The Old Country

Mateo was still busy and as his D-Day approached the frequency of his emails decreased. Francesca was learning that the instant gratification of email had become addictive. She was so used to sending one and getting a reply almost immediately. Now she could make a cup of tea, do her homework, and write another pointless letter. All in the time it would take Mateo to respond.

He was drifting away again and there was nothing she could do about it.

Until there was. An opportunity turned up out of the blue that would allow her to invite Mateo home to Perth. A debate had been arranged between her school and a local church. It was centred on the perils and possibilities of the Internet.

Frankie’s computer science teacher had suggested that she could lead the school team. She had hesitated, because she had never even been to a debate, never mind taken part in one. But Mr McLaughlin had been persuasive. She knew the topic better than anyone in the school he would say. She was confident and well-spoken, the perfect combination for a successful debater.

So, she had agreed, mostly because Sally had suggested that she should invite Robbie. But as soon as she had accepted both challenges, the reality had hit home.

Fuck. How do I get Mateo to play Robbie? Cunting Fuckflaps, what do I do now?

++++

July 1994

The debate was in three weeks and Frankie knew how busy Mateo’s schedule could be, so she decided to call him. He answered after she let it ring a bit longer than usual.

“Huh?” he mumbled.

“Oh, Mat I’m sorry,” she said, realizing too late that he had flown in from Tokyo that day. “I forgot what day it was. Go back to sleep, I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“It’s alright, Sis,” he responded, his voice clearer. “I had to get up anyway, the phone was ringing.”

Frankie groaned at the silly old joke, but she felt better that he had chosen to make it. After a deep breath, she decided to break it to him gently.

“I fucked up, Mateo,” she said.

That’s gently? I’d hate to hear both barrels. Oh well, in for a penny…

“I accidentally said some things to an annoying girl at school,” she continued. “Now I’m going to look silly and be ostracised from my year group.”

“Lay it on me, Sis,” Mateo replied, “I’ll see if I can offer any advice.”

“Erm, I don’t really need advice, Mattie,” she said. “I sort of need you to come here and fix it for me.” With that, she launched into the whole sorry tale. She suggested that she had got carried away talking about her trip to Sydney. She had used a fake name and shaded him as more of a boyfriend than a brother, to make the girls jealous. It had worked of course, and they had pushed for more juicy details. At which point she had let slip about the harbour trip and, the kiss.

Now she was doing this debate and it was such a big deal and it would be weird if her special boyfriend didn’t come. So, she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. She needed him to bail her out.

“When and where, baby girl?” had been his response. “I’m not Robbie but otherwise it’s pretty close to the truth.”

“I may have mentioned a bit more kissing… and a couple of blowjobs too,” Frankie finished. Her face was aflame, her very soul burning up with shame.

“You mean they think that I haven’t got to tap that fine ass yet?” Mateo said with a chuckle. “I guess that’s your motivation to win the debate right there.”

“Mateo,” Frankie screeched. “You’re talking about sex, that is not funny. I’m super embarrassed here and asking for your help. I’m sorry I’m such a screwup but please don’t make fun of me. This situation is hard enough without that.”

“I wasn’t making fun, Frankie,” Mateo replied, his voice soothing and calm. “I was suggesting that that is what you should tell that skanky bitch at school. Then when I whisk you away after the debate, you’ll have all sorts of ammunition for new stories.”

“You’d do that, for me?” she asked, incredulous.

“No, silly. We’ll come straight back to the house with Papa, but she won’t know that. She’ll have seen me with you and that’s all that matters. I’ll give you a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. Say it was your idea not to kiss on the lips with Papa there. Her sex addled teenage mind will fill in the blanks for you. You probably won’t even have to say anything. It sounds like fun. Now give me that date and location again, I do need to get some sleep.”

“Thank you, Mateo. ILY,” Frankie said as the crushing weight on her chest floated away.

“ILYT, my lil’ damson. See you soon,” Mateo whispered before hanging up.

Francesca clutched the phone handset to her chest as the busy signal blared from its speaker. She had done it.

Sally Fuckin’ Lassiter won’t know what’s hit her.

++++

Francesca did lots of research about the future of the Internet. She discovered that most people didn’t have a connection anything like hers. If they wanted to download a song or a picture it took minutes, not seconds. For most people, their phone wouldn’t work either when they were connected.

That had to change she thought. If it was going to become a success it had to be available all the time, without impacting other services. And it had to be much faster. OK, what would this fast, always-on connection actually be used for? Communication would be a big part of it, she was sure. Her emails with Mateo were great fun. You could plan what you wanted to say which you couldn’t do on the phone. But it got there instantly, unlike a letter. That would be extremely useful for businesses, she thought.

What else? Songs were on there, but it wasn’t strictly legal. That might be a point for the opposition. But what if record companies did it so it was legal? No, music was portable now. She was always running out of batteries for her Walkman. Shopping then? But that would mean millions of delivery trucks crisscrossing the country. No, that would be crazy, she giggled.

So, this was how her thoughts went for the next three weeks. Trying to think of what might become feasible and how people would use it. She considered interviewing people and asking how they might use the Internet. But the first few she asked didn’t even know what she was talking about.

When it came to negatives, she could only think of a few such as pornography and plagiarism. She wondered if people could become addicted to it. She would run upstairs to check her emails as soon as she got home from school. But if there were none, she didn’t sit there poking around for anything else. So, she crossed that off her list.

She practised key phrases, honing the ones that she wanted to say, no matter what. Mr McLaughlin held practice debates at school, and they all seemed to go pretty well. She even ended up tweaking her ideas and strategies somewhat as a result.

And suddenly it was the big day. Mateo’s flight was due in at six and the debate wasn’t due to start until eight, there would be plenty of time.

Papa had tried to help her prepare but he had been hopeless. No, Francesca thought that wasn’t fair. He had been helpless because he didn’t understand what the Internet was in the first place. But his bewilderment had led Frankie to think about a major pitfall of the technology. Whole generations of people were going to be left behind by it. If it became as important as she thought it would, people like her Papa could miss out completely.

But she had worked out what she thought was a strong rebuttal for that argument. It had to be made simple, like TV or a toaster, not complicated and techs like it was now.

No, she decided, the debate would be fine, she was as prepared as she could be. She was in the hall on time and Mateo was coming.

Isn’t he? Where is he? It’s about to start.

From the wings, she scanned the audience and saw Papa. There was an empty seat beside him. She caught his eye and mimed confusion, shrugging and tapping her wrist. All he did was smile, shrug, and give her a thumbs up. Which he followed by blowing her a kiss. She returned it but her anxiety was growing.

It was hot in the hall tonight, with hundreds of parents and parishioners in the audience. Francesca was glad that she had worn a loose, pleated skirt with her favourite white silk blouse. Underneath she wasn’t wearing any hose, although this was becoming the exception with her. Since Sydney, she had become addicted to her silky stockings. She now had multiple pairs in varying designs and colours. What she was wearing however were her skimpiest panties.

They were new, and later in life, she would come to know their type as thongs. She loved them because they were gossamer-light and cool, they didn’t even have a woven gusset. If anyone could have seen up her skirt, her pouting lips would have been clearly visible. She felt confident in them and sexy. Suddenly she was shocked out of her reverie.

It’s fucking Sally, shit.

Sally wasn’t on the debate team, but she was there as a helper, putting out chairs, water, and refreshments.

“Is he running late, Frankie?” she asked archly. “Maybe he’s got better things to do than fly across the country for a stupid high school debate. Those Chinese housekeepers can be very demanding, I hear.”

“Shut up, Sally,” Frankie barked. “I’m nervous enough without you talking shit as usual. His flight was probably delayed, he’ll be here, and you’ll be eating your words before the night is over.”

A bell rang, the debate was starting, and Mateo still wasn’t there.

++++

Shit, shit, shit, shit. Hurry up you fucking donkey.

Mateo’s flight had been delayed. They had had to land in Adelaide for a passenger with a medical emergency. He was in Perth airport now, but he was ninety minutes behind schedule. And now the car rental company couldn’t find the fax from their Sydney office with his booking.

Fuck me pink. This is the sort of thing we should be doing online. Pick your car, pay by credit card, get a confirmation email back. Done, simple, no screw-ups.

“Tell you what mate, forget the Merc,” Mateo said. “I’ll take anything. Whatever three-wheeled clunker you have out the back. Take my money and let me go, I’m desperate here.

“Erm, there’s a Ute which just got returned. It hasn’t been cleaned yet. Just came in from two weeks out in the bush. It’s all I have,” the harried employee said with an apologetic shrug.

“I’ll take it, and give me the full damage waiver, I won’t have time to check it,” Mateo barked. The debate had already started, and he was here, renting a grubby Ute.

Then it arrived at the front door, and he wished it had been a grubby Ute. To be fair it was a Ute. But rather than being merely grubby, it was covered in shit from bumper to bumper.

“There’s no screen wash,” the clerk said, “so I’ve discounted $2.50 off your bill. And there’s no diesel in the tank so I’ve knocked another twenty-five bucks off. Enjoy your vehicle sir.”

But Mateo was already running for the door.

Fucking diesel!

++++

The debate was a disaster. Francesca’s main argument had gone fine, but her teammates were struggling. Frankie was struggling too, struggling not to cry as her eyes were drawn to the still empty seat beside her Papa.

He’s not coming. His bloody work was always more important than me. I’ll never forgive you, Mateo. This was important and you let me down. The one thing I’ve ever asked you for and you screwed me over. I hate you.

As her adversaries droned on, Francesca zoned out and began to self-destruct in her misery.

++++

Mateo’s hands stank of greasy diesel fuel. The cab reeked of cigarette smoke, even with the windows down. He had tried three filling stations before he found one with a diesel pump. But finally, he was fuelled up and ready to unleash the Ute’s full potential.

71 kph flat out. I’ve ridden bicycles faster than this. And this suit will be ruined. Oh, Frankie, I’m so sorry, baby. I’m trying, I will get there. I promise. Come on you rattling turd, come on.

++++

“And now Ms Martin,” said the adjudicator, “can I call upon you to offer a rebuttal?”

Francesca raised her head with a start. She hadn’t heard a thing. She had no idea what the last speaker had been saying.

She turned to the man and asked if she could confer with her teammates.

“Ninety seconds,” he intoned.

She turned to Dale who was sitting beside her. “I fell asleep listening to her, what the hell was she saying?”

