Torn

by Karen Moore

  Copyright © 2019 by Karen Moore

  Artwork: Adobe Stock © vickyrandom, © Aleksandar Todorovic

  Design: soqoqo

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or Crooked Cat Books except for brief quotations used for promotion or in reviews. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are used fictitiously.

  First Dark edition, darkstroke, Crooked Cat Books. 2019

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  For my mum and dad who would have been so proud.

  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank Laurence and Stephanie Patterson at Crooked Cat/Darkstroke for their belief in me as a writer and for all their guidance and support in bringing Torn to publication. Thanks also to my editor Christine McPherson for her keen eye and patience and for making the editing process so smooth and painless. And my additional thanks to the Crooked Cat writing community for their warm welcome and helpful insight into their world.

  Thanks to all my fellow writers at Manchester Scribes for their invaluable advice which helped shape Torn, especially to Sue Barnard, Joe Fenton and Louise Jones who read early versions of the book. Your continued encouragement is much appreciated. My gratitude also to the Stockport Writers critique group for their honest feedback on my emerging chapters and developing writing skills. I couldn’t have done this without any of you.

  Thanks to my good friends Janet Finucane and Nathan Lee for their entertaining company, delicious meals, and endless patience over the years, listening and responding to my ideas for the book and putting up with continual updates. Their Welsh cottage helped inspire the North Wales setting of Torn and from which I have shamelessly borrowed. My apologies and thanks!

  To Italy for being such an inspiring, exuberant and vibrant place and to all the people I’ve met there over the years who’ve contributed unwittingly to the Torn storyline. Grazie mille.

  About the Author

  Karen Moore is a British writer based in Cheshire. She lived in Italy for ten years and worked as a tour guide in Europe, the USA and Canada, followed by a career in PR and marketing. Torn is her debut novel.

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  Torn

  Chapter One

  Italy, Sunday 22nd October, 2017

  The weather was getting worse as the storm drew nearer. Visibility had been reduced to a minimum by the driving rain battering the windscreen of the little Fiat 500, the incessant drumbeat of the windscreen wipers almost hypnotic.

  In the passenger seat, Hanna looked again at her watch, fearful that they weren’t going to arrive in time.

  “Don’t worry, we should be nearly there now,” said her friend Ceri as she struggled to keep the car on course along the dimly-lit waterlogged road.

  “Even if we get there in time, there’s every chance that the flight will be cancelled,” Hanna pointed out, her attempts at staying positive eroded by the stress of the last few weeks. “It would have been so much easier to fly from Rome, but we couldn’t take the risk.”

  Huddled in the back seat, Hanna’s daughter Eva lay half asleep, still in her fleecy pink pyjamas, topped by a thick down jacket in a deeper shade of pink. Wedged in by her side sat an enormous scarred suitcase crammed with their most treasured belongings.

  “There’s the airport sign now,” said Ceri, straining to see through the windscreen. “We should just about make it.”

  Hanna glanced at her watch again. It was just after 7pm. Check-in was due to close at 7.45pm. It had turned 7.30pm when they finally pulled up outside the terminal building.

  “Let me go and check everything’s OK with the flight first,” said Hanna, opening the passenger door. Ceri nodded.

  She scurried over to the departures board. Only a handful of flights were scheduled to leave that evening, most of which had already been cancelled. Her heart sank. But scrutinising the board more closely, she noticed that the Bristol flight was still open. Over the tannoy came the last call for passengers to Bristol.

  Hanna dashed back to the car. Ceri helped her drag the bulky suitcase from the back seat, followed by a very drowsy Eva, and loaded them both onto a nearby trolley.

  “Thanks for everything, Ceri,” said Hanna, hugging her friend, tears welling in her eyes. “We couldn’t have done it without you. I just hope…”

  “Rhys will look after you both,” replied Ceri firmly. “You couldn’t be in safer hands.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  “Look after yourselves. Keep in touch and let me know how you get on,” said Ceri.

  “Will do. I’ll call when we get there,” said Hanna with a tight smile, and she turned to hurry towards check-in with a brief backwards wave.

  “You’re in luck, signora. The Bristol flight is the last one out tonight and you’ve just made it in time,” said the desk attendant, taking their tickets and passports. “Boarding has already started so you’ll have to hurry. Gate 5. I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”

  Hanna smiled appreciatively as she hauled the suitcase onto the waiting conveyor belt while their documents were checked.

  “Buon viaggio! Have a good trip!” said the attendant, returning their passports along with their boarding passes.

  Hanna picked Eva up and rushed off across the concourse towards the departure gates. Security was quiet and they passed through quickly, arriving at the gate with a few other latecomers. Hanna noticed to her dismay that there was no shuttle bus or covered walkway so they would have to brave the elements to reach the waiting plane which was sitting several hundred metres away on the main apron. She set Eva down, unable to carry the three-year-old any longer.

