A Home in the Sun

by Sue Moorcroft

  Pleasure blazed from Lydia’s face as she took two rapid skips closer. ‘It is for me?’ She took what Judith offered unhesitatingly and with joy, her thick, dark hair framing her huge smile as she clutched her prize.

  Judith smiled back. ‘I think it’s better if it stays in your family. Your uncle Saviour tells me it belonged to his father, and perhaps his father, too.’ Then she turned to a wooden-faced Johanna and offered as much of an explanation for her actions as she was going to. ‘She has a smile just like her father’s.’

  Chapter Thirty

  By the time she reached The Strand on the way to Richard’s house, Judith was beginning to feel stronger.

  Her headache had faded to tenderness, her legs had rediscovered the bones that were meant to be in them, her vision had cleared of fairy dust and the giddiness and sickness had vanished with it. Tourists were crowding the pavements and filling the cafés but the sound of their clatter and babble was bearable, even over the roar of the evening traffic.

  Her detour to see Lydia had made her feel as if she’d put down a burden.

  Strolling along beside the gently lapping sea creek, watching the boats bob at their moorings, she felt as if every step was one in a new direction. The right direction. The no-more-regrets direction.

  The house was quiet as she let herself in through the warm kitchen redolent of the cosy evening meals. In the salott, she found Erminia knitting at great speed in the pool of light from a tall lamp, her eyes more often on the television than her red wool, which was nevertheless forming into the correct shape to clothe a grandchild next winter.

  Her needles slowed when Judith walked into the sitting room. She exclaimed, ‘Have you been lost? Adam has waited for you.’

  Judith yawned as she dropped into a comfortable chair and explained about the migraine. She decided recounting her emotional and unexpected interactions with Giorgio’s family could wait for another time. ‘Isn’t Adam here?’ she asked. ‘I suppose he’s sloped off for a beer with Richard? I’ll just make a sandwich, then, and have an early night.’ It was frustrating that she wouldn’t be able to speak to Adam tonight after all, to rest her fast-recovering head on his shoulder and tell him about her day. And, of course, that they must talk about themselves, now. However, she couldn’t blame him for not hanging around all day for her to turn up again. He’d been fed-up enough with her and her mission before she’d left.

  Erminia raised her eyebrows and began to cast off stitches with quick, agitated movements, her gaze fixed on Judith. ‘He left a letter in your bedroom. Go read it now.’

  ‘OK. Thanks.’ Reluctantly, Judith clambered out of the depths of the comfy chair that had nestled her in its cushioned arms and yawned her way up the tiled stairs, desperately tired. She was forcibly reminded of the strength of the craving for sleep that went hand-in-hand with the misery of migraine. Her eyes began watering with every jaw-wrenching paroxysm.

  Maybe she wouldn’t even bother with a sandwich. If she just cleaned her teeth she could fling off her clothes and collapse into a comfy bed. Close her eyes. Stretch out, naked to better appreciate the welcome of those smooth, cool sheets.

  In her room, the first thing she saw was a pale blue envelope waiting for her on her bedside table. Jude was written large on the front in Adam’s familiar scrawl.

  She ripped it open, still yawning, shaking out the folds of the note even as the fingers of her other hand began on the buttons of her shirt. Her room seemed considerably neater than when she’d left it this morning and she felt guilty if Erminia had felt the need to tidy up after her.

  Jude, I waited as long as I could because you said you wouldn’t be long. But you were. No doubt you’ve been busy with things that don’t concern me …

  Her latest yawn died mid-execution.

  Do you remember, last night, that I said Malta was a small world? I think I was coming to realise that you’re going to stay safely within it. I’d love you to come back to the world that we’ve lived in together but I don’t think you will. I’d love to think that someday you’ll be ready to care for me in the way I care for you – but that seems unlikely too. Is it Malta that’s called you back? Or the memories of Giorgio? I don’t know. But your head has been somewhere else for the past few days and the rest of you seems poised to follow.

