Uphill All the Way (14 page)

Judith felt her toes curling off the floor as if the snake might be slithering towards her. 'That would harm him, would it?'

He nodded earnestly. 'Of course. Snakes are alive, they breathe air, drink water and like sunshine, just like us.'

'They're not like us at all! A
snake
, yuk! A
snake
in my house. And this is what you term
annoying
?' She hadn't even liked the eels she'd come across on dives, and eels weren't snakes. They were fish, even if, occasionally, they had a bit of attitude.

'I'm really sorry, Judith. But it's not his fault he's a snake. If you'll just give me a chance to find him...'

She shuddered, thinking words she didn't like, such as
slither
and
coil
. 'Snakes are green and slimy.'

His half-smile tipped one corner of his mouth. 'Not Fingers. Autumn colours. Rather pretty. And snakes aren't slimy.'

She shucked this minor point off. 'Where could he be hiding?'

'Well, I've already checked my stuff, inside my sofa and chairs, for instance. So I'm thinking now about under your floorboards, or behind the fire. Under the kitchen units...'

'Fantastic.'

'Sorry.'

'
Bloody
fantastic!'

'Bloody sorry.'

She glared. If Adam had once been the perfect tenant, those days were certainly over. 'Don't you laugh at me, Adam Leblond!'

'Never, Judith,' he declared, firmly. 'Never in a million years.' But he looked the other way so she couldn't see his face.

He didn't find Fingers that day. Caleb finished the lawn and left with an air of virtuous relief, while Adam systematically took the house apart upstairs. 'Good job you haven't had the new carpet down,' he panted as he pulled the existing carpet off its gripper and began to lever up the floorboards.

'Yes, good job.' She pulled a face. 'How on earth would the snake get down there?'

He flashed his torch into the hollow he'd just exposed. 'They can squeeze their way into seemingly impossible places.'

Judith backed away. 'I don't know whether to feel safer here or in the sitting room. I don't want Fingers jumping out at me.'

He snorted a laugh, his eyes gleaming as he looked up at her. 'Snakes aren't well known for jumping.'

The hunt for Fingers drew to a close at about 9pm. Adam was sheepish. 'Can I come back tomorrow to do the same demolition job on the downstairs?'

She groaned. 'I suppose I've no choice. It's either that or walk around scared to death in case he appears. He just better not slither into bed with me, that's all!'

'He wouldn't dare.'

Judith spent a jumpy and wakeful night, remembering Giorgio telling her the legend of how Malta had no poisonous snakes after St. Paul didn't die after a viper bit him.

And Fingers wasn't poisonous, either. It didn't seem to make much difference. She didn't like snakes.

Where was Fingers? Snakes were nocturnal, weren't they? Adam had told her they fed on rodents, so unless she had a colony of mice beneath the floorboards Fingers would by now be getting hungry. Looking for food. Coming out from hiding.
Slithering
out.
Coiling
up.

She tucked the duvet firmly around her shoulders, and left the light on.

Judith was more than ready to quit the house when Adam appeared the next morning. She felt unsettled and nervous, examining every patch of carpet before stepping on it as she moved around the house. She dropped the spare key into his palm. 'I'm going to have lunch with my stepson, and, no doubt, his ever-present girlfriend. If you find your scaly, slimy friend you can lock up after you when you leave.'

Handbag, fleece, out into the street, glancing up at a cotton wool sky with blue patches.

He stood on the top step, watching her unlock her car. 'Snakes aren't slimy. Did Fingers try to slither into bed with you?'

A horror wriggled up her body. 'No!'

He swung the keys slowly. 'He's a gentleman.'

She made it her business to stay out of the house all day.

First she had lunch with Kieran and, for once, not Bethan. Kieran didn't seem in a very good mood. He hardly smiled at all, and was more interested in gazing morosely at other people in the pub than in holding a conversation.

'Have you and Bethan had words?' Judith tried, gently.

'No!' Horrified, as if she'd asked a rude question.

Hmm, OK, not her business. Maybe Bethan was out with her mates and Kieran was possessive and wanted her always with him. Tom had been the same irksome way. 'How's your dad?'

A snort. 'Much as ever. Loud, opinionated and critical.'

'That does sound a bit like him.'

After lunch, she went to see her mother, who wasn't in a much better mood, mainly, it seemed, because Mrs. Yeats, who sat in the chair opposite Wilma in the lounge, had just received a walking frame of a slightly different design to everyone else's.

'Why does it matter?' Judith was unable to enter into her mother's dissatisfaction.

'If it were anyone but that smug cat,' Wilma responded, obscurely, tapping discontentedly on her own walking frame.

Judith tried to bring up other subjects, Kieran, Molly, Brinham and the new benches they were putting in the market square, but she was aware of her mother's gaze on Mrs. Yeats's walking frame, throughout.

Rather than risking a doleful hat-trick by finding her sister in a bad mood, too, Judith guiltily knocked Molly off her intended visiting list and spent the last couple of hours of the afternoon roaming around The Norbury Centre. Odd to shop on a Sunday after Malta's Sunday-closing policy. She bought two new pair of jeans, one black, one indigo, and a host of items that seemed distinctly lacking in her house - bin bags, a washing up brush, spray polish, dusters, cling film, a basket of multi-coloured pegs, pens, and a turquoise can opener.

Then, hoping that by that time Fingers would be safely corralled, she made for home.

Adam's BMW that he insisted was only just getting in its stride at ten years old was still parked in Lavender Row. She sighed. Honestly, this having space to herself business was not working today.