  The biting wind howled around them as they fought their way across the tarmac, the rain turning to a mixture of hail and sleet, a constant stream of icy pellets striking their faces. Hanna prayed silently to a God that she didn’t really believe in that the weather wouldn’t stand in their way at this late stage.

  She grabbed her daughter’s hand tightly. “Come on, Eva, we have to hurry,” she urged, as the little girl looked up at her with puzzled eyes. “Sbrigati!” she added in Italian, trying to make the sleepy child understand the urgency of the situation.

  Clutching her battered old teddy Orsina, Eva clumsily tried to do as Hanna asked. They bowed their heads against the driving gale and hailstones that attacked them like little bullets as they struggled over towards the waiting plane. The plane that would take them far away from the country they’d come to regard as home.

  Her heart thumping, Hanna cast an anxious glance behind her. She could barely make out the blurred mass of the terminal building fading into the darkness, and the last few stragglers bent almost double in their efforts to reach the plane. Nothing seemed amiss.

  At last they reached the steps leading up to the open door of the plane where the welcoming smile of the waiting flight attendant had frozen into a frown. Not the best omen, thought Hanna as she swept Eva up into her arms for the last few steps.

  A few almost inaudible words of Italian came from her offspring, clearly agitated and bewildered by being parted from her warm bed and bundled into the car for a long bumpy journey to the little provincial airport on the coast.

  “Che succede? What’s going on? Where are we going?” Eva wailed. “Isn’t Babbo coming, too? And where’s Nonna?”


  “Don’t worry, piccola,” said Hanna, kissing the top of her daughter’s head lightly as she stepped inside the plane with her precious cargo. “We’re going on a surprise trip, an adventure, just you and me. Daddy and Gran couldn’t come. You’ll enjoy it, you’ll see.”

  The flight attendant forced a tired smile as she showed them to their seats. Eva yawned, hardly able to keep her eyes open. Hanna settled her down, fastening the seatbelt around her sleepy daughter before attending to her own.

  Almost immediately, the engines started up, bringing the plane slowly to life. Through the window, Hanna could see the fading lights from the airport building as the plane taxied down the runway and started its gradual but difficult ascent, buffeted by the strong wind. The plane finally escaped from its grasp and settled to a steady cruising speed.

  Eva had already fallen into a deep and seemingly untroubled sleep, her lips curved into a slight smile, her appearance angelic in stark contrast to the harsh artificial light and brash décor of the budget airline. Hanna stole a look around at her fellow passengers. No one seemed to be paying them any attention and she didn’t recognise anyone. Reassured, she settled back in her narrow seat and heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

  We’ve done it, she thought triumphantly, we’ve managed to get away. But this was tempered by a feeling of overwhelming despondency and dread of what lay ahead. Not only did she have to create a new life for the two of them, but she needed to make sure that they stayed safe and well away from Luciano’s clutches.

  She had to decide what to do about Luciano. But for now, that would have to wait. All that mattered was that their old life was behind them. Hanna felt drained; she laid her head back and closed her eyes, falling into a light but troubled sleep. Half an hour later, she woke with a start, her head pulsing from the dark remnants of her nap. She felt wearier than before. Eva was still fast sleep, a faint enigmatic smile on her face. Hanna’s heart lurched as she watched the little girl’s chest rising softly as she slept.

  For the first time in ages, Hanna started to relax. We’re safe, she thought.

  At least for now.

  Chapter Two

  Sicily, Friday 16th August, 2013

  “It’s been ages since we’ve had a chance to catch up,” said Ceri in her soft melodic Welsh lilt. “How’re things going with Luciano?”

  The two friends were sitting at one of Taormina’s popular pavement cafés, the late morning sun caressing their faces, the light sea breeze taking the edge off the heat. The terrace boasted a magnificent picture-postcard view of the lofty peak of Mount Etna to the south and the shimmering waters of the Gulf of Naxos off to the east.

  “Really well, couldn’t be better,” replied Hanna happily, sipping her iced coffee, “A bit scary really — the chemistry, I mean. It sort-of takes over. Everything else pales almost into insignificance. Sorry I’ve been neglecting you a bit of late.”

  “I’m just concerned for you. It can’t be that easy trying to spend time with him when you’re only here for a couple of days at a time and you’ve always got your group to look after.”

  Hanna and Ceri both worked as tour guides but for different companies. They had met the previous season when they kept running into each other at the various historic sites across the island. The two young women found they had a lot in common and became good friends. They would meet up whenever Hanna was in Sicily, which was usually about once a month now that she was alternating her tours with another around Tuscany and the isle of Elba.

  “We manage okay but you’re right, it is difficult when you’ve always got one eye on the clock,” replied Hanna.

  “Sure it’s not just a holiday romance that will dwindle out at the end of the season?” Ceri asked.

  “Who knows? It’s doubtful, but we’ll have to see. Whatever it is, I’m not going to pass it up, even if it’s short-lived.”