“Some shit about Jesus and the bible, I think. I was too busy checkin’ out Sally. She keeps lookin’ over here, do you think she likes me?” he said, leering at the flame-haired girl sitting in the wings.

Frankie questioned her other two colleagues. They suggested that the argument had been that the Internet hadn’t been mentioned in the bible. Therefore, it was evil and shouldn’t be allowed. Frankie sniffed and stood up.

Fuck it, I’m going to have to wing it.

The debate was to be scored by the audience, so Frankie decided to try to get them on her side. Maybe with a little cheeky humour?

“Ms McKenzie, is it?” she asked, eying her opponent. The girl nodded. “Might I ask how you came to the debate this evening? Was it perhaps by… car? Is the car mentioned in the bible? If not, is it inherently evil? Are they to be avoided and shunned by all good people? Has travelling in one corrupted your immortal soul until the end of time? I’m not sure how you can equate the rustic, Bronze Age simplicity of your book, with our modern world.

“But wait, perhaps there is a reference that I had forgotten. There is a car mentioned in the Old Testament, isn’t there? One that belonged to Moses, I believe? Wasn’t it he who came back down the mountain… in his Triumph?”

The hall erupted in laughter and applause. Frankie sat down with a coy smile on her face.

“What the fuck Frankie?” hissed Dale. “You can’t do that, we’ll be disqualified for sure.”

“What?” she asked, aghast.

Before he could answer, the adjudicator rang his bell insistently. As the room quieted, he spoke.

“Two demerit points for Watkins High School. One for a deliberate ad hominem argument and another for incorrect attribution. We shall have no more of that please contestants. The audience will disregard Ms Martin’s errant contribution.”

Frankie hung her head in shame. It was all her fault. They could never recover two demerits, the debate might as well be over. She looked out at the audience, at her smiling Papa. He gave her a double thumbs-up, but the empty chair beside him did nothing.

As the debate continued, Francesca held her head in her hands, close to tears. This was a disaster, and the worst part was still ahead of her when she had to face Sally Lassiter.

++++

Mateo had the windows down to air out the disgusting Ute. Its rattly diesel engine droned on producing its usual pathetic performance. But he was getting closer. In fact, he was finally pulling into the school parking lot. He had made it. He parked in a dark corner, even his towering ego could only take so much humiliation. Turning towards the assembly hall he took off at a run.

+++

“Closing arguments from Watkins High School please?” said the adjudicator. Frankie turned to her team and said, “I can’t do it. I’ve screwed everything up so far. I just can’t.”

“Shut up, Frankie,” said Dale. “That Triumph gag will go down in our school’s lore forever. You’re an absolute legend, it was worth sitting through all this shit just for that. You’ve got this, you’ve practised it. Get up there and nail their asses to the… well you know, church and all that.”

Frankie smiled. Dale was a dick most of the time, but he did a good line in pep talks. After a deep, calming breath she stood up and introduced herself as the final speaker.

“Francesca Martin, Watkins High School, closing arguments.”

There was applause from the floor, and she waited for it to die down before she began. As she drew breath to speak a lone voice rang out from the auditorium.

“You got this, Frankie, go kick their asses. I love you.”

She turned, and there he was. His shirt was untucked, and his collar was askew, but it was her Mateo. Her knight in shining armour, and he had come to rescue her.

With a smile, she turned towards her opponents and let them have both barrels. Right between the eyes. They were toast.

++++

“You would not believe the day I’ve had Papa,” Mateo was saying. They were standing outside looking at the revolting Ute. Even from twenty yards away, the smell was heinous.

“Here,” said Jorge, “use my car. Take Frankie for some ice cream or something, I think she has earned it. I’ll take this thing home, perhaps tomorrow we can wash it. Either that or sandblast it.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Mateo said with a relieved smile. “I don’t think I could drive another inch in that shit stain tonight.”

Jorge laughed and pointed his son back to the school. “Go,” he said. “She will be finished with the photographs and such soon. Go be with your sister, she misses you so much, my boy. It is wonderful for me that you are here, but for her? I do not have the words. Tomorrow we shall talk and clean the Ute. More cleaning than talking I think.”

With that, the old man started up the stinky vehicle and roared off. At little more than walking pace, under a cloud of oily smoke and burning shame.

Mateo walked towards the main school entrance. It looked like some people were gathered at the top of the steps.

“Robbie,” cried an unfamiliar voice. A red-haired girl trotted down the steps and made a beeline for him. “You’re Robbie, Frankie’s mystery friend, aren’t you?” she asked.

“I hope to be much more than that soon,” he said, playing his role to perfection.

“Ooh, would you like me to help you with your shirt? And your collar is all twisted. Here, let me,” she said, reaching up to his neck.

“Don’t worry, kid,” he said, “it won’t be staying on much longer anyway. Here’s my sexy lady now. Thanks for the offer, darling, but I’ve only got eyes for Francesca.”

He held out his hand and took Frankie’s, drawing her close. With agonising slowness, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips, his hands dropping to her hips. As the kiss ended, he said, “Let’s get out of here, baby. We’re in the honeymoon suite at the Hilton and I don’t want the champagne to get warm.”

Without another word they walked off, hand in hand. Francesca put an extra special wiggle into her walk, just for Sally’s benefit. Once they were out of earshot she said, “Thank you, Mateo, so much. Her nose will be out of joint until Christmas.”

“Anything for you, Sis,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

Absolutely fucking anything! Jesus, Mateo, get a grip man. Back together for less than a minute and you’re a slobbering perv all over again.

They reached Papa’s car and separated. “Can we go somewhere for a walk, Mattie? I’m so hyper I need to chill out a bit. Somewhere nice, just the two of us, before we go home?” Francesca said.

“What about a gelato out on the pier?” he asked.

“Oh yes please, we haven’t done that since we were little. What a fantastic idea,” she responded. Francesca was on a high from winning the debate with her Hail Mary closing argument. She could feel the adrenaline rush throughout her body. She felt it in her racing heart and tingling fingers. As Mateo drove them north, those feelings refused to dissipate. If anything, they began to intensify, and move lower down her body.

++++

There was a warm, humid breeze coming in off the ocean. They leaned on the railing at the end of the pier enjoying their rich, creamy dessert. Mateo pointed out to the west where the lights of a few small fishing boats twinkled on the horizon.

“Can you see Africa out there, Frankie?” he asked.

She remembered their silly, childhood game and opened her mouth to answer in kind. But suddenly she understood what playing along would actually mean.

Is that what he wants? Seriously? Of all the nights for me to wear these bloody clothes. OK, Bro, you asked for it.

“I’m too little, Mateo,” she exclaimed in a baby voice. “I need to be up higher. Can you lift me up? I want to see too?”

“Sure, baby,” he laughed. “Climb up here,” he said indicating the middle rung of the railing.

Frankie dropped her empty gelato carton and climbed up on the railing, holding tight to the top rung. Mateo crouched and put his head between her legs. Her bottom settled onto his shoulders, and he stood up slowly. Francesca squealed as she let go of the railing, her hands entwining in his hair. They hadn’t done this for maybe ten years, and she was a lot bigger now.

Mateo realised his mistake almost immediately. He had thought it would be funny to recreate their childhood game. But he had underestimated how much his sister had changed. It was nothing to do with her size or weight though, she felt as light as a feather to him. No, it was more to do with the hot, moist kiss that he felt on the back of his neck.

Frankie had always worn shorts or strides when they were kids, but tonight she was in a flimsy skirt. It had ballooned around his head as he had lifted her and now her bare backside was perched on his shoulders. Her hot, quivering thighs were pressed against his cheeks. And her steaming gash was sealed tight against the nape of his neck. He imagined that he could feel the slight roughness of panties on his skin, but he wasn’t sure, at all.

After the initial shock of their intimate contact wore off, Francesca began to enjoy it.

“I can see it Mateo, Africa. I can see lions and monkeys and there’s even a giraffe,” she cried feeling like a little girl once more. But as she manoeuvred herself to find a better balance she began to feel more like a grown woman. A hot and horny woman. Her pussy lips were smeared against Mateo’s skin. Her filmy panties only served to enhance the delicious friction she was feeling. She pulled on his hair as she shimmied her hips, desperate for the exquisite torture to continue.

Mateo found the situation intensely erotic. A beautiful girl was making intimate, illicit contact with him, in public. As she pulled his hair, the spikes of pain were getting mixed up in the sexy feelings from his neck. A whirlpool of sensual signals roiled in his mind. And above it all, the crowning glory was the taboo. The nasty, dirty fact that these feelings were coming from his baby sister. She was the object of his nightly fantasies and now her slimy pussy juice was pooling on his skin.

His dick was hard, and his heart was racing. His reason was within moments of being swept away. Things were about to happen. Horrible, glorious, wonderful things that could tear his family apart forever.

I have to stop this now, I must.

“Cramp, Frankie,” he exclaimed, hating himself for the flimsy lie. “I’ve got a cramp, I need to put you down, honey.”

He moved towards the railing and bent down. A disappointed Frankie put first one then both feet on the middle rung. Tightening her grip, she allowed him to extricate himself from between her legs. Mateo made a point of massaging the small of his back. He was trying to sell his bluff as he might a risky investment opportunity.

“Someone’s not as strong as he thinks,” Francesca giggled.

“And someone else has got a big fat butt,” he retorted, finishing the game in the traditional fashion.

A soft, buttery butt that felt like molten silk against my skin. Someone who stimulates and excites me more than any woman ever has before. And who I was mere seconds away from dropping onto that railing and, well… railing.

Francesca didn’t know how to feel. She was exhilarated from the intimate contact and disappointed that it had come to an end. But mostly she was confused because her feelings were so much more than physical. Alone in her bed at night she could reproduce sensations like that. Not as intense perhaps, but close. But the feeling of pressure in her chest, the liquid heat between her thighs? Those were new and unique. They were Mateo feelings, ones that only he could induce within her. And they were scary.

Because she knew that they weren’t mere feelings. Oh no, they were a very specific type of feeling, one as old as time itself. It was love. A deep, boundless, sensual love, which filled her soul to the brim. A love so powerful that she had become obsessed with its target, her brother.

The siblings picked up their rubbish and put it in a bin. It was a mundane moment of normality that gave them both time to settle down and control their emotions. Neither felt that they had been particularly successful.

“Let’s go home, Sis,” Mateo said.

