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“I knew Papa kept cash in the house. He’s old-fashioned, likes to have real money, not just cards in his wallet. I raided his private cache and slipped notes from his wallet most days until he noticed.” She took a sip of water.

“What happened?” Her resourcefulness fascinated Hamish.

“Papa summoned us, the boys and me. I don’t think it occurred to him I was the thief, but I couldn’t let my brothers take responsibility. I told him what I’d done. Paid for his obligations to Mari from his money.”

“How’d he react?”

“He couldn’t believe it at first. I was the youngest and a girl. He made me promise I wouldn’t give her any more money and told us his older sister was coming from Malta to look after us.”

“Did you keep your promise?”

“A promise is sacred in the Vella family. After that, I didn’t give her cash. I stole food from home and other things like towels, blankets, stuff for the kitchen.”

“Stole or borrowed?”

“I stole them. I knew Papa would forbid me giving them to her just as he’d forbidden me to give her money. In a corner of his mind, he mistakenly believed poverty would force her home. I hid what I was doing from him and my brothers. I was careful not to get caught.”

“That’s an inventive way around a promise. Did you steal from anyone else?”

She met his gaze directly, the vehemence leaving her voice. “Ah, Hamish, I do know right from wrong. To steal from a stranger would have been wrong. It was wrong to deceive Papa, but he gave me no choice.”

“Wasn’t your sister able to get social security benefits?” Twenty years ago there were already support services for young women.

“Yes, by the time Papa caught me, she had a small flat. Sophie was born, and Dean was long gone. Mari loved him, you know? Even after he left. She never really got over him.” Her voice wobbled.

“How did she die?”

“An opportunistic infection is the technical term. She wasn’t taking enough care of herself, focusing all her attention on Sophie.” Lela broke the bread into smaller pieces. “I didn’t know how sick she was until I stopped by one afternoon and found her collapsed. I hadn’t been able to get away for a few days because Aunty had arrived, and she was keeping a pretty close watch on me. I called an ambulance and went to the hospital with Mari and Sophie.

She huffed out a breath and, he hoped, some of her pain. “I told the doctors Papa was her next of kin. I assumed they’d called him, but he said later he didn’t get the message.”

“Were you on your own?”

“I had Sophie. And the nurses were really good. I’d taken Sophie’s change bag, but the nurses made sure we had food. One of them called a social worker. That scared me.”

“Did you think they’d take Sophie?” Hamish’s mother would adore Lela.And where the hell had that thought come from?

“I had no time to think because the social worker came to tell me Mari was dead,” she whispered, and her hand clenched on the table.

“Shit!” He covered her hand with his.

“I wasn’t whole anymore. When Mama died, we had each other. I hadn’t understood how much easier Mari made it. She remembered more stories about Mama, used many of the same expressions, just listening to Mari talk, being with her made me feel I still had part of Mama.

“I was sad and angry and disbelieving at the same time. The social worker offered to call Papa, but I said I’d do it myself. She stayed with me. I yelled at him; told him Mari was dead. Part of me secretly hoped that if he came, he could make it stop. Bring her back.” She blinked back tears. “I can’t remember it all. I called him horrible names, told him Mama would never forgive him, then demanded he come and get me and Sophie. If he wouldn’t take Sophie, I told him not to bother coming because I was staying with her. I don’t know where I thought I’d go. Shock.”

“Poor baby.” He turned her hand over, satisfied when she uncurled her fingers and threaded them with his.

Hamish tried to picture her at ten, all dark curls and tangled limbs, even then having a sense of justice and fairness. And her will to fight against unbeatable odds? Where had it come from? Her capacity to fight might have come from her father, he sounded like a ruthless bastard, but given Mariella Debrincat’s comments, Hamish guessed the determination to fight for those weaker than herself was her mother’s legacy.

“I didn’t feel like a baby. I was the woman in our family.” She studied their linked fingers. “I couldn’t leave Sophie there.”

“He came.” Hamish’s values came from his parents and the home he’d grown up in, the ideas he’d been exposed to. His love, respect for and pride in his father was uncomplicated, unshadowed by actions he had to learn to forgive.

“Just as well,” she said wryly. “I had no idea what to do next, although the social worker stayed with me. Papa didn’t speak to me, but he came. I was cold by then, inside and out. Except for where I held Sophie. She was warm. Papa spoke to the doctors, to the social worker. Then I followed him to the car.”

“Did he show any regret?”

“Grief catches you in a maelstrom. It tosses you in the air, holds you between its teeth, shaking you until you’re helpless and afraid. It’s the same, yet different every time.”