A Handful of Pebbles (26 page)

The gun is heavier than she expected. The metal is cool to the touch, the wood smooth. Laurence is still standing there, trying to figure out what to do, where to aim. Sarah acknowledges his attempt to join in, but it is a discriminating choice. He did not choose to join in with a gift of money, rice throwing, or petal scattering; he chose the gun. A weapon of destruction. Metal and engineering. Capable of taking a life in the wrong hands. Just like a car can.

Fireworks scream and explode above the house. Children run
. The musicians are singing and playing with gusto and, here and there, men and women, arms across each other’s shoulders, dance with cries of ‘
Opa!
’

A lone boy, unheeded, is in amongst the men with the guns. He can be no more than nine or ten years old and firing shot after shot into the air, his little body jerking with each recoil. He laughs at his game.

Sarah puts the butt of the gun she is holding against her shoulder, to see how it feels. It sits well, if heavily. Looking down the shaft, there’s a V-shaped notch where the wood turns to metal and at the far end of the barrel, a lug of metal. Aligning the lug to fit in the V, Sarah finds she is focused on Laurence’s left knee. The macabre thought crosses Sarah’s mind that with just one little squeeze, or a sudden cough, a jerk of her hand, there would be an accident. Laurence lame for life, his neat little world blow open. No driving, no walking, no strutting. But at least he would still have his life, which is more than he granted Torin.

Her breathing becomes laboured, her sight bleary.

Laurence and the people around him seem to be moving in slow motion, their next steps predictable, obvious. The boy with his head back is frozen in mid-laugh as he fires his pistol. The seconds elongate to minutes, the fireworks hang motionless and noiseless in the air, the music is silent, the laughter suspended. There is just the lug of metal in the V and Laurence. She raises the barrel. The action pushes her shoulder against the dog pen, which lends support.

The sight lines up with Laurence
’s stomach. If the Hollywood films are to be believed, that would be a slow and painful death. Internal bleeding, mincemeat of his organs. She could rush to him, pretend she is heartbroken and watch him groan and writhe until, slowly, the light goes out of his eyes, just as she watched the light go out of Torin’s eyes.

But maybe it would not ensure death. Maybe the films are not to be believed.

Up a little.

Chest.

Through his arm and into his heart. Huh! What heart? Her finger twitches on the trigger.

Laurence still hasn
’t moved.

Up.

Head. Right in his temple, and that would be the end of him. Wiped from the planet.

Sarah shifts the sagging weight of the gun up into her shoulder and lowers her head so her cheek is against the polished wood. Taking aim, she steadies herself.

‘Squeeze,’ she whispers. She heard that advice somewhere, or read it. A film or a book maybe. ‘Squeeze the trigger. Do not pull or jerk.’

It feels as if there is no give in the metal. She tightens her grip and readies herself to squeeze.

Something appears in her peripheral vision, over her left shoulder. Time speeds up again and Sarah loses control of the moment. The fireworks explode. The gun is pushed forward and up and is lifted from her grip. Laughter and shouting echoes from the buildings. The weight of the wooden stock skims down her dress, the barrel pointing skywards, and the whole gun is taken out of her hands, out of her sight to her left. It happens so fast, she has no control. The arms enclose around her, holding her so she cannot move. Twisting her head, she tries to see who it is, a glimpse of gold reflects around a neck. The grip releases just enough to allow her to turn. A firework lights up his face in green and then orange.

‘
These shotguns have a kick like a donkey.’ He does not smile. Behind him, the side gate is still open.

Anger brings a tremor to her limbs. How dare
he interfere? Her mouth tightens into a line and she turns and twists. His grip remains firm.

‘
And a kick like that can wipe away your future.’ Fear flickers in his eyes and there is no releasing his grip, no choice but to stay still. He smells of soap and the sun, with just a trace of goat. Hairs poke over the unbuttoned neck of his shirt. She doesn’t like hairy men. The only movement that is possible is the turn of her head. Lowering her chin and twisting it sideways, she avoids the hairs and rests against his shirt. In one ear, she can hear all the rumpus of the party, the music and the guns, the laughter and shouting. In the other ear, faint at first but as she concentrates, it becomes clearer. A reassuring rhythm, a meter of strength, the steady beat of life, his heart. Taken for granted, the muscle that is a miracle maker. When it stops, everything is lost. But this heart, so close, sounds strong, assured, determined. Something that could be trusted to throb on and on until time, naturally, takes its toll.

