Page 92 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘This evening is for the young,’ Sal says, smoothing the curls from the baby’s face. ‘I have a lot to think about. And you – where did you go to this afternoon?’
‘To see Miss Stickland about work,’ I tell him, waving it away. ‘Nothing to worry about. And what about you? Have you had time to decide if you want to try . . . ? You miss them so much, Sal.’
‘And yet,’ he says, ‘so many years have passed. We’d be strangers.’
Sal smiles at me, wan.
‘You’re sad, Sal – why?’ I ask him, taking a seat at the table.
‘Time moves on,’ he says. ‘It is the only certain thing. Where we are in its flow, it will keep running and running until one day we are left behind – too far behind to catch up.’
‘Whatever you . . .’
‘I have decided,’ he nods. ‘I will try, I have to. Tomorrow I will try.’
‘And I’ll come with you as far as I can,’ I promise him. The door opens, making us both jump.
‘I am so sorry I was so long,’ Stella says, interrupting us as she suddenly walks into the room. Taking the third seat at the table, she folds her arms on the surface and lays her cheek on them. Her face is a picture of near-starvation and exhaustion. The dust from the collapsed house still beads her dark hair. Her eyes close, and I think she dreams for a moment, before forcing herself into an upright position and holding her arms out to Eugenie, who clambers into them at once, pressing her cheek hard against her mother’s.
‘I must get the children home,’ she says, collecting herself. ‘David, wake up now, my son. Time to go.’
‘Perhaps some coffee first?’ Sal offers, and she nods gratefully.
‘Did Raffa . . . ?’ I can’t bring myself to form the rest of the question.
‘He will survive.’ Stella nods. ‘He has a hard road ahead, but he will live. I thank you – for helping with the boy and for taking care of my children. I thought you rather pointless when I first met you, but I see now your Maltese half is very present in you. You are strong and brave like . . .’
‘You,’ I say with a small smile. I can’t resist the urge to put my arms around her and hug her shoulders. ‘I would like to be just like you, Stella.’
‘Well,’ she says rather stiffly, as Sal sets a cup of coffee before her, ‘I will drink this, then I will get the children home.’
‘Stay here tonight,’ Sal all but orders her, gesturing at David, who turns his back on us, pulling a cushion over his head. ‘That boy is exhausted. We have been careful, and Ihave enough food to share. Stay, rest, eat – let the children sleep. I have little comfort to offer, but what there is is yours.’
‘I couldn’t impose . . .’ Stella begins.
‘You can.’ I take her hand. ‘You can accept a little help every now and again. It doesn’t make you weak.’
Her eyes glaze with the threat of tears. Nodding, she blinks them away. ‘Thank you,’ she says quietly. ‘You look very pretty, Maia. The dress is a little dowdy, but even so, you will dance with Danny tonight. You will kiss him under the stars, I think. Everyone is very excited.’
Even though I know she teasing me, in her own particular way, I am still shocked that even Stella, so focused, so matter-of-fact, has caught wind of what may or may not be happening between me and Danny. ‘Everyone seems to know what I will be doing at this dance tonight apart from me!’ I protest. ‘But I suppose a kiss is not out of the question . . .’
‘Pfft.’ Stella exchanges a look and a smile with Sal. ‘You go and forget about the war for an hour or two. Go and enjoy being in love. There is nowhere more beautiful to lose your heart forever to another than in Valletta.’
I know that already, of course. My heart has been lost to this place and its people from the moment I arrived.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
‘Oh no, that won’t do at all,’ Christina says the moment she sets eyes on me. ‘Alex, that won’t do at all, will it?’
‘No, that will not do,’ Alex tells me. ‘We are all pinning our hopes on you, Maia. You can’t go to the dance looking like a charwoman. We have hopes and dreams and fantasies that we need you to live for us.’
‘A charwoman?’ I ask as Christina grabs me by the wrist and pulls me inside. ‘This dress was hard to come by!’
Christina looks me up and down. ‘What are we going to do with her?’
‘I thought this was nice,’ I say, pressing my hand against the viscose of my tea dress, trying to smooth out the creases.
‘Itisnice – for a funeral or tea at a maiden aunt’s,’ Christina says, wrinkling her nose. ‘But not tonight, darling. Tonight is about glamour and romance. The gentlemen will be wearing dress uniform, and it’s our job to scrub up sufficiently well to make them forget about the war for an hour or two. This is what I’m wearing after our show, see?’
