A Mother's Trust (3 page)

Refusing to return Paxman’s ironic smile, she felt anger roil in her belly. She would not see her mother tread the path that had led to the death of her beloved Paulo. Phoebe knew that the men her mother flirted with meant nothing to her, and her addiction to strong drink was a feeble attempt to escape from the hopelessness of her situation. Ma might be weak, but she was a good woman at heart. Of that Phoebe was certain. She snatched the glass from her mother’s hand. ‘No, Ma. You’ve had enough.’

Paxman sat astride a chair, and his eyes mocked her. ‘Isn’t that up to your mother, Miss Giamatti?’

Phoebe knew that he was laughing at her and this only added to her sense of anger and frustration. ‘Mind your own business, Rogue Paxman. I’m taking my mother home. She’s not well.’

Annie had paled visibly and Gino was plucking nervously at Phoebe’s sleeve. ‘Come, cara,’ he whispered. ‘This is not good.’

‘Sensible chap,’ Paxman said lazily. ‘Take the little tigress home where she belongs.’

Annie made a grab for the glass, but Phoebe held it out of her reach. ‘No, Ma. You’ll make yourself ill again.’

Two bright spots of colour stood out on Annie’s cheeks. ‘I’m your mother, Phoebe. You’ll do as I say. Give me my drink.’

‘Yes, don’t be a silly girl,’ Paxman said, grinning. ‘Go home and play with your dolls, or polish your crystal ball.’

Taking a deep breath, Phoebe tossed back the gin with a defiant flick of her wrist, but the unaccustomed spirit caught the back of her throat and she coughed and spluttered as she struggled for breath. Tears ran down her cheeks and someone was slapping her on the back. A handkerchief was thrust into her hands and she mopped her streaming eyes.

‘That will teach you not to do stupid things,’ Paxman said, chuckling.

Realising that it was his hanky that she held in her hand, Phoebe thrust it back at him. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘Come now,’ Gino urged, eyeing Paxman nervously. ‘This is no place for you, Phoebe.’

‘Quite right, Gino, my boy.’ Paxman nodded in approval. ‘Take her away from here.’

Phoebe drew herself up to her full height. ‘Go away, Gino. This has nothing to do with you.’ Ignoring his muttered protests, she reached out again to her mother. ‘Please come home, Ma.’ She blinked as the room seemed to tilt sideways, or perhaps it was her head that was spinning. She could not work out which, but the gin was certainly having an effect. ‘Please, Ma,’ she added faintly.

Annie rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘You stupid girl. Get out of here.’ She raised her hand as if to slap Phoebe’s face but the blow never landed. Annie’s knees buckled and she slipped silently to the ground.

Paxman stood up. ‘What a pair you are,’ he said dispassionately.

Phoebe’s senses were still dulled from the aftereffects of swallowing strong spirits on an empty stomach, and she gazed down at her mother in disbelief. She had seen Ma swipey on many occasions but never insensible. ‘Are you all right, Ma?’

‘I’ll get help,’ Gino said, backing away through the interested crowd of onlookers.

‘Don’t bother.’ Paxman bent down to scoop Annie up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather pillow. ‘Let’s get this woman home where she belongs.’

Phoebe’s head was beginning to ache and she was in no condition to argue. She followed him as he carried Annie out of the pub and down the street towards the Giamattis’ tall, narrow house, wedged in between a shop selling milk and a hay merchant. Gino had run on ahead despite Phoebe’s pleas for him to stop. She saw her grandfather emerge from the house and she could tell by the way his bushy eyebrows met over the bridge of his nose and the scowl on his face that there was going to be trouble.

Fabio stepped into the street, rolling up his sleeves. ‘What is all this?’

‘It’s nothing, Nonno,’ Phoebe said hastily. ‘Ma fainted. That’s all.’

Fabio leaned closer to her. ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No. Well, yes. But I can explain.’

Fabio caught her a blow round the head that sent Phoebe spinning across the cobblestones and she landed in a heap on the doorstep, clutching her sore ear. ‘What have I told you about liquor? It’s the way of the devil, my girl.’

Paxman thrust Annie’s limp body into Fabio’s arms. ‘And I’m supposed to be the villain round here. I’ve never hit a woman, old man. Take this one and keep her safe.’ He strode across to lift Phoebe to her feet. ‘Are you all right?’

