by Billy London
“Paul.”
He put them down. “I wasn’t so blind that I didn’t know my mum treated Nick and I differently. It’s nothing against Nick, he’s had his own demons to deal with. And when she died, we talked, me, Dad and Nick. I know most of it came from a prod from Gina and I will always love her for it. The talk though,” he breathed out harshly, “was just as bad as the funeral. If not worse. Because all these questions came up and none of us had the answers.”
He blinked before he bit down on his bottom lip. “I can’t change what happened. Nothing I can do will change that she’s dead and I can’t talk to her. Talking to Dad about it, isn’t much better,” he saw her suggestion coming and rode right over it, “because he blames himself. Just bringing it up, he looks devastated. Like he feels he should have seen it coming and stopped it. My dad’s human, I can’t fault him. It was clear he’d stop involving mum in things because she wanted more control. He used to talk about everything with her until she tried to make Nick and I into perfect little Mafia robots. Almost worked with me, if I didn’t have Sofia telling me to grow a pair or four. No love, all glory.” He glanced up at her, his eyes bright, “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to get maudlin. But half of why it’s so nice to be around you is that it doesn’t hurt as much.”
“Paul, listen to me, my sweet boy. You are loved. So very loved. And you will miss it if you keep dwelling on the past and on someone who cannot give you the answers you want. You have to let that go. Your father and I were talking about some things and he told me he wouldn’t change anything that’s happened in his life because he has you and your brother.” Belinda gave a slightly embarrassed shrug. “And now you have me.”
He smiled at her. “Do I?”
“Of course!”
He sent her a sly glance. “You know if you want to be a proper mum to me, you’ll end up having to marry my dad.”
She felt a blush burn her cheeks. “What nonsense! You’re too old to play such tricks.”
“What if I need security…?”
“Stop it. You and I are separate from anyone and everything else. All right?”
“Okay then.” He took a sip of water. “You probably should still marry him.”
Suspicion pinched at her lips. “What have you been saying to Georgina?”
He gave the most perfect blink of an angel on earth. “Absolutely nothing, Zia.”
“You know if you lie to me, I’ll only end up slapping you.”
He started to laugh, “We haven’t said anything! Just a text about a certain photograph she sent me.”
“That cheeky—”
“Plus, Nick should have bought that car for me. He said he was going to and he conveniently forgot. I still have pictures from his stag do. He shouldn’t test me.”
“What is it with you lot and cars?”
“They go really fast,” Paul said simply.
Belinda picked up a fork. “I’m going to tell your wife you said she was right.”
Paul’s grin widened. Like he knew he had her wrapped around his little finger. “Ho-kay then. Let me have a bit of your lamb, please?”
Chapter Eleven
The dinner with Paul was all Belinda needed to make herself comfortable. She would speak with one of the four almost every day. What was most surprising was that they answered. Sofia would randomly text her pictures of clothes and state: ‘Age group?’ Belinda would give a suggestion and Sofia would thank her. Once, Sofia asked ‘temptation for a child catcher?’ Belinda called her to ask what on earth. “I’m just asking if you’d allow me to wear it.”
“In public?” Belinda blustered.
Sofia gave a sigh of exasperation, “Of course in public!”
“Absolutely not.”
“Good! I’ll order ten.”
Belinda stared at her phone before asking, “Do you even have a shop?”
“That’s what having a connected father-in-law is for. You should speak to him by the way. He’s looking very low since the wedding.”
“Hmm.” Belinda looked down at her nails.
“Oh, so no comment? How telling.”
Paul was insanely sweet. He’d take her to lunch or out for dinner regularly and how they would talk and tease each other. It was exactly how she’d imagined having a grown up son would be. Their mutual love of food was always going to unite them, particularly after Belinda introduced Paul to the hot Ghanaian pepper sauce, shito. “Zia, it goes with everything. I’m tempted to start spreading it on toast.”
