Page 52 of Lela's Choice

“Then go back to Valletta?”

“We can decide then. Tell me more about how you got into this business.”

“It’s a long story.” One Hamish hadn’t shared with anyone since Olivia. Lela was putting on a good act, but he wasn’t fooled. She was going slowly insane thinking they’d leave Gozo without seeing Sophie.

“We appear to have all the time in the world.” She waved an arm to encompass the harbour stretched out in front of them.

“Don’t blame me if you’re bored by the time I’m finished.” Olivia had been, he realised now. She’d thought he’d fixated on an incident he should have got over. “Mum took me on an informal visit to a client when I was about twelve. I knew, because Mum and Dad had talked about it at the dinner table, that, let’s call her—Mrs. Brown—was a victim of domestic violence. DV to those in the business. I knew about DV, like I knew there were things discussed at our dinner table that didn’t leave the house. When we were small, Mum or Dad would hold a finger to their lips and recite ‘cone of silence,’ their mystic incantation to protect special knowledge. They stopped when I turned eight. My sisters and I knew anything connected with their work was confidential.”

When she adjusted her position against the car so she could watch him, Hamish commended himself—at least momentarily—on distracting her from her anxiety about Sophie.

“Not that Dad or Mum discussed their clients, but occasionally, as part of broader conversations, examples were drawn. Driving to Mrs. Brown’s house that afternoon, I knew the young mother had an apprehended violence order against her husband, that’s an AVO.”

“I know what an AVO is, Hamish.”

Of course you do.

“Mrs. Brown was afraid her husband would steal the kids and hide them with his extended family in Malaysia. Mum wanted to check on them, drop off a casserole she’d made, make sure things were as normal as they could be. Mrs. Brown told Mum the AVO made her feel more secure.

“When we got to the house, Mum got me to take the kids outside. They knew her—a boy and a girl—but were less sure of me. Their ‘outside’ play area was a square piece of concrete in front of a garage.

“I spotted a basketball and a hoop half hanging off the side of the garage. I started dribbling the ball and dropped it in the hoop. Easy, since it was set at a height six-year-olds could manage, but they were impressed enough to relax.”

“I’m impressed.” She dimpled, but her interest was real, and his words came more easily.

“I persuaded the kids to toss the ball towards the hoop. I’d managed to coax a smile from the boy, when we heard shouting from inside the house. A man roared their names. They were terrified, running straight back inside, as if he’d tugged on an extended leash. I raced after them, catching them as they reached the living room door. Instinct I guess, but I grabbed their shirts to stop them moving past the door.

“Mum was calm. She held up her phone.‘If you don’t leave now, I’ll call the police.’

“He was a big bastard—solidly muscled—and he loomed over her.‘This is my house,’ he roared.‘My wife, my kids. I tell them what to do. You two, we’re leaving.’

“He didn’t look at the kids, didn’t say their names, just stared at his wife, an ugly smile spreading across his face when she fell to her knees.‘Not my babies.’”

Even at this distance, the vividness of the memory shook Hamish. Through his work, he’d resolved his rage at his own helplessness. The only way to erase the fear he’d witnessed was to work against it.Even now.

“Mum yelled at me,‘Run, take them and run.’ She was already punching her speed dial number for the police when the man pivoted, swinging his arm. He backhanded her against the wall. She slid to the ground, still holding the damn phone.”

“You must have been terrified.” She’d edged closer still, half bent towards him, and he realised his voice had dropped. When she slipped her hand into his, he accepted the empathy he’d long yearned for.

“For a second, I froze, paralysed by fear and indecision, then I took a step towards Mum.” Hamish huffed out a breath. “Her eyes were fixed on me. ‘Run,’ she said. Something was wrong with her. Her mouth was twisted in pain, but she raised the phone and spoke.‘Emergency,’ and recited the address.”

“Your mother sounds incredibly brave.”

Like you, he thought.

“I looked at the kids. I tried to pull them after me, but they were trembling and slow. I remember I screamed at them, ‘Come on.’

“We stumbled towards the back door, and I could hear the man behind us, gaining on us as the kids slowed. They were crying too much to see properly. Then my feet were swept from under me, and I was sliding across the tiles towards the kitchen table. I don’t know if he tripped me or hit me, but I collided with the table—hard.”

Lela didn’t speak, but her grip on his hand tightened. She was reliving his nightmare with him.

“He scooped them up under his arms—like footballs—and he was on a full-field sprint—turning towards the front door. It was over in a flash. I didn’t know what to do. I scrambled to my feet and went looking for Mum.

“At first all I could hear was Mrs. Brown screaming as she chased her husband out of the house, then a cry that sounded like he’d hit her. The kids’ cries got louder then, and the man yelled at them to shut it. I was petrified, needed to check Mum was okay. She was slumped where she’d fallen against the wall, answering questions from the first responder. She broke off when she saw me. ‘Hamish, check the window. Get the car’s plate number.’

“I was too numb to disobey. I went over to the window. He was bundling the kids in the back. ‘XG 426P.’” He shook his head in disbelief. “I can still remember that plate number!

“Mum repeated it. ‘We need an ambulance at the house,’ she said. ‘But catching that car with the kids is the first priority.’ Then she hung up and smiled at me. ‘Can you help me, darling, by bringing Mrs. Brown back into the house and making us both a cup of tea?’

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