What on earth possessed her? To even think about stopping another person
’s heart, what right had she to do that? Laurence being dead would not have solved anything. In fact, it ... She blanks her mind. She cannot bear to think about it: the boys’ father dead, their mother in jail.

‘
It would be nice to think that you have a future here.’ As he speaks, Sarah can feel the brush of his chin, or is it his lips, against the top of her head. She turns her face upwards. His chin is tucked in to look down at her. A trace of sweat on his brow belies his calm. His lips are parted and she can feel his breath on her skin.

‘
Explain?’ The voice comes like a roar; even the fireworks cannot drown it out. The arms around her fall away and they turn in unison. Jim stands, legs apart, a gun, broken, over his arm.

‘
You’d better take this, or fire it, or something. It’s loaded.’ Nicolaos calmly picks up the gun he rescued from Sarah’s grip. Jim accepts it without comment but still waits for an answer to his question.

‘
I have come to wish your daughter a happy marriage, to spread petals on her marriage bed, and to wish her everything in her marriage that I never had.’

Jim looks at Sarah, his eyebrows lowering, his mouth twisting, perplexed, before looking back at Nicolaos.

‘If you do not want me to do it in person, then perhaps,’ Nicolaos fumbles in his back pocket and draws out a wallet.

Over Jim
’s shoulder, coming out of the house, Sarah spots Frona shuffling towards the bonfire, towards the men still firing guns.

‘
I think your mother is looking for you.’ Sarah points over Jim’s shoulder. He turns. It is apparent that Frona has not seen them and there is no haste in her steps. She is looking for no one. Jim turns back, ignoring Sarah, his steady gaze on Nicolaos. Maybe she should have kept quiet.

‘
Jim, is that you?’ Now Frona has seen at least Jim, who is not in the shadows.

‘
I’ll be with you in a minute, Mama,’ Jim shouts over his shoulder. A rocket whizzes into the heavens and explodes. The musicians finish their song and the people applaud. Looking first at Nicolaos and then at the open gate behind him, it is clear what Jim wants, but then he looks at Sarah. It must have appeared to him as if they were in each other’s arms, which they were, only not for the reason he must be thinking. But she cannot explain it without explaining about the gun.

‘
Jim?’ Frona is still moving towards them. Sarah steps out of the shadows. ‘Ah Sarah,’ Frona exclaims as she spots her, too, ‘I was wondering where you were.’

Nicolao
s leans half into the light. A shower of cascading sparkles fills the sky and a hissing noise accompanies the display, lighting all three of them up. Frona does not miss a step but her eyes widen at the sight of Nicolaos. She scans across to Jim. ‘Ah how lovely,’ she begins, but she pushes her sleeves up to her elbows as if preparing herself for hard work—or a fight.

‘
Mama, go back to the house. I’ll be with you in a minute.’ Jim does not take his eyes from Nicolaos.

‘
No Jim.’ Frona stands her ground. Now Jim looks at her. ‘Nicolaos has been excluded from this family for too long.’

‘
He knows why.’ Jim does not seem to be an international businessman to Sarah at the moment; rather he is a small, angry boy. Nicolaos puts his hands in his front pockets and stands tall.

‘
Perhaps you should ask him how his marriage is, Jim. Perhaps you should think about who you care about most: his wife or your brother.’

‘
There is more to it than that.’ Jim scowls.

‘
Yes, Nicolaos saved you from the life he led, which has not been a happy one.’

‘
Karma,’ Jim snarls like a sulking teenager.

‘
Oh grow up, Jim,’ Frona spits. ‘She has gone now anyway. Nicolaos has sent her the divorce papers to sign. You have no more excuses.’ Frona takes a step nearer him. She looks ready to slap the back of Jim’s legs.

