David Hewson - The Fallen Angel

‘Even though what?’ she snapped.

‘Even though he killed your father.’

‘Mina!’ Cecilia Gabriel shrieked. The woman stood up, a tall, skinny picture of despair. The girl put her hands to her ears, closed her eyes, let her mouth droop in an expression of teenage disdain that didn’t suit her, didn’t seem real for a moment.

Cecilia Gabriel came and knelt in front of her daughter, taking hold of her hands, trying to unwind the tight fists.

‘What’s he talking about? What. . your uncle ?’

The two of them were so close, they seemed to be a single person.

‘You weren’t supposed to know,’ Cecilia whispered. ‘None of that. You weren’t supposed to. .’

‘Know what?’ the girl yelled, her eyes suddenly alive and desperate, her face full of fury. ‘That the mythical Uncle Simon in England didn’t exist? I’m seventeen, mother. Do you not understand that?’

‘Darling. .’

‘I wasn’t supposed to know he lived here all the time, paying to keep us alive. And in return? Fucking you and Joanne and anything else that moved and you didn’t dare say no, did you, because then. . then. .’

Her features contorted until they were those of an infant gripped by agony.

‘Children shouldn’t use words like that, should they, Mummy? Not a baby like me. Bright Mina. Obedient Mina. The good daughter. The one who was never any trouble.’ She laughed and it was a dry, dead sound. ‘You never saw me in my room with Bernard. He never got round to showing you those pictures he took. Not yet. He was going to. That was what came next. You and me. With him. Maybe Joanne. Robert. Daddy too if he was still alive. That would have been fun, wouldn’t it?’

She leaned forward, stared into her mother’s face and asked, ‘Did he hurt you too? Not just here. .’ She snatched away her hands and tapped her fair hair. ‘I mean hurt ?’

‘Oh God,’ Cecilia Gabriel moaned. ‘Oh God.’

Costa watched them both, wishing he was somewhere else.

‘You could have told me,’ Cecilia Gabriel murmured. ‘You are my child. I would have done something.’

‘What?’ Mina shouted. Then, more quietly, ‘ What ?’

Her fingers went to her mother’s face.

‘He owned us. You. Me. Robert. Daddy. We were just his playthings. We didn’t have a voice. We weren’t even human beings, were we? Just things. Do this or Daddy doesn’t get his treatment. Do this or you’re on the street.’ She fell quiet, staring at her mother, then said very quietly, ‘Things. Not people. You. Me. Robert. Joanne. Daddy. All of us. We were just his toys. And when he did it. .’

The girl closed her eyes. ‘He saw Daddy, didn’t he? He imagined Daddy’s pain, not ours. That was all it was about. Hurting him. Killing him.’

‘What made your uncle hate his own brother so much?’ Costa asked.

Cecilia blinked away the tears, then brushed at her hair.

‘Because Malise was the brighter one. The happier one. Because, whatever problems we had, we were a family. Simon could never have that. He’s a hateful, spiteful, avaricious man. Everything that Malise stood for — honesty, virtue, decency — appalled him.’ She gazed at her daughter, trying to see something that wasn’t there, and said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘For the same reason you never told me,’ Mina replied. ‘Or Daddy. Because I was frightened. Because I was ashamed.’ She closed her eyes. ‘Because I am ashamed.’

She shook her her head as if wishing away the memories.

‘Daddy found out in the end. About me. Bernard told him. Bernard boasted . He couldn’t stop himself, could he? All his conquests.’

‘Stop it!’

Falcone sat stony-faced and shocked in his chair. Grimaldi had a hand to his florid face, thinking. Costa listened to every word, every syllable, making the links.

‘Where is Bernard Santacroce now?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Cecilia Gabriel murmured, shaking her head. ‘Really I don’t.’

‘He can hear,’ the girl said. ‘ Everywhere. He can hear us. He knows.’

‘No, Mina,’ Costa told her. ‘He can’t harm you.’

‘Really?’ The child again, scared, resentful. ‘He said he’d kill Daddy and he did. He said he’d kill Robert and he did.’ She looked at her mother. ‘Then you. Then me. If I told. . If I told. .’

Gently, Costa took both her arms and tried to look into her lost, damp eyes.

‘He’s never going to harm anyone again,’ he said. ‘I promise.’

It was like opening the floodgates on a dam that had been waiting to burst. When Mina Gabriel began to speak it seemed she couldn’t stop. They sat and listened. Not making notes. It seemed unnecessary. Impertinent.

‘I told you. I’m not bad ,’ the girl said. ‘Robert wasn’t either. He just wanted money. We all did. Bernard had so much. He seemed so generous.’

‘When did you know he was your uncle?’ Costa asked.

‘The first time it happened,’ she said straight away. ‘It was his way of introducing the idea I suppose. His way of telling me how. . why he wanted to. .’ Her voice changed, became sarcastic. ‘. . help . I knew about Robert and the drugs. I never understood that, not till then. Bernard’s generosity always came with a price. For Robert it was doing what he did down the Campo. Bernard said he had all the money in the world. Daddy could have as much as he needed so long as we offered a little something in return.’

She stared at Grimaldi and Falcone, both of them rapt, silent, horrified.

‘Love, he called it. Love. That’s what families are about, isn’t it? For some reason, he and Daddy. . it had never happened. So the rest of us made amends.’

Costa had fetched her a glass of water. She took a sip before continuing.

‘It was supposed to be a game at first.’ She shrugged. ‘A touch. A silly little thing, nothing really. Horseplay. That didn’t last long.’

Her eyes went to the window and the palm trees swaying idly outside.

‘One day he took me to that room in the basement in Joanne’s place and I realized it wasn’t a game at all. He said he went there with Joanne too. That way he could keep helping her with all the debts on the building.’

She continued to stare at the bright blue day outside, as if she didn’t want to see them as she said this.

‘Then he told me.’ She turned abruptly and looked at her mother. There was the briefest of smiles. ‘That I wasn’t the only one in the family. It wasn’t just Joanne and me.’

‘Oh God, Mina,’ Cecilia Gabriel gasped.

‘What was I supposed to tell you?’ Mina asked. ‘That I knew he was making you have sex with him? Just because he could?’

‘You could have said!’

‘No,’ she said simply. ‘I couldn’t. Any more than you.’

She turned to Costa, steeling herself as if this was meant to be matter-of-fact.

‘Daddy didn’t know until the end. I wasn’t enough for Bernard, you see. Nothing ever was. He hated Daddy. Wanted to grind him into the dust, make him crawl, make him miserable. A worm, he said. That’s what your father is. Bernard would tell me all the things he made Daddy do.’ Her mouth fell into a bitter, hard line. ‘Things with Joanne. Cruel, hurtful things. It was either that or he lost his job, what money we had. Everything.’ The briefest of sighs, a shake of her head. ‘I don’t know why he despised him so much. His own brother. He said it was like that from the beginning. From when they were little. Daddy was always the brighter one, the charming one, the child everyone loved most. Then when he had a little fame and notoriety for a while. .’

She took a deep breath and the expression in her eyes was that of the girl in the portrait of Beatrice Cenci, exactly.