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She saw Peter and Danjel as the light of a Caravaggio artwork. And the arriving Lawrenz was the darkness. In the painting she loved so much, he was the executioner: workmanlike, expressionless, passionless.

The bubble burst and everyone was suddenly in motion. Peter stood and moved towards Danjel instinctively, in a fluid movement she loved him for.

‘Lawrenz!’ Valentina exclaimed, also standing, her chest tightening with fear. ‘What are you doing here?’

Her husband stood amongst them, his mouth set in an angry line, fists tight in fury, taking in the scene. ‘I thought you said you gave that dress away.’ He was slurring as well as unsteady, she could see, despite the hour. She could smell the alcohol coming off him, and see the slight tremble in his hands where he stood.

‘I…’ That was the first thing he said? She really didn’t know how to respond. She felt trapped. Everything about this scene, from her dress to the carefree picnic and the company she kept, was gun-powder for Lawrenz.

She knew this mood too well. The tapers were lit. He was set to explode.

‘Leni.’ He waggled a thick finger of warning. ‘I told you never to wear that dress again, let alone in public. I told you it makes you look like a slut.’ Lawrenz moved towards her.

‘Don’t talk to her like that, please,’ Peter said, stepping forward now and pulling Valentina behind him. Maria was standing too, arms outstretched in fear.

‘Who the fuck is this?’ Lawrenz said to her in Maltese, ignoring Peter. ‘Oh wait!’ he now said in English. ‘I recognise you, old man. You’re that pilot, aren’t you? Where are your crutches? I’d imagine you need them now just to walk, eh?’

‘Lawrenz,’ Valentina said softly, moving to take his arm, but he shoved her aside like a rag doll. She knew everyone saw her grimace of pain.

Peter spoke again. ‘Don’t ever do that to her again, Lawrenz. And yes, I remember you. You’re the bully who covered his shortcomings with his fists, from what I hear.’

Valentina drew in a sharp breath as Lawrenz laughed, showing all of his teeth in what looked like a snarl. ‘This is my family, and I’ll do whatever the hell I want with them. Come here, son,’ he said, saying the word like it tasted bad in his mouth.

‘No!’ Danjel said firmly, shaking his head.

Valentina looked at her child, who seemed to have grown inches in the last few moments. She saw it all, the years of pent-up fury and horror, surging to the fore of his awareness. ‘Danjel,’ she said quietly, reaching out a hand for him.

‘I said no!’ Danjel yelled, this time at her. ‘Why is he back already? You promised he’d be away for weeks. I don’t want him here. I hate him, I hate him!’

Peter moved closer still to Danjel, slung an arm around trembling shoulders.

‘Get your hands off my son,’ Lawrenz roared.

‘I’m not your son!’ Danjel sneered. ‘I’m yours in name only. I belong to my mother and my mother’s family. I hate you.’

‘Danjel,’ Peter said softly. ‘Don’t talk like that.’

‘Why not? He does. He talks to my mother like that. He hits her, he hurts her. I wish he was dead!’

Lawrenz almost looked happy at this show of defiance, and Valentina could see this was playing straight into his hands.

‘So the young cub has claws,’ he said in Maltese. ‘You weak little piece of shit,’ he said to Danjel, switching to English now for Peter’s benefit. ‘You’d prefer him as a father, would you?’

‘Yes! One hundred times yes, you dumb, drunken oaf.’

‘Enough, Danjel!’ Valentina pleaded, her voice stretched thin in shock, but she knew in her heart that this confrontation had always been coming. She’d hoped it would happen when Danjel was old enough to leave the family home; she wasn’t ready for it now… and neither was he.

‘Ha!’ Lawrenz said, ‘you’re as weak as he is. Look at him, Danjel, watching me with all that hate. Can’t you see he’s lusting after your mother? He might have already had her while I was away.’ He grabbed his crotch in a most unseemly gesture.

‘That’s enough,’ Peter said, his voice no louder but definitely harder. Here was the cool, disciplined pilot in him that didn’t fear danger, Valentina saw. But what would he do?

‘Lawrenz, just stop,’ she cried. ‘Let’s go home and we can⁠—’

‘And spoil this lovely scene? No, let’s stay and enjoy this nice picnic of yours, while you put all your slutty flesh on show to the foreigner. Has he made you his whore yet?’

‘Lawrenz Falzon, you watch your mouth in front of your elder and this child!’ Maria said.

‘Or what, Maria?’ He started swearing at her in Maltese.