The War Widows (31 page)

Nonna dozed on her knees, praying for a miracle. Maria sat wide awake, stupefied by guilt and disbelief at first, but now rigid with shock. She’d come to re-dedicate herself to her marriage, renew her vows, cleansed by confession only that morning. Now everything was turned upside down and all she wanted was for Marco to beat the odds and live.

‘Live, Marco,’ she prayed, but he slipped from them as the lemony dawn rose above the hills. His struggles were over.

She must embrace her old life, blameless, give him the honour and respect in death that she’d neglected to show him in life. She was a widow and free to make
her own decisions but bound tighter than ever before by her guilt.

It was only when they laid him out and Nonna wept, ‘My poor son, he had no life,’ that the pain surged into every sinew of her body and a weariness like a cloak of lead made her slump into the chair in despair. She watched a skein of ducks flying in arrow formation silhouetted against the sky and felt a flash of envy for her husband.

‘No more pain, Nonna, no more beds and open windows and basket chairs now.’

Soon it would be time to leave but not before she had cleared out the clutter from his locker and bedside table, all the myriad little things that still smelled of him: the green sheets of their local sports paper, sacred pictures, a crucifix, a half-eaten bag of sweets and a little snapshot of the three of them taken on a trip to the seaside. She would leave everything tidy and neat, grief or no grief. It gave her hands something to do.

Scrumpled in the drawer, half hidden among the postcards, was a letter. Curious, she opened up the page and read it.

Maria scrambled to find the envelope also typed in capital letters. It was addressed, ‘MR SANTINI, THE SANATORIUM, MOSES HEIGHTS, NR GRIMBLETON’.

She shoved the letter quickly into her handbag, out of sight but not out of mind. Never out of mind, every word etched into her heart. She felt it thumping through her ribs. Could Nonna Valentina see it throbbing with guilt?

You have killed your husband, came the words bursting through her eardrums. He had read that poisonous letter and the shock of it was too much for his frail body. You might as well have stabbed him in the heart with a knife yourself. What he must have suffered: shock, disbelief, fear and doubt, and all borne alone.

Someone hated them so much as to want to shame her and hurt her husband, but who? Who would do this to them? One of the family? Surely not. If a Santini had suspected anything, she’d have been banished from Marco’s deathbed long ago.

With his dying, for one brief moment she’d wondered if she’d escaped the wrath of God but no, she was found out and would be punished. There was now nothing she could ever do to make it right but pray for his forgiveness from across the grave, pray for his soul to be at peace, have Masses said for his release from such a torment and for the salvation of her own soul.

Only three of them knew of this dreadful exposé and one of them was now dead. She must find out who had done this and kill them, pay them back for all they’d done
to an innocent man. She wouldn’t rest until she was avenged. Marco didn’t deserve this cruel end, with only his wife’s betrayal for company in his agony.

The Santinis need never know, and Rosa must never know, but this terrible guilt must live in her heart for ever.

That this was the work of a woman, she’d no doubt. There was something peevish and cruel that smacked of jealousy and malice, but who and why would be her life’s work to find out. When she found that devil, oh, how she’d suffer for this. An eye for an eye was too good for her but revenge was a dish best eaten cold.

She kneeled by Marco’s body and prayed in silence.

Marco, I will avenge your suffering. I take it upon myself to live like a nun until you are avenged. I will sacrifice any future happiness. I will live only for Rosa’s happiness. I will make you proud of me and honour your family name, but please forgive me for my weakness. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Forgive me for being weak when you were so strong. Forgive me…

It was almost dark when they parked in Division Street. Lily held the sleeping Rosa over her shoulder.

‘Where’ve you been, Lil? I’ve been that worried. Not another waif and stray to take in for the night?’ Esme was standing in the hallway staring down at the child. ‘Walt’s in the other room and he’s not a happy man. He’s been all over Grimbleton looking for you.’

‘There’s been an emergency.’ Lily sat down, suddenly
exhausted. She told them the sorry news and then she made some cocoa for Rosa.

Su appeared and whisked the child upstairs. Ana was on shift and the house was quiet for a change. Walter was listening to the wireless and ambled in when his programme had finished.