She nodded, pulling away from him. ‘I don’t need your help.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Tell Annie to keep away from Ned,’ he said in a low voice. ‘That’s what I was going to say to her. Your mother plays a dangerous game, Phoebe. She doesn’t know what she is getting into. Take her to Italy in the autumn if you can, but if you value her life, then make certain she keeps away from my brother and that bastard, Amos Snape.’

INSIDE THE HOUSE
, Fabio carried Annie up three flights of stairs to the attic room she shared with Phoebe. He laid her down on the iron bedstead, straightening his back and running his hand through his hair as he met Phoebe’s reproachful gaze. ‘I’m sorry, cara. That’s the first time I’ve ever raised my hand to you and it will be the last, but I can’t bear the thought that you will turn out like her.’ He looked down at Annie’s prostrate form, shaking his head. ‘Strong drink isn’t the answer.’

‘I know,’ Phoebe said softly. ‘It’s all right, Nonno. I only drank the hateful stuff so that Ma wouldn’t. I had to do something to get her away from that brute. I hate him and his whole family.’

Fabio reached out and took her in his arms, hugging her to his broad chest. His apron was spattered with cream and smelt of vanilla. ‘I would rather cut off my hand than hurt you, little one. You must come home to Stresa with us in September. I cannot leave you here with your mamma and her ghosts. It’s not good for you.’

‘Maybe. We’ll see, Nonno.’

He backed towards the doorway, ducking his head as he left the room. ‘Think about it, cara.’

Alone with her mother, Phoebe perched on the
edge
of the bed. Blue bruise-like shadows underlined Annie’s eyes and her skin had a sickly translucent sheen. She stirred and her eyelids fluttered. She gazed dazedly at Phoebe. ‘What happened?’

‘You fainted, Ma. Went out like a light in the pub.’

Annie attempted to sit up, but fell back against the pillows with a groan. ‘Fetch me a bowl. I feel sick.’

Phoebe held her mother’s head as she retched into the washbowl and she cleaned her up afterwards, mopping her face and hands with a damp cloth as if Annie were a small child. ‘Are you feeling better now, Ma?’

‘A bit, ta.’

‘This ain’t the first time you’ve been poorly like this. I know because I heard you outside in the privy. Should I fetch the doctor?’

Annie’s pale lips curved in a wry smile and she lay back, closing her eyes. ‘It’s nothing the quack can help with, Phoebe. So much for seeing into the future and hearing heavenly voices; the angels was all on holiday when I prayed for it not to be true.’

‘Ma?’ Phoebe took her mother’s cold hand and chafed it. ‘Are you ill? Have you got a fever?’

Annie’s blue eyes opened and tears trickled down her cheeks. ‘I wasn’t sure until today, ducks. I thought at thirty-six I was too old to get caught like this.’

‘You can’t be! Surely not?’

Annie pulled her hand free and laid it on her belly. ‘It’s Ned’s. I don’t know if I love or hate the bugger.’

‘Ned Paxman?’ Phoebe released her mother’s hand as if the touch of her skin burned her own flesh. ‘No, Ma. You didn’t. Not with him.’

Sighing, Annie shrugged her shoulders. ‘He’s a good-looking cove, and he makes me laugh. There’s precious little of that around here.’

‘But it was through him that Pa got killed by the Smithfield mob.’

‘They was in it together. It wasn’t Ned’s fault.’

‘But you went with him, Ma. How could you do such a thing?’

‘Ned isn’t all bad, Phoebe. I know I’m too old for the likes of him, but the others was just flirtations. Leading them on was more business than pleasure, but it was different with Ned.’

‘And do you think he’d stand by you?’

‘It was just a bit of a lark for him. I knew that all along, but I couldn’t help meself. He made me feel like I used to when I was a girl in Stepney.’

Phoebe slipped off the bed to pace the floor. ‘If Nonno, Julio and Lorenzo find out about this there’ll be trouble you can’t even begin to imagine, Ma. If the Camorra gets involved there’ll be murder and mayhem.’

Annie curled up on her side, wrapping her arms around her knees. ‘What will they do to me and my baby?’

Phoebe froze, closing her eyes in an attempt to shut out the pictures of bloodlust and revenge flashing before them in quick succession. ‘They mustn’t find out. I don’t know what we’ll do but I’ll think of something.’ She moved to the bed and sat down beside her mother. ‘How far gone are you?’

‘I don’t know. Two or three months. I’m not sure.’

‘It’s the middle of July. In six weeks or so the family will be leaving for Italy.’ Phoebe did a quick calculation in her head. ‘The baby should be due early in the New Year, and the family won’t return until April.’

