Page 48 of Never Tear Us Apart

Chapter Forty-Six

‘It’s not usually too bad out here,’ Danny tells me as we reach the bike, ‘but you never know where they’re going to plant their stray bombs. There’s a public shelter under the church. Come on – this way . . .’

We are walking, part of a steady stream of people all heading for the shelter, when I stop.

I can hear something. I feel Danny’s hand slip from mine as he’s pushed on by the steady movement of the crowd, but I tilt my head, listening for the noise.

Then I hear it again: the sound of a child whimpering.

Somehow, the quiet cries cut through the wail of the siren and the noise of people hurriedly making their way to the shelter.

It’s David, sitting alone on the step of a closed-up shop, his arms wrapped around his knees, his head in his lap. His shoulders are shaking. Weaving my way against the flow of people, I finally get to him.

‘David?’ Crouching down, I lightly touch his shoulder. ‘What are doing here?’

He jumps, looks up at me, startled.

‘Hey, Qalbi, it’s me!’

Not even that makes him smile; his dark eyes are wide with fear.

‘Where’s your mummy and your sister?’ I ask. ‘Or Vittoria?’

He starts to cry again, shaking his head.

He’s talking in fast, sobbing Maltese, but I know that he’s lost. Desperately, I look around for Stella, as Danny continues on, lost in the crowd.

There’s no sign of her anywhere, and the crowd is dwindling as the locals gradually disappear into the shelter.

I can already hear the distant hum of plane engines.

‘Come with me,’ I tell David, offering him my hand and a smile. ‘I’ll take you into the shelter, and afterwards we’ll find your mummy together. Is that OK?’

He curls up on himself, as if he’s trying to armour himself against the world.

‘It’s all right.’ I offer him my hand again. ‘As soon as it’s over, I’ll help you find your mummy, OK? You know me, right? It me, Maia Borg, right, kid?’

David nods and fits his narrow hand into mine. It’s hot and wet with tears. I can feel the bones of his slight fingers and feel the pulse in his wrist under my thumb.

We follow the shouts of the warden to make it into the shelter just as they are closing the doors.

I know what to expect now: the long, low tunnels, carved out of rock; an alcove every few feet holding a flickering oil lamp; and the scent and press of humanity all around.

Almost identical to every other public shelter.

‘Move in, move in,’ the warden tells us. ‘There are spaces further in.’

Leading David, whose lips are pressed together in terrified silence, I take us deeper into the shelter. There’s no thought of searching for Danny, though I’m sure he’s in here somewhere. I just feel certain that he will find me and I will find him, over and over again.

After a few minutes, we reach a narrow room with one space on a bench. The occupants call us in, telling me to take the seat, so I do, pulling David onto my lap. The woman next to me speaks in Maltese. I don’t understand, but somehow I do.

‘We lost his mother, Dr Borg? Do you know her? Did you see her before the raid?’

‘Oh yes, everyone on the island knows Dr Borg. But I haven’t seen her today,’ the woman tells me in English. ‘You must be related. You look alike – same chins, no?’ She places her forefinger on her chin just below her lip.

It’s true – David and I both share the same shallow cleft there.

The shape of his hands echoes mine, too. Or rather, mine echoes his.

The ground doesn’t tremble – the sound of the bombs falling is still loud, but distant enough for us to know it isn’t on top of us.

Quiet chatter fills the room. A father sings his baby to sleep on his shoulder; his wife leans silently into his chest. Packed into this narrow room are at least a dozen life stories, each one balanced between tragedy-in-waiting or a fragile happy ending, depending on the whims of war.

At length, David leans back against me, and my arms encircle his slender waist. He tips his head back on my shoulder.

The bombs fall; the pilots fight for their lives above us; families cry and cling to one another.

And here in the deepest dark, I hold in my arms the little boy who will grow up to be my father and give him the shelter that he never afforded me.

Here, I love him in a way I never have before.

Seeing him as small and unprotected makes that possible, and more. I forgive him, too.

‘Here you are!’ Danny appears in the doorway, breaking me from my thoughts. ‘I missed you.’

That he wasn’t cross or worried, that he trusted me to be safe, makes me want to kiss him, and if I could, I would.

At once, a man gets up to offer Danny his seat, but Danny shakes it away, kneeling on the floor in front of David. ‘Hey, you’re the doctor’s boy, right?’

‘They must have got separated somehow,’ I explain, kissing the top of David’s head.

‘Hey there, champ,’ Danny says. ‘You got to help me out, because I am the greatest rock paper scissors champ this side of the world, and I can see that you might be the only serious challenger I got.’

Uncertainly, David shakes his head.

‘Are you telling me that a kid with your natural talent does not know how to play rock paper scissors?’ Danny gasps. ‘Well, I guess I’ll have to teach you.’

The next few minutes pass with Danny showing David the rules of the game and then artfully losing every single time they play, pretending each time to be more upset, until David laughs and cheers.

Then he slips off my lap and sits on the floor between Danny’s crossed legs, leaning his back against Danny’s chest.

‘You’re a pilot,’ he says. ‘You fly like this?’ David twists his hand into the air, making it bank and turn.

‘Sure, sometimes like that. Let me show you a neat trick for the next time you’re flying your plane.’ Danny shows David how to take off, to turn and loop the loop, their hands following one another in the dim light. David’s eyes track each movement of Danny’s hand, a smile playing on his lips.

Somehow, in this place I was never meant to be, I have found my heart.