‘
Is that true?’ Jim asks Nicolaos. His face is hard to see. There is a pause in the fireworks and the floodlights on the lawn behind him are bright. The blaze makes his expression indiscernible, but his voice has lost its edge.

‘
Haven’t seen her since I moved here two years ago. Sent her the divorce papers, just waiting for the Decree Nisi.’ Nicolaos shows no emotion. Sarah wonders if she should sidle away. It feels like an old family argument and it is hardly her place to be there.

‘
I thought you guys would be for life.’ There is a softness to Jim’s voice now. He takes the cartridge out of the cocked gun over his arm and, closing it with a snap, he leans it against the dog pen, putting the cartridges in his pocket. He then cocks the armed gun and, pocketing the cartridge, he leans that next to the first. Once his hands are empty, he puts them in his front pockets. The two brothers, mirroring each other’s postures.

‘
Thought wrong then, mate.’ Nicolaos lets his Autralian accent out. ‘Wouldn’t have a beer, would you?’ It is spoken to suggest there is more meaning than the simple words, a repeat of history perhaps, an old private joke maybe?

Jim hesitates.

‘Oh for the love of God almighty.’ Frona crosses herself. ‘Enough. Hug and make up,’ she demands and pushes Jim by his elbow. Nicolaos takes his hands from his pocket and, opening his arms, takes a step and engulfs Jim, who looks neat and small inside his brother’s bear hug.

‘
After all, we cannot have Helena married without me. I am her godfather.’ Nicolaos releases Jim and slaps him on the shoulder. ‘Now, where’s that beer?’ Jim gives Sarah one last quizzical look before taking his brother, who has an arm around his neck, toward the drinks. They cover no more than a few feet when Jim introduces him to a guest, first one and then another. At first, he sounds tentative but as his introductions begin to flow, he becomes sure and then proud. He introduces Nicolaos to one person after another and they make no ground at all.

‘
Ridiculous,’ Frona says to Sarah. ‘They don’t talk for years, and then all it takes is the want of a beer.’ She huffs and takes Sarah’s arm. ‘Have you just arrived? Can I get you a drink? Oh and Jim says yes, by the way—to our plan. Told him I was not going to the wedding until he agreed.’ Frona thinks this is funny and cackles, her hand going to her mouth, her head lowering as if she has been caught doing something naughty but fun.

They reach a long table covered with bottles before Jim and Nicolaos, who are
side-tracked with introductions. The bartender asks Frona and Sarah what they would enjoy, first, presumably, in Greek, but in the same breath, also in English.

‘
You look very nice all dressed up. We’ll have champagne.’ Frona makes the bartender blush. In doing so, he loses all traces of manhood and it shows him for the boy he is. He hands them a glass each and Frona smiles.

‘
Known his mother since she was a baby.’ They turn to face the party.

‘
So, to my united boys and to a united us.’ Frona lifts a glass. Sarah hesitates. ‘What is it?’ the old woman asks.

‘
I have yet to tell the boys. And Laurence.’ Sarah can see Laurence with Neville inside the hall, looking at the lilies on the pool. Liz is still leaning heavily against the doorframe, drink in hand.

‘
Ah yes.’ Frona sighs. ‘After the wedding, I think.’

The bouzouki player has begun again
, and Frona turns to watch.

‘
Do you know all the Greek dances?’ Sarah asks as she watches one or two people form a line.

‘
Vevea
,’ Frona says. Sarah presumes by the way she has said this word it means
sure
or
of course
. ‘Come on, I teach you this one. It is easy.’ Frona gives her half-full glass back to the bartender. Sarah puts her empty glass on the table and Frona leads her to the area cleared for dancing. There is a line of people snaking around the space but Frona ignores them, puts an arm around Sarah’s waist and begins to shuffle, first two steps forward, then a half step back, then forward. It is not clear what she is doing, her feet move so little. Sarah looks to the younger, more energetic dancers to see where her feet should be and between Frona and watching the other dancers, she finds it is indeed very easy. Her movements gain a spring as she grows in confidence. After a couple of minutes, Frona pushes Sarah to the main line of people and goes to sit down. ‘I am too old for all this,’ she calls. ‘You dance for us both, Sarah.’