by Sanjida Kay
‘Signora Flowers. I am sorry. Your sister is still unconscious. If she wakes, the Maggiore will interview her and, we hope, catch who did this to her. So now, you wait, or you come back later. Visiting hours are in the evening, but, of course, we make the exception for you – if she regain consciousness, you can see her immediately.’
I steer Amy back to the waiting room.
‘Why did he say “if”?’ she asks, sounding panic-stricken. ‘If she regains consciousness?
I buy us both lattes in plastic cups from the machine and explain what Dr Virgili told me.
‘She could die? We need to get her a CT scan right away. We have to go to the mainland!’
‘He says the bleed might not show up yet and he’s got to keep her here and observe her. If she needs one, she can travel tomorrow.’
Amy thinks for a moment. ‘We’ve only got the villa until ten a.m. tomorrow, and the ferry, the train, the flights – they’re all booked! Who could have done this to her?’
‘I’ll stay on with Bethany, take her to the mainland if she needs a scan.’
‘Signora Flowers?’ It’s the other officer, Biondi. ‘We will take your statement now. You will be next,’ he says to me. ‘Please. This way.’
Amy follows him into Dr Virgili’s office.
33
NICK
It’s midday. Bethany still has not regained consciousness. We’ve come back to the holiday house to try and work out what to do. Matt is googling flights to see if they can change theirs, as well as looking for places to stay. I’ve been half-watching Blade Runner 2049 on my iPhone to distract myself. I already know most of the script off by heart: Pain reminds you the joy you felt was real.
‘It’s not looking hopeful,’ Matt says. ‘There aren’t enough flights for all of us to go back later, and I can’t find anywhere big enough for six or seven people. There’s only one hotel and it’s fully booked.’
Dad and the children are watching a DVD, although he’s fallen asleep, in spite of the dragons and the explosions. Chloe is curled up on the sofa next to them, her arm round Lotte, looking like a child again. I notice a book, the pages curled back, sticking out from under the chess set. I slide it out. It’s Dante’s Divine Comedy. Luca must have left it behind. I’ve just started flicking through it when I hear the crunch of tyres.
It’s a Lamborghini. I let the two officers in, and introduce the Maggiore and the Capitano.
‘This is Matt Jenkins, Amy’s husband and my brother-in-law. My dad, David Flowers; Chloe Jenkins-Yu, Matt’s daughter; the kids are his and Amy’s: Theo and Lotte.’
‘No one else is here?’ asks Ruggieri.
He’s softly spoken and it’s a polite enquiry, but there’s something about him – his height, his military bearing, maybe the weapon he’s carrying – that makes it seem like a threat. I shake my head, but I add that we also had Luca and Joe staying with us, and why they’d left the island. He nods impatiently – Amy must have told him this already.
‘My wife is upstairs,’ Matt says.
‘Is that a real gun?’ asks Theo.
‘The pistola. We have the Beretta AR70 in the car,’ Ruggieri says.
‘Cool!’
‘Coffee?’
‘Si. Grazie.’
Amy comes downstairs, her face pinched with worry.
‘Do you have any idea who could have done this to my sister?’
‘We investigate.’
I put the kettle on and set out the cafetière. ‘The photos!’ I say. I’d completely forgotten.
‘What photos?’ Amy asks.
‘I saw some creepy pictures of Chloe, when I found her iPad after it had gone missing. I meant to say, but… well, there was the anniversary, and then Bethany disappeared. They looked as if Chloe didn’t know she was being photographed, but I wasn’t sure. Sorry, I’m an idiot. I should have told you earlier.’
‘What were you doing looking at my iPad?’ Chloe asks, sitting up and pushing Lotte off her.
‘Sorry, Chlo. I saw them accidentally when I found your iPad and I opened it to check it was okay. I was going to ask you.’
‘And this is relevant?’ asks Ruggieri.
I shrug. ‘It’s suspicious. Maybe whoever took them might have been responsible for attacking Bethany.’
‘Show me.’
Chloe sullenly opens Photos on her iPad and passes it over to the Maggiore.