  I suppose Malta was the life you chose and returning to Brinham was a knee-jerk reaction to a horrible episode. When I asked to spend this time with you, I thought there was a decent chance you’d put Giorgio behind you but, instead, I’ve watched you getting more and more involved in your past. Maybe I should have stayed at home and waited to see whether you returned.

  Of course, we were very much together last night in bed, and it’s a night I’ll carry with me forever – even though I’d sworn to myself I wouldn’t sleep with you again unless things changed.

  Lovely as the island is, I’m unhappy in Malta and have rearranged the flights for tonight.

  TONIGHT! Judith stared at the word, thunderstruck.

  But now you’ve stayed away all day, it seems as if I should’ve left your ticket as it was. If you don’t make it, I’ll pay for your replacement flight. I hope I’ll see you when you’re in Brinham.

  Adam x

  Judith gazed at the sheet of paper in her hand. Her heartbeat halted and then started again with a giant pulse that almost burst her heart from her chest. Adam had gone home without her. She’d been so absorbed in the unsatisfactory business of trying to feel close to Giorgio in order to decide what he would have wanted her to do with the crucifix that she’d managed to push Adam away.

  The single kiss beneath Adam’s signature wasn’t much comfort. After last night? The way his mouth had fed on hers? In a moment of painful clarity, she realised what last night had been about. Why Adam had broken his own rule to sleep with her.

  He’d suspected that their lovemaking would prove to be a goodbye.

  He’d gone back to Brinham without her.

  Judith ran downstairs and burst back into the living room. ‘When did he go?’ she demanded of her aunt.

  ‘More than half an hour.’ Erminia had obviously been waiting for her to reappear, and her brown eyes were pools of sympathy. She even laid down her knitting to hand over a scrap of paper bearing the flight number in her neat writing. ‘Flight KM-one-eight-four-five. Richard took him.’ She hesitated. ‘I packed for you, in case you want to catch him … Shall I order a taxi?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ Judith was already snatching up her handbag, realising now, why her room had seemed so tidy. Erminia had known what Adam had doubted. Judith would be leaving, too.

  In ten agonising minutes, Judith was hugging Erminia then leaving her behind with her knitting and the TV. She clambered into the back of a Ford Focus and gasped to the driver, ‘The airport, please.’ Moments later, they were whizzing towards Gzira to join the regional road.

  The traffic was hell – it always was when you really needed to get somewhere. She gritted her teeth and gripped the seat as they sliced past other cars, ruthlessly feeding into the flow of traffic in scary games of Chicken, the taxi driver unconcerned when others blew their horns in long, angry blasts or treated him to angry gestures.

  Judith clung to the door handle as the car changed lanes or flew around roundabouts, refusing to look at the dashboard clock as the minutes slid by. From fireworks sparkling in the navy sky she gathered there was a festa going on. The traffic flowed through the tunnel at Hamrun well enough though, and as they picked up the signposts for the airport, the going became easier.

  At least Malta’s international airport was small and accessible and there was no long, slow approach and miles of car parks as at Heathrow or Gatwick. As they neared in grim silence, she felt a gust of panic to see the lights of an ascending aircraft then she scolded herself for a stupid leap of her heart. He couldn’t have taken off yet.

  She knew it wasn’t Richard’s way to hang around waiting for visitors to queue up for check-in so Judith wasn’t surpr
ised not to see his car in the drop-off zone. She threw ten liri at the taxi driver with her thanks, waited impatiently for him to pull her case from the boot, then fought her way through a disembarking minibus-load of tourists, all displaying typical end-of-holiday grumpiness, and on beneath the arch and the big glass doors signed Departures.

  She normally liked the airport. Bright and clean in relaxing speckled shades of sand and honey, it reminded her of happy events such as meeting Kieran from the plane. But she’d never seen it so busy. A million tourists waited before her in snaky lines, each as long as a football pitch. What the hell was going on with the check-ins? Tour reps patrolled the queues, loud and jolly despite the holidaymakers’ peeves about hanging about and the weight of their cases, as if it were someone else that had stuffed the luggage with Mdina glass and books about Malta’s part in World War II.

