The Wedding Proposal

by Sue Moorcroft

  ‘I already know my way and I need to talk to Joseph first. But thanks anyway,’ Elle answered lightly.

  She left Carmelo studying Wikipedija and ran downstairs to leave the computer room keys with Joseph. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow morning to take the workshop. Do you know how many have signed up?’

  Joseph shrugged. He looked tired. ‘About eight, but the way a drop-in centre works, that means between two and twenty.’

  ‘I’ll take the session as it comes, then.’ Elle paused. ‘Carmelo seems a bit of a waif.’

  Joseph rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. ‘Yes. His family are not well-off.’

  She hesitated, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any marks. ‘I was thinking about his clothes …’

  She didn’t need to finish. Joseph was already nodding, his dark eyes full of compassion. ‘He’s one of the children who shies away from accepting anything from the donated clothes rack. The children with the least sometimes have the greatest amount of pride.’

  Elle nodded. She’d thought it might be the case.

  She paused again, even more reluctant to bring up the next subject. ‘By the way, someone’s been downloading, um, adult material, to at least one of the computers.’

  Joseph heaved a huge sigh. ‘Damn.’ He paused. ‘I’m afraid I have to ask you what kind of adult material? Not something the police would be interested in?’

  ‘I h-hope not! At least, I don’t think so. I only looked at a few pictures.’ She felt her colour rising. ‘And they were just … just adult. Nothing criminal.’

  Relief chased away anxiety on Joseph’s face, swiftly succeeded by embarrassment. ‘I suppose this isn’t going to sound very good but I have to look at it.’

  Elle laughed, not sure whose face was burning hottest. ‘Yes, I, um, suppose so. I password protected it, so I’ll write down the details for you.’

  ‘Thanks for thinking of that.’ He pushed a pad towards her and she wrote quickly, with a note of which machine was affected.

  Elle left his office and the centre gladly. She was no prude but felt awkward discussing the presence of porn with Joseph, a man she was still getting to know, and she didn’t have his foothold in Maltese culture or know its boundaries in terms of offence.

  Emerging through the front door and into the sunlight was a bit like stepping too close to a fire. She stopped, scrabbling her hat out of her backpack, unable to fully open her eyes against the glare until she’d pulled it on. Then she crossed the courtyard and let herself out of the door in the wall and into the comparative comfort of the shady side of the street.

  ‘So, we go the same way,’ said a voice, as she rounded the corner where the street jinked to the right.

  Elle started, and then tried to pretend she hadn’t as Oscar loomed beside her. ‘Really?’ She hoped she sounded politely disbelieving rather than jumpy. It wasn’t his fault he towered over her but Elle couldn’t help shrinking away, perhaps because he wasn’t the greatest respecter of personal space, always a bugbear of hers. Nor, evidently, had he respected her polite rebuff over walking her home.

  She could insist on him stating his destination, she supposed, so that she could declare her route to be different, but she had the feeling that that would only lead to him dropping any pretence and declaring his interest. And his interest was already pretty obvious in the way he let his eyes roam over her – obvious verging on creepy.

  ‘Right,’ she said, discouragingly, and set off down Triq Bonnard.

  He matched his long stride to her shorter one. ‘So, our new volunteer, you like it here in Malta? You usually live in England, yes?’

  When she returned only minimal answers, he turned to talking about himself.

  ‘I am from the Nederlands, from Freisland. Not Holland! That’s what all English people think, that the Nederlands are Holland.’ He laughed heartily. ‘But North and South Holland are only two of our provinces. Friesland is a province, too, right up in the north. Even some Dutch people, now, call the Nederlands “Holland” but I am proud to be a Freislander. Like you, I am a volunteer, helping some young people and enjoying some sunshine.’

  Nodding politely, Elle followed her usual route towards the marina.

  ‘And you,’ Oscar continued, keeping pace up and down kerbs, falling in behind her when cars parked half on the pavement, ‘you are here to make our computer room good.’