Luckily, she would catch Gina on evenings in, when she wasn’t working. Even if Gina would fall asleep while Belinda was mid-sentence. “This dress for the blessing isn’t going to fit. No stretch to it either. Why don’t you come with me and find something for yourself?”
“That sounds lovely.”
“Good. Then you can meet Padre after.”
Belinda froze. “Why would I?”
“Because he misses you? Can you please put him out of his misery?”
“I will call him when I am ready. Not before.”
“Chicken,” Gina snorted.
“I beg your pardon?” Belinda’s tone was stern enough for Gina to lie.
“I said I fancy some chicken. To eat.”
“Hmm.”
“I’ll give you a ring when I’m ready. More when you’re ready, but we’ll see.”
Yes, they would see. Nick was the hardest to ever get hold of, but he would eventually send a text message asking her if she was all right and if she needed anything at all. Out of all of them, he was the one who concerned her most. After all, he had been his mother’s favourite. How on earth would he accept her usurping her throne?
Belinda was at her local garden centre, picking out some plants to trim her front garden, when her phone rang. “Hello!”
“Hi, Zia, it’s Paul.”
Her heart gave a little leap of joy. “Hello, my sweetness, otse den?”
“I’m… I don’t know. Nick and I said we’d go to our mum’s grave today and he’s not answering his phone and… Can I be an arse and ask if you wouldn’t mind coming?”
Oh her poor boy! His voice broke her heart. “Of course not. Where are you?”
“I’m halfway between home and the cemetery.”
“Tell me which one it is and I’ll come and see you.”
“I can come and pick you up?” he offered.
“Paul, at my age, I know where most of the cemeteries in London are. I won’t be long.”
Before she left the centre, she put down the plants for her front garden and she instead collected white azaleas and white daisies. At the till point, she picked up some gloves and spades along with a small bag of earth. With a strength that came from years of lugging bags of shopping from supermarkets home, Belinda heaved her goods onto the bus toward Kensington.
She hated to think that this was becoming all too routine for her, but Paul needed her. It didn’t instantly occur to her that Massimo might also be there and that was when panic began to set in. She almost got off the bus to head in the opposite direction. How awful for her to stand over Mary Alice’s grave knowing what she did and having done what she had with the woman’s husband! Hell. After, she would go straight to church to beg the lord’s forgiveness for her behaviour. It’d probably take weeks of Hail Marys to gain absolution, but needs must.
Paul was hovering outside the gates when she arrived. He took the box of flowers from her arms and the equipment. “Zia, you didn’t have to do all of this.” He placed everything on the pavement and folding her in an embrace, he held her tightly.
“Why not?”
He released her and gave her a kiss on each cheek. “It’s too much.”
Not wanting to argue with him, when he seemed distraught, Belinda asked, “Do you want to wait for Nick?”
Paul shook his head. “It’s been over an hour. The longer I put this off, the more likely I want to turn the car around and leave.”
Belinda took his hand. “Don’t leave. We�
�ll plant those, make it look really nice and then you can go home.”
He shook his head again, his mouth working, “I don’t know why I’m bothering.”
“Because you loved your mother. It’ll help, I promise. Let’s go.” They walked along the winding pathway to the far end of rows and rows of grey and black grave stones, Paul carrying the boxes of flowers in each arm, the bag of earth, spades and gloves swinging from one strong wrist.
“Just here,” Paul said. The white marble lawn memorial stood out amongst the grey and black stones. Before the memorial stone, someone had begun a pattern with pink chrysanthemums. It looked exceptionally pretty, despite being the unfinished product. “Must have been Dad,” Paul offered into the silence. “I don’t think anyone else has been here except for him.”
Taking a deep breath, Belinda said, “Put the flowers down there. The white will fit in very nicely with the design your father has started.”
She dug into her bag and handed him a set of gardening gloves and a spade. “If we just dig around the pink, and fill out the gaps, it makes it perfect.”
