6

Her great-great aunt Sharon hugged and greeted Melody like the return of the prodigal daughter.

   ‘Welcome Melody. Welcome to my home for this most wonderful Shabbat.’

   ‘Thanks for inviting me Mrs Fuchs.’

   ‘Who is this old lady Mrs Fuchs you mention. Call me Aunty.’

   ‘Okay. Thanks. I will—Aunty.’

   Sharon ran her bony, veined hands over Melody’s face, like a blind person might do to see a face.

   ‘You look exactly like my dear, dear sister Muriel, of blessed memory. Kevin, doesn’t she look just like Muriel at the same age?’

   ‘Never met Muriel. Remember Aunty? Died before I was even a twinkle. Nazis killed her. In the war? Doodlebug blew up her gaff in Limehouse.’

   Melody could see the pain in her old eyes, as they misted over for a second. Time had not diminished Sharon’s sister. Time would not diminish Melody’s daughter, that she had vowed.

   ‘Is this not the fate of the Jews from time immemorial Melody? They chase us from country to country, and still they kill us in our own ancestral home.’

   A silence descended as Sharon drifted off to distant tortured memories. Kevin smiled weakly at Melody, before looking down at his shoes.

   As quickly as she drifted, Sharon snapped back. ‘Pah. Forgive an old lady her ramblings. Come, come, come to my table. It’s almost time to bless the candles and celebrate the bounty of the creator.’

   It was the sixth Sabbath since Kevin had semi-accosted her at Charity’s graveside. He had been pestering her to attend ever since: Melody finally relented, making her way by bus from Totteridge to her aunt’s large semi-detached house in Edgware. She arrived a few minutes before sunset—the Jewish Sabbath beginning sunset Friday and lasting until sunset Saturday. The men had already arrived back from Synagogue and assembled for the feast to follow.

   Her sister Ruth also kept the traditional Shabbat and was always disappointed if her sister was missing. Melody hadn’t yet mentioned the allegedly black sheep Fuchs half of the family. She wanted it for herself at the moment. A thing of her own, outside what had become her existence amongst her comfortable, well-meaning family and friends. She told her sister that she was seeing her friends Chloe and Ben Carrington.

   The Carringtons were more than just friends, they were also business partners. Ben had been Paul’s best mate since Cambridge University. Total opposites of course. Paul was all working-class Belfast and more cerebral than sporty. Ben was the posh son of privilege, real plummy home counties, following dad into Eton, then Cambridge. Definitely more sporty than cerebral. Reserve for the rowing crew. Blues in rugger and boxing.

   They had started their tech company Peach together in dorms as a lark really. Today it was valued near a billion pounds. Ruth knew the Carringtons were as devoted to Melody’s recovery as her, thus understood completely.

   She stood at the back of the large dining room packed with about thirty adults and a half dozen children. None of whom Melody knew existed six weeks ago. Despite the wonderful spirit of her ninety-year-old, new-found aunty, Melody was wishing she’d stayed home with the intimate ceremony of Ruth, Gerald and little Freddie.

A   s the woman of the house, Aunt Sharon set the huge table, which seemed ready to collapse under the weight of the food waiting for hungry mouths. Amongst the food were two candles in their holders, representing the dual commandments to remember and observe the Sabbath. The two loaves of challah bread and glass of wine represented the manna from heaven provided for the Israelites in preparation for Shabbat in the desert.

    Sharon reverently lit the candles. She then moved her hands above the burning wicks and the light, before covering her eyes with both hands, so as not to see the candles as she recited the blessing in Hebrew.

   ‘Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam. Asher kidishanu b’mitz’votav v’tzivanu. l’had’lik neir shel Shabbat. Amen.’

   At the final Amen, Sharon opened her eyes to see the lit, blessed candles, thereby completing the ceremony.

   The father of the house began the Shabbat meal. Sharon’s husband was long since dead, so that task fell to her eldest son Daniel. He poured wine into a glass from a large ceramic jug before reciting the blessing over it.

   Challah bread is made from extra fine flour and eggs. Tasting sweeter than ordinary bread to symbolize that Shabbat is sweeter than any other day. Daniel recited another blessing over the challah before inviting everyone to share the first piece of bread, and start the Shabbat meal.

   Throughout the evening Kevin took it upon himself to introduce Melody to everyone. A few were aware of her troubles, but they were respectful in not delving any further than heartfelt condolences. But most were oblivious as they broke bread and celebrated life with a newcomer, and each other.

   Melody knew Kevin was a bit of a rogue darlin’. It was just about his pitch at Nell’s Kitchen on that first day they met, along with all the other info on the history of the Fuchs. He’d only recently returned from Spain—Basque country—where he had lived for the past twenty years. There he had cultivated a reputation for cultivating excellent marijuana in various illicit grow sites dotted around the region.

   He would start the plants from his own genetically modified seeds in hot-spaces secreted around his large rented farmhouse. Once transplanted outside, the bushes quickly grew to over eight feet tall, ripe for harvesting, and drying back at the farmhouse. Then selling.

   ‘Problem was darlin’, got too bleedin’ successful didn’t I?’

   ‘You can be too successful?’

   ‘Like, yeah. Specially when you’re basically in the drug biz. Where there’s mucho moolah in the end there’s mucho gangster. Turns out I got very green fingers. Both plants and pounds. I know, I know. Hard to believe innit. I was growing so much, got outta hand. Heavy hitters got to notice. And the fucking scousers. Always the fucking scousers. Pardonny me French. So left everything behind: lock, stock and blunt. Bolted back. Stayin’ over in Crouch End so not too far from me Aunty Sharon’s place. Lookin’ after her. Sort of. Like I said, she is ninety.’