  It didn’t seem as if he was going to abandon the conversation just because she wasn’t taking part in it, so Elle agreed, ‘That’s right.’ She halted, spying a neighbourhood shop on a corner. ‘I’ve just remembered that I need some shopping. I’ll see you next time we’re both at the centre.’

  Oscar wasn’t to be so easily put off. ‘I am in no hurry. I will come and hold your basket.’

  Hiding growing irritation, Elle looked up at him coolly. ‘Some things, a woman prefers to buy alone.’

  ‘Ah.’ Oscar looked satisfactorily nonplussed.

  ‘See you some other time.’ Maybe it would have put him off more permanently if she’d let him accompany her while she stocked up on tampons, but Elle was happy just to skip into the shop and take her time over studying available brands of shampoo and conditioner.

  When she emerged once more into the brightness of the afternoon the street was empty and quiet, as if the beating sun had sent everybody indoors. Elle was glad of her hat and paused in the shade of the shop’s awning to search out her sunglasses, then stepped back onto the pavement and turned towards the marina.

  Like an annoying stray, Oscar emerged from a shady doorway. ‘I will carry that for you.’ He whisked the bag out of her hand. His head was bare even in the afternoon sun, and his sandy hair lifted in the slight breeze.

  ‘There’s no need—!’ But seeing the futility of attempting to reason with him Elle reluctantly turned for home, having little choice but to listen as Oscar went on about his previous voluntary posts in Morocco and Thailand. She felt like a cat that was having its fur brushed the wrong way. No matter how short her replies, Oscar seemed to have no compunction in pushing his presence upon her. Counting silently to ten, Elle reminded herself that Oscar was a fellow volunteer and they might have to work together for months. In the interests of harmony she should maintain at least neutral relations, even if he did seem too thick-skinned to realise when a girl wasn’t into him.

  As they came to Triq Manoel de Vilhena, the street that came out almost opposite the bridge, Elle made to retrieve her shopping with a cursory, ‘Thanks.’

  Oscar retained possession by the simple expedient of hoisting the bag out of her reach. ‘It is a good gentleman who carries shopping for a lady. To her door.’ And stood on the kerb to await a break in the swarming traffic. The heat certainly wasn’t keeping car drivers at home. Maybe they all had air conditioning.

  ‘So, you have been fiddling with the machines.’ He said it as if Elle was a child who had done something wrong.

  She glanced up into his red, shiny face. Perspiration was dampening his hair and running down his temples. ‘Formatting them, you mean?’

  He laughed. ‘Why, yes!’ He laughed again. ‘But we all use the computers. Perhaps you should have spoken to us before making changes. We might have wanted the opportunity to change things ourselves.’

  ‘I’m doing what I’m here to do.’ But Elle pricked up her ears, interested in what lay behind his overly casual manner. The traffic thinned enough for them to cross the road, dodging the cars that whizzed on and off the forecourt of the garage near the kiosk.

  ‘What has happened, then, to our files and folders?’

  ‘I saved them onto the external hard drive and I password protected a folder that contained images unsuitable for children.’ They were making their way along the pathways that threaded through the gardens, now, where there were patches of dappled shade. Elle could see Lucas standing
on the bathing platform of the Shady Lady, his head turned in her direction as she approached.

  Oscar made a pshaw noise. ‘Where males are you’ll find these things. It is normal.’

  She halted. Her stomach contracted. If it wasn’t some naughty adolescent who had downloaded the porn she’d found that morning, that put things in quite a different light. ‘What if a child had opened that folder? It didn’t even have a password. I’m not up on Maltese law but I’m pretty sure that storing explicit images on machines used daily by children must contravene it. Just in case common sense and decency doesn’t prevent adults from downloading stuff like that.’

  Again with the pshaw, but louder. ‘We are human.’

  They were back in the full sunlight of the marina access road, almost at the Shady Lady, now. Lucas, unmoving, still watched.

  ‘It’s irresponsible,’ she maintained. She was relieved to reach the boat, even glad to see Lucas. If Oscar had been making her uneasy before, he was positively making her skin crawl now. ‘My shopping, please.’