  ‘Excuse me, excuse me, please.’ Judith tried to wiggle through the tail end of the lines that blocked the door.

  A broad lady with a red face turned sharply. ‘It’s a queue, lovey.’

  Her travelling partner fanned herself with her passport. ‘I don’t know why they don’t open more check-ins.’

  The first lady sighed. ‘That’s why they tell you to be here two hours in advance, if you ask me. They’ve no intention of opening enough.’ The tourists turned their stolid backs on Judith as they grumbled, consigning her to her position in the space by the doors.

  Judith tapped the nearest on the shoulder. ‘I don’t need to check in! I just need to get through to find someone,’ she fibbed. ‘And their flight’s being called,’ she added more accurately, her heart giving a giant lurch as she caught the announcement of Flight KM-one-eight-four-five from the booming PA system. As there was no movement in the wall of turned backs, she took a breath, aimed for a weak spot, and jostled her way through.

  ‘Charming!’ she heard behind her as she burst into the area beside the queues. ‘Don’t mind our ankles with your damned luggage.’

  She rushed along the length of the queue, gripping the handle of her suitcase as it bounced along on its inadequate wheels, craning her neck, searching for the familiar tall shape with the hair that slid forward over his eyes. Tiptoeing, stretching, she tried to look over into the next bunched line and the four beyond that.

  She slowed. It was hopeless.

  He’d probably checked in by now anyway and was through security. With such a queue to check in, she doubted that she’d make the flight and join him. She tried his phone but it was off.

  Heart a ton weight in her chest and searching for a way to damage limitation, she swung around, aiming for the Air Malta desk. Perhaps they could page him and get him to a phone, wherever he was in the airport. Then, even if he’d gone through the departure gate and up to the first floor, she’d at least be able to talk to him, tell him she’d be on a later flight.

  The airport was heaving with reps in red or blue blazers, tourists with bulky luggage, airport staff, and what looked like a delegation of businessmen making their farewells to their hosts.

  And then she saw him.

  He was at the head of the queue filtering between the barriers into departure security, the enclosure where hand luggage was scanned and passengers stepped through the metal detector before taking the escalator up to the departure lounge. His black camera bag hung over his shoulder and he held a newspaper. Any moment and he’d step out of sight.

  ‘Adam!’ she called.

  Her voice was lost in the swirl of conversation and echoing public address announcements as Adam shuffled another couple of paces between the barriers.

  Abandoning her suitcase – strictly against the advice of the posters – Judith took a deep breath and began battling her way towards him, hollering, ‘ADAM! ADAM LEBLOND!’

  The sea of humanity began to part for her, shocked and surprised faces turning her way.

  And Adam stopped in his tracks, his head moving, eyes searching.

  ‘Adam!’ She windmilled her arms, trying to side step and dodge her way around the teeming mass of people. ‘I’m here!’

  Adam’s gaze locked with hers. He cast a glance at the looming archway that signalled entry into the security check area and the point of no return, spun on his heel and began thrusting his way against the flow of human traffic, not noticeably bothered by the annoyance of passengers he shuffled aside. The barriers either side of the queue were made of several tiers, like steel ranch railings, and he couldn’t just duck beneath them.

  The crowds continued to part under the onslaught of Judith clawing her way across the polished floor. Then she saw uniformed security staff bearing down on her, frowning, plotting a course to intercept hers. Forcing strength into her legs, she put on a spurt.

  Adam had become locked in a dispute with a red-faced tourist whose size didn’t allow easy passage past him. His eyes began measuring up the waist-high barrier.

  She jinked around a family who were arguing in German and broke into a sprint. Her heart sank to see a man in uniform had got in front of her to intercept her, holding up a forbidding hand and shouting simultaneously at Adam in an effort to stop him slinging a long leg over the barriers.

  She pretended to halt in front of the uniformed man but then swerved around him, evading his hands. Nearly there! Five, four, three, two, one … ‘Adam!’