Francesca fell into step beside him, and their hands touched accidentally. Both flinched at the fleeting contact, desperate to avoid further awkwardness. Desperate for it to happen again.

++++

Mateo and Jorge sat by the pool the next morning. They had spent an hour power washing the disgusting Ute until it looked at least presentable. The older man had professed a liking for the vehicle. Despite its faults, it was much more practical than his Mercedes.

“Tell them you want one,” Mateo told his father. “The company will be leasing your, no one cares who drives it. I’m sure there are plenty of guys in your office that could be incentivised by a Merc. Just don’t get a diesel one.”

Both men laughed but were cut short when they heard the back door slam. Francesca was walking towards them in a scandalous, lime green bikini. She strutted like a catwalk model, on the balls of her feet, legs straight, back arched. Her breasts were full and perky, her long strides causing them to bump and jostle in a fascinating dance.

“Morning boys,” she said, setting her towel and sunglasses on the lounger beside them. With that, she turned and dived into the pool with nary a splash.

“I worry about her, Mateo,” Jorge said. “She is young, but she spends so much time here with me. I only see the true Frankie when you visit. That sparkle is hidden the rest of the time. She does not go out, and she has never invited a boy over since we moved here. I thought for a time that she liked girls and was ashamed of it. I asked her once and she laughed, telling me that she liked boys just fine. It was just that none of the ones she knew were special enough.”

“Look at her, Papa,” Mateo replied. “She could be on the cover of a magazine. She’ll be off to university in a few months and men will be queuing up to ask her out.”

“Yes,” his father replied. “Men, not boys. Men like you Mateo, with money and power. Men who collect fine things and discard them when the next one comes along. I fear that Frankie does not have the experience to deal with them. I fear that she will be hurt by men like that.”

“But she is so strong and independent, father,” Mateo responded. “Did you not see her at the debate last night? She stood on that stage and played the audience like a violin. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand. I have never seen such confidence, such self-assurance from a young woman. She was spectacular, Papa.”

Eventually, my son, but only after you arrived. Your presence filled her up like a hot air balloon. But you are here so rarely, you don’t see her as I do, curled up and deflated. You just don’t understand, do you?

“You speak of university, Mateo,” Jorge said. “Have you talked with her about it? Where she will go, what she will do?”

“We have talked about my experience, Papa,” he replied. “About the mistakes I made, things I would do differently. But no, we haven’t spoken of her plans or about what she really wants.”

“She has already decided, son. She is going to UWA here in Perth to study finance,” Jorge said, his voice a strange mixture of pride and regret. “She wants to stay at home with me as if I am some helpless invalid. And she wants to study finance because of you Mateo. Neither of these things seems sensible to me. Of course, I want her to stay here. If I could live the rest of my life with you both here like this, I would be the happiest man alive.

“But she needs to get away from our influences, yours and mine. Your life and career are unique to you, Mateo. You seem perfectly suited to the role you have carved out for yourself. I don’t profess to understand it and I have no clue how much money you have made, but it has changed you.

“I know you are no longer my little boy. The one who held my hand at Mama’s grave, and who stayed up late full of pee to test my love. You are your own man but some of the warmth and joy you had as a boy is gone. Your smile is not as broad, your laugh not as free. I miss that person, and I lament his loss, both for me and for you.

“I don’t know if your career is the only reason, I’m sure there are others. But I don’t want that for her,” he said, indicating Francesca who was climbing out of the pool. Mateo marvelled at how she looked. His father’s reverie had reminded him of carefree days here in this place. Fun and frolics that he had enjoyed with his baby sister. And now she was a woman. A spectacular, effervescent creature whose life was at an important crossroads.

“I’ll talk to her, Papa,” Mateo said. “I’ll try to make her see sense.”

“Thank you, my son,” Jorge said, patting Mateo on the arm.

They lazed in the sun and swam in the pool all afternoon. In the evening they feasted on steak and salmon, seared to perfection on the barbecue. They drank wine and told stories. They laughed until they cried, and they cried some more with stories of Mama. They simply existed as a family, an unbreakable triumvirate. There were no pretensions and no bullshit. Their talk was unfiltered and honest, something that they had all been missing for a long time.

Mateo discussed Frankie’s future with her. She assured him that she had thought her decisions through carefully. She was convinced that she knew exactly what she wanted from life and had a plan to go get it. He wished her well and tried to reassure her that he would always be available if she ever needed him.

Late in the evening as the wine ran out and the conversation flagged, they had called it a night. They had hugged as one, having set the world to rights. Mateo kissed his father and his sister goodnight. His return flight was at six the next morning and he didn’t want to wake them.

And he didn’t, managing to slip quietly out of the house into the pre-dawn chill. What did wake them was the clattering rattle of the diesel Ute as he drove away. Jorge laughed out loud. He wondered how many of his neighbours were being disturbed by the raucous beast.

Francesca sobbed quietly into her pillow as Mateo rumbled away. His fleeting visits were wonderful distractions from the mundanities of her life. But the pain of his leaving became more agonising each time. What could she do? She loved him, and he had no idea…

++++

Back in Sydney, Mateo took time to think about what his father had said. His work had exacerbated a selfish streak within him. His monomania had made him the success that he was. His new electronic database system had already quadrupled the company’s profits. At this rate, his annual bonus was going to be at least seven figures.

A year ago, that thought would have made him hard. It would have caused him to stay at work for extra hours every day and to come in on weekends. Now however it was just background noise to his main focus. Francesca.

He had to do something, had to find a way to break the obsession that had ensnared him. Because it was impacting her now too. No matter how tightly he bottled it up, some would always escape. Little bubbles of it would burst in her presence, encouraging her flirtation. He was the adult, he had to be the responsible one. He had to act before their father found out. Before Francesca was irretrievably hurt.

But his work didn’t need the same commitment anymore. His workday was done by lunchtime, sometimes before. With his laptop, he didn’t even need to visit the office every day. So, he needed another diversion, an outlet for his frustration and excess energy. The gym was a good start, but he needed something more.

Then one day, it found him, when his phone rang unexpectedly.

“Mateo?” a female voice enquired. “Yes, hello,” he said, trying to place her. “It’s Jennifer,” she continued, “I was wondering how you were? It’s been a long time.”

“It has, Jen,” he replied, remembering her shapely form. “I thought I’d screwed everything up with you, I’m not sure I even have your number anymore.”

“Well, you’re lucky that I kept yours then, aren’t you?” she tittered. “You didn’t screw anything up, Mateo. I did. I jumped to conclusions that weren’t fair and made a big mistake. Do you think we could meet for coffee? Talk about old times?”

“You did traumatise my little sister, Jen,” he said, warming to the conversation. “She answered the phone that day, not me. Poor Frankie didn’t even know what anal sex was. Thank you for stimulating that particular conversation, it was a doozy.”

“Shit, Mat,” Jennifer replied, abashed. “I didn’t know she was even there. I assumed that you were going to pick up some floozy in Kings Cross. Was she your sister, honestly?”

“Yes, it was her eighteenth birthday, and she flew in from Perth to surprise me. Thanks to you, she was the one who ended up surprised. By the way, did you mean what you said to her? That my dreams were going to come true?” Mateo asked, enjoying the feeling of turning the screw.

“Oh, you have no idea, Mateo. The plans I had for you, they’d make your toes curl,” Jennifer replied. Her voice switched smoothly to that of a purring vamp.

“I have coffee here, Jen,” he replied. “If you wanted to dust off the old blueprints, I mean. To see if the old chemistry is still there.”

“Put the brewer on, I’m on my way,” Jennifer squealed as the line went dead.

And as easy as that, Mateo found the distraction he thought he needed. A bottomless sink for his sexual energy. Jennifer became the first in a long line of sultry sirens to make the trip to number 2711. Robbie and Debbie smiled, pleased to see Mateo back in the saddle. They had missed his big tips for the last six months.

++++

September 1994

With his newfound free time, Mateo began to travel back to Perth more often. Initially, monthly, his sojourns had become bi-weekly by the springtime. He still found it jarring to see Francesca blooming into a stunning woman. But he was able to control his urges much more effectively. They would talk and kid about as they always had, but the spark was gone. That surge of electricity he had once felt at her touch was no more.

From her perspective, the new Mateo was a closed book. The insights and secrets she had felt privy to that winter were gone. He wasn’t cold but he was, different. Standoffish and reserved. He would still tell silly jokes and tall tales about his work. But those inside jokes and intimate asides that she enjoyed so much were no more.

She understood, of course, it was all her fault. Her silly, girlish games had scared him off. They had triggered his big brother reflexes to protect and nurture. Whatever underlying connection she thought they had been making was fiction. If it had existed at all it was all inside her head.

So, she settled into the role of little sister. Looking after the men in her family whilst being cherished and revered by them. Life was safe, boring but safe. She finalised her college choices after a series of interviews at UWA. The campus was even closer than school so she could live at home. Papa could still take her in the morning, and she could ride the bus back later.

Her Economics and Finance degree seemed interesting. Dry perhaps, but relevant to the world and as useful as anything else she could think of doing. Papa kept suggesting different courses to her. Mad things like politics or contemporary dance. But Frankie knew she had to make her way in the world. She would have bills to pay and responsibilities to manage. Hippy dancers didn’t have things like that in their lives.

On these trips, Mateo and Papa would talk at length. Once Mateo told him what he was worth, and Jorge almost fell out of his chair. He hadn’t been boasting, he just wanted his father to retire, to put his feet up. Mateo was trying to tell him that he would never have another financial worry in his life.

But Jorge had explained that his work was the largest part of his life now. His children were grown and independent, despite Frankie living at home. She didn’t need him on a daily basis. If he were to pass away, she would have a nest egg to begin her new life. So, his presence in his children’s lives was a peripheral one, his life on a tangent to theirs.

This sounded sad to Mateo, and it made him think about the loss his father had suffered as a result of Mama’s death. Maria had been the first girl that Jorge had fallen for. The reverse was true too, Mama’s upbringing at the hands of her aunt in Madrid had been very sheltered. But they had found each other, and their perfect love had been born. But there were no guarantees in life, even bonds that strong can be broken. But they had revered each other in life, for the dozen years or so that they were given. And now, nearly twenty years later his father had not moved on a single inch.

Yes, he had moved halfway around the world, but to the same job. In an enclave of like-minded Portuguese émigrés. Emotionally Jorge was the same man who had held his hand on that horrible day in Punta del Arias cemetery. Mateo wondered if his own decisions were miring him in the same way. Stunting his potential, inhibiting his growth.

