Duplicity

This story is by Sean Richardson and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

‘Anton,’ I say. ‘Don’t you dare!’

‘Aunty, no!’

The sting on my hand reverberates to my wrist. My stomach twists into a knot. The red blush on his cheek brightens, I did not mean to strike him so hard.

Tears form in his eyes, his bottom lip quivers but he holds strong. Changing schools has toughened him.

‘What the hell is going on here?’ I take a step back from my sister’s child. Ilaria’s scowl sends a shiver rippling over me. ‘Why are you yelling at him?’

He flicks a sideways glance at me and brushes past his mother. Now it is just me and Ilaria. The yellow afternoon sun is fading over the field, carving an outline of the olive trees, prickly pears, and rock borders of Father’s farm. The white light hovering over Mother’s patio wrestles the evening light to paint its own soft shadows. I gulp, the anxiety floods me. Is this the moment?

I can’t lie to my sister, can I? After Father’s death this could finally tear us apart. I need her more than ever.

‘Anton upset me, talking nonsense, lying that he has a secret to tell everyone.’ I avoid her gaze. ‘You, yourself, said he was having trouble settling into the new school and has been talking nonsense.’

‘What was he lying about? I will discipline him; I have had enough of his behaviour.’

‘What would you do to him?’ I ask.

Ilaria describes the punishment. The bile rises to the back of my throat. Memories surge, sweeping in the disgust I felt when our father would inflict that punishment for lying. I would have been Anton’s age, when I experienced the worst of Fathers’ discipline. I know Ilaria had also suffered that fate.

She will ask him what is his secret and I’m encouraging him to deceive his mother. I can’t subject Anton to that fate.

The evening silence is only broken by the grunt and squeal of the hungry pigs.

Ilaria rocks back on her heels. ‘Marica, are you ok? You look a ghostly white.’

‘I feel terrible for yelling at Anton. I will talk to him, and apologise.’

She sips from her glass of white wine. I look at the glass of wine, the light glints on its edge, winking at me to tell her the truth. Except the truth will shred the last threads that bind us.

‘And?’

‘There is so much going on. Tomorrow I could lose my job. And this fight with Father’s bank, how will we care for Mother?’

‘We all have our challenges. That anonymous complaint from the old school is creating havoc with my law practice. That will set me back years. And forcing us to move the children, the poor dears are struggling to settle into the new school. But we will survive.’

The school complaint was raised because of me. She still does not know. I’m surprised that Anton has not told Ilaria what he saw.

That day, Kallista, and not her usual nanny, had come to pick up her children. She marched towards me, furious.

‘I know what you’ve done,’ she spat in front of the other parents.

I had manipulated her nanny to learn details about her family’s criminal business. I never planned to use Ilaria’s children as a way into that family.

The favour, to pickup Ilaria’s children each Thursday, presented an opening when I discovered they attended the same school. I hadn’t meant to manipulate things this far, but it was the last chance to save my job as a financial investigator.

I had been pursuing her husband’s business for two years, but having failed to make the allegations of money laundering indisputable, I was desperate to save my career.

Anton came through the gate as Kallista exploded, she hurled threats to destroy me. I snapped at her, and she turned to Anton snarling, ‘your Aunty is the devil!’

I told Anton not to tell his mother and that I would protect them. Now he said he can’t keep the secret.

The summer evening closes in, sweat forms on my forehead.

‘Are you alright?’ Ilaria watches me. ‘Do you want to talk?’

I lick my lips. She was always his favourite. After Father’s death we bickered, picking over old wounds. We needed professional help to reconcile us and save the family farm after the tragedy.

The children appear at the door, asking can they have ice-cream, Nanna said they could. I look at Anton and Sara, enduring the bullying at the new school. I could draw the line here.

We follow them inside to the kitchen. I spy the set of horns above the doorway, to ward off evil spirits. A silly old Maltese tradition, what if the evil spirit is already within your home?

Ilaria scoops generous amounts of ice-cream into their bowls, sending them on their way. She looks at me, ‘Could cheer you up, a good spot of sugar?’

The ice-cream container is held towards me. I glance away. Something in my stomach conspires to erupt with the thought of ice-cream mixing with anxiety, or is it guilt?

‘Ilaria?’ I take a deep breath. She turns to me, licking the spoon, a spot of ice cream on her nose. My God we are children! The warmth of the moment can’t melt the cold dread in my stomach. ‘The incident at the school…’

She stands staring at me. She trusted me with her children.

I look for a way to ease into it, but the weight of my secret presses down. Unusually, I am lost for words.

‘I must tell you about what I did.’ The words catch in my throat. ‘I didn’t mean for it to happen.’ The words tumble out, ‘But I spied on Kallista Farrugia, using a relationship I formed with her nanny.’

I watch her face, searching for a flicker of understanding.

The spoon clatters into the metal sink. Time freezes as she processes my words.

‘What were you thinking?’ Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step forward, her voice sharp, ‘My children, your niece and nephew, and you couldn’t stop yourself!’

She steps closer but I can feel the threads snapping. Her words slice through me. I have no response. She locks the door, separating us from the rest of the family and unleashes. I wait for her to exhaust herself, to return to normal but her fiery invective shows no sign of petering out.

I fail at calming the situation.

‘It doesn’t change what you did. Now I must clean up the mess.’

‘But please understand.’

She laughs bitterly. ‘You understand – you betrayed my trust.’ Her expression softens slightly, a hint of understanding flickering beneath the pain. ‘But I know you – your judgement gets clouded when you are on a mission, it damages your life, your work, your marriage.’

Ilaria drinks down the remaining half a glass of wine. She scrapes a rare tear from her cheek. ‘I want to fix this. Before it is too late.’

A rush of relief mingles with guilt.
‘No more secrets, understand?’ Her voice is firm yet calm. ‘I must tell you about Father’s death.’

What could she tell me? I had found him.

‘Father! Help, Help! Someone.’ My scream, still rings in my ears.

His chest sliced open, his white singlet slashed and soaked in blood, gurgling on the floor, lying next to the machine, its blades whirring – not caring what it had just done. An accident.
Her voice brings me back to the present.

‘He had made a scene about going to evening Mass. Mother was in tears. He refused to go, to say thank you to a God who was taking away his mind. And he had work to do in the shed, so the animals could be fed and sheltered for the evening.’

Ilaria had called me, telling me she had reached the end of her patience and was taking Mother to Mass. I needed to come, to talk to Father. I was busy and had arrived later to the house than what I had told Ilaria.

‘He said his body ached. You know how he can be,’ she pleaded.

What the hell happened? He can turn on the charm, more to Ilaria, his favourite, than to me.

‘I let him have a drink, I know you told me he was not to drink because of his dementia medication; making him more irrational. But you were always too controlling. Later, I realised it was for the right reasons.’

Now I understand. He started the machine to chop the food for the animals. He had forgotten we had prepared food the day before.

‘In the commotion, I forgot to lock away the whiskey. If it’s a second chance you’re after, then I too need one. I have nightmares, and I did not find Father – you did.’

I reach out and hold her hand.

‘We both have secrets to keep.’