  Immediately, Oscar swung it out of her reach again, with that maddeningly wide grin. ‘But I am being a gentleman. And soon, perhaps, you will be a lady and provide me with a nice cool drink to say thank you. That will be kind.’

  ‘You OK, Elle?’ asked Lucas, his voice cutting through the heavy afternoon air.

  Oscar lowered the bag, glancing at Lucas as if suddenly putting two and two together. ‘This is where you live?’ He looked at the boat.

  ‘Yes.’ She pulled at her bag, but he kept a firm grip on it.

  ‘Who is this man? You have a boyfriend?’ His tone was accusing, as if she had no business having a boyfriend.

  ‘We live together,’ she snapped.

  Lucas’s eyebrows lifted a fraction.

  ‘So.’ Oscar nodded slowly. For the first time that afternoon, he didn’t smile. ‘So you have a boyfriend.’ He let the plastic carrier bag untwist from his fingers.

  Elle snatched back her shopping and when Lucas held out a hand to steady her aboard the boat she grabbed it thankfully, welcoming the show of solidarity. She didn’t resist when Lucas pulled her in to his side. It felt safe.

  Slowly, Oscar began to back away. ‘I will see you soon, Elle. At the centre.’

  ‘Right,’ she returned, woodenly.

  Together, they watched Oscar walk up the quayside then turn and disappear from view between the toilet block and the kiosk.

  ‘Who was that charming man?’ Lucas’s tone was dry.

  ‘He’s one of the volunteers at the centre. I only met him for the first time today. I didn’t take to him.’ Elle was very aware that Lucas still held her hand. The obvious thing was to free herself, but the feel of his fingers around hers was comforting – if uncomfortably hot. For several unsettling moments she felt as if his pulse became hers.

  ‘He looked kind of fond of you.’

  She nodded, still thinking about their hands. Touching. But neither of them mentioning it.

  ‘He seems to have taken a shine.’

  ‘Is he a problem?’

  She pulled a face. ‘I hope not. I have to work with him.’

  Lucas studied her for a moment and then changed the subject. ‘Loz wandered past, asking for you.’ He turned towards the saloon, which meant that the unlinking of their hands happened naturally, casually.

  ‘Thanks. I’ll be heading her way in a few minutes.’ Then, because Elle was glad that Lucas had helped her out with Oscar, and because they were stuck with the current living arrangements for the summer, she offered impulsively, ‘I’m planning to eat aboard, this evening. Want to join me?’

  He took a moment to turn the idea over. Then, gruffly, ‘Thanks. I’ll supply the drink.’

  She showered and changed, reassuring herself that she’d done the right thing, that it would show how over each other they were if they could share a meal together and be civilised. Remembering all the meals they’d eaten together in their old home, at the homes of his parents, her parents, Simon, Charlie, their friends, their colleagues, at restaurants, in bars, on picnics. And trying not to.

  It was almost a relief that when she stepped back aboard much later that afternoon that Lucas was nowhere to be seen. After yet another shower and change, she began washing salad leaves and big beef tomatoes, slicing up crusty Maltese bread and spreading it with butter, rolling up pink glistening slices of ham to place appetisingly on the plates.

  Then she felt the slightest dip of the boat and looked along the deck to see Lucas on board, a bag cradled in the crook of his arm.

  ‘We could eat on the flybridge.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow.

  She answered lightly. ‘That would be fun. A curious cross between picnicking and doing things in style.’

  At least it seemed stylish to her to be perched up at the little table on top of the boat as evening cast lengthening shadows. The golden sun reaching beneath the bimini felt gorgeous on Elle’s bare arms and legs now that it had lost its earlier scorching intensity, and the flybridge caught the breeze though it was only feet above the blue and glittering sea.

  The usual stream of cars grumbled along the road. ‘What’s that way?’ Elle nodded at the road leading in the other direction from Sliema as she uncapped a bottle of cold water.

  Lucas held out his glass. ‘Msida’s just around the coast. You can either follow the Ta’ Xbiex seafront road round to it or cut across the promontory. There’s another marina there, and a big residential district. If you carry on, past Pieta and through Floriana, you get to Valletta. The water taxi whizzed us between the two but it takes a lot longer by road.’