‘Who is this?’ Ruggieri asks, pausing over the one of Chloe and Carlo goofing around at his farm.
‘Carlo Donati,’ Chloe says.
‘His family rented the holiday house to us,’ Matt explains. ‘All our dealings with the Donatis have been through Carlo.’
‘Did you see him on the day that Betany goes missing?’
Amy starts to speak. ‘In the evening, at the terrace bar in the vineyard—’ when Chloe cuts across her.
‘Yes.’
There’s a pause as we all look at her.
‘Turn that down,’ Matt snaps at the children.
‘I saw him in the afternoon. He tried to persuade me to go to the festa with him and see the fireworks. I thought about it,’ she adds, looking defiantly at Matt, ‘but then I came back here.’
‘Where does Carlo go?’ asks Ruggieri.
She shrugs. ‘He said he was going to meet his friends.’
‘You did not see Betany?’
‘Of course she—’ Matt says, but Chloe interrupts again. ‘Yeah.
I did.’
‘You saw Bethany?’
She looks ashamed. ‘We bumped into her. She was walking through the olive grove. She told me to go home. I got angry and I shouted at her.’ Chloe starts crying, and Lotte gives her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. ‘I was going back anyway, and I didn’t like her telling me what to do.’
‘Christ!’ Matt says. ‘And you only thought to tell us now?’
‘I didn’t know she didn’t come home or that anything had happened to her! And then, when I found out she’d been… I thought you’d be mad!’
‘Leave her be,’ Amy says to Matt, but her voice is gentle.
‘What happen then?’ asks Ruggieri.
‘Nothing,’ Chloe says. ‘Bethany carried on walking. I stayed and talked to Carlo for a bit, and then he walked up the hill to meet his friends at the bar and I came back here.’
‘Did Betany say where she go?’
‘No.’
‘What direction did she take?’ asks Biondi.
‘Does Auntie Bethany still have a sore head?’ Lotte asks.
‘Yes, love, she does.’
‘That way.’ Chloe points in the vague direction of the coast, away from the holiday house.
‘What time was this?’
Chloe shrugs again. ‘After lunch. Maybe between four and five o’clock. Can I go and see her?’ she asks Amy, drying her eyes.
‘I’ll take you later,’ I say.
I hand out coffees to everyone, including my dad, who’s just woken up.
‘Who are these gentlemen?’
‘It could have been him – Carlo Donati,’ Matt says.
Chloe’s head snaps up.
‘He was in the house once,’ I say, ‘as if he’d been upstairs and he wasn’t expecting us to be here. And Dad’s journal and Chloe’s iPad went missing. Those photos – maybe he was spying on her.’
‘Unless she know he takes them,’ Ruggieri says, looking at my niece. Chloe flushes a deep pink and looks down at her hands. ‘This journal and the iPad are not reported stolen. You say only missing and then you find them?’ He turns his flat, hard gaze on me and I nod. ‘It is his house. He come to check you are okay – you need anything. Three of you see him the afternoon your sister go missing. It is hard to believe he have the time to attack your sister. What is his motivation?’ Ruggieri places his hands together in the prayer position and then pushes them out towards us in a sudden movement: ‘Allora. We will speak with him and the famiglia Donati. We think it is most likely that your sister take a walk
on the beach. She meet a drunk man, someone celebrating Ferragosto.’
‘And that’s it? You’re not going to—’ Amy says.
‘We keep looking for the person who attack her, but I warn you, it is difficult. A lot of people here. People on holiday from the rest of Italy. There is no CCTV, apart from two cameras in the town centre. There is only the polizia – Martelli and Pianozzi you meet already. Now that Ferragosto is finished, everyone leave. When the people go, it is impossible.’
Amy, Chloe and I drive back to the hospital as soon as Ruggieri and Biondi have left.
Dr Virgili is waiting for us. ‘She has regained consciousness,’ he says, with a smile, ushering us into the ward.
Bethany opens her eyes as we burst in. The whites are bright red and I have to look away for a moment.
‘Bee! Oh, thank God!’ Amy’s eyes fill with tears and she kisses her sister on the cheek.