‘I thought we were going to make a start on Well Cottage. I gather you’ve been all dolled up down the town hall. Mam said you could feed a man for a year on the price of one of the rig-outs.’

‘I’m very tired,’ Lily replied. ‘It’s been a rum do at Maria’s. They say Marco Santini’s not going to last the night so I brought Rosa back here. There was no time to get your shopping in.’

Tears were rolling down her cheeks, tears of sadness, exhaustion. If ever she needed a pair of strong arms around her it was tonight. ‘Hold me, Walter, hold me tight.’

‘What’s brought this on, old girl?’ He patted her on the arm.

‘Just hold me. I need a big hug. You won’t leave me, will you?’

‘You daft happorth! What would I be doing that for?’ he grinned. ‘I’ll get you a biscuit. You’ve had a shock. What on earth have you done to yerself…all that make-up, and who’s been chopping your hair?’

‘It’s modern. Isn’t it?’

‘It’ll soon grow out. You don’t look the same.’

‘I don’t feel the same, Walt,’ she whispered as he made for the kitchen.

*  *  *

The phone rang at seven on the Sunday morning. Marco had slipped away before dawn and Angelo was coming in his taxi to collect Rosa.

Later Maria phoned to thank them for taking her child for the night. ‘Oh, Lily, it is terrible. I have to see you. I was going to start all over again, clean slate, new start. Now it’s too late. How can I forgive myself? It should be me who is dead. I killed him!’

There was no making sense of her. Grief was controlling her senses. Maria was taking Marco’s sudden collapse hard. The Santinis would wrap themselves around her friend, make a big fuss of Rosa, buying her toys and sweets and treats as if to make up for her loss. It was not going to be easy to see her alone. Then there was the matter of Sylvio Bertorelli…

Three days later Kirkgate came to a standstill as the cortège left the café, pulled by black horses with plumes. It was a beautiful morning and all the shops and businesses were shut in respect for Marco’s passing. Mourners followed in a dignified procession to the Catholic chapel. Everyone was dressed in black, and the women wore lace mantillas over their heads.

The Italian community turned out in force: the Gambas, Morellis, even their ice-cream rivals, the Falconis, paid their respects and Gianni Lavaroni turned up with his wife in a fur coat. Snow was still covering the moor tops in the distance.

Maria looked so thin and haggard, and little Rosa, in a coat a size too big for her, held on to her hand.

All the Olive Oils turned up to give their support and
sat at the back out of sight: Diana, Queenie, Su and Ana, watching the ceremony with tears in their eyes. It was Lily’s first visit to the ornate chapel, its walls lined with statues, alcoves with candles burning, the great crucifix hanging from the ceiling. How different from Zion and Freddie’s memorial service.

How different the Santinis and Winstanleys dealt with death, she mused. Here was passion and suffering, sacrifice painted on every wall, reminding everyone of their mortality. These age-old rituals were comforting in their familiarity but strange to her ears. Each to his own, she thought, praying that Maria would find consolation in the ceremony.

Lily called into Santini’s most days to see how she was coping but she was never alone in the kitchen or upstairs.

‘You’re worn out. Take a break. Marco wouldn’t want you to be so sad,’ Lily said the day after Marco’s funeral, offering her a brew of herbal concoctions to strengthen her blood.

Susan brought posies of flowers to cheer her table.

Ana looked her over with concern. ‘It is time you see a doctor. You can’t go on like this. You do your best. It was always going to end this way, surely?’ she added.

Now that Ana was training as a nurse she had strong opinions about everybody’s health. Out of her bag came her special icon of the Blessed Virgin to comfort Maria, and Lily noticed the soft walnut eyes of the Virgin filled with kindness. ‘Dina and me, we light a candle for his soul at our church.’

When Enzo and Nonna had gone, Maria broke down
with relief. ‘It is me that should be dead. I killed him…I killed him!’ she sobbed, her head banging on the cushions of the sofa.

‘Stop this! It is grief talking.’ Lily hugged her. ‘You kept him alive much longer than his condition would predict. You were a good wife to him. You visited him. On Ana’s wards no one visits the old and sick. You did all what was expected.’

