The Italian Affair

by Helen Crossfield

  The silence of the morning was interrupted by quiet knocking “Are you awake?” whispered Dan through a small keyhole in the old wooden slatted door to Issy’s bedroom.

  “Yes. I’ve just got up.” Issy whispered back opening letting him in. “You were right about the views, they’re amazing.”

  “I know” replied Dan as he studied her face for signs of distress before adding. “Hopefully just being here and seeing this will calm you. Did you sleep ok? The nun story didn‘t put you off I hope?”

  “No. Not from sleeping. It put me off coming here last night when you first mentioned it, but I slept like a baby and if I dreamt of anything I don’t remember it now” she lied.

  She had to lie. Dan would be worried if he knew the thoughts that had run through her mind for most of the night. First it had been the dead bodies of nuns sitting upright through rigor mortis, skeletal from the process of death. Then there was the furious running and pounding down streets that had biblical names, quickly followed by the gargoyles above her head that had laughed and goaded her as she ran. And then worse, more familiar faces had come into her consciousness causing her to waken repeatedly with familiar feelings of loss.

  Jeremy on the punt in Oxford, smiling down at her as he tried to steer the boat in a straight line before it crashed into the river bank. Both of them panicking as it started to sink amongst the water reeds, their faces disappearing from view forever immortalised as one.

  And then finally, the face of her father had come to her in a dream in a way it had never done previously. She saw and touched his face once more just as she had done as the warmth had left his body on that fateful day long ago. Shockingly it was vividly real and unchanged by time. As the image receded, Issy had felt a finality in the pit of her stomach. She’d sat up in bed aghast that she would never ever see him again – it was a thought she had NEVER EVER allowed herself to think before.

  All she’d had over the last fifteen years were a few memories from long ago that she struggled to remember clearly. And it was at this point in her dreams that Issy had turned her face into her pillow to block out the unpalatable truth. That her father was never ever coming back and neither was Jeremy – a double loss, of such heavy magnitude that waking had become more of a nightmare than the nightmare itself.

  And it was the remnants of those dreams that Issy was piecing together as she stood in front of Dan that morning. Despite the trauma, Issy tried her best to appear as normal as possible but she could see from Dan’s face that he intuitively knew what sat behind the mask and looked perplexed.

  He grabbed her hands. “Ok come on. Let’s not waste the day. We can go and get a coffee and some breakfast and then we’ll be free to explore the island, sample the thermal waters and eat more seafood al fresco.”

  “Sounds good,” Issy replied trying really hard to sound enthusiastic. “It’s far too nice a day to hang around. Let’s eat quickly and get to the beach before it gets too hot.”

  To get to the breakfast area within the hotel which, they’d been told the night before, was going to be served out on the terrace overlooking Ischia Porto they had to climb down some steep stone steps that looked like they had been hewn out of the rock face that led them to a wide open terrace.

  “Let’s go and sit over there in the sun,” said Issy as she walked across a stone-flagged courtyard to a wrought iron rusty table with bright red geraniums sitting jauntily on the stone balustrade facing the sea.

  “Look at that view,” enthused Dan walking with her and then hanging his body over the stone terrace “it’s simply magnificent. I love early mornings like this, when the sun is just coming up and there is hardly anyone around.”

  “I know and today I can’t wait to get into the sea,” said Issy looking for a waiter. “Maybe we should just help ourselves to the food. Look there’s an old wooden table through there that looks like it has got breakfast on it.”

  “Breakfast,” exclaimed Dan as they walked back on themselves having bagged a table. “It looks like it has got breakfast, lunch and dinner on it. It’s literally groaning with food and as you would expect the nectar from the fresh ingredients is simply mind blowing look at the sheer variety as well.”

  To one side of the table sat cured hams, salamis with peppercorn centers (salami the Neapolitan way), mozzarella (from the buffalo naturally) interlaced with slices of the ripest juiciest tomatoes, hard cheeses and soft cheeses, eggs, olives and sun dried tomatoes in brightly coloured ceramic bowls.

