The Last Witness

‘Come on! Come on!’ Lorenzo screamed, glancing across and suddenly registering what had happened.

‘A couple more in the same spot should do it!’

‘But quick, huh!’ Lorenzo’s eyes were fixed back on the lights ahead, faint sweat beads popping on his forehead. He could see now that it was a large truck. But they’d still be able to swing back in time.

Nunzio got aimed square-on again, but then the Cadillac suddenly swung in towards them at the last second, startling him — it swerving away or pulling forward again would have been the natural reaction. He squeezed off the shots anyway, saw two more star bursts appear to the right of the first just before Jean-Paul’s face loomed inches away and the Cadillac crunched against them.

They drifted away a few yards, and Lorenzo juggled frantically with the wheel, pulling them back in. His eyes opened wider. The truck was bearing down hard, its air-horn blaring — but they should still make it in time. He accelerated to cut in front of Jean-Paul, but at that instant the Cadillac swung towards them again. Another shot squeezed off by Nunzio, and Lorenzo had anticipated this time by turning his wheel back in just before impact.

But it was no contest — the Cadillac was almost twice their car’s weight, and the shunt was much harder this time. They careened wildly towards the truck as Lorenzo tried to make a last second compensation with the wheel.

Too sharp. ‘What the…’ The back swung around and they slued totally out of control.

The screeching of tyres and air-brakes filled the air. The truck driver had expected them to cut in, or even if they pulled over slightly there’d have still been room for him to pass — so he was late braking. The car fish-tailed at the last moment and he hit it broadside, staving in the driver’s side and carrying it along for ten yards before the momentum rolled it over: it turned through 480? coming to rest on its roof.

The driver finally managed to come to a halt five yards short of the mangled wreck. He jumped out, not sure whether to advance closer or get clear. The driver he could see had been killed instantly, but he was trying to judge whether there was any movement from the passenger when the spilt petrol igniting made the decision for him. The flames quickly leapt higher, and he was only eight paces into his sprint away when the whole thing blew.

Jean-Paul had pulled over fifty yards down on the far side and they’d got out of the car. Jean-Paul braced one hand on the Cadillac roof as they looked on. His father had bought the car in the midst of their battles with the Cacchiones: it hadn’t been able to save Pascal, but his father would have been smiling on at them now if he could see the good use it had been put to. Something from the past to allow them to escape to the future: somehow fitting.

As the explosion came, he could see for a second the excitement reflected in Raphael’s eyes — the stock reaction of the video-game generation — then as it dawned on the boy how close they’d come to death themselves, his face crumpled and he pulled in close as his father hugged him tight. Lillian gently clasped Jean- Paul’s hand over Raphael’s shoulder — but still the circle wasn’t complete, Jean-Paul reminded himself. If Roman got to Georges, Simone never would be reaching out for his hand.

THIRTY-FIVE

So many emotions.

Elena knew already what he looked like from photos at the Donatiens, so she found herself studying other things: the way he moved, the inflection in his voice, the way he looked at her and smiled — what few smiles there were.

She’d spun so much around in her head of what to say that in the end she was tongue-tied. She just stood there stuttering ‘How are you?’ Then, realizing she’d already said that on greeting, added hastily, ‘It’s so good to see you at last.’ And she wasn’t even sure whether to hug him — whether that would be too bold, presumptuous.

So in the end she was rooted stock still, blinking like an idiot — she was still adjusting after her hours in the darkness. And as he’d finally advanced a step, smiling hesitantly — possibly in response to how awkward and nervous she must have looked — they embraced. But it was still slightly stiff, almost formal — far from the emotional catharsis she’d envisioned. She could feel the barriers of three decades without contact with that first touch. They wouldn’t be torn down in the first minutes, or even in the few hours she had.

But as they sat down and someone called Russell offered her coffee, at least they started to make progress. She hesitatingly started to explain, but as she faltered at one point, not sure where to head next, the questions started coming: My father, what was he like? And your father? How old did you say you were when it all happened? Where did you live then? Were you long at the orphanage — did you look around much? So you found out through my stepfather’s brother: I haven’t seen him since I was a child — what’s he like now?

At first she was glad of the questions, she no longer had to think of what to say next to explain. But at some point they started to feel slightly mechanical, as if she was at a job interview: Georges gauging if she was good enough material to actually be his mother, or if she could score enough points for him ever to be able to forgive her; she could clearly pick up the anger in his undertone on some words. And she’d already started to become uncertain again, fumble slightly, her hand trembling on her coffee cup as she sipped at it — when the crunch question came:

‘You having to give me away I can understand — you were so young. But why didn’t you try and find me in the years since?’ He shook his head and looked down morosely, his eyes slowly lifting again to meet hers challengingly. ‘All those years. Why?’

And she started to stumble through the rest: her blanking it from her mind, her work with orphaned children to try and bury the guilt, telling herself all along that he’d have gone to a good home somewhere — until Ryall and Lorena. But as she got to that point and her thoughts turned again to what Lorena was now facing and the nightmare odyssey that had brought her here: Lowndes, the Stephanous, the orphanage, tears streaming on the phone to her mother when she learnt the truth about her father — all those years wasted not only with her son lost from her, but harbouring a grudge that was long-since misplaced — her eyes started filling. She’d got so much wrong for so long. That was a loss that she’d never make good on, let alone in these few hours now.

As her body started gently quaking and she dabbed at the tears with the back of one hand, he moved closer and hugged her again then.

‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry to push you so.’ He gently patted her back. ‘It’s just… just that I felt I needed to know.’

‘No, no… it’s okay.’ She sniffled back, got more control. ‘You have every right to know.’ And within the space of the time they’d been talking, she felt that his embrace was suddenly different: more open, welcoming. Maybe there was hope yet that she’d be able to break down the barriers.

As they broke from the embrace and Georges surveyed her face — saw the shadows of the years of pain and guilt in her eyes — that was the first moment he could truly say he warmed to her. He’d spent the first forty minutes clinging tight to his own long built-up resentment for anything else to filter through. But it came more through admiration than any emotional bond or love — maybe that would come later. In that moment he appreciated and admired what she’d gone through to try and see him. She could so easily have just shrugged and turned her back on him for the other half of her life, saved herself the grief.

He smiled ruefully. ‘Explains one thing. You father being a hot-shot banker.’ He’d always had trouble relating to Nicholas Stephanous’ weak-spirited defeatism, wondering how he could possibly be of the same blood. But he wondered now if that too was what had made him look up so to Jean-Paul: the image of the proper patriarch in his mind inescapably entwined with money and power.

‘Oh, I see.’ Elena was a second late catching on. She remembered the Donatiens telling her that Georges was in banking.

Their hands were the last thing to part, and there was an awkward lull for a second. Elena glanced towards