He was having athletic, energetic sex with the cream of Sydney’s singles scene. But his life was empty. There was a hole in his chest that sucked all of the joy out of his existence. No matter how much pleasure he experienced or success he achieved, it was always there.

Eating him alive.

He knew what it was, and he knew how to fix it. But it was impossible. It would mean crossing lines that were sacrosanct. Breaking taboos that had endured for thousands of years. And for good reason. Grown men were not supposed to lust after their baby sisters, to worship the ground they walked upon. It was anathema, it was unnatural.

But it was what he wanted.

++++

November 1994

Francesca’s high school formal dance was coming up at the end of November. She had asked Mateo if he would reprise his role as Robbie and be her date.

But he had refused. It was gut-wrenching for him and at least he had done it in person at the house. He would have loved to have gone with her. He wanted nothing more than to ensure her happiness, but it wouldn’t have been healthy. For either of them.

She had cried for two days straight. So much so that Mateo had admitted to his father what he had done on the night of the debate. Pretending to be her boyfriend to avoid an embarrassing incident with another girl.

“Mateo my boy, your mother would often tell me that the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Jorge said. “People are complicated but at the same time, they are simple. Teenage embarrassment is a powerful motivator. But I am disappointed that you allowed yourself to become involved like that. If you had said no that time, I think her reaction would not have been so bad now.

“So, you did the wrong thing for the right reasons, and I cannot in truth fault you. Thank you for telling me, I shall be able to talk with her better now. I think you should skip your next couple of trips. Come back at Christmas, it is a joyous time, and all this will be behind us.”

Mateo had reluctantly agreed, but he knew his father was right. He had grown up a simple man in rural Portugal, but his life had been hard. And from that harshness, he had gained wisdom and a calm, indomitable spirit. Mateo trusted Jorge’s judgment in matters like this. So, he packed his bag and left for Sydney. He stood outside Francesca’s door as he was leaving, trying to decide whether to knock. But her baleful sobs continued and made the decision for him.

++++

A week later, Mateo found himself in a completely new situation. Jennifer had come over on Friday evening and she had brought a friend. Carol was a statuesque redhead, with a ready wit and musical laugh. She spoke with a sultry Irish brogue that intrigued and intoxicated him in equal measure.

“Mateo, this is my roommate, Carol,” Jennifer said as she pushed past him at the front door. Neither girl had more than a handbag with them, which struck Mateo as odd. It was the Labour Day weekend and Jenni was supposed to be staying until Monday. “I’ve been promising you a threesome for ages and now it’s time to deliver. I hope your fridge is well-stocked because this is going to be a marathon, not a sprint. Any questions?”

“Just one,” Mateo said, a broad smile spreading across his face. “How many condoms did you bring?”

“None,” she replied, hands on hips. “We’re both on the pill, so you can cum in us as much as you like.”

With a roar, Mateo chased the giggling women into the bedroom. Their squeals of delight were only the first of many that night.

++++

Francesca was tired, both physically and emotionally. She had been so mad with Mateo about the dance and the fact that he had snuck away without even trying to talk with her. He hadn’t called or emailed, but then again, neither had she. She hasn’t been sleeping, tossing, and turning as her mind tried to find a way out of her situation.

Papa had tried to cajole her, but she couldn’t talk with him about it. What could she say?

I’ve got a silly, schoolgirl crush on my big brother, Papa. I want him in my life every day and in my bed every night. Yeah right, Frankie, that would work for sure.

Slipping her key into the lock, Francesca entered. She was trying to be as quiet as a mouse, so she didn’t wake him. Turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

He was lying on his back on the big rug in the lounge. A red-headed girl was riding him as a blonde sat astride his face. Both girls were kissing each other, moaning, and groaning as they writhed atop her brother. Mateo’s feet were firmly planted on the floor as he drove himself up into the woman above him.

His penis was smeared with white goo, the solid pillar of flesh an angry red colour. This was no sleeping slug Francesca thought, nor was it really a penis either. It was a big, hard cock, Mateo’s big hard cock. The one that she had dreamed about and mooned over for so long. And it was slamming into someone else.

Francesca had thought she would surprise her brother with an unannounced visit.

Mission accomplished, Frankie!

He had given her a key to his apartment after all. He had said that she had an open invitation. She had taken that at face value, as she had so many things that he had said. Once again, her naïveté had been exposed, her silliness revealed. He hadn’t meant it, he had just been telling her what she wanted to hear. As he always had done.

Frankie wanted to turn around and leave, but she was exhausted after her flight. And she simply could not tear her eyes from the lurid tableau in front of her. Because Mateo, her brother, her lifelong crush, was cumming inside another woman.

She could see him straining to lift her up, just as she was struggling to force herself down on him. Muffled roars were coming from his mouth, filled as it was with blondie’s cunt.

“He’s cumming Jen, right up inside me,” the redhead squealed, throwing her head back. She was rotating her hips now, using his dick to stir her steaming insides. Francesca suddenly understood why it was called screwing. Her brain was imagining the spermy fireworks going off inside the woman’s body. Wishing it was hers.

“Get every drop you bitch,” the blonde yelled. “Come on Carol, get up and give it to me. I want every fucking ounce,” she cried.

“Oh Jenni, you are such a kinky bitch. I love you,” the other one cried in her strange accent. Francesca came to a realisation.

Jennifer? Anal Girl?

Carol stood up, allowing Mateo’s spent prick to slither from deep within her body. She shuffled forwards, plastering her pussy lips onto Jennifer’s waiting mouth. Frankie could see the bitch’s tongue flailing over the exposed lips of Carol’s pussy. And then it disappeared inside her, delving deep for Mateo’s precious spunk.

My precious spunk.

Frankie had seen enough. Even the sight of Mateo’s delicious cock twitching on his belly interested her no longer. She was done pining for him, waiting for him to come to his senses.

The three lovers had never seen her, engrossed as they were in their obscene spectacle. She carefully removed the apartment key from her ring and put it in the drawer below the phone.

Hopefully, he’ll find it someday and think he’s losing his mind. Bastard.

Then, she turned on her heel and slipped back outside. Debbie was at the desk downstairs, she would know where the nearest hotel was. Frankie balked, realising that she didn’t have money for that. She would have to call Papa and confess her sins.

No, not her sins, she thought. It was just girlish stupidity and misplaced childish trust. Papa would understand, he always did.

Unlike my stupid, slutty brother.

With a sigh, she headed for the elevator. Older for sure, even wiser perhaps. But sadly, much more cynical too.

Growing up sucks balls.

++++

December 1994

Weeks passed in the blink of an eye. Frankie had told her father that Mateo had been away on business for her surprise visit. Jorge had not questioned it and had commiserated with her. Neither he no4 his son knew the true source of Francesca’s melancholy.

Christmas had been a dour affair as an atmosphere had settled over the house in Bickley. Francesca had refused to accept Mateo’s gift, so he had left it with his father. Jorge had consoled him, saying that Frankie had created a problem for herself and that it was up to her to solve it.

“She will be fine, my boy,” he had said. “She will suffer worse before she meets her Mama again. It’s not even a broken heart, the dance was just the first major disappointment she has suffered. You and I are to blame Mateo. We have striven throughout her life to shield her from the world. To protect her from life’s trials and tribulations. Perhaps we were overzealous, or overprotective. We never prepared her for pain and disappointment. So, it is good that she suffers like this over a trivial thing.

“It means she will be ready to deal with the more important situations in life when they come along. Do not fret, this is a good thing. I shall give her your gift when she is ready, and you will see that smile and feel those hugs again. Perhaps communicate with her by email for a while. She likes that and can say what she wants. She doesn’t speak because she doesn’t trust herself to say what she feels, but it will come. We will be whole again soon, Mateo.”

Mateo had left on that note, depressed but reassured. Papa truly did know best, and Mateo trusted him to do right by Francesca. A little pain could be a positive thing, he thought.

It reminds us to cherish the good things and to savour the moments that make life worth living.

++++

January 1995

Mateo’s life wasn’t fucking worth living, he thought.

He was so confused, caught on the horns of a dilemma. He had a decision to make, the biggest one of his life.

Mike had made him an offer that would allow him to buy into the business. Rather than being an employee making his own bonuses, he would get a share of everyone’s hard work. And he could afford it, just. If he sold the car and cashed in his pension, he would have the cash that Mike wanted. But the risk was huge. It was everything he had, other than his home. The decision kept him awake at night and made it hard to focus during the day. But it was a ‘retire at thirty’ kind of deal.

When Mateo ran his spreadsheet for the final time, he looked at the number at the bottom. $12,660,070. Mike wanted twelve and a half million for forty per cent of the business. He said he had drawn a dividend of forty million at Christmas. Three more years like that and Mateo would be set for life.

But then, as he had done so many times, Mateo looked at the number once more. He was already set for life, with zero risk. He could make some blue-chip investments and live on the interest and dividends for the rest of his days. He could carry on with Mike and pull in big bonuses for years. But that wasn’t him. He was the young kid who had idolised Del Boy. He’d spent his life searching out any and all money-making opportunities. He had hitched his wagon to Mike’s star for a reason. He believed in him, and he believed in himself.

So, he picked up his briefcase and set off to his lawyer’s office. There, he signed the purchase agreements. The attorney notarised them and provided him with the payment schedule. He had six weeks to pay the money. He wrote a cheque for ten million right there and handed it over. The car sale and pension redemption would take time. But it was done. He was skint in the short term but a business owner for the long haul. He sighed, puffing out his cheeks. It was time to go and start making some profits.

++++

It was Frankie’s first day at university. Papa was up early and made her favourite breakfast of Nutella porridge. She picked at it fitfully until he could take no more. He got up and went to his office where he retrieved Mateo’s Christmas gift for her. Jorge had never raised his voice with Francesca, he had never needed to. But this funk had gone on too long and it was up to him to end it.

“Francesca,” he said in a stern voice, “this has to stop.”

“What has to stop?” she replied in a peevish tone.

“This,” Jorge roared. “This nonsense, these moods. What is wrong? What have we done to you? How can I fix it? How can I help you, darling?” His spike of temper fizzled instantly, and his words softened as he spoke until he was whispering.