  On the opposite side were large slices of watermelon, bowls of the sweetest smelling peaches, large bunches of green and black grapes and a selection of, oils, vinegars and baskets filled with different types of warm bread.

  On a smaller table in there corner sat bottles of fresh juices. Lemon juice sweetened with sugar, blood red orange juice from Sicily, fresh melon juice, fresh grapefruit juice and last but by no means least the rich aroma of coffee wafting from the direction of the Gaggia coffee machine.

  “God, you know the best places to eat. The food here looks and smells so organic and fresh,” Issy squealed as she heaped cheese, hams and pieces of fruit onto her plate. “You’ve surpassed yourself again with your choice of hotel restaurant. I would never find places like this if it wasn’t for you.”

  “You would if you looked hard enough,” Dan laughed. “It’s just a case of asking the locals and not solely relying on information from the tourist guides as that is what everyone does. Oh my God, Issy you have to taste this,” Dan said holding up a glass of fresh peach juice as they walked back to their table.

  “That is simply amazing,” replied Issy “it is the nectar from the Gods.”

  “I assume you mean the Greek Gods?” Dan joked as they sat back down at their table which was awash with sun light piercing through the last of the early morning low clouds.

  “Here, take my shades you’ll need them to eat your food” said Dan as he started to devour the cured hams and slices of salami on his plate squinting in the sunlight. “And….you’ll be pleased to know,” he said in between mouthfuls “that after I left you last night I spent a lot of time making plans for how we should spend the rest of the day.”

  “As always,” replied Issy pulling the seeds from a slice of pink watermelon “I have come to expect nothing less from you. So don’t keep me in suspense what’s on the itinerary today?”

  “Well,” Dan said with a big smile on his face. “After we’ve finished breakfast and drunk our Capuchins we’ll take the Vespa to the harbour, buy a newspaper and then go to a quiet little beach I know in a little town called Sant’Angelo.”

  “Sounds perfect so far, where’s Sant’Angelo? Do we have to travel far?” asked Issy.

  “No. Sant’ Angelo is quite near Ischia Porto. We can take a swim, sunbathe and read the paper and then take an early lunch. After that we’ll go for a spot of relaxation in the famous hot thermal springs of Ischia before sipping an aperitif somewhere bijou and then onwards for an early dinner.”

  “That sounds gastronomic,” said Issy “a day of intensive eating interspersed with some short breaks to aid digestion how very Italian.”

  “Exactly as it should be, we’re supposed to be on holiday remember” replied Dan before talking finishing off his fresh peach juice, and looking out contentedly at the sweeping views.

  Issy looked at Dan staring at the boats bobbing on the water. “He was doing quite well,” she thought “to keep her from remembering. But what was he trying to achieve? Didn’t he know that whatever he did to distract her and please her he would never be able to truly make her feel better about things especially after the events of yesterday.”

  Dan returned to the task of eating his plate of cold meats and cheese. “What were you just thinking about just now? You looked so deep in thought.” Issy asked. “You’re not worried that we’re in some kind of danger are you?”

  “No. God NO, I wasn’t thinking about yesterday at all actually. It doesn’t matter, it’s a bit complicated to
explain” replied Dan

  “No you have to tell me if something is wrong” said Issy anxious to know.

  “Nothing is wrong, it‘s just a bit deep for first thing in the morning but if you really want to know….” Dan replied.

  “It’s not too early for me to hear what you have to say,” Issy said. I love our chats and your observations. Tell me. I don’t want to sit in silence.”

  Dan smiled at Issy’s insistence. “Ok, I‘ll give it a go. I was just thinking – since we met you’ve actually told me a lot of things about yourself. But what I think is true is that to be truly happy you have to know yourself. And I don’t think you do if that makes any sense. It’s almost as if you stopped growing emotionally at the point at which your dad died. And I think I probably did too when my dad finally left.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Issy. “I think I know myself quite well. Don’t we all understand ourselves better than anyone else?

