A Home in the Sun

by Sue Moorcroft

  At the head of the plot, beside a marble angel crying marble tears, were the words she was looking for. Zammit Familja.

  The grave had been closed; gravediggers, obviously, were prompt in hot countries. The floral tributes were arranged between a series of marble plaques angled and ranked like pictures on a shelf. On each, the names of the Zammit family already passed were inscribed beneath small oval photos.

  Reality hit her like one of Sliema Z Bus’s buses: Giorgio was separated from her not just by death but by six feet of soil and stone. It was all too bald, too raw and real. Instead of the comfort she’d been searching for … this was a place of horror.

  Forget his twinkling eyes, the monument seemed to say, no more laughing mouth and hungry lips. No more searching hands. It’s all ended down here with a box thrust into the ground, and Giorgio trapped inside it.

  She closed her eyes and told herself a proper death was better than to be a shell of a man in a hospital bed, not truly living.

  Then a woman’s voice broke the silence. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be long.’

  Judith’s eyes flew open. She staggered on the sloping path in shock as she spun around. ‘Cass!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Cass, how good to see you!’ The relief at seeing someone connected to Giorgio who’d been friendly towards her was enormous. She lifted her arms ready to enfold Cass in a glad embrace.

  In a black dress overlaid with lace that fluttered in the evening breeze, Cass clutched a white handkerchief. She’d aged ten years in the last months. Her eyes, washed with too many tears, were pink rimmed in the deepening folds of her face. Instead of stepping closer to Judith and accepting the offered embrace, she edged nearer the grave, crossing herself as she gazed down. ‘They don’t know I’m here,’ she whispered, as if ‘they’ lurked behind a gravestone. ‘I pretended I needed medication I’d left at home. Maria was watching for you all day. She was so very relieved that you didn’t show up. Thank you for letting the family mourn.’

  Judith let her arms drift down to her sides, shocked at being thanked for not inflicting herself on others. It was an odd thought, and one that made her feel hurt and distant. She hadn’t fainted since she was a teenager but now her ears rung. Her voice emerged reedy and weak. ‘But I’m mourning him, too. I loved him, too.’

  Cass’s smile was thin. ‘I know. I know, believe me, I know how it was between you. But they don’t care. They want him for themselves.’ She made a gesture as if clutching Giorgio to her heart.

  Judith was too distraught to summon a reply. Dumbly, she watched as Cass took out a brown leather purse and extracted a small item that glinted gold.

  She recognised it with a jolt. Giorgio’s crucifix. He’d worn it always against his skin.

  Cass reached out for Judith’s hand and dropped the crucifix into her palm, closing her fingers gently around the gold. ‘And he loved you. Only his body is here. You have his heart. Take it with you.’

  Then she turned and hurried away, leaving Judith beside Giorgio’s grave alone, feeling the gold warming against her flesh as once it had warmed against Giorgio’s.

  It was three days later when Judith pulled up once again outside her house in Lavender Row, in her own car now, which she’d left parked at Birmingham airport while she’d paid her flying visit to Malta. She’d rung home to tell Molly where she was then spent a couple of days with Uncle Richard before coming home and his avuncular presence had calmed her. ‘You stay as long as you want,’ he’d said. His wife, the lovely Erminia, had smiled her big, warm smile and appeared serenely unmoved that Judith had been unwilling to join in dinners with her cousins Raymond, Lino and Rosaire and their families. Molly and Wilma should be that restful, Judith thought, struggling to open her front door with one hand, the other occupied with her suitcase.

  Molly bustled to meet her in the hall with a ready embrace and a combination of pleasure and exasperation. ‘I can’t believe you went all that way just to go to a funeral.’

  Judith didn’t bother explaining that she’d been ‘all that way’ not to go to a funeral. It was too complex. She was just grateful that today Molly wasn’t launching into a critique of Judith’s strange ways. ‘Hi, Moll. Good to see you.’ She dropped her case.

  Molly stepped back and clasped her hands. ‘I went shopping when you said you were on your way home. There’s a casserole in the oven because no doubt you’ll be hungry.’

