘Is Linda there?’

  ‘Sure,’ said the girl and shouted for her mother. ‘Mum, I think it’s Chantelle on the phone.’

  A moment passed.

  ‘Eva?’ Linda whispered.

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘Look, I’ve got a family breakfast happening. It’s difficult to talk…you know what I mean?’

  ‘Sure, I won’t keep you,’ said Eva. ‘Just…have you heard anything, seen anything?’

  ‘No, nothing, sweetie. But like I said, I don’t keep in touch with anyone. Because of you, I literally have a whole new set of friends.’ It was said without so much as a twinge of resentment. How could Eva ever thank her enough for the sacrifice she’d made?

  ‘You know…it occurred to me that he’s got all the means at his disposal to tap your phone, or put a bug in your house. I mean, t
hat’s the sort of stuff he does for a living.’

  Linda was quiet for a moment. ‘You’re kidding me?’ Another pause. ‘Of course he can.’

  ‘I can’t think of any other way he’s got hold of my number.’

  ‘So you’re sure it’s him.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’

  ‘Oh God! I’d better have my phone checked out.’

  ‘It’s too late. He knows my number, he knows I’m in Spain. He’ll want revenge, if nothing else.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Eva. I don’t know what to say. Look, perhaps you should just grab the bull by the horns, literally, and call him up. Talk to him.’

  ‘He’s not much of a talker, is he?’ Eva exclaimed. ‘He just wants to torment me. You know what he’s like. The beating comes first, then the talking…if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Look, sweetie, I can’t really advise you on this one, I’ve got to go. My scrambled eggs are burning. Call me soon, okay?’