Together, they worked in silence, Belinda carefully wriggling the plants from their terracotta pots to hand to Paul. Every so often, he would look up at her for approval on where to put the flowers. “Stand up and look,” she told him. He’d nod and bend down again to place the plant in the correct, coordinated place.
“Tell me something good, a nice memory that you had with your mother.”
Paul released a breath. “Good try, Zia. They’re few and far between.”
“There must be something?” Belinda sighed. “All right, I’ll tell you some of mine and maybe that will help. When I was little, my mum would let me watch her get dressed. You see the cloth the girls wore at the customary rites?”
“Yeah. Good for the bum.”
She swatted him with her spade. “I’d watch her put on her gold necklaces and her bracelets and her lipstick. If I was good, she’d give me a little lipstick. My daddy was the one who taught me how to swim and my mum was the one who taught me how to cook. On Palm Sunday, we’d pound fufu together. Hard work, but we were together. You like cooking don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, covering the newly potted azaleas with earth. “Mum taught me too. We’d make biscotti together. She said I was good at baking.”
“And that’s not a good memory?”
“I suppose.” He sighed again. “I’m sure it wasn’t this hard for Nick to come up with something and I don’t know why he’s not here.”
“Try again.”
He removed a glove and put the phone on speaker. It rang and Belinda looked around as the ringtone seemed to be echoing in the graveyard. Her breath caught. “Look, Paul.”
Nick waved from a distance and when he reached Paul, he picked up his brother and hugged him tightly. “Sorry,” he whispered. Finally seeing Belinda, he released Paul and swooped down to kiss her on both cheeks. “Hi, Zia.”
She gave him an embarrassed smile, feeling as if she’d interrupted them both. “This looks great,” Nick praised. “Not that she deserves it.”
Belinda could have hit him. Just when they were making progress. “Maybe not,” she said, sternly getting to her feet and putting her hands on her hips. “But this isn’t for her. It’s for you.”
Nick’s eyebrows rose. “How does that work?”
“You can say your prayers here, talk to your mother in peace and quiet. It’s to comfort you. To give you somewhere to say how you feel. Why does she care, she’s not here anymore?”
Nick ruffled his hair. “Whether I come here or not, it doesn’t matter to me.” He paused. “How much did my dad tell you?”
“Most of it,” she admitted. “Paul told me the rest.”
“So you know she did this to herself,” Nick vented. “She put herself here. It’s all her own fault.” He shook his head. “To be honest, you’ve been more of a mum to Paul in the last, what, month than she ever was.”
Belinda froze. “That’s… you can’t…”
“I’m telling the truth. Look Paul, I hate being here. I really do, it’s fucking abysmal. All it does is remind me what she did.”
“I’m trying here, Nick,” Paul shrugged, tapping the spade to his palm.
“To do what?” Belinda asked. “Be perfect? Religious? This is only for you, only if it brings you comfort.”
“Nothing comforts me!” he burst out. “Was I really that bad?”
Nick winced, “You were a bit of a dick, yes.”
Belinda hit him with her spade. “Oww!” he muttered, clutching his bicep.
“For goodness sake, what’s the matter with you?” Brushing him aside, she threw the spade to the ground and removed her gloves. “Look at me Paul.” She squashed his angular face between her palms until those red rimmed, blue eyes focused on her. “I said it before and I’ll say it again. You are loved. Your father loves you, your wife, your sister, your brother, for all his mouth, love you. I love you. She’s not here anymore but we are. We all are, for you.”
Paul put his arms around Belinda and hugged her tightly. Looking over Paul’s shoulder she waved Nick into the hug and she was suddenly crushed between the two of them. Belinda was the first to struggle out from them. “Now. We’re going to finish this and if you don’t want to come back here again, fine. No one says you have to.”
“Praise be,” Nick murmured. She glared at him and he sent her a slight wink. It made her lips twitch. God help her, she was so sappy when it came to those boys. Paul sniffed and wiped his eyes. Between the three of them, the flower bed was complete in a matter of minutes. They examined their work for a while, and Belinda asked for their hands. “Quick prayer.”