‘Hey,’ Bethany says, and her voice is a guttural whisper.
‘How are you feeling? What happened?’
Before Bethany can respond, Chloe throws her arms round her aunt, who does her best not to wince. Chloe cries noisily, and Bee strokes her head and gives us a half-smile. I stand about with my hands in my pockets, feeling like a spare part. Bethany’s face looks worse than it did yesterday: her lips are swollen around the cut; her eye is so puffy she can barely open it; and the skin below her bandage down one side of her face is a livid red and grape-black. Where her hospital gown gapes, I notice twin bruises below her collarbone, as if a man’s thumbs had pressed into her flesh. Who would do this to her?
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’ She swallows hard. It sounds as if it’s painful for her to speak, and not just because of her lip.
‘Do you want a drink of water?’
‘Yes.’
The nurse helps her sit up and Bethany cringes as he hoists her up the bed.
The cut on her lip reopens and a bead of blood runs down her chin. I pass her a glass of water and a tissue from the bedside table. Her hand shakes as she tries to drink.
‘Shouldn’t she get her lip stitched?’ Amy says.
Dr Virgili examines her face. ‘No, is not necessary. No shouting or laughing,’ he adds. He smiles at her and deep grooves appear in his cheeks.
The nurse presses a damp cloth against her mouth and indicates that Bethany should hold it there. The doctor takes out a pencil torch and shines it in one of her eyes, then the other.
‘Do you have the nausea? You vomit on the beach, before we bring you in.’
‘Yes, I feel sick.’
‘And do you know what happen to you?’
‘She said no, she can’t remember,’ I interject. I can’t stand seeing Bethany struggling to speak.
‘Okay, well, she is not – how you say it? – out of the woods. We monitor for the blood clot. For now, we leave you. Pull this cord if you feel bad: your head, you want to vomit. I give you some painkiller. Signor, Signorina, Signora, you must only remain with her for a few moments. She must rest.’
‘It looks worse than it is,’ Bethany whispers, after the doctor and the nurse have left.
Amy is practically wringing her hands, as she tells Bethany that they haven’t been able to change their flights or find anywhere to stay.
‘I said I’d take you to Grosseto for a brain scan, or fly home when the doctor gives you the all-clear, so you can go to the hospital in Bristol,’ I say.
‘If there’s any doubt whatsoever, you get her off this island,’ Amy repeats to me.
‘I don’t want to leave you,’ Chloe says.
‘I’ll be fine. I’ve got Nick to look after me,’ Bethany says.
‘I should stay with you. Nick can fly home with the others,’ Amy says.
‘The kids need you, Ames,’ I say.
I glance at Bethany and she does a small thumbs up in agreement with me.
After we’ve been there for quarter of an hour, the nurse comes in and tells us to go. I assume that’s what he means, anyhow.
Chloe starts wailing that we can’t let Bethany stay there on her own.
I clear my throat. ‘Look, why don’t you take Chloe for a drink? I’ll sit with Bee for a bit, or in the waiting room when the nurse chucks me out, and then I can drive us all back.’
‘Yes,’ Bethany says. ‘You should go out – it’s your last night. Party! And you know Nick isn’t likely to tire me with his non-stop chatting.’
Amy smiles tightly without looking at me, and the two of them kiss Bethany goodbye. ‘I hate to leave you like this, but we’ll see you in a day or two, as soon as you’re ready to fly home,’ she says.
After Chloe and Amy have gone, I wander round the small room until Bethany tells me I look like a caged animal in a zoo and I’m making her feel nauseous.
‘A tiger?’
‘More like a pygmy hippo,’ she whispers and closes her eyes as if, when it’s only me here, she doesn’t have to pretend any more.
I sit next to her and fidget. I cross one leg over the other and then lean over my knees. I wish Maddison were here; she’d have known what to say. I can’t recall why I ended our relationship now. She was nice. Is nice.
‘Bee, can you remember who did this to you? Anything about him? Even a tiny detail, a scrap of information could give the police something to go on.’
‘The police?’ She opens her eyes and tries to look at me.
I move so that I’m in her line of sight.