‘I betray him. I kill him.’ Maria continued crying. ‘I was too busy loving Sylvio…only
you
know we were more than friends. I betray Marco’s trust and the shock of it killed him. I am a bad woman. How can you say good things to me now?’

They sat on either side of her and held her. ‘We all knew about Sylvio. Anyone could see how it was for you…He brought a shining light into your eyes. You were discreet. These things happen,’ whispered Susan, taking hold of her hand. ‘And I should know.’

‘I am not a fit mother but I had sworn never to see him again. It was over and that is my punishment, and I have to live knowing Marco knew everything…I killed him. I broke his heart.’

‘You told him the truth?’ said Ana, her eyes wide, looking up at Lily with surprise.

‘No…I couldn’t bear to lose his trust but I find a letter, nasty letter by his bed when I was clearing his things.’ She pulled a crumpled note in an envelope from her handbag and shoved it in Lily’s hand. ‘Read it!’

Lily shared it with the others, each shaking her head in disbelief.

‘He gets that letter. The shock is too much for his
heart.’ Maria bent her head. ‘Lily, it broke his will to live. Someone hate us so much they do this to a sick man.’

‘Who was it?’ Lily asked.

‘It can’t be family. What if they send them a letter too? There is no name, that is the coward’s way, but it is typed proper.’ She shoved the envelope into her hand.

‘How can anyone do this, Susan? I have to know?’

The two of them looked at the letter long and hard. It was stamped in Grimbleton on white notepaper, much crumpled with rereading, and fingermarked. They looked at each other but said nothing more.

‘Forget this filth and get on with your life. That will be your victory over this poisonous snake,’ Lily said. ‘But we’ll all help you find the snake, won’t we?’

‘No! You must tell no one,’ Maria pleaded. ‘Nobody knows about this, not even the priest. It is my burden, my punishment. I will seek revenge and you will help me?’

‘We’ll help you. What are friends for but to help each other through tears, bread and salt, sorrows and joy shared alike? I know what it is to be without hope,’ said Ana. ‘You came to our rescue and now we come to yours…if only you knew…’

Lily waited for the truth about the Winstanleys to come tumbling out but Ana stopped just in time.

‘You’ve had some beautiful cards. Let’s open these.’ Su pointed to a handful of unopened envelopes, shoving them into her hand to distract Maria.

‘This is from Queenie…Oh, no!’ Maria screamed pulling out a note.

As Maria read the note she fell on the carpet in a faint, lying flat out.

Ana kneeled over her. ‘Sip this,’ she whispered, feeling for her pulse. ‘You’re going to the doctor if I have to drag you there myself,’ she said.

‘Yes, Sister,’ Maria croaked ‘It’s too late for doctors now. I am in big trouble. I have to see Sylvio. There’s something he should know.’

What a sorry tale, Lily sighed. Just like Shakespeare, all ending in tears and tragedy. Timing was everything in life. Get it right and everything falls into place, but miss your cue and it’s curtains.

It still amazed her that Su and Ana turned up on the same flight, the chance in a million that was. What if only one of them had come? What would have happened then?

Then she recalled the big fight at Waverley House. Was it Ivy who said Maria’s romance would end in tears? Was it possible that…? Surely not? Had her own sister-in-law a hand in making sure that it did?

The racket coming from the kitchen would wake the dead, Esme thought as she hung over the banister rail in the hall, wondering what on earth was going on. This house was getting more like Bedlam and Paddy’s Market, with toys and clutter everywhere. Neville, Joy and Dina were squabbling over the Noah’s ark toys at the foot of the stairwell.

‘Mine!’ shouted Joy.

‘It’s mine!’ Neville yelled. ‘This is my house!’ whacking her on the head with a lead giraffe. Joy kicked him and he started to scream. It was time to step in before there was blood on the Axminster. Neville was yelling for his mum. All hell was breaking loose.

‘Get this clutter off these stairs before someone breaks their neck,’ Esme ordered.

Everyone could hear Ivy shrieking and Ana shouting back. They were having yet another barney.

‘There they go again, Lil. It’s like Mount Etna erupting, giving me a splitting headache. This can’t go
on,’ Esme said, as they scurried in the direction of the fracas. A house full of temperamental women was getting on her nerves.