Francesca had jumped when he first yelled, staring at him like a startled rabbit. Then she had begun to cry and had scrambled up from her seat into his arms. She was babbling, incoherent even. He just let her cry, holding her tight as he stroked her hair. It was longer again he noted, below her shoulders, like her mother’s.

Ah, Maria my love. Our baby needs you and all she has is me. A grumpy old bear, or a bull in a china shop perhaps. Guide me my sweet, show me the way. Bring her back to me, please.

After some time, Francesca’s tears subsided, and she sniffled. Jorge always carried a handkerchief and reached it to her. She dried her eyes and blew her nose, before turning in his arms to face him.

“Thank you, Papa,” she began, “for shouting at me. I have been such a brat for such a long time. I caused problems for myself, and I blamed you and Mateo for not fixing them. Because you have always fixed everything for me since I was a little girl. I became lazy and let you do it. I got away scot-free with so many things that should have caused me pain. And now I’m feeling that pain all at once.

“There is no one thing to fix or to stop, I just need to grow up. Problems are life, and life is our problem. I have to learn how to tackle things myself without just assuming you will do it for me. Forgive me, Papa, for I was a little lost. But I am back now, and I am looking forward once more. Thank you.”

“Oh, Francesca, my silly, wonderful baby. I forget how young you are because you are so grown up and strong. Mateo and I talked often about our love for you. We knew that we should let you experience life in its raw, human form. But we were blinded by our love and did what was best for us, not what was best for you. I hope that you can forgive me too, and your brother.”

Frankie stepped back and held out her hand, saying, “Deal.”

“Agreed,” said Jorge, shaking on it before hugging her once more. Then they sat back down, and Frankie tucked into her porridge with gusto.

Her father reached into his pocket and slipped the jewellery box across the table. “You hurt your brother very much when you refused to accept his gift at Christmas, Frankie,” he said. “I think it is time that you opened it and send him a thank you note.”

The moment she opened the case, she knew what it was. The chain was almost the same, but the pendant was subtly different. It was another ambigram though,

FRANKIE and MATTIE

As she turned it over in her fingers, she noted how it looked and felt slightly different to the one she had got for Mateo. Platinum? She gulped, ashamed for rejecting such a perfect gift from such a wonderful brother.

“I’m going to call him, Papa,” she shouted over her shoulder as she raced upstairs. Jorge smiled. He had no idea what had happened, but he knew that Maria had steered him right once again.

++++

“He’s in a meeting, miss and can’t be disturbed,” said Mateo’s secretary. Frankie thought she could hear shouting in the background, but it was muffled.

“That’s alright, I’ll send him an email instead. Thank you,” she replied and hung up.

Her email was short and sweet. A quick apology for her behaviour and a heartfelt thanks for the necklace. She finished with a light ‘call me’ and hit SEND.

Perfect, we’ll be back to normal in no time.

Little did she know.

++++

“Jesus, Mike,” Mateo screamed. “I’m your partner, you should have told me. Did you know before my buy-in? Did you? That’s fraud mate if you did. Fuck me, how did you let it get so bad?”

“It literally happened overnight, Mateo. Some guy in their Singapore derivatives branch went rogue and bet the farm. When it went wrong, he did it again. The bank is insolvent Mat, it’s gone.”

“But they’re a huge PLC, they’ve been around for hundreds of years. One guy can’t fuck that up, surely,” Mateo sounded exasperated.

“He hid the losses, and nobody noticed. He’d been making millions before Christmas, that’s why I went in hard. We had doubled our money by last week, Mateo,” Mike replied, as he sat down, his head in his hands.

“What’s our exposure, Mike? What did our clients lose?” Mateo demanded. His rage had passed, but the disappointment remained. Now was the time for action, recriminations could come later.

“It’s not our clients, Mateo,” Mike sobbed, “it was the firm’s money, our money. Barings was just for us. I put our entire capital account in. $63 million.”

Mateo’s mind reeled. Everything he had worked for was gone. He had invested every cent he had with this man. He had trusted his skill and judgment, worked his fingers to the bone for him. And Mike had fucked him.

“Don’t tell me you used your own money too, Michael” Mateo whispered. Suddenly his bad feeling was becoming a pall of doom. In his mind, he had been working out if he could sue Mike for his losses. A bet that big should have been disclosed before he’d bought into the company. Something that risky should have been front and centre in their discussions.

“I re-mortgaged the house. Sandra doesn’t know. I have money offshore, but I can’t access it, the receivers will take it. I’m sorry Mateo, it just seemed too good to miss,” Mike cried.

“We have insurance for this, don’t we?” Mateo asked.

“For this? Ha, no way,” cackled Mike, his laugh maniacal.

“Not for us, you prick,” Mateo scoffed. “For the staff. For all the poor bastards you’ve put out of work Michael. Don’t we have insurance to cover their redundancies?”

“Yes, we do,” Mike babbled. “Mateo you’re a genius. We can use that to offset…”

“Stop! Shut up, Michael. Ritchie Investments is gone. Like your house and all my money. It’s fucked, yesterday’s news. We have good people who worked hard for us, who did not deserve this. We are going to look after them. Then we are going to reverse out our clients’ positions and return their money too. Then we’re going to see what we can salvage from this dumpster fire.”

And then I am going to engage a lawyer and sue your ass into the ground. Money overseas? Good to know Michael, good to fucking know.

Mateo’s last few days at Ritchie Investments were dreadful. Mike disappeared and couldn’t be contacted. Mateo spoke with every one of their clients and explained why the business was winding up. He made sure to wish them well, you never knew when their paths might cross again. At least their money was safe.

He also spoke with every member of staff. As he had thought, they were entitled to severance of one year’s salary net of bonuses. The money was coming from an insurance bond, so it was guaranteed. Not brilliant but not the end of the world either. As a shareholder, Mateo had forfeited that cover two weeks before. When he had gambled his life’s savings on his friend Mike Ritchie and lost.

Nick Leeson. A man I have never met and never will. He stole my life’s savings, just like that. What now, Mateo? You’ve been climbing these ladders for a long time, you were bound to hit a snake sometime. Call people, make things happen. Come on, you’re Mat Martin. Make it rain.

The first call he had made was to a law firm he knew, to engage their services. He wanted to protect himself from any negative publicity or blowback. And he wanted to sue Mike Ritchie into oblivion.

But it turned out that’s where he already was.

++++

February 1995

Mike’s funeral was a minimalist affair. After his suicide, there was no church or music, just a simple blessing and a cremation. His wife Sandra was there but Mateo’s lawyer had advised him not to speak to her. The papers that they had served on his behalf had instigated a police investigation. They were looking into Sandra over Mike’s fraud and malfeasance. Mateo had been interviewed twice now but his lawyer was pretty sure they were finished with him.

Mateo had spent the last two weeks showing his apartment to potential buyers. The property boom in the city was waning but he had still hoped to clear his mortgage with room to spare. He had managed it, but only just. As the front door slammed behind him for the last time, he thought about the future.

What now, Mateo? Same shit, different day? Or something new, something different, something fulfilling?

Those thoughts rang through his mind as he took the elevator down. There were tears in his eyes as he passed his keys to Robbie at the front desk. With a start he noticed that there were three. Where had the extra one come from, he wondered? No matter, they belonged to someone else now.

With an air of finality, Mateo handed the concierge a bottle of Macallan whisky. With a nod of his head, he left the building and stepped into the waiting taxi. As it drove off into the night, his mind awhirl, Mateo knew only one thing for sure.

It was time to call his father.

++++

“Hi Papa, how’s it going?” Mateo asked once Jorge had answered.

“It’s good meu filho, and you?” Jorge replied. “My son, have you not been checking your emails recently?

“Actually no, Papa I haven’t,” Mateo replied with a sigh. “The company had a bit of a setback. You heard on the news about Barings Bank, in London?”

“Yes, this foolish little man lies and cheats and the whole thing collapses. Terrible, just terrible,” Jorge replied.

“Well, Mike invested all of our money in it before Christmas,” Mateo explained. “He never told me. At New Year he offered me a stake in the company. I invested everything I had. It’s gone Papa, everything I worked for.”

“Mãe de Deus, Mother of God Mateo, all those millions?” Jorge was astounded.

“Yes Papa, everything I have achieved, all of my dreams. I even sold my car and you never even got to drive it,” Mateo said with a wry laugh.

“Frankie said it would give me a heart attack, son,” the older man chuckled. Then his voice sobered. “Come home, Mateo, come be with us. It is only money. You have a gift, soon you will be a success once more. Soon you will have more money than your poor father, again.”

Mateo laughed, thinking it through. The idea appealed but it all depended on Frankie.

“You mentioned an email, Papa,” he said. “My laptop belonged to the firm, so I had to give it up. Francesca’s internet connection too. We will have to find anither option for her as well. It was paid for a year in advance, so we have some time.”

“Yes, Mateo,” Jorge began. “I had a breakthrough with your sister on Monday. She was nervous about college but not excited. So, I shouted at her, for the first time in my life. I was so scared I almost shit myself!”

Mateo howled with laughter. He had never heard his father use such language, not once throughout his life.

“Saint Jorge of Punto del Arias, he is fallen,” Mateo teased when he could speak again.

“Oh, shut up, it was so fucking scary,” Jorge replied, and Mateo could hear the smile in his voice. “But it was the right thing to do. It cut right through whatever shell she was building around herself. We cried and we talked, and she opened your gift, the necklace.”

Mateo said nothing. It had slipped his mind what with recent, events but he had left Bickley saddened at Christmas. But now she had opened it. Jorge carried on.

“She loved it, my boy. It was breakfast but she ran to call you anyway. But you were busy, she could hear shouting, so I told her to email. She keeps checking but you don’t respond. Now I know why. Speak with her now Mateo. Tell her your news. You have supported her throughout her life, allow her to return the favour.”

“Yes Papa, I would like that, thank you,” Mateo said. His voice was the same as that of a little boy trying to understand his mother’s death.

He could hear a muffled conversation in the background. His father was telling her his news he assumed.

Better him than me, I’d just start crying again.

“Mateo? Are you OK? Papa said you had bad news, your business?” Francesca’s musical voice was soft and full of concern. It soothed his heart and calmed his mind.

“Yes, little one, I’ve had a setback. Like you at the debate that time,” Mateo said, remembering it fondly. “Now I just need to work out how to come back out and kick everybody’s butts the way you did. You were magnificent back then, I need to find some of that inspiration.”