  “Have you met any of his family?” pressed Ceri.

  “Only his younger sister, Paola.”

  “And how was she with you?”

  “What’s with all the questions, Ceri?” Hanna frowned.

  “It’s just that…”

  “Come on, Ceri, out with it.”

  “Well, there’s talk… that Luciano might not be all he seems.”

  “Meaning what exactly?”

  “I’m not sure,” stammered Ceri apologetically. “It’s just gossip, it’s nothing. I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Well, you haven’t really said anything yet,” said Hanna, a touch of annoyance creeping into her voice.

  Just what was bothering Ceri? Maybe she was a little envious of her whirlwind relationship with Luciano? He was, after all, an amazingly attractive and successful local businessman. Hanna had met him at the opening of a swish new bar in the lively coastal resort of Giardini Naxos, about six kilometres south of Taormina.

  She remembered the moment vividly. Both girls had dressed with care for the occasion – Hanna in a designer abstract-print linen dress, and Ceri in flamboyant burnt orange georgette. The guests’ attention at the launch party focused on one man, who appeared to lap it up like a Hollywood actor before his adoring fans. He was easily the most attractive man there, the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome in a very Sicilian way. His face was particularly striking, with high cheekbones and a prominent aquiline nose.

  As Hanna and Ceri accepted a flute of spumante and made their way through the crowded bar to the terrace overlooking the sea, the man glanced their way, fixing Hanna with his flashing coal-black eyes and intense mesmerising gaze. Smiling, he extricated himself from his acolytes and headed towards them, his gaze fixed relentlessly on Hanna. She remembered feeling helpless and rooted to the spot, like an animal in a snare, spellbound.

  When he spoke, his voice was deep and velvety just as she’d imagined it would be. She struggled to understand his thick dialect but could make out his name and the word “bedda”, the local dialect word for beautiful; enough for her to understand that he was paying her a compliment. And when he smiled, it seemed to light up the whole bar. All the guests and the chatter and clinking of glasses faded into the background – it was as if only the two of them were in the room. This was Luciano; the effect he had on her was something that she had never experienced before. Hanna was smitten from that very first moment.

  That had been at the beginning of the season, and they’d been inseparable ever since. Whenever she was in Sicily, Hanna and Luciano would meet up and spend every minute of their free time together. This often didn’t amount to much; although she spent a few days on the island every month, she still had her tour group to look after.

  The language didn’t present a problem. Hanna’s Italian was pretty fluent by now, although Luciano’s was usually peppered with local words, some of which she was starting to recognise. It was a different story when he spoke to his friends. Then it was in a thick, guttural dialect spoken at machine-gun speed that she couldn’t decipher.

  Luciano told her that his family had a wine production business and although he didn’t elaborate, it was obviously pretty lucrative. He had a small, stylish apartment overlooking the sea in Cefalu on the northern coast of the island, but seemed to spend little time there, preferring the company of friends and family. Whenever they met up, the apartment became a handy hideaway, their own private love nest where they could take time out from their busy lives. It was a luxury that neither of them had the chance to enjoy that often.

  Her reverie was broken by the appearance of a waiter at her side, asking if they wanted anything else. The two friends ordered two non-alcoholic aperitifs.

  “What are you getting at?” asked Hanna, picking up the conversation where it had left off.

  “It’s just that… well, haven’t you noticed anything unusual about him?”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, the fact that everyone’s so… what’s the word? Deferential, I suppose.”

  “He certainly seems to have a fair amount of influence, but
that’s just the circles he moves in, you know that,” replied Hanna, unruffled.

  “How are we doing for time?”

  “Twenty minutes to go.”

  They finished their drinks, paid the bill, and left the café to walk through the narrow winding streets crowded with holidaymakers, towards the coach park to join their respective groups.

  On the way back to the hotel, Hanna thought again about their conversation. What had Ceri been trying to tell her? Hanna had often wondered about the way people behaved in Luciano’s presence, but she put it down to a mixture of respect for his family’s business, their standing in the community, and his considerable personal charisma. Things were different here; there was still a strong sense of family and community. Religion also played its part. Families were close-knit; business transactions rarely involved people from beyond the island.

  Although Hanna hadn’t experienced any problems in her work, she wondered if she would ever be accepted if she were to settle down here permanently. Or would she forever be considered an outsider, a straniera?

  Maybe Ceri was slightly envious. She’d just discovered that the coach driver she’d been seeing off and on since the start of the season was married with three small children living on the mainland. A touch of sour grapes, perhaps?

  There was no more time to think about that now as the coach was pulling up at the hotel. Hanna announced the arrangements for the following day: an early departure from the hotel; a quick stop in Messina before the short ferry trip to the mainland; and then the long journey north through Calabria.

  She planned to spend the afternoon completing the tour paperwork and accounts before meeting up with Luciano for dinner, followed by an early night. She smiled in anticipation of the evening to come.