‘We can’t hide a baby from them, Phoebe. They’ll find out sooner or later.’

Brushing her mother’s damp hair back from her forehead, Phoebe forced her lips into a smile. ‘We’ll sort something out, Ma. In the meantime you mustn’t let on, not to anyone, and you mustn’t see him again. I want you to promise me that, because I hate to think what will happen if the Paxmans find out you’re carrying Ned’s child. It’s not just the baby’s life at stake here, Ma. You’d be in danger yourself.’ Phoebe cocked her head on one side as she heard the faint sound of her grandmother’s voice calling to her. She moved swiftly to open the door. ‘Coming, Nonna.’ She paused on the threshold. ‘Get some rest, Ma. I’ll tell Nonna that you’ve got your monthly and you’re feeling bad.’

‘She’s never liked me,’ Annie murmured sleepily. ‘No one was ever going to be good enough for her precious Paulo.’

Closing the door, Phoebe hurried downstairs to join her grandmother in the kitchen where she was preparing the evening meal of boiled cabbage, bacon and macaroni, the staple diet of the more frugal Italian families who saved every penny they could to fund their eventual return to their native land. Maria Giamatti glanced up from chopping fat bacon to give her granddaughter a sceptical look. ‘She’s drunk again.’

‘No, it’s not that, Nonna. Ma’s not feeling too well.’
Phoebe
picked up a cleaver and began shredding a huge head of cabbage. ‘It’s the usual thing.’

‘In my day young girls did not mention such a topic, and we certainly did not take to our beds. I always said she was no good for my poor Paulo.’ Maria seized a clove of garlic and smashed it with the heel of her hand. ‘A few months in Stresa will put a stop to her wandering off to the pub whenever she feels like it.’

‘Yes, Nonna.’ Phoebe had learned long ago not to argue with her grandmother. Maria’s word was law in the Giamatti household.

‘And there will be no more nonsense about you staying in London with your mamma,’ Maria added, pointing the knife at Phoebe. ‘If you had come home with us last winter you would have been promised to Gino and preparing for your wedding by now. You are a grown woman, Phoebe. Soon you will be on the shelf; an old maid. I was married when I was fifteen and had Paulo the next year, and it was the same for your mamma. Soon you will be too old to have babies. I bet you no see that in your mamma’s crystal ball.’

‘But I don’t love Gino.’ The protest was drawn from Phoebe’s lips before she could stop herself. She knew it was useless to argue with her grandmother but the discovery of her mother’s pregnancy had unnerved her.

Maria threw the chopped bacon into a large pan on the range and tossed in a couple of cloves of garlic. ‘You think I loved Fabio when I married him? No, but I did as my family wished and love came later. Your mamma has filled your head with silly thoughts.’

‘She loved my father.’

‘And now my boy is dead. He would not have got himself mixed up with the high mobs if she hadn’t kept on at him to move out of this house and get a home of their own. She was never satisfied; she always wanted more and more. If Lorenzo and Julio marry good Italian girls they will be content to live in the family home.’

Phoebe cut out the hard core of the cabbage with a flick of the knife. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that maybe the reason for her two uncles remaining single was that their romances ended abruptly when their prospective brides were introduced to their future mother-in-law. But beneath the blustery temperament and belligerent attitude Phoebe knew that her grandmother possessed a kind heart, although it was well hidden. Maria considered that any outward display of affection was a sure sign of weakness, and rarely allowed the tender side of her nature to come to the fore. Phoebe had realised long ago that it could not have been easy for a girl from the mountains of northern Italy to leave her home and make a life for herself and her family in the sooty, crime-ridden East End of London. It had taken courage and fortitude to endure the rigours of setting up a business in competition with all the other immigrant families, many of whom came from the region of Calabria and would undoubtedly have been brigands in their time. Although mostly reformed and turned into respectable citizens, the element of barbarism lurked beneath the surface and the odd revenge killing was not unknown,
especially
amongst the immigrants from the area where the ‘Ndrangheta was a powerful force.

‘Gino is a good boy,’ Maria said, continuing the conversation despite Phoebe’s failure to respond. ‘He comes from a respectable family. He’ll make a good husband and father.’

‘Yes, Nonna. I’ve finished chopping the cabbage. What else would you like me to do?’

‘I would like you to go for a walk with Gino after supper. Every evening he comes to the door and asks you out, and each time you make some excuse. I say give him a chance, Phoebe. I don’t know what you’re waiting for, but you no get a knight in shining armour in Clerkenwell.’