“You will,” she said, “there are always more dumbasses you always said.”

“That was the old me, Frankie,” he said, as long considered ideas began to crystallise. “I think I’m done with exploiting people. I don’t want to be the guy who is always looking for an angle. I want to be part of a community, to have friends and neighbours. To matter to people. I’m not sure what it means yet, but I want to be a better person. The Mateo that you seem to see, not the one I am on the inside.”

His sister remained silent, digesting that, before replying.

“I opened your gift, Mattie, it is beautiful. The man that gave that to me is not dark and evil on the inside. He is a little boy still, lost and confused in the world of greedy men. But his heart is good and pure and true. And I love him. Thank you, dearest brother I will treasure it always.”

They talked for a little longer until Jorge came back on the line and Mateo got down to brass tacks.

++++

March 1995

Some fool was pounding on the door. She hobbled towards it, muttering furiously to herself.

It better not be that idiot with the clothes pegs again. I’ll kick him in the cock if it is.

Lifting the latch, she swung open the door. Soft evening light washed over her. A young man was standing there. A city boy with sunglasses and greasy hair.

“O que diabos você quer?” she growled, wondering what the hell he wanted.

“Avó?” the man replied, a look of uncertainty on his face. He removed his sunglasses and she looked into his eyes. His pale green eyes.

“Mateo? My darling, can it be you?” she whispered as a hand flew to her mouth.

“It is me, Grandma,” the man said, “come to visit my special lady.”

His Portuguese was stilted, unpractised. But the smile was his. It was her little Mateo come home. “You always were a charmer. Dear Lord, it is a miracle. Come in little one, come in. Have you eaten? I have pão de água and queijo fresco.”

“That sounds fantastic. Is the cheese still made in the village?” Mateo asked, looking around his boyhood home.

“There is a fancy dairy up the road, but João Moutinho still keeps a few goats and sheep,” his grandmother cackled.

“And what about you, Grandma? Do you still have a little tipple in the evening?” Mateo teased.

“What is life without wine my boy?” his grandma asked him. “Pure shit is what, my lad,” she laughed, pottering around in the tiny kitchen.

Mateo felt like a giant in a dollhouse, but he made himself comfortable on the old couch. Everything looked, felt, and smelled the same. The feeling of nostalgia was overwhelming. There was a tear in his eye as he remembered reading with Mama on this very spot.

“You are remembering your Mama, Mateo?” she asked, handing him a plate of rustic bread and cheese. “She was a wonderful young woman, Maria. She made your Papa into a good man. He was a confused young boy when they met but she saw the good in him. She was the one for him and he for her. It was such a sad story, my friends talk often about Jorge and Maria. It is good to remember, no?”

The old woman handed him a glass of red wine and sat down in her special chair with a sigh. Raising her glass, she made the traditional toast of welcome.

“Saúde, Mateo.”

“Saúde, Avó,” he replied, touching his glass to hers.

“What of your father Mateo? My son Jorge,” his grandmother asked. “Is he well, he does not write so much anymore.”

“He is well. Fat and lazy too,” he teased, and she laughed. “He still works, but less and less. Francesca lives with him still as she goes to university. I brought pictures, would you like to see them?”

Their evening passed in a rose-tinted fugue of memory and reminiscence. Nelinha couldn’t believe how much Francesca looked like her mother, nor how white her son’s hair had become. “He’s not even fifty,” she exclaimed. “Do the women of Australia treat him so badly?”

“There was only ever one woman for him, Grandma,” Mateo said. “When she passed, his life became only about us, Francesca and me. You raised a strong, principled man, grandmother. A perfect father and I must thank you for that. He has been a rock throughout all the nonsense that Frankie and I have put him through.”

“Ha, my boy,” the old woman wheezed, “you say nonsense, but what you mean is life. It happens, despite all of our plans and dreams. The trick is to embrace it, nonsense, and all. For it is in those moments of hardship and pain that we find the true meaning of life. Love and trust. That’s all there is, Mateo. If you have those two things, life becomes the dream and every day a blessing. Your Papa had that with Maria, but the Lord had bigger plans for her.”

“Hmm, it seems that you did not perhaps pass all of your wisdom on to Papa,” Mateo said with a smile.

“Some things are not for men, my boy,” she said. “Some things are for womenfolk alone. The secrets of a good life are ours. That is why little boys need to find a girl to look after them. For while a man can build a road, only a woman knows where it is going.”

Once again, she dissolved in a fit of coughing, but she waved off his offers of assistance.

“I’m just tired, my son,” she insisted. “It has been a joy to see you in my home again. Can you stay a while? The night at least. I have your favourite ham for breakfast. And your room is just as you left it.”

“Actually Grandma, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Mateo said as he laid out his plan.

++++

“He’s staying? In Portugal? Forever?” Francesca was screaming now, hysterical.

“I don’t know if it’s forever, darling,” Jorge replied, holding up his hands to placate her. “He is staying with Grandma and is getting a phone line put in. We will be able to talk to him and find out soon.”

He continued reading his son’s letter, as his daughter sat weeping across the kitchen table from him.

“He has bought a fishing boat, Frankie. He is going to offer charters to fish for tuna and marlin. He sounds happy darling. Here, you should read this. It’s addressed to you too.”

“No, I don’t want to,” Papa. “I thought he was coming to live with us. I thought we would be a family again. And now I’ve pushed him away, halfway around the world. Why does he hate me so, father? Why does he always push me away?”

“Shush, my love,” Jorge whispered, moving around to cradle his daughter. “Neither of you has pushed the other away. Mateo has had a life-changing setback. He has to re-evaluate everything he has done and make new plans. That will take time and we must respect his wishes and let him do it. We are always a family, no matter how far apart we are. Mama is gone, but she is still a part of our lives every day.

“So, we shall wait, and we shall see where his life takes him. If nothing else, it will give us a good excuse to go home and visit. Don’t you want to see your grandmother, to see Punta del Arias, where you were born? Where your mother rests and waits for us?”

“I don’t know, Papa,” Francesca sniffed. “I just want us to be together. Sydney was so far away but I could call and email whenever I wanted. He came here a lot in the last few years, and I guess I just got used to it. I hate it when things change. Nothing seems to stay the way I like it.”

“Such is life, sweetheart,” her father crooned. “That’s why we must enjoy the moments we can. Because we know they cannot last. So, no more moping around. Go out and grab the world by the scruff of the neck and live. Make friends, get drunk and make a fool of yourself. Make memories that you can hold on to, even when everything else changes.”

“You should write a book, Papa,” she giggled, wiping away her tears. “Jorge’s Bullshit (that’s actually right most of the time)!”

Jorge laughed with her for a time, rocking her in his arms, before he continued.

“Now, didn’t I hear something about a test tomorrow? Get upstairs and study young lady. You don’t want to end up like your poor brother, do you? A broke ass fisherman living with his granny?”

Frankie kissed his cheek and skipped upstairs, while Jorge looked to the ceiling.

Once again, my bullshit worked, my love. Thank you for making her hear what she needs to, no matter what I say. Vou te amar para sempre, Maria. I shall love you forever, my darling.

++++

The boat looked like a wreck. Mateo had brought Miguel Oliveira from the harbour in Punta del Arias to look at it. They had laughed, wondering if it was the Orca that sank in the movie Jaws.

But the hull was sound and the motor strong. Its safety and navigation systems were top notch too. Everything else was cosmetic and could be fixed with hard work, Miguel said.

So, Mateo shook hands and became a boat owner. It had taken almost all of his remaining money. There would be more to spend on refurbishment and marketing. But after that, the rest he would split between his grandma and the nuns. This was it, make or break.

As they steamed beyond the breakwater at Sines, he closed his eyes and let the wind blow over him for a moment. The tang of iodine and rust, the stinging salt on his skin. These were the sensations of his ancestors. He felt at one with them, at home for the first time in a very long time.

Over the next few weeks, as spring began to give way to summer, Mateo worked on his boat from dawn ’til dusk. Apart from one three-week spell, when he went to Lisbon to become an accredited scuba diver. The boat was having its deck replaced so he was at a loose end anyway. He had never done any diving before, but it was a skill that was much in demand in Punta del Arias.

Underwater maintenance was very difficult for the fishing fleet there. They tended to find out about hull breaches and hidden problems when their boats began to sink. But they could employ a diver to inspect their craft. That allowed them to carry out preventative maintenance before things got too bad. Mateo thought that it could be a useful sideline in the winter when business would be quieter.

Plus, there were shipwrecks dotted up and down the coast. If fishing didn’t pay the bills, perhaps diving trips would be an option, he thought.

Mateo struck up a friendship with Matilde Fidalgo. She worked in the harbourmaster’s office. She was responsible for issuing mooring privileges and undertaking safety inspections. In addition, she was the focal point for all the charter enquiries that came in for the fleet. So, Mateo had turned on the charm and courted her affections, in the hope that she would send a fair share his way.

In truth it was never a chore, getting to know Matilde. She was a little older than him, divorced with a young girl, Emilie. She sometimes came to work with her mother in the afternoons after school.

Mateo treated her as he had Francesca when she was that age. And Emilie lapped it up. Ice cream, magic tricks, shoulder rides. And all the other things that little girls need. Matilde never discussed her husband and Mateo did not press. He made sure to arrive early each morning with a flask of Grandma’s rich, hot coffee and her speciality pão doce. Her sweet bread rolls were sensational. He often thought that if fishing didn’t work out baking was a sure-fire winner.

Matilde loved to laugh, and Mateo surmised that her marriage had not been a happy one. One day he realised that he enjoyed her laugh, that he relished hearing it. That he looked forward to their morning chats. As a highlight of his day, not just as a means to an end.

And whether she helped or not, Mateo’s business began to take off. He had known as a boy about the game fishing far offshore. Matilde had given him the appropriate government literature about licences and fishing restrictions. Plus, he had spent enough time in the old tavern in the village square to get to know the local fishermen. They weren’t shy of telling him about their sightings of marlin and swordfish. They wanted to tell him in fact, since the large predators scared off the shoals of mackerel and sardines. The more he could take, the fuller their nets would be.

So, Mateo began to learn. About radar, sonar, charts and mostly about fishing. Rods, lines, lures and bait, plus myriad tricks, and tips for landing them. Because the fishery was mostly catch and release, he had to have a weigh scale onboard. Plus, he invested in a decent camera to ensure his customers got a record of their catch.