  “No” said Dan emphatically. “You can be the most academically gifted person and still not know yourself – you think you do but it’s just an illusion. Just because you know what is going round in your head at any moment, doesn’t mean you know yourself any better than I know you. It just means you know what is going round in your head.”

  “Ok…this sounds like it’s going to be a very heavy conversation, I think we need to get back to the less strenuous task of relaxing,” Issy said regretting she had egged him on.

  “Yes. You’re right,” Dan said “and I know it was me who said we needed to do some serious relaxation but I want to try something out on you to see if you agree. Our minds are constrained by both the limits of our knowledge but also emotionally by the things that shaped us when we were children,” continued Dan not sure how he was going to finish the next bit without causing pain. “Look I’m trying to help you not hurt you. But I just don’t think you ever dealt with or accepted your dad’s death…” Dan faltered before looking up.

  Issy’s eyes began to prick with emotion. Dan was now on dangerous territory. “Go on” her voice quavered, “I won’t ask you how you think you know that. But supposing it’s true, how do you advise I get to know myself and also accept my dad’s death?”

  “Describe the person you were before your dad died. How you felt and who you were,” Dan said desperately trying to understand.

  Issy picked up a paper napkin and started to play with the corners of it. “He certainly picked his moments for heavy discussion,” she thought as she tried hard to remember her much younger self. “Here she was trying to get over a murder and that bloody disturbing dream AND trying to relax on his orders and now she was going over disturbing things from her past AGAIN.”

  As she thought about how on earth she could answer such a question, the sun momentarily disappeared behind a cloud before bursting back out shining more intensely down on her than it had earlier as she cast her mind back to being a little girl in Harrogate before her dad died – the BD (before death) life that was now so long ago she could hardly remember. Issy tried to speak in the hope that her voice could formulate that bit of her past that her mind had closed off forever.

  “I was er, I was happy very happy and quirky that‘s what dad always used to say about me,” Issy smiled. “He also said my mind worked faster than my body which is why I was always falling over. But apart from that I think the overwhelming feeling I had was a real sense of security.”

  Dan nodded his encouragement. “That’s good can you tell me anything more about how you felt?”

  “We had a perfect life,” Issy continued ruefully.” It was peaceful and predictable those are the things I miss most. I loved the simple things like feeding the ducks at the weekend and swimming. I liked watching my mum play the piano and dad water the roses in the evenings. When dad died everything, absolutely everything changed. I stopped being that person who felt warm and loved and secure and my mum closed down because she’d lost her soulmate. I became someone else and so did she. We became two people who clung onto each other who lived in fear of life and it was fear that drove us on to do the things we did and didn’t do.”

  Issy looked up at Dan as she continued. “You know what I also remember because they remind me of him? Yellow pink tea roses, strange but true how little bits of the past, however random, can represent the essence of someone so well. I love the way they look, the way they feel and the way they smell. They will always remind me of him. The fact that he died in front of me and I didn’t do anything to stop it from happening is something I will never be able to forgive myself for.”

  “Why do you feel guilty?” said Dan. “You told me he died of a massive heart attack. What could you have done?”

  “He did die of a heart attack,” Issy replied. “But that doesn’t stop me feeling guilty. I was the only one with him in the minutes before he died and for over an hour afterwards. It was just me and him. Almost my last words to him were about him not washing up a plate properly. He suffered from acute anxiety which I only found out many years later. Maybe it was something I did or said that tipped him over the edge.”

  “Oh my GOD,” Dan said. “I can’t believe that you’ve felt guilty about his death all your life. There is nothing anyone could have done in that situation unless you’d been a qualified medic and certainly not a six year old child. It was just one of those tragic unforeseen events in life.”

  “Tragic doesn’t come close to describing it,” said Issy as she picked at a piece of soft cheese.