  ‘Um, thanks.’ Casserole sounded stodgy and worthy – very Molly – and Judith didn’t particularly fancy it, even though it was true she hadn’t eaten much recently. She thought longingly of an empty house and a full wine bottle. It didn’t sound healthy, but it did sound attractive.

  Molly tilted her head. ‘That’s a pretty cross on your necklace. Is it antique? It looks it.’

  Judith touched the crucifix, which she’d worn around her neck since it had come into her possession. ‘It was Giorgio’s. His aunt gave it to me.’

  ‘Oh.’ Molly actually gave her a hug. ‘I’m so sorry about Giorgio. If you got a keepsake then I suppose it wasn’t too tricky coping with his family?’ Molly didn’t seem to expect more than vague answers so Judith was able to make her way to the kitchen without going into detail, her sister chatting amiably in her wake. She just couldn’t bear to delve into the way Cass had sneaked around to give her something of Giorgio’s and listen to Molly wonder aloud whether Judith should give it back. Instead, she located white wine in the fridge and red in the cupboard below the stairs. Excellent. She’d begin with the white. ‘Wine, Molly?’

  ‘Oh, no, thank you.’ Molly looked faintly shocked, as if drinking wine were a disgraceful thing to do.

  Judith poured herself a big glass – one of those enormous glasses meant to be quarter-filled with red wine to allow for breathing. She filled it right to the top and it took almost half the bottle. On the kitchen table lay her mail and, on top, a white envelope with Jude written large and untidy across the front. After a few sips of the cold, clear wine she opened it, letting Molly burble gently on about herbs in the casserole.

  Jude, the letter said.

  Your ferocious sister grudgingly told me you’d be home tonight. You evidently decided you didn’t want company on your odyssey but you know where I am if you need anything.

  Don’t forget to eat.

  Look after yourself.

  Don’t get drunk alone (ring me and I’ll get drunk with you).

  Adam.

  Unaccountably, the short missive lifted her spirits. She sent Molly a smile and gave her another hug – one-armed this time so she didn’t have to put down the wine glass. ‘What’s in the casserole?’

  Molly smiled, on solid ground when it came to hearty meals. ‘I’ve just told you – chicken, leeks, carrots and potatoes.’ She reached for a pair of oven mitts – Judith was sure there had been no oven mitts in the house when she left for Malta because she tended to use a wadded-up tea towel – and took the casserole from the oven.

  ‘Smells delicious,’ Judith said, feeling the first tendrils of appetite unfurl. She reached down the plates and took cutlery from the drawer then accepted a ladle full of fragrant casserole. It steamed on the blue plate and she breathed it in. ‘Lemongrass?’

  Molly looked pleased. ‘And thyme.’

  Judith began to eat, because if she didn’t make an effort she’d soon be as thin as a witch and Molly had gone to the trouble of cooking and even though Judith had kept her wish to be alone to herself, she felt guilty about it.

  As if she’d read her thoughts Molly took Judith by surprise by asking in a small voice, ‘Can I stay?’

  Judith laid down her fork, seeing the way Molly gazed fixedly at her food and wasn’t eating at all. With a melting feeling of love for her sister she reached out and patted her soft shoulder. ‘Of course you can. You’ll need somewhere until you decide what you’re going to do.’

  Molly’s expression relaxed, though her eyes reddened as if tears weren’t far away. She sniffed and smiled, then reached for a phone message pad
– Judith didn’t think there had been one of those before, either – and tore off a note and handed it to her. ‘Kieran called. He’s coming round in a while. Desperate to talk to you about something, apparently and I wouldn’t do.’

  With a ripple of unease, Judith set her wine aside. If Kieran was ‘desperate’ to talk, she might need a clear head.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘Can we stay?’ Kieran asked. He had a new eyebrow ring, silver with a red bead. It jarred with his otherwise clean-cut looks.

  Kieran and Bethan were sitting together like a pair of cuddly toys on Judith’s sofa, their hands clasped tightly and their eyes shadowed. Molly had ostentatiously taken herself off to her room, although slowly, perhaps hoping for an invitation to remain and be part of whatever was making Kieran and Beth so solemn.