He had employed a retired captain called Ernesto to steer the boat when they were out. The old man had lost a leg in an accident, but his mind was as sharp as a tack, once Mateo got him sobered up. His advice proved invaluable in terms of finding reliable locations to fish. But it was when they had a fish on the line that Ernesto truly came into his own.

Mateo would take the wheel and the grizzled old sailor would clamber down to the deck. Once there he would wave his arms and shout, exhorting their clients to ever greater effort. This had the effect of ramping up their excitement, as well as improving their odds of landing the fish. Most of their charters came from England, the US, and South Africa. For them, Ernesto’s pidgin English only added to the authenticity of their trip. Once he discovered the concept of tipping, his performances became almost Oscar-worthy.

More often than not they ended up insisting that the old man was in the picture with them. Mateo didn’t mind, the old guy was a mine of information and only wanted to be paid in bread, wine, and cheese.

Life was good under the hot sun. Business spread by word of mouth. By the end of the summer, Matilde had come to work for him, both as a secretary and to run his marketing. He rented a small office above a café and installed her there with a phone and a computer.

With his help, she put herself through night school to learn the rudiments of web design. “Martin Marine” had become the first Algarve charter company with a website. At which point, business exploded.

++++

November 1995

“Papa, this is Angelo, my new boyfriend. You can call him Angel,” Francesca said in a rush.

Jorge studied the boy. Tall, over six feet, broad chest, an olive Latin complexion with dark wavy hair. Hmm, Francesca certainly had a type, he thought.

Oh well, maybe this one will stick around. Third time lucky perhaps.

“Angel, welcome to our home,” he said, taking the lad’s hand. “Are you on the same course as Frankie?”

“Na mate, I’m not a student, I work in a bar downtown. We met at the Film Society,” he replied laconically. Jorge remembered meeting Maria’s uncle for the first time at their wedding. Her father had died before she was born, and his brother and his wife had brought her up. He had been so nervous that he could barely speak, yet here was a boy in the same position acting like he couldn’t care less.

Respect is earned Jorge, rise above it and be the bigger man. Be her father.

“Interesting,” Jorge said, “we used to go to the movies a lot when we lived in the city. I miss those days. What sort of movies did you see there?”

“Oh, I wasn’t there for the movies, mate. Know what I mean?” Angel sneered. “Ya got any tinnies? I’m gaspin’ over here.”

Sure… would cyanide be OK? Frankie, why did you bring this lout here? Are you trying to embarrass me? Or yourself?

“Yeah, I could do with one myself. Let me show you where the fridge is,” Jorge chuckled, clapping the boy on the shoulder. Rather more firmly than he needed to.

Francesca was struggling in college Jorge suspected. She no longer discussed her progress with him. And then there were these ‘boyfriends’, each one less appropriate than the last. He had racked his brain for an answer, for some way to reach her.

And then one came when his mother had called him from Punta del Arias. They had spoken often since Mateo had moved in with her, but she had never called him, until now.

“Jorge, my son,” she said. “Still fat and lazy?”

He laughed before responding in kind, “Sure am, mother. Still a shrivelled old crone?”

The good-natured teasing between them had always been a highlight of his youth. It had been an unexpected pleasure to rediscover it forty years later.

“Have you managed to save up any money in the last twenty years, Jorge?” she asked.

“Of course, Mamãe, Francesca and I are very comfortable. You don’t have to worry about us,” he replied.

“Good, then you can book two tickets to come and visit us in Punta del Arias at Christmas, can’t you?” she said, her laughter tailing off into a rattly cough.

“I shall have to check with Francesca, mother,” he replied, “but it sounds like a great idea. I would love to see you, we both would, I think. And Mateo too, of course. It has been almost a year. How is he doing, still fishing?”

“No, the season is finished now. But he is working for the church, building a playground for the village children. They don’t pay him of course, but he is such a good boy he is happy to do it for free. You should see him, Jorge.

“When he arrived on my doorstep he was crushed. The weight of the world was on his shoulders. But now, he stands tall. His hair is long, his face brown and his smile as wide as the ocean. Your boy has found his place, my son. And perhaps a companion too. Matilde, the woman who works for him? I see how she looks at him. Is he a virgin or something? Do I need to explain the birds and the bees to your boy?”

“No, don’t meddle, old woman,” Jorge chuckled. “His previous… entanglements have left him confused. He will find the right path in love as he has in life. Just give him time.

“I shall call you in a few days, mother. I look forward to tasting your terrible cooking again soon. I love you,” Jorge hung up, relishing her delighted cackle as he did so.

++++

“Not unless Angel comes too,” Francesca yelled

Did she actually just stamp her foot? What is she thinking, Jorge? Step lightly old man, you’re not seeing the full picture here.

“On a family trip to Portugal?” he asked. “To see your brother and Grandma, for Christmas? My son and mother, who we haven’t seen for nearly twenty years? You want to bring that ignorant fool of a boy with us? Do you honestly believe that is appropriate Francesca?”

Good job treading lightly, idiot.

“I don’t care, Jorge,” she yelled. “It’s what I want.”

“I don’t think you know what you want, my darling,” Jorge replied, ready to acquiesce. She had never once called him by his name before. He was losing her. Right here in his own kitchen, his daughter was slipping away from him.

“But, OK. If his parents give their permission and his passport and inoculations are up to date, he can come. But he is not staying in your grandmother’s house. He can sleep at the convent, it’s only five minutes away.”

“He doesn’t need his parents’ permission, he’s twenty-three. I’ll find out about the other stuff and be back tomorrow,” Francesca called over her shoulder as she walked out. In a moment he heard the sound of Angel’s motorcycle as it roared off into the night.

++++

December 1995

Francesca was terrified. She had taken this huge gamble on a whim. And now circumstances had conspired, forcing her to follow through with it. So, here she was bouncing down a dusty, country track in a rusty old Citroen. With her silent father and idiot, drunken boyfriend. She needed Angel to fulfil a role in her grand plan, a role he was unaware that he had won.

In truth, he could be good fun when he was sober, but those days were becoming fewer and farther between. Frankie had decided during the spring that her life had to change. She had followed Mateo’s example at university, hoping to make him proud. Desperately wishing that he would see the effort that she was making. But the courses were so boring and confusing. There was no room for imagination or creativity, the things that made her who she was.

So, she had decided to switch her degree into something that she adored, creative writing. The initial enquiries she had made were positive, but it would be expensive. Her scholarship grants would no longer apply. Plus, the campus was south of the city, and she would have to move closer. She had no idea how she was going to tell her father, let alone ask him for the money. But she had to, she couldn’t go on like this.

She scanned the countryside, trying to match anything to her vague memories. But she had only been two when they left and whilst it felt familiar, nothing clicked. Soon they were entering a tiny village and driving through a crowded square. The people were dressed in bright clothes and had happy smiling expressions. Inside the taxi, things were very, very different.

Jorge was almost in tears as they approached Punta del Arias. He looked up the hill to the small churchyard where Maria was buried. He turned to tell Francesca, but she was listening to music, staring straight ahead. All he wanted to do was share this emotional moment with her, but she was so distant now.

And then there was the elephant in the room, or more accurately, the asshole. Angel had got belligerently drunk on the flight from Dubai. He had argued with the hostess manager and vomited twice in the aisle of the plane. Jorge had apologised profusely to the airline staff and the stewards. But they had still had to have a meeting with the airline security team on arrival in Lisbon.

And now as he approached his boyhood home, the nostalgia was suffocating him. He had so much to tell his daughter, and this idiota de merda was snoring between them. It was unbearable, unthinkable that he couldn’t point out Maria’s grave. Thankfully they were in the village square now, just moments away from home.

And there it was, the faded yellowing walls he remembered now bright amber. The cracked and stained roof tiles were pristine crimson. Someone had been busy.

Mateo, of course.

And there he was, hanging Christmas lights on the lemon tree in the tiny garden. He looked good, his long hair tied in a ponytail, his legs and arms tanned and strong. When he heard the car, he turned, and his broad smile transported Jorge back twenty years. Ignoring his travelling companions, he leapt from the car and cannoned into his son at a full run.

“Mateo, my boy, I am home,” was all he could say before he broke down weeping. Mateo wasn’t faring much better, but his tears were those of joy and relief, not anguish.

“Papa, welcome,” he said holding his father up. “It has been much too long since we last did this. Come, Grandma is excited to see her little boy.”

Mateo supported Jorge as they made their way to the front door of the cottage. As he lifted the latch, his father caught his arm.

“Mateo, be careful with your sister,” he said his vice-like grip tightening. “Something is wrong, I don’t know what. Something is broken in her or between her and me perhaps. I am lost, I don’t know what to do. Perhaps my mother can help. Go, talk with Frankie my son. Find her and bring her back to us.”

With that, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Mateo turned his attention to the taxi. A spiky-haired youth was lifting bags out of the boot. Alongside him, a woman was staring directly back at him. His sister.

Is it? Can it be?

But it was Francesca. Not any version of her that he knew, however. Her hair was dyed three, if not four different colours. It tumbled down her back like a rainbow but was shaved bare up around her ears. Her makeup was thick, white skin and black, well, everything else.

Something is broken in her… Jesus Papa, you weren’t kidding.

Mateo smiled and walked towards her, arms spread wide.

“Frankie, you got accepted into clown college. Congratulations little sister,” he said, smirking to signal his silly joke.

“Fuck off, prick,” she said, raising a middle finger. “Help Angel with the bags, I need the shitter.” She marched past him up the path.

You always were too polite, Papa. Broken? No, something is completely fucked in our little girl. Mama, I’ve tried not to bother you too much, but we need you now, more than ever before. Help us make her see, help her to understand.

Mateo introduced himself to a grunting Angel. Returning his greeting Angel asked for directions to the local bar. Laughing Mateo carried two cases up the path. Over his shoulder, he said, “Portugal is a tee-total country, mate. Did no one tell you that? Whoops.”

In the house, Nelinha and her son were locked in an embrace crying and swaying together. When Mateo entered Francesca asked him where the bathroom was.

“If you want a bath, Sis, it’s upstairs,” he said. “But if you still need a pee, it’s outside where it’s always been. Turn left out of the back door.”

“What? The dunny’s outside? In the cold? Are you mad?” Frankie screeched.

He nodded, indicating the back door off the kitchen. As she was going outside, he called after her, “Don’t forget to grab some leaves for wiping. And watch out for nettles.”