'Hello-o?' She managed the key with one hand while straining the fingers of the other to grasp six carrier bags, and staggered into the hall. She'd be glad when the carpet was replaced. She didn't like that bit at the bottom of the stairs where there seemed to be the lingering of an unpleasant smell. She stepped over it. 'Adam?'

He appeared from the sitting room, hands in pockets, smile sketchy, his shoulders hunched. 'I need to talk to you.'

She dropped her bags. 'What, now? Can't you find that bloody snake?'

Standing back, he indicated a glass tank on the floor near the sofa, and a red-and-russet shape in a corner half under a piece of wood. 'Under the kitchen units. Come sit down.'

She turned her eyes hurriedly from the tank.
Coiled
. Urrrgh. 'So what have you done this time?'

His voice was very gentle. 'Sit down, Judith.'

She remained on her feet. 'What's happened?'

'Please.'

Flopping down onto the sofa, she groaned. Adam looked as grim as a wet weekend. 'Some new disaster created by Leblond and son? Lost your tarantula, or arranged a rave for next Saturday?'

He waited, very still, very grave, his eyes fixed on hers. She tailed off. His voice became low, and very soft. 'I'm really sorry. But there's some bad news.'

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled up. She had an absurd desire to stroke them flat with her hand. 'What?'

He hesitated. 'Someone's left a message on your answering machine. I didn't answer when the phone rang, of course. But the machine kicked in. And I heard the message.'

Her heart flopped. 'And how do you know what kind of news it is?'

His face twisted. 'It wasn't difficult to recognise as bad news.'

She turned her head and regarded the phone. New and shiny, palest grey. The
message waiting
light blinking red on the base. She swallowed. Rose shakily. Her heartbeat seemed to be in her eyes. Her throat. Her head. Vaguely, she was aware of Adam leaving the room, the sound of water whooshing into the kettle.

With an effort, she pressed the
play
button.

'
You have one new message.
' Difficult to breathe, waiting for the time, the date, the tone. A second's silence, then gentle crying. And Cass's voice. 'Judith, I ring to give you news. This morning... this morning, Giorgio died. They think a clot blocked his heart. He felt nothing, of course, he died very suddenly, with his mama beside him.' Cass began to sob. 'May he sleep peacefully.' Click. '
End of message. You have no more messages.
'

Dimly, beyond the rushing in her ears, she became aware of Adam's return, the shifting of the sofa as he lowered himself onto the cushion, the clunk as he deposited coffee on the low table. The pungent smell hit the back of her throat. She reached out and pressed
play
again. And again. Then he gently stayed her hand.

He gave her the hot mug, china, she noticed, she was glad he'd used the china mugs, she preferred them to the pot ones. He'd given her the white one with roses, and taken pale blue with birds for himself. They were Albert china, she'd bought them as seconds from a shop in London's Piccadilly. He held his left hand over hers on the mug until he was certain she was holding on securely.

Then he was silent. Sipping from his own mug, watching her over the rim as she tried to drink.

'You were close?' he asked eventually.

She nodded. Despite the hot fluid, her teeth chattered, clicking on the rim of the mug. He slipped off the denim shirt he wore over his T-shirt and dropped it around her shoulders, but even this warmth he tried to lend her seemed to simply drain away, leaving her shivering so hard it felt as if the sofa was vibrating.

'Was he...' He hesitated. 'Was he the one?'

She nodded, again. Nodding too hard, like a child.

He breathed out a sigh and ran his hand over his hair. 'So this is a terrible shock.'

For several moments she couldn't speak, couldn't swallow, couldn't breathe. It was as if a huge sob had turned to concrete in her throat.
Giorgio! Oh Giorgio, Giorgio.
Her eyes closed against dancing dots, red and black. Gradually, the sensation receded and her airway cleared.

She lifted her eyes to his. 'This wasn't entirely unanticipated.' She dragged in a deep, quivering breath. 'Giorgio was in a coma.'

Chapter Thirteen

The words revolved around the silent room.

Outside, youngsters called to one another, a dog barked, a woman laughed.

She could almost feel Adam's shock.

'The doctors had classified him as in a persistent vegetative state.' She could give him chapter and verse on coma and PVS, how it's decided what constitutes what, which expert disagrees with which. The way the victim could twitch, grimace, groan without stimulus, but react not at all when stimulus was given. She'd read up on it. A lot. Exhaustively. Absorbed the results of this test case, that campaign, what the Pope said about how victims must be cared for. 'He had an accident, three months ago.'

Three months since Giorgio had been air-lifted to St. Luke's Hospital from the dive site at Ghar Lapsi. Since Charlie Galea had turned up at her flat because he knew she had to be told what Giorgio's parents wouldn't.

All the if only's came crashing back. If only, if only, if only... If only she'd been Giorgio's diving buddy that day, would it have been different? Could she have kept him from harm?
Surely she could have
?

She made herself take another of those long breaths. 'He was in a scuba diving accident. He surfaced, and a jet ski hit him. There was a surface marker buoy to warn that there were divers down. But some jet skiers are menaces. They aren't licensed, they just buy the damned machine and hurl themselves about without bothering about safety rules.'

'I'm sorry.' His voice echoed with compassion.

'You'd think you'd be safe from them at Ghar Lapsi, it's a steep descent to the sea, it would be murder to carry a bloody jet ski down the steps. It's not as if it were Mellieha Bay, a proper beach, where surface water sports are common. Accidents there are not unheard of, there was a girl killed last year.

'But some hooray had sailed his gin palace out from the yacht marina and anchored off Ghar Lapsi. They sometimes carry jet skis on the huge boats. The hoorays came pounding in towards shore, wanted to see the caves, I suppose
ghar
means cave. Probably had no idea it was a dive site or that they shouldn't come within the arm of rocks. Morons.'