  But as she tried to skid to a halt where Adam was still trying to scale the barrier, the highly polished tiles caught Judith out. Her feet scrabbled, trying to gain purchase, but they were heading for the gap beneath the barrier – a slot too small to allow the rest of her to follow. ‘Oh, no,’ she gasped. Her knee folded, and she grasped fruitless handfuls of air.

  And then a hand caught hers. She felt ridged scars against her skin.

  Her slide arrested, she was yanked upright, her left arm almost dragged from its socket, and hauled up against a long body. The uniformed man stormed up to bark at them as he snatched his walkie-talkie from his belt. But Judith didn’t care. Even with the barrier still between them and digging into her stomach, Judith was safe within the warmth and comfort that surrounded Adam.

  His eyes had fastened silently on her face and it took three good breaths before she could dredge up some words. ‘You’re wrong,’ she gulped, gripping the hand that had caught hers tightly. ‘I was delayed by a migraine. I came home to talk when it had passed but you’d gone. I couldn’t believe it. I got a taxi but the traffic was a bastard.’ She paused to suck in air, ignoring exasperated tourists wanting to shove past to get security and passport control over so that they could spend the last of their liri in the shops.

  The security guard was growling insistently at them but Judith zoned him out.

  Adam’s grey eyes were intense, his voice quiet. ‘What am I wrong about?’ His hand tightened around her wrist so hard that she had a job not to wince.

  She tried to organise her scrambled thoughts. ‘I had to go back, to tie up loose ends. I couldn’t be happy until I had.’

  ‘And?’ he prompted. His voice was tense.

  ‘And I’ve done it.’ She beamed. ‘I gave the crucifix to Giorgio’s youngest daughter Lydia, because she reminds me of him and, although it’s not very nice of me, I don’t care for Alexia. I told Maria I didn’t accept the blame for what happened.’ She thought about that, frowning. ‘I think she may even have accepted my point, to some extent. But I got this incredible migraine and I’m not completely sure how much was actually said and how much just happened in my head.’ She leaned into him. ‘But Giorgio’s parents took me into their house and let me lie on their sofa in a dark room until I felt better. Which was nice of them, considering.’

  ‘And?’ he asked, again, more gently this time.

  ‘So you’re wrong that I want to stay here without you. I choose the world in Brinham,’ she said, as if it were the obvious thing. ‘And you.’

  ‘What about Giorgio?’ His voice was tight.

  She looked down, suddenly becoming aware of the hand holding hers,
the tightness of the pincer grip. For the first time he was letting her hold his right hand. Trusting her with the damaged part of himself, for once not withdrawing and hiding it away.

  She smiled, savouring his touch. ‘I’ve said goodbye.’

  Then he, too, looked down at their hands clasped between them, as if he hadn’t been aware until that moment that he’d used his imperfect hand to hold her. His smile twisted. But he didn’t try the usual left-hand-for-right exchange. Instead, gently, he tilted her face to his and kissed her. ‘I think we’ve finally ended up on the same bit of road.’ He kissed her temples and her cheekbones, her eyelids and the crook of her neck. ‘We can go home together.’

  She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, feeling his lips on her flesh and the beat of his heart through her hands upon his chest. ‘I haven’t got a bloody ticket.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s waiting for you at the Air Malta desk.’ He peered around her to where the uniformed man with the walkie-talkie was still watching them but calmly now, almost smiling. Two of his colleagues surveyed them from a vantage point at the top of the escalator before passport control, obviously prepared to be tolerant of these mad English. ‘I wonder if this nice man will help hurry you through?’

  Judith felt happiness filling her up and her face stretching into a massive, beaming smile. ‘Bound to. The Maltese are terribly kind.’

  He turned her gently towards the security man. ‘OK. Let’s see if we can go home together.’

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Sue Dukes for answering fifty emails about sub aqua diving without a single complaint.

  To Tony Bosson for his advice on hand injury, and for letting me touch his scar.

  Especial gratitude to all on the Malta Global Friends website, but especially Tom Restall, Paul Vella, Louis Risso, Peter Birkett, Mark Caruana and Bill Coxhead, for patiently answering my many and varied questions about my beloved Malta and for making the translations. If any of the words are naughty, it was them, not me!