Broken Chord by Margaret Moore Page B

and you won’t get a penny from me.”
    “I don’t think I’ll be thrown out in your lifetime, or mine come to that.” He hoicked and spat phlegm on the ground near her feet.
    She could have wept with frustration. Throwing caution to the wind, she hissed, “I’ll get you out of here, make no mistake. You’re going to be very sorry you refused my offer.”
    “Get off my property,” he shouted, reaching for a rusting pitchfork and aiming it at her. He yelled, “I like living here and I’m not going to move out just to please some rich, murderous, German cow, now get out and don’t come back or I’ll ram this right through you.”
    Ursula caught a glimpse of Mrs Rossi standing in the doorway and grinning approval at her husband’s actions. She almost expected her to applaud. At the same moment a large motorbike shot into the farmyard and drew to a halt. A young man got off, whipped off his helmet and let his long dark locks fall around his face.
    “What’s going on, Grandad?”
    “Nothing. I’m just seeing Madam Cat-killer off.”
    “Well, put the pitchfork down. You might hurt someone.”
    “I’ll hurt her if she don’t leave us in peace.”
    The boy moved forward, disarmed his grandfather and said to Ursula, “You’d better go, and take my advice, don’t come back. I know why you’ve come but he doesn’t want to leave this house and neither do the rest of us, so just let it be. I mean it.”
    Despite the fact that he’d stopped the old man from running her through, there was a distinct air of menace in the way he spoke. Dressed in black leather, with a ring through his eyebrowand another through his lower lip, he looked quite frightening.
    She summoned up some courage and said tartly, “You’ll have to go in the end and you won’t get a penny from me.”
    He moved towards her and hissed in her ear, “Listen, Mrs Rich Lady. You can’t have everything the way you want it. Get real. You don’t know nothing. You think you’ve got everything just perfect, apart from us being here, but you’re quite wrong.”
    Ursula waited with a kind of horror. She had a presentiment that whatever this boy was going to say would be devastating.
    He grinned at her, “Did you know…” he leant closer to her and whispered a few more words in her ear. He saw her face freeze with shock. “Didn’t know that, did you? A word of advice, you mind your business and I’ll mind mine.” Ursula stood stock still for a moment, her mind reeling. She suddenly turned and walked away, clenching her fists to stop her hands from shaking. But it wasn’t fear that made her shake, it was rage. As she strode through the farmyard a cloud of pigeons rose in the air and flew over her. She felt a drop of pigeon shit land squarely in the middle of her head, and tears sprang to her eyes.
     
    Marianna lay on her bed listening to music. Her face was blotched and swollen from crying, her hair uncombed and tangled. She was wearing a large white T-shirt and boxers and her bare legs looked thin. Suddenly she ripped the earphones from her head and buried her face in the pillow. Her shoulders heaved as she cried silently.
    She gave no sign that she’d heard the door open, but remained face down and motionless.
    “Don’t you think it’s time to stop the theatricals?” asked Lapo. “It’s getting awfully boring.”
    She raised her head from the pillow and remarked, “Go and fuck yourself, Lapo.”
    “Tut, tut. Why don’t you give it a rest? Lover boy’s gone and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
    She shot into sitting position, “What! Are you saying Roberto’s dead?”
    “Not yet, my dear, but as far as you’re concerned he might aswell be. You won’t see him again.”
    “How can you be like this? You haven’t got a compassionate bone in your body, have you? Haven’t you ever been in love?”
    “No, thank the Lord, and I don’t think you have either.”
    “Of course I have. You don’t know what you’re talking