Read Online The Hiding Place by Trezza Azzopardi - Free Book Online Page B

Jackson boys – has put my mother’s recipe books in a neat pile. Celesta reaches in, lifts one from the top
– Cooking with Your New World Oven! – and the cover comes away in her hands. She looks at the illustration on the front, a smiling woman in a frilly apron and high heels,
and thinks it strange that everything is so burnt and yet so wet.
    There’s a sound of squeaking: it comes from the blackened chairs, groaning in the wind. A spill of water on the flags is streaked with specks of charcoal. The girls in their belted
raincoats stand and watch her.
    Come on, Celesta says, sick of it. Let’s go.
    ~  ~  ~
    Frankie can’t believe what he’s just heard. It’s ridiculous. It’s so stupid, it makes him laugh out loud. The sound of his voice in the hallway is eerie;
he feels he wants to laugh again, and does, deliberately this time: it comes out high-pitched and hollow. Frankie sees Ilya coming up the stairs, clutching the glass he’d been sent for, and
the urge to put out his foot and kick him full-on, in the belly, is almost too much for my father. He’d like to watch him plummet to the bottom, preferably in slow motion. Ilya waits at the
turn of the staircase, says something low as Frankie passes. Frankie doesn’t quite catch it.
    You what? he says, turning and looking at the man. Ilya holds out the empty glass. Frankie puts two fingers over the rim of the tumbler, tugs at it.
    I said, Fly away home, Little Bug, and Ilya laughs then, his fingers flicking the air as he finally lets go.
    Frankie clenches the glass in his fist, ready, but Ilya turns away, running up the last flight of stairs. Frankie can leave it for now, he has other things to think about. He
swings open the door at the foot of the stairs. My father hasn’t said Yes or No to Joe’s proposition: he needs to talk to someone before he makes up his mind.
    The cafe is in semi-darkness, and the man behind the counter is not Salvatore – but Frankie knows him: Martineau is pouring himself a large brandy. Frankie looks at him, and then sees the
Tin on the bar, and looks again. Martineau holds out the bottle, gesturing to the tumbler in my father’s hand.
    You’ll need it, he says. Salvatore appears from the kitchen. He has one arm in his jacket, moving fast for a big man.
    Frankie! Ilya tell you? he shouts, sweeping round the counter, Incendio! Your house!
    Martineau gulps back the drink, catches Frankie’s hot look, holds up his hands.
    Not me, my friend, never. Never. Frankie feels the cafe close in around him. For the first time today he wants to think about my mother. He wants to be where she is. He looks at
Martineau.
    Mary?
    She’s at the hospital. She’s alright, Frankie! he calls to my father’s back. But Martineau can’t find the words to tell him that I’m not.
    Frankie runs from the cafe, out into the street, out into the rain which courses off his glossy head. On the counter in The Moonlight sits his forgotten hat. Salvatore catches it up in his hand
as he follows Frankie to the hospital.
    ~  ~  ~
    A slight roughness to the touch; Joe Medora sweeps his palms back and fore across the blotter on his desk, enjoying the sensation. And how smoothly Frankie took his offer! Not a
sign in his face: a shame he’s not so good at poker, thinks Joe. He’s given Frankie a day or so for a decision – the deal is very delicate.
    What Joe wants is simple; he wants Marina. After all, he thinks, Marina is my daughter. He thinks, but he can’t be sure. He is sure: he’s seen her, he’s seen his blood
in her. He stares at the blotter, picturing Mary, and only half-registers Ilya’s soft step into the room. But Joe can’t ignore the quick snort of his laugh.
    You won’t believe, says Ilya, his face open with amusement, Frankie’s bad luck. Joe looks up at this.
    What now? Ilya kisses his fingers to his lips, blows them away in a flutter.
    A fire, Boss. He’s had A Fire. His house is Burnt. Joe is icy now; sees that Ilya