  Now Judith knew an urge to ask if she could leave, too. ‘Stay here?’ she repeated. That would fill every bedroom in her house, further compromising the peace to mourn that she craved. She’d have to ask Molly to move from the spare double room to the box room. She’d be able to hear Kieran and Bethan through the wall. Giggling, and no doubt making the unmistakable sounds of sex. Embarrassing her while probably quite unembarrassed themselves.

  There would be a morning and evening queue for the bathroom.

  The television on non-stop. Music at headache volume.

  She was too fragile for this. But with an effort, for Kieran, she managed a smile and to make her voice gentle. ‘Why would you want to move in with me?’

  Bethan gazed down at her trainers, oversized things that had once been white. ‘I’m not getting on with my parents.’

  ‘Is there a reason for that?’ Judith switched her gaze from Kieran to Bethan and back, trying to read in their expressions what they seemed reluctant to put into words.

  The two turned to gaze at each other. Kieran whispered to Bethan, ‘Be best to explain.’ He slid an arm around her narrow back.

  Bethan’s eyes filled with tears but she nodded. Her voice squeaked. ‘Tell her, then.’

  The caramel flecks in Kieran’s eyes were very bright as he turned back to Judith. ‘We’re going to have a baby.’

  Oh.

  Frozen, Judith stared at him, taking in his boyishly rumpled curls that made him look younger than his twenty-two years. She had to force herself to remain calm. No good would come of yelling, ‘Oh you stupid, stupid little buggers!’ however much it was her first instinct. It was far too late to ask them if they’d been careless or just unlucky. It was pointless to preach that unplanned pregnancies were life changing and that young people would be better off enjoying their youth while they found their feet in the world. It might even be optimistic to expect their relationship to last, but they didn’t need to hear it.

  Her lips felt stiff. ‘So you told Bethan’s parents, and they were furious?’

  Two slowly shaken heads.

  Understanding dawned. ‘You haven’t told them? You’ve just assumed that they’ll be furious?’ So they’d come to her.

  Two nodded heads.

  ‘You don’t know what they’re like,’ Kieran added, earnestly. ‘They’re awful. They’ll murder Bethan when they find out.’

  ‘She’s going to tell them!’ squealed Bethan, bouncing to her feet like a frightened rabbit. ‘We can’t stay here, Kieran – I can’t bear it if she goes and tells them! They’ll go mad.’

  Kieran jumped up too, expressive eyes wide and uncertain, his complexion very white against the bright red bead on his eyebrow ring. ‘I won’t let her tell, don’t worry.’ He drew Bethan into the protective circle of his arms.

  Judith sat still. Leaping to her feet would take energy she couldn’t summon. She felt weighed down by a new great sadness to add to the one she carried already. Obviously, pregnancy outside marriage didn’t mean the same shame or economic difficulties that it had when she was seventeen. But what would happen to their youth? They were hardly more than babies themselves, it was too soon to give their lives over to parenthood and putting themselves last all the time. ‘Don’t panic,’ she suggested, without raising her voice. ‘Bethan, I can’t tell your parents because I don’t know who they are or where they live. And I think we three need to talk some more. Could you please sit down? You’re giving me neck ache and dramatic outbursts won’t help anyone.’

  Looking deflated, Kieran and Bethan sank slowly back onto the sofa.

  With many hesitations and prevarications, they began to tell Judith all about their frightening situation. Bethan was eight weeks pregnant. She’d both done a home test and seen a doctor. ‘I can’t tell my parents,’ she repeated miserably. ‘They don’t even know I’m going out with anyone.’

  ‘Why not?’ Judith asked gently, blankly astonished at this information.

  Bethan leant forward earnestly, her blue eyes seeming to beg Judith to be on her side. ‘It’s one of their rules that I can’t go out with anyone more than two years older than me. They have loads of rules. Loads and loads. Dad’s very strict.’ Then she launched into a tangled explanation about the deceptions and subterfuges she’d felt obliged to employ so that they wouldn’t realise she was seeing someone five years older.