  They sat down to dinner together at the table. Relaxed evening meals crowded into Elle’s memory: smiling, eating, talking. Kissing. In those days, Lucas might have pulled a face at the leafy salad she’d produced, but now he accepted the meal with polite thanks.

  His contribution was wine from the local Marsovin vineyard and, after the main course, a lavish lemon gateau he’d stowed in the flybridge fridge, part of a unit that included a grill and a tiny sink.

  Elle laughed. ‘Do the Maltese produce many desserts like this?’

  Lucas filled her wine glass and replaced the bottle in its cooler. ‘I don’t think you have to worry about calories. You look thinner than when I last saw you.’

  She dropped her eyes. The last time he’d seen her she’d been clearing her stuff out of his house – he’d arrived home unexpectedly and watched her with bleak dark eyes as she’d stumbled and fumbled her way through boxes and bags, stuttering about quite understanding that he wanted out, and it being better this way.

  Because it had been; better for him and better for his parents.

  The memory diminished her appetite and she left more than half of her portion of gateau. Lucas, who was scraping his fork around his plate, raised his eyebrows and Elle found herself pushing her leftovers to him in an echo of old behaviour. As he industriously set about clearing her plate, she let her head tip so that she could look up past the hoop where a cluster of boxes sat beside two sleek silver horns, all related to the GPS and television and other stuff she didn’t need. The sky had turned a luminous purple ready for nightfall. ‘I may have a bit of a situation with that guy, Oscar. I found a porn stash on one of the computers and he said things that make me think it’s his.’

  Lucas paused, fork poised. ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘That it’s perfectly natural and people are human. I don’t know if I ought to say something to Joseph, the centre manager. I’d assumed it was the kids but Oscar’s a youth leader.’

  ‘Tricky.’ Lucas sat back, checking Elle’s legs weren’t in the way before he stretched his out. ‘Could you point out to the centre manager that it could be anyone with access to the computers, including volunteers? Let him see the danger without pointing
any fingers. It’s not your responsibility to prove anything.’

  She watched him use his fingertip to wipe up a last smear of cream from the edge of the plate and put it to his mouth. ‘You ought to have been in law, like your parents.’ And then, when he didn’t respond, added, ‘How are they? Dad still a magistrate? Mum a lawyer?’

  He smiled, guardedly. ‘That’s right. No significant changes.’

  She looked over to the boats moored on the Manoel side of the creek, some of them huge, looking worth every one of the millions of pounds on their price tags. The wine reached her head in a slidey little rush. ‘I think law would have suited you and your love of what’s right.’

  ‘From what I understand,’ he said, slowly, ‘the law isn’t so much about right and wrong as what evidence you have and whether you can prove your case. Not always the same thing.’

  He glanced down at the two empty plates as if regretful that his sugarfest was over. ‘Your own parents – I was surprised when you mentioned that they’re not together.’

  ‘Dad completely reinvented himself. Left his boring job and went into business with his new wife in a B&B in west Wales, where the surfies hang out.’

  ‘Were you shocked?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, simply, ‘Shocked. Astonished. Ambivalent. All the things adults seem to feel when their parents part. Mum took it hard. Really hard. It shook her confidence.’

  He lifted his brow. ‘That’s hard to imagine. Is she still in sales? Or has she retired?’

  Elle yawned, feeling the soporific effects of the alcohol and the day’s sun creeping up on her. She’d hardly slept out of excitement on her last couple of nights in England and now with the strain of finding Lucas on the boat and starting what amounted to two part-time jobs, her body was beginning to demand sleep. ‘Mum’s in a home.’ She yawned again, behind her hand. ‘Not long after Dad left, she had a stroke. I don’t know if you remember that she’s eight years older than him? But, still, quite young to have a stroke. Now she can’t live independently. She was alone when the stroke hit and so a lot of damage was done.’ She drained the last of her wine and sighed. ‘She doesn’t always know who I am so I don’t suppose she knows who Dad is or that he left her.’