The Hiding Place by Trezza Azzopardi Page A

notepad tied to her apron.
    He said rum, an’ I took him rum, and now he says Lambs!
    She shows him the order. He nods, takes two clean glasses from the rail above his head and beckons her into the alcove behind the bar.
    Two Lambs, he says, pouring a measure of brown rum into each glass. She moves to put them on her tray, but he stops her, picks up one of the glasses, and turns his back. His jaw moves from side
to side, his tongue peeps from between his lips. He spits into the drink.
    Don’t take no shit from him, he says, wiping the soft white stream from the rim. And smiles his brilliant smile. This is Frankie at his most gallant.
    ~
    I loved him, thinks Mary, stirred from her past by the weight of the man in the next seat. He’s given up on the Alphabet and has gone to sleep; his head rests on her
shoulder, his mouth popping open and shut like a carp. She heaves him away to free her arm, rubs the racing condensation from the window.
    I loved him straight off, she says into Luca’s hair, then loudly, Stupid Bloody Fool! The man jerks awake at this, blinks slowly, starts up again.
    A – You’re Adorable, B – You’re so Beautiful . . .
    ~
    Frankie holds her in his arms. She can’t tell if it’s the vibration of music from the club below, or Frankie’s body, or her body, but they’re both
trembling now in the little bed.
    You’re so beautiful – he says, and running his hand along the curve of her hip, under the tight elastic of her girdle – Take this off.
    ~
    Two more stops. My mother shifts Luca onto her other shoulder and bends forward to get past the man, his top half keeled like a bent flag into the aisle. His eyes swim in his
head as my mother squeezes by. It’s been so long since Mary has thought about the past, it seems like someone else’s life. Frank Gauci and Joe Medora; the two of them so glamorous and
charming – and then she stops herself. She won’t think about Joe – how that happened – and she won’t let herself think any more about Frankie; where he was,
where he might be now; what he will do to her when he finds out about the fire. She concentrates instead on her children.
    But Frankie is thinking about her . After the hospital, after our house which he couldn’t get near, not with Joe Medora’s car outside it, Frankie goes to Salvatore and
Carlotta’s home. He sits in the parlour and waits, mulling things over.
    This is the deal.
    Frankie gains: the house, enough money to right the damage caused by the fire; enough money to wipe his slate with the Syndicate; just that bit extra so that Mary doesn’t have to work all
hours to make ends meet. And an offer to manage The Moonlight when Joe is away. He loses: Marina.
    The terms are generous, he can see that. He also sees, like a blade twisting a hole in his heart, how long Joe has waited for this time, for a moment desperate enough to make
him jump. He imagines how Mary has deceived him. He can hardly bear it. Frankie’s thoughts won’t stay still; he tries to follow them but as soon as he glimpses one, it streaks away
before his eyes. Random as fireworks, they crack to life in his head, their bright trails fizzing suddenly to black. His eyes roam Salvatore’s parlour in search of something steady to fix on:
a carriage clock ticking glumly on the mantelpiece, the cool dome of a plastic snow-scene, an ornate mirror above the fireplace casting its dark reflection. He finds Mary in everything, mistakes
his rage for love. He wants her, he hates her, he’ll make it up to her, he will tear her into shreds.
    It doesn’t occur to Frankie that Marina might not be Joe’s daughter; Frankie sees Joe in the child now, sharp as diamond. He wants her out of his sight – he’s
happy to be rid of her. He would abandon Mary, too, and all the rest of us if he could. And with just that extra bit of money, over time, with a little luck, perhaps he can: perhaps he can get
away.
    He pictures his daughters, lining them up in a neat row