“Uh, Ma…” Paul began in exasperation, until he realised what he had said and clamped his mouth shut. Nick and Belinda stared at him. His eyes were wide with horror as he helplessly scratched his head. “I don’t know why that slipped out.”
“I do,” Nick asserted. “Told you, you’ve had a proper mum, why not say it how it is? Are we off? I’m done with cemetery time and I fancy a pint.”
Belinda couldn’t form words, her heart was racing a hundred miles an hour. Did that just happen? Nick removed his phone and took a photo. “For the future. I’m not convinced I’ll ever see you speechless again. Gina won’t believe me without hard evidence.” He looked down at the photo. “Hmm. Might start a scrapbook.”
“Let’s go,” Paul suggested, hurriedly collecting the discarded pots, gloves and spade. “Zia, I think we all could do with a drink.”
Belinda found she could only nod. Maybe she needed to speak to Massimo and apologise. He deserved an apology just because she had seriously underestimated the power of absence from a person who was beginning to consume her whole life.
Belinda caught Gina on a free evening. It had taken a few days for the hangover from the post graveyard confession to abate. She told them to swear that they wouldn’t tell their father that she had been to Mary Alice’s grave. Paul and Nick had exchanged looks and she gave a warning at a higher volume.
“I said, don’t!”
They held up their hands and promised faithfully they wouldn’t breathe a word, at the same time, shoving over another glass of whiskey to her side of the table. Somehow she’d kept up with the Da Canaveze boys until nine thirty and then, she needed to be in her own bed, asleep, without them cackling in her ears. Their amusement did remove the awkwardness of Paul’s blurt, even though she hugged the two letter word to her heart every other minute.
“Come in, come in! Apparently, you’re not allowed to drink.”
“Pardon?”
“Nick told me you were knocking back whiskey and gingers like they were your best friend. So no.”
Rather than dragging her ‘narcoleptic-pregnant-arse’ around London, Gina had proclaimed they could dress shop from the flat on the internet and Belinda could cook something comforting. Knowing that Nick had probably already discussed the incident with his
wife, Belinda kept it to herself as they looked online for dresses that would suit a Catholic Church blessing. In between, Belinda made a chicken stew for Gina with fried yams.
“Best. Food. Ever,” Gina muttered, her mouth full of chicken. “I need so much protein at the moment.”
“Have as much as you want,” Belinda told her, her stomach warm with pleasure at the compliment. By the time Nick came home, Gina was fast asleep. Belinda had tucked everything into Tupperware boxes and was carefully folding Nick’s socks for the sake of something to do.
“Er, what are you doing?” he asked on a laugh, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Being useful.”
“You had your chance with me. I’m married now,” Nick said, covering Gina with a blanket and kissing her forehead.
“How cheeky!” Belinda blustered.
“Shall I drop you home?”
“Yes, please. I’ve got work in the morning.”
In a lull in the conversation, Belinda watched the street lights sparkle over Nick’s wedding ring before saying hesitantly, “About your father...”
“Yes?”
“Well. I don’t know.” I don’t feel good enough. Or feel worthy of this attention. And I don’t want to go down the wrong path, not when I’ve been burned so badly by so many people. It makes no sense, but I feel I’m being set up to fail.
“There’s no rush,” Nick said gently. “When he wants to make things move, he’ll make the effort to get off his Ozwald BoatengTM suited arse.”
Side stepping the language issue, Belinda asked, “You don’t think he does? Want to make the effort?”
“I think he respects you enough to let you give him some indication that you’ve made up your mind. Don’t push yourself, if you’re not ready. All right, mina?”
Belinda blinked. The hell was going on with these children? “Do you know what that word means?”
His eyes twinkled. “Carry on and it’ll be official. But like I said. Take your time.”
The electronic dashboard flashed an incoming text message. Mrs. Soprano: CHEAT.