Page 65 of Never Tear Us Apart

Chapter Sixty-Three

David puts his slight hand in mine as we walk back to the half-house; Sal pushes Eugenie in her pram.

Nicco’s car is waiting outside. My hesrt sinks as I remember our meeting. Well, he’ll just have to wait while we clean up.

I change into the makeshift skirt and shirt that Alex first altered for me and shove my dress into a bucket of water with the children’s things. My bag is covered in dust, but still holds the precious cargo.

Sal starts boiling water, filling the tin bath that resides in the living room, since the bathroom upstairs has only two walls and no ceiling at all.

For every pan of hot water he pours into it, he adds half a pan of cold.

When there is enough, I help David and Eugenie into the bath, one taking either end.

Sal washes out the clothes as best he can, silently noting the new dress I came back in with a raise of his eyebrows.

‘These things take minutes to dry in this heat,’ he tells me as he goes into the courtyard to find a place to lay them out in the sun.

I find an old bone-handled, silver rattle rolling around in the bottom of the pram, and I offer it to Eugenie. Her small hands grab at it eagerly with babbles of delight.

‘Mama says it’s too precious for her to play with,’ David tells me.

‘Oh, well, just a moment won’t hurt,’ I tell him.

Eugenie bows her head with the kind of concentration only an infant can give to an object they find fascinating. She dips it in and out of the water, listening to the clunk of the brass tag on the bottom of the bath, watching the drips as they run off the key and down her arms.

‘Are you all right, David?’

The boy, who has been watching his sister with a faint smile, looks at me, puzzled. ‘Y . . . yes?’ he says, gesturing at himself as if that were evidence enough.

‘I mean, how do you feel? On the inside.’ I try again. ‘Every day, you see a lot of extraordinary things. Some things must make you feel frightened and sad.’

David watches me. The frown set deep between his eyes is one I recognise. I’ve seen it constantly on my father’s face. I see it often on mine.

‘We must each do our part,’ David tells me emphatically, repeating a phrase he must have heard a thousand times with more gravitas than any five-year-old should ever have to muster. ‘Until Malta is free.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘And your mummy does more than her fair share, helping whoever needs it. Your mummy is a hero, and so are you and everyone on the island.’

His frown lifts for a moment; his shoulders straighten.

‘My mummy is very brave and clever,’ David tells me. ‘My daddy told us that every day. My daddy died a hero, too. I will see him again in heaven.’

‘He did.’ I nod. I’m not sure what I want him to say or what I expected when I asked him if he was all right.

Perhaps for him to break down in my arms and sob his heart out, so that, somehow, I can heal all the pain inside him before it has a chance to form a scar.

That’s not what this little child needs, though.

Not David, and not his sister. They need what moments of safety and normality the war-torn existence that has dominated their short lives can afford them – spaces to let their natural hope-filled resilience flourish, reassurance that this life they are being subjected to is not the only life there is.

‘One day soon,’ I tell David, ‘all this will be over. There will be no more raids, and all the houses will be rebuilt, and there will be enough food. One day really soon. You just need to hang on a little longer.’

‘Yes,’ David agrees. ‘A little longer. Mummy says one day soon, the ships will come and we will have food and enough planes to scare away the baddies for good.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘One day soon.’ I hesitate. ‘David, can I tell you something? You might not remember it for very long, and you might think it’s silly, but can I tell you something that might help you a long time from now when you are a grown-up?’

David nods, resting his chin on the edge of the bath as he listens.

‘All the brilliant men and women that ever lived, the very cleverest people that have been, the ones we call geniuses?’

David nods.

‘They have always chosen curiosity over destruction. Always. These names might not mean anything to you yet, but Da Vinci, Einstein, Caravaggio, Lovelace, Curie, Shakespeare, Bronte, Zammit – these are some of the few people who have lived who have been able to see our lives as humans on this planet existing in a huge and mysterious universe in a way that most of us can’t.

They understand how precious and rare life is, how spectacular and magical human beings can be.

And when it came to it, choosing to build weapons or go to war, they chose art and knowledge instead. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Clever people are curious and kind.’ David nods. ‘Mummy is kind; Daddy was kind. I am kind to Eugenie. Mostly.’

‘You are,’ I tell him. ‘You are clever and so talented. So remember this: no matter what the rest of the world is doing, even when you have no choice but to stand up and fight wars that you didn’t start, you never have to let go of the things that make this world beautiful.’

‘I can add and spell and read. And draw really well,’ David tells me, ticking off his accomplishments finger by finger.

I smile, recognising that flash of my father’s self-confidence in him. ‘Right, let’s get you out of the bath, and I have something to give you.’

‘What is it?’ he asks. ‘Can I eat it?’

I dry David and Eugenie off with thin towels, then dress them in the clothes Sal has left folded on the table.

Reaching into my bag, I bring out the small metal Spitfire and hand it to David.

His eyes grow big and round, his mouth falling open in a large round ‘O’. ‘I can hold it?’ he asks.

‘You can keep it,’ I tell him. ‘It’s yours forever now.’

‘Maia!’ He flings his arms around my neck and kisses me on the cheek. ‘But is it stolen? Mummy won’t let me have things that are stolen. She says she has to draw the line somewhere.’

‘No,’ I reassure him. ‘Someone gave it to me, and now I’m giving it to you. And this is for your sister.’

Finding the small teddy bear, I hand it to the baby, who immediately stuffs its ears into her mouth. I return her rattle to the pram.

‘Can I play outside?’ David asks, excited.

‘Don’t go too far,’ I tell him.

‘I’ll watch them,’ Sal says from the doorway. He comes in and picks up Eugenie with a groan. The little girl takes his glasses off at once. ‘You’d better clean up before you see the count. There’s fresh water on the stove.’

‘Thank you, Sal.’

‘Maia, what are you doing?’ Sal asks me, concerned. ‘Are you trying to catch him in a lie or worse?’

‘I don’t know,’ I tell him honestly. ‘You know he runs the black market, don’t you? And you still accepted his dinner invitation the other night?’

‘I do know, and to my shame I chose to look away,’ Sal says. ‘A lot of very frightening people are afraid of him, Maia. He would be a dangerous man to anger.’

‘I know that.’ I nod. ‘But I don’t have a reason to make him angry. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Then just take care,’ Sal says. ‘You have a very particular war to fight. Don’t take your eyes off the battle.’