   Kevin had mentioned the name Aaron Fuchs, but mainly in relation to the original East End gang Kaiser in the nineteen twenties. It was at this Shabbat that Melody took real notice of the name.

   ‘So, this is who, Kevin, y’vicked boy?’

   Melody turned to see a short, stocky man, staring at her with steel-trap eyes. He was quite unblinking—and sort of un-nerving.

   ‘Cryin’ out loud, Saul. Why you always sneaking up on people, scaring ’em half to life?’

   ‘Alvays be avare who lurking behind, else—’ Saul ran the flat of his hand across his throat and grimaced dramatically.

   ‘Yeah, okay I got it. I could be murdered at Shabbat. At Aunty Sharon’s. By you. Melody Fox meet Uncle Saul. Saul Levin. He is uh—was married to my Aunt Gilda, mum’s sister.’

    Saul clicked his heels together, bowed from the waist, took Melody’s hand and lightly kissed it.

   ‘Enchantez Mademoiselle.’

   Melody smiled at the charm which had followed the un-nerving stare in the un-blink of an eye. ‘Enchantez yourself.’

   ‘Gilda died. Israel. Two years ago.’

   ‘Gosh, I’m so sorry.’

   Saul shrugged. He was one of life’s true stoics. ‘Meh. Death visits all in the end. Be prepared to fight him like hell.’

   Despite his cockney bluster, Arthur Daley act, and drug dealing bona fides, Melody had analysed Kevin as highly empathetic. The last thing he wanted was for Saul to start banging on and upsetting her.

   ‘Okay Saul, moving on. So, Melody, never guess what Saul does?’

   ‘Vy guess vicked boy? I stand right here. I tell her. Save time.’

   ‘No, no you don’t understand. She’s dead good. Melody’s like this top psychiatrist, head shrink, right. Does all this personality shit for the army, right Mel?’

   Melody glared Saul-like at Kevin. She hated people knowing what she did in her previous life. Most of which was top secret, covered under the Official Secrets Act for her lifetime. And beyond.

   Kevin didn’t have to be that empathetic to get the glare. ‘What? Googled you. You’re famous, girl. Go on. Sherlock Saul.’

   Melody really didn’t want to strop out as she was enjoying her mandated day of rest far more than anticipated. Though she would put Kevin straight on a few things later. She looked hard at Saul and immediately noticed a few markers.

   ‘Right. First off, given your bearing, I’d guess you are, or probably were, in the military. Seem a bit old for active service.’

   Saul wasn’t that impressed. ‘Yeah, vell, okay. But most Israelis serve in the IDF at some point. Not a leap.’

   ‘True. But most are not in Special Forces, as you were.’

   Saul reluctantly half smiled as Melody took hold of his hand.’

   ‘May I?’

   ‘Mais oui, Mademoiselle.’

   She lifted his hand up to get a better look.

   ‘That ring, the other one, not your wedding ring, bears the crest of the Sayeret Matkal.’

   Melody turned his hand around to examine the palm.

   ‘Your hands are hard and fully calloused. Now, this is subjective but I’m guessing you’re not a manual labourer, digging ditches—’

   ‘Not even gardening. Like this vicked boy.’

   ‘Gee, thanks Saul. Remember that next time you wanna chill out with a gratis ounce of primo. Locked in.’

   Melody let go of his hand and moved in closer.

   ‘You have a yellowy healing bruise on the side of your face, which if I’m not mistaken—

   Melody placed her left hand on Saul’s shoulder.

   —May I?’

   ‘Beautiful voman lays lovely mitts on. Vy I fight that mitzvah?’

   Melody undid the top three buttons of Saul’s shirt, as he smiled with pleasure. She pulled back the material to reveal his shoulder.

   ‘A bruise which stretches down past your shoulder. And these other bruises in various degrees of repair. Which tell me that either you’re the world’s clumsiest man. Which I doubt. Or, you get into lots of fights.’

   Kevin did an exaggerated fist pull of triumph. ‘Booya. Told ya Saul.’

   ‘Given your background and the personality type required for Special Forces, you don’t get into any fight you haven’t initiated professionally. Or—one you don’t intend to win. So, given Kevin said I’ll never guess what you did, I have to conclude that you are not merely training, which your muscle mass suggests you continue almost daily. But that you are in fact the trainer. You teach some sort of martial arts.’

   Saul stood shaking his head for a couple of seconds, before exploding into loud laughter.

   ‘Very good basm—Princess. Krav Maga. Vat else?’

   ‘Told ya she was good Saul. Head shrinker.’

   ‘Not really head shrinking. That’s just basic observation.’

   ‘Vatever. You good. Good in the mind. I should teach you Krav Maga, Princess. My treat. Free gratis. Your money no good. Help you get vell.’

   Melody bristled at the idea she was being head shrunk back by a stranger. ‘I am well, thank you very much, Saul.’

   ‘No Princess. No. You not vell by long chalk.’

   Saul gently put his huge hand around her bicep. You veak. I help. Come to Krav Maga for me. I teach you.’

   ‘To do what?’

   ‘Get fit, if nothing else. More. Defend yourself. Fight to death. Not your death. Other shmuck’s death.’

   ‘You mean, uh—teach me to kill someone?’

   ‘Ve don’t say that. Ve say eliminate threat. By vatever you needs to do. Then you live. Other shmuck die. Simple. Vot you say, Princess?’

Next Chapter: Krav Maga Princess