  “When my mum left my dad,” Dan continued “she said it was the best thing she’d ever done. It was fear that prevented her from accepting things would never change with my dad and fear that stopped her from moving on. Hours, days, weeks and years have gone by since your dad died you have to let go of that fear because it’s holding you back. That’s what your dad would have wanted – you deserve to have a fun and good and long life but you have to open yourself up to it. Jeremy left you, your dad died but don’t let the past ruin your present and future.”

  Issy looked at Dan but was unable to speak or answer him. “How did he know about her dream the night before? How did he know that yesterday night for the first time she had faced the reality that her dad was dead?”

  She knew she had to now accept it. But in accepting it, she feared the void would open up inside her and overwhelm her like it had threatened to do so many times in the past. She’d felt the void on that cold day in February in Oxford when her eyes had met Jeremy’s across the Quad. She’d followed him that day because in the moment that their eyes had met she’d felt a total emptiness and loneliness that was slowly strangulating the life out of her. And, however wrong the relationship eventually proved to be, Jeremy must have felt the same. They had both fallen into each other’s voids with an intensity that suggested his void was as big as hers and in that split moment they provided each other with a reason to carry on.

  Eventually Issy spoke softly. “I know Dan. I know I have to accept it. But give me time. This weekend may not be the best time to do it.”

  Dan drained the bottom of his cappuccino. “I’m sorry Issy, I shouldn’t have said all that. Not with everything else that’s happened to you in the last twenty-four hours. I’m not even sure where it came from.”

  “It’s ok,” Issy replied. “I know you’re only saying these things to help me, maybe I’m just not ready to accept it. Not today anyway. Come on let’s get going. I’ve got a feeling that coming to Ischia is going to bring us a few surprises and hopefully they’ll be good ones. And we need to get to the beach before the Germans do. When I told one of my students I was coming here he told me to put my towel down first thing in the morning before they do.”

  Dan laughed. “Who told you that? It sounds about right!”

  “Who else but my favourite recalcitrant student Giuseppe,” Issy said with a laugh as they walked past the nunnery and made their way down to where they’d left the Vespa the night before.

  Ischia – 10.00 am local time 24 Septemb
er 1986

  Issy sat on the picturesque beach at Sant’ Angelo on a multi-coloured towel propped up against one of the conveniently located pieces of volcanic rock against which she had rested her head.

  After finding a not too uncomfortable position, she slid her sunglasses up her nose and opened Il Matino, the newspaper they’d just bought along with a large bottle of water.

  Before getting too engrossed in the contents, Issy looked up and out towards the sea to check on Dan. She’d already had a long swim but he’d stayed paddling about in the dazzling water which shimmied around him under a full bright yellow sun.

  “Dan was right,” Issy said to herself as she studied his swimming technique. “She needed to stop being the person that the death of her father had made her into, and return to the world and the person she was before he’d died. The person who didn’t carry the burden of guilt and the hunger of loneliness that, in her darkest hours, fed off each other making her crave things that filled the void but deluded her soul.”

  “Dan would be pleased when he got back to the beach towel,” she thought as she turned the page front page of the newspaper. “She was finally beginning to understand herself – with a big dollop of help from him.”

  And it was with these positive thoughts about personal renaissance that Issy nestled further into the crevices of the volcanic rock face and turned over the front page of Il Matino.

  “Christ!” she mouthed silently scanning the page on the right. There in black and white in front of her was a smiling picture of the young man who’d been shot the day before and who had lain prostrate in front of her in the Via Maria Magdala.

  Issy’s gaze remained fixed on the photo. A beautiful familiar looking face with big brown searching eyes that spoke of innocence, the eyes that she had never looked into because they’d been closed when she’d got up close to him.

  The man with no name was actually smiling at her from the third page of the newspaper from beyond the grave. His round spectacles so unmistakable from the ones she’d seen on the pavement which in the photo simply stared back at her as they sat perched high up on the bridge of his nose.