They don’t sound like me. They sound like they belong here, in this village, with these people. Like they were never supposed to be anything else.
“Mam, look!” Finn shouts, holding up a fistful of frosting he’s scraped off his slice of cake.
“I see it, baby.”
“Liam took the flower!”
Liam, who has been quietly eating his cake in the corner, looks up with wide innocent eyes. There’s blue frosting smeared across his cheek and a sugar flower clutched in his fist.
“Did not,” he says.
“Did too!”
“Boys,” Helena says firmly. “There’s enough cake for everyone. Finn, eat your piece. Liam, give your brother the flower back.”
Liam considers this for a moment, then shakes his head. Finn launches himself at his brother, and suddenly there’s shrieking and flailing limbs and cake flying everywhere.
I move to separate them, but Mary gets there first. She scoops Finn up with practiced ease while Bridget grabs Liam, and within seconds, they’ve been separated to opposite sides of the room.
“That’s enough,” Mary says, but she’s smiling. “You’re both covered in cake. Let’s get you cleaned up.” They cart the boys off to the bathroom, still arguing about the sugar flower, and Helena starts cleaning frosting off the table.
“They’re spirited,” she says.
“That’s a polite way of saying they’re terrors.”
“They’re five. It’s normal.”
I sink into a chair and watch her wipe down the table with efficient movements. She’s been with us since Barbados, five years and nine months now, and I still don’t know how I feel about her. She’s kind. Patient with the boys. Good at her job.
But she’s also Victor’s employee first and my friend never.
“How long are we staying here?” I ask.
Helena pauses, cloth in hand. “I don’t know.”
“Victor said it was temporary.”
“He says a lot of things.”
“So we’re just supposed to live here forever? Raise the boys in isolation?”
“You’re not isolated. You have the village. The market. The boys play with other children?—”
“Under supervision. Always under supervision.”
Helena sets down the cloth and looks at me directly. “What did you expect, Aurelia? You’re raising the children of Victor’s enemy. Did you think he’d just let you walk away?”
The words sting because they’re true.
I’m trapped here.
“I’m going for a walk,” I say, standing.
“The boys?—”
“Mary and Bridget have them. I just need air.”
Helena doesn’t argue. Just nods and goes back to cleaning.