Her shriek of rage was cut off by the door closing behind her. Mateo had worked hard on the outside privy that summer. He had tiled the walls, adding a fan and an electric heater as well. There was hot water too for washing up. It was cosy now, a haven from life’s travails that he enjoyed retreating to, even on cold winter mornings.

++++

The atmosphere settled down as Nelinha made sure that everyone was fed and watered. Then she had sat down with Frankie to catch up on the girl’s life. Mateo offered to take Angel down to the tavern in the square. The boy looked perplexed, and it took Mateo a second to realise that he had believed his tee-total crack. Jorge had told Mateo about their adventures on the plane and admonished him to watch the boy.

As they were leaving, Mateo called to Angel, “Don’t forget your bag, mate. I’ll take you up to the convent after, introduce you to the nuns.”

Angel likely had forgotten about his sleeping arrangements. But after a quick chat with Frankie, he grabbed his carryall and came on. As they walked, Mateo decided to have some fun with the lad. Frankie was a quick-witted, intelligent woman with a wicked sharp sense of humour. Any man who couldn’t hold his own with her was asking to get hurt, or something else. What that might be, Mateo had not yet divined.

“So, Angel,” Mateo said. “How is my sister in the sack? Pretty hot I bet.”

Angel stumbled, almost dropping his holdall. “Jeez mate, you can’t ask me that. Fuck, she’s your sister, man.”

“Indeed, she is, young fellow,” Mateo said coldly. “And I am her protector. Has she ever mentioned what happened to her last two boyfriends?” When Angel shook his head, Mateo carried on.

“No? That’s because she doesn’t know what happened to them. And nor does anyone else, except me. Protector, understand? I heard what happened on the flight. I still haven’t decided if the punishment for that should be a finger or an eye. Imagine what would happen if you hurt her. Do not fuck with her, Angelo. And do not fuck with me. My father, that sad old man? He is my protector. Right, here’s the pub, let’s get a coffee.”

Angel spilled more coffee than he drank. Mateo felt sorry for him. He had laid it on so thick that a five-year-old Frankie would have seen through it. But this kid seemed genuinely concerned.

What is going on here? What is she doing with him? Is she toying with him? If so, that is very unfair. That’s not the Francesca I know…

The nuns were very welcoming of Angel. Mateo had made out the Mother Superior to be a scary tyrant. But her name was Alice, a native of New Zealand, and she was a real angel.

++++

The next day was Christmas Eve. Grandma planned a sumptuous dinner of Bacalhãu de Consoada. It sounded so simple, salt cod, potatoes, cabbage, and hard-boiled eggs. But like many humble, peasant dishes from around the world, it had been perfected. And their grandmother’s was sensational. Jorge described it to his children every Christmas as they barbecued prawns and tuna. But he had never tried to make, not wanting to sully the memory of his mother’s. Now they would get to experience it for themselves.

As she had been preparing it earlier in the afternoon, Jorge had announced that he was going to see Maria. Mateo rose to join him, but Francesca remained seated.

“Francesca, daughter,” Jorge said in a low voice. “I do not ask you for much in life. I try not to interfere in your decisions and choices. But this is not a choice, child. Your mother lies on yonder hill. We have travelled thousands of miles across the globe to be here. You and I owe her everything and you will come with us to pay your respects. Now.” He turned and left.

“Come on Frankie, we’ll take my truck,” said Mateo. “It’s nice up there, peaceful. I go every week to talk with her. Mama is a terrific listener, she hardly ever interrupts. And Papa is right, she gave her life for us and has watched over us ever since. We owe her a few minutes of our time. She would love to see you, I know it.”

“Shut up,” cried Frankie. “You don’t even believe in all that bible stuff. How can you stand there like a hypocrite and talk like that?”

“This isn’t a religious thing, Frankie,” he replied. “This is Mama. I’m sorry that you don’t remember her. I see her in your face every time I look at you and my heart breaks each and every time. I know that it’s the same for Papa. I loved her when she was alive, and I love her still.

“I don’t know if what I feel is real up there on the hill, but it feels like it is. Up there, she is with me. It matters Francesca, that we remember her and keep her close to us. It’s important. If you can’t see that I pity you and what has become of you. I love you, dear sister, as I love my Mama. The thought of losing you is terrifying to me. The thought that you might forget me is a million times worse.

“I’ll wait outside for a few minutes. Please come.”

She did not emerge from the house, so he drove off, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. His father had not made it far, so Mateo stopped for him. Neither man spoke as he climbed into the cab. It only took another minute or two for them to get to the cemetery.

There were many more headstones now than when Jorge had last been there. As they walked among them Mateo spoke.

“I thought you were exaggerating Papa. I thought she might be difficult, but not impossible. Perhaps Mama will have some answers.”

“Perhaps my son,” Jorge replied, “we can but hope.”

Her headstone looked a little weathered, but Mateo kept her grave clean. In the summer some flowers bloomed around the margins. Today there was a plastic wreath laid atop it.

Both men were silent for a time, each communing with their lost Maria. One asking for advice, the other for answers. As always, she did not reply in words, but she filled them with hope and love. Just as she had done when she was alive.

As they walked back to the pickup, Mateo took his father’s hand and Jorge began to cry.

++++

Grandma’s dinner was exactly as advertised, simple but sophisticated, rustic but delicious. There was muted conversation at the table, nothing of any consequence. It was driven in large part by their inherent politeness and respect for their host.

As they sipped their wine though, Mateo could stay silent no longer.

“Francesca, why did you not come with us today?” he asked. “It was beautiful up there. It should have been all four of us, we all missed you.”

“You missed me?” she exploded. “You fucking missed me? You don’t even know who I am. Well, let me remind you. I’m the little girl that followed you around like a lost puppy. I’m the little sister who thought you could walk on water when you taught me to ride my bike. And all the time you were laughing at me, toying with me, hating me.

“I’m the woman who came to stay with you in Sydney and showed you who I am. I’m the woman who was on the boat with you when we both realised the truth. I’m the one that gave you that necklace. And I’m the one you left behind.

“I date these foolish little boys to make you jealous. I fuck up my hair and wear this stinking makeup thinking you will finally notice me. But you make a silly joke and tease me about the toilet. I am not a little girl anymore Mateo. I am a woman, and I will not be trifled with. Do you understand?

“You don’t need me. You don’t even want me in your life. You ran away, halfway around the world to a flea-ridden shithole to be apart from me. I followed you to university, thinking that would impress you. That it would make you think. And did it? Did it fuck.

“You are hiding out from the world, from your life, from your potential. You avoid your commitments like the plague. I throw myself at your feet and what do you do? You find yourself another wanton floozie, even here, in this dump. One with a fucking kid. Does she like anal? Is she worth it?”

Francesca was standing now, gripping the table, her knuckles white. Her nostrils flared and spittle trailed from her lips. When she stopped shouting, she seemed to deflate, running out of steam before their eyes. A sickening sense of realisation began to spread across her face. Understanding of what she had said and what she had done began to hit home, hard. She turned to flee.

“Stay, Francesca,” Mateo said in a steely voice. “None of that is true. I have loved you since the day Mama brought you home. I have cared for you and nurtured you in the best way I knew how. Life has pushed us apart, but I thought that was just physical distance. I thought our love was bigger and better than that. I thought it would transcend such trivialities. But I was wrong, and I apologise.

“I love you now as I did then. That will never change, but I cannot look at you. I cannot face what you have become. Sit down and apologise to our host and her guests. I shall leave. I’ll be on the boat.”

After squeezing his father’s shoulder, he walked out of the front door. Moments later his truck engine roared to life, and he sped off.

++++

Around the table, there was a moment of silence. It was broken by a keening wail as Francesca collapsed. She was sobbing on the floor, inconsolable. Jorge looked at his mother and she nodded across the table at Angelo. He stood and indicated to the boy that they should leave. Grabbing their jackets, they stepped out into the evening gloom.

Francesca’s grandmother knelt beside her. With an effort, she raised the girl’s tear-stained face to her own. In a clear voice, she spoke to her granddaughter.

“Well, my dear, as grand gestures go, that was completely shit! Now stand up, we don’t have much time. Forget all that, we’ve all known it was coming. Well not that poor boy Angelo, but the rest of us have just been waiting. Take my bicycle, it’s at the back door. Now ride like the wind down to the harbour. You might still have time. Now go!”

Francesca was astonished. She had come here with romantic notions in her mind. Her grand plan had been coming to a head. There was to be a stirring speech, the music would swell, and all would be well. But she had lost her mind. She had hurt everyone, and Mateo had left. And now Grandma was telling her, to chase after him like a lovesick fool.

What is happening?

“Go,” roared the old woman, “before it is too late, and you do lose him for good.”

++++

Mateo had the big diesel engines running, letting them warm up. With practised ease, he powered up the navigation and communications systems. As the generator tell-tales cycled from red to green, he turned on the spotlights fore and aft. Donning his life jacket, he stepped onto the dock and undid the mooring lines. He gave the boat a tiny shove as he stepped back aboard. Climbing up to the flying bridge he tapped open the throttles and eased away from his berth. As he cleared the other boats in the harbour, he pushed the levers fully forward. The sturdy vessel accelerated out to sea in a roar of power and fury.

Behind him, at the harbour wall, the old bicycle squealed to a halt. Frankie screamed his name into the still night air, but the thundering engines were too loud. She could see him atop the vessel, its lights brighter than the sun. He was gone, racing off into the night, away into the unknown. On his beautiful boat, with its name emblazoned across the stern.

“Francesca.”

++++

Jorge and Angelo walked together towards the convent. After a period of silence, Jorge spoke up.

“I’m sorry my boy, but it seems that you have been caught up in my family’s drama. I don’t know what it’s all about, but it is my job to find out. I’ll bring Frankie up here in the morning and insist she talks with you. After that, I’ll take care of whatever you want. A hotel in the city or an early flight home, whatever suits you, my lad. I don’t think staying here is going to be an option, should you even want it to be.”

“I knew she was out of my league, you know?” Angelo replied. “I’m sorry, I know you’re her dad, but she is the hottest girl I’ve ever seen. And just about the funniest too. It takes me five minutes to work out the joke most times, but I always laugh in the end. I was just glad to be with her for a while, I sort of knew it wasn’t real. The princess never falls for the beggar in real life, but it was like being in a movie, you know? I never expected a happy ending, but it was a hell of a ride.