  Judith wondered how any parent at the beginning of the twenty-first century expected to make rules like that stick with a seventeen-year-old. Such blanket dictates seemed to fairly invite deception. Diplomatically, she said, ‘Their rules are meant to ensure your wellbeing and safety, I expect.’

  Bethan fixed Judith with big, tragic eyes. ‘You don’t understand.’

  Sympathy twisted in Judith’s chest. Bethan was so young to give her life over to bringing up a baby. She made her voice gentle. ‘I think I understand pretty well. You find their rules unreasonable so you find ways to get around them.’ She thought furiously, caught in the age-old parental conundrum of wanting to act in a way most likely to benefit the kids but not scare them into reckless behaviour. They were like overwound springs, poised to boing off in some wild direction. They’d probably surf sofas in the homes of friends rather than face Bethan’s family. She didn’t suppose for an instant that the youngsters had spoken to the council about what accommodation might be available for a couple expecting a baby or found out what financial benefits they might be entitled to. Kieran had been in his junior job with the water board for about a year and Bethan was still at school. Their reserves were probably non-existent. As she pondered, the clock ticked, and Kieran and Bethan held hands in silence and stared at the carpet.

  Judith could see no real choice other than to make a qualified offer. ‘You can stay here provided you ring your parents and tell them where you are.’

  An enormous smile of relief burst over Bethan’s face. She jumped back up and started for the door. ‘I’ll ring from my mobile.’

  The poor girl must think Judith was simple.

  Rubbing her forehead wearily, she disabused her of this notion. ‘What, pretend to speak to your parents, do you mean? And then come back and declare that they don’t mind a bit that you’re moving in with an unknown woman for no particular reason? I’m sorry, Bethan, but that’s not on. You’d be putting me in an untenable situation and it’s not fair to your parents, no matter how hard you find it to stand up to them. Ring them from this landline and then they can speak to me as well.’

  Silence. Slowly, Bethan sank down again, making no effort to make the call.

  Kieran gazed at Judith pleadingly. ‘You don’t know how awful they are.’

  Judith’s patience began to stretch and her retort came out more sharply than she’d intended. ‘Awful for minding that she’s changing her whole life for the sake of a condom or a pill she could get free from the doctor? That she’s kept you a secret because you’re precisely the person they’ve asked her not to go out with? That she’s lied to them and abused their trust? That she’s forcing a grandchild upon them in the most difficult of circumstances, robbing them of all the joy a grandchild ought to bring?’ It was an effort not to let her voice rise. ‘An
d how do you know how awful they are, darling? You’ve never met them.’

  Kieran looked stricken. Bethan went deadly quiet.

  Judith looked from one of them to the other. She was upset. She recognised that it was about all the reasons she’d just outlined but also because they were making her deal with this when she had so much else on her plate already. And she still had the task hanging over her of telling Kieran that Giorgio was dead. Kieran didn’t even know about her flying visit to Malta, let alone that she had heartbreaking news. Now could scarcely be considered the appropriate time.

  Still, she could do nothing about the life that had left this world. The life coming into it took precedence and she’d do whatever she could to help with Kieran’s baby. She forced herself to concentrate. ‘Does your father know, Kieran?’

  Kieran contrived to look sheepish and horrified both at once. ‘No.’

  Taking a deep breath, she focused her efforts on dealing with things as calmly as possible, making her voice sensible, reasonable. ‘You’ve made a baby. I’m afraid you can’t just run away from facing at least Bethan’s parents because she’s not eighteen.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ Bethan said, though her voice quavered. ‘The police won’t make you go back once you’re sixteen.’

  Judith suspected Bethan was right and changed tack. ‘However you feel about them, Bethan, they love you and they’re entitled to the truth, even if their reaction makes you unhappy.’

  Bethan began to sniffle.

  Judith frowned as she swept through alternatives in her mind. ‘I’ll come with you,’ she offered, heavily, not feeling particularly qualified for the role of peacekeeper but recognising Kieran needed her support and definitely needed encouragement to talk to Bethan’s parents. ‘You have to grow up tonight and learn to think of someone other than yourselves. If you’re bringing a child into the world, you’ll find you do a lot of that. I’m afraid it’s time to face reality.’