‘Yes. They’ll want to interview you, now you’re awake. Catch whoever did this.’
‘I was walking along the beach. I don’t remember anything else. Sorry, Nick.’ She squeezes my hand.
‘Nothing at all? His shoes, maybe? The colour of his shirt?’
A tear rolls down her cheek and I feel like a complete tool for pushing her. I’m useless at sounding sympathetic or even showing anyone how I feel.
After a few moments I say, without thinking, ‘I miss Amy.’
Bethany clears her throat. ‘She’s only in the bar down the street.’
‘I mean, I miss how she used to be. She was always kind, warm. Had time for me. For us. Like, she didn’t even ask me anything after Maddison and I broke up, and that’s not like her. Sorry. I’m a selfish twat.’
I do know Amy can’t be that person any more. Obviously. I wish I hadn’t said anything.
Bethany doesn’t speak for a few minutes and then she says, ‘We all miss our mum. That’s the real problem.’
The nurse reappears and speaks sharply to me. When I don’t respond, he holds the door open and looks as if he’s going to drag me out by the scruff of my neck.
‘I guess I’ve overstayed my welcome. I’ll come back in the morning.’
I hesitate at the threshold. I want to ask her why she lied about the appointment she made for Dad at the hospital. I turn back, but Bethany closes her eyes as if she’s exhausted. Something vital drains from her face and I remember what Dr Virgili said: she’s not out of the woods yet.
17 AUGUST, ITALY
34
NICK
Amy and Matt seem even more tense than usual the following morning, as they attempt to pack and restore the holiday house to some sort of order. I decide to get out of their way and go and see if the Carabinieri have made any progress. I take a taxi into town. First, though, I check in at the local hotel – Dr Virgili knows the owner and put in a word for me, so at least I have a room for a couple of nights while Bethany is in hospital. It’s round the corner from the stazione di polizia, so I walk over. A woman in her fifties is sitting at the reception and behind her I can see two police officers reading the paper, their boots on the desk, paper cups of coffee next to them. A radio crackles and splutters and a bluebottle makes small thumps as it hits the windowpane. There’s no sign of Martelli, but I suppose he could be on his rounds or having a day off.
‘Prego?’
‘I’m looking for Maggiore Ruggieri and Capitano Biondi,’ I tell her. I say it’s in connection
with Bethany Flowers.
‘Aspetti qui,’ she says, and heaves herself to her feet.
She knocks on an office door, and a moment later Ruggieri comes out and gestures for me go inside.
‘Signor Flowers, please have a seat.’
I sit in front of his desk, or at least the one he’s borrowed while he’s on loan here. In the strip lighting, his eyes look even paler, and I notice that his fine nose is slightly bent, as if it had once been broken. He looks like Rupert Everett might, if he played football.
‘The rest of your family go home, no?’
‘Yes, they’re heading off later this morning.’
‘And your sister – how is she?’
‘She needs a brain scan. Look, have you got anywhere? Who did this to her?’
There’s a knock and Biondi elbows his way in, carrying three espressos.
I take one of the paper cups and thank him. He pulls a plastic pot of UHT milk out of his trouser pocket and hands it to me, as if he knows I’m not man enough to drink it black.
‘We go back to Grosseto,’ says Ruggieri.
‘What?’ I nearly spill my coffee. ‘You’ve only been here twentyfour hours.’
‘If it is a drunk during the Ferragosto, we have no hope to find him,’ the Maggiore tells me. ‘As I say you before – there is no CCTV, there are no witnesses, only Agente Martelli and his colleague, Pianozzi, on duty; a lot, a lot of people here. But I think, this is not what happen.’
The coffee without the milk is too hot and scalds my tongue. I set the cup down.
‘What about Carlo Donati?’
Ruggieri pauses for a moment and then he says, ‘I do not think so, no, Signor Flowers. He was with your step-niece, no? And then he walk to the bar on the top of the hill, where he takes a drink with his friends. His mother and father pick him up and drive him and his friends to the festa in the town centre. He is there with his family until the early hours of the morning. He has the alibi. He has the witness. He does not have the motive.’
