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‘Then perhaps it’s clinical, my dear. He needs to be seen by a psychiatrist.’

Valentina shook her head. ‘He’ll refuse. He doesn’t believe anything is wrong. He…’ She looked down, rubbing her wrist where Lawrenz had grabbed her recently. It was still tender.

‘It’s getting worse?’

‘Yes.’ Valentina nodded, swallowing back tears as the couple watched her with sympathetic expressions. ‘I call them cycles, and they seem to be happening more often.’

‘Then professional help is required. There’s a suite of drugs now that can be of assistance. But whatever the cause, you have to work out how to make yourself and your son safe. You cannot live in fear. His moods and violence may escalate, especially if he’s drinking more heavily.’

She’d thanked them profusely, and the wife had squeezed her arm as they left. ‘What about your parents? Can they help?’

‘They’re dead – so is my brother; the other has left Malta. I have no close family in Valletta.’

‘Well, get away from him, my dear,’ she whispered. It was a communication of solidarity. Women understood. ‘Find a way, find some allies, and at the very least report him.’

‘This is Malta,’ Valentina had said softly. She was Catholic, she had a young son, and nowhere to turn, not really.

How was she going to get away from him?

Short of either of them dying, she couldn’t imagine how he might no longer be in her and Danjel’s lives.

‘Mama!’ Danjel brought her back to their conversation.

They had reached the top of the hill, and she paused to breathe for a second, and to remember what they’d been speaking about. ‘Your father can say what he wants for now, and then when you’re old enough, you can tell him you’ll do as you choose and not how he pleases.’ She pulled him to the side of the street. ‘I’m going to say this now because I know you think deeply, Danjel, and it’s important for you to hear this. I will only say it once. Your father has done nothing for you. Nothing. He does not encourage you, he takes no interest in your studies, he gives you no love or attention. And for this I feel only fury, because he’s had so much opportunity to be a good father to you.’

Danjel regarded her, eyes serious. ‘Was he ever kind to me?’

She smiled sadly and touched his cheek. ‘He was overjoyed when you were born. A son! He was very proud. He walked you around the city, telling everyone you were his. He adored you.’

‘What did I do wrong?’

She was sure her heart stilled at such a sad query from a child. ‘Nothing, my darling boy. Your papa is sick, I think.’

He frowned. ‘Sick?’

She touched her temple in explanation. ‘In here. He can’t help it. When you were a baby, it wasn’t as bad, but it’s got worse.’

‘What is it?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t really know. A doctor gave me some names for what it could be, or it might be something he learned from his own father, or a combination of both. I’m not sure.’

‘If there’s a name for it, then others must have it. He can get help.’

Clever Danjel. ‘Yes, but your father doesn’t believe he’s unwell. Plus he drinks so much and becomes unreasonable. It’s like he becomes another person when he slips into his moods or drunkenness, isn’t it? I will never manage to persuade him to seek help.’

Her son sighed as though he were decades older than his ten years. ‘So what shall we do?’

Report it. Get away from him.

The older woman’s advice kept reverberating in Valentina’s mind, but it was impossible. She was English, Protestant, probably; what could she know about Valentina’s religious upbringing and situation? Cope was the usual advice.

Even if she could tell someone what was happening, she knew what the answer would be. He is your husband. You must endure, like a good wife, a good Catholic.

‘I know how hard you have tried to be a good son. But, Danjel, it’s not you. His behaviour is not about you. And it’s not about me either. It’s his own problem.’ She watched him blink, turning over her remarks, and Valentina knew her son had likely believed that everything was his fault and that his father didn’t care for him because he was somehow a bad son. She pressed on. ‘Listen, Danjel, people are complicated creatures. I think when your father was much younger, he too wanted his papa’s love and praise. But your grandfather used to constantly criticise him, and I think that has damaged your papa, along with this sickness.’

She could almost see the wheels in her son’s mind turning. ‘He doesn’t praise me and I’m not a bully.’

‘No, but as I said, people are complicated. You are stronger here,’ she said, touching his chest. ‘And you are better educated. You are more perceptive than your father could ever be, plus you know you’re loved to the ends of the earth by me,’ she said, hugging him and making a show of burrowing into his neck to kiss him. ‘These days I don’t think your father knows how to love anyone or anything but himself. He no longer trusts me, your Uncle Robertu or any of his family. He’s not normal in this regard, Danjel. Even from when he was a child, he thought everyone was against him. I wish you had been born to another man, but this is the man we have in our life.’