Her Double Punishment

by Daniella Wright

  I remember Amaya talking about her party earlier, and my heart sinks.

  I was so looking forward to it.

  Brylee shakes her head. “Or, you could get this over and done with. You realize you’re going to miss my birthday in May. I have such an awesome party planned. And then there’s Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and Easter. Who’s going to come on a drunken Easter egg hunt with me?” She shakes her head. “What will I do without you?”

  I wrap her in a hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.” My heart is racing again, and there are tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I’m terrified. I’ve never been out of the city before, let alone the state, let alone the country. I know absolutely nothing about Italians except they like pizza and pasta, and they speak a completely different language.

  How will I possibly survive for twelve months, if I can even ask where the toilet is?

  Back at Brylee’s that night, I text my dad.

  I’ve made a decision. I’m still holding on to hope that the passport and tickets and visas will take months to organize, and I can still attend Amaya’s party.

  Almost instantly the phone rings.

  “Would you rather this conversation face-to-face?” he asks.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter either way.”

  “All right. Just let me get your mother.”

  There’s a moment where I can hear shuffling in the background, and I picture him standing up from his office chair, and heading through the house.

  “Ah, here you are,” he says, his voice a little muffled. “Savannah has made a decision.”

  Mom’s lounge chair squeaks as she stands, and then the line becomes clearer.

  “I’m here,” she says.

  “Hi Mom.”

  “How are you doing sweetie?”

  I shrug, though of course she can’t see it. “Okay, I guess.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Dad’s deeper voice booms down the line. “Now, what have you decided?”

  I take another deep breath, pushing it out in a puff.

  “I’m going to go to Italy.”

  Mom actually squeals into the phone. “Oh I’m so pleased, Savannah. It will be an amazing experience. It’ll really make you, I think. The fresh air, the people, the food. You’ll love it.”

  I resist pointing out that I’m being torn from my friends and everything I know.

  “You’ve made a good decision,” Dad says. “Not quite the one I was hoping for, but as your mother says, I think it will be a good learning experience for you. Not everyone has the privileges that we have, or the lifestyle we enjoy. It will be good for you to see how other people live.”

  My heart sinks. This is a punishment. An image fills my mind, of a dingy little farmhouse, the family squashed into two rooms, dressed in ragged clothes, the floor nothing but dirt.

  I’m going to suffer for twelve months, all for the privilege of keeping my allowance.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, so I don’t cry.

  “When do I go?” My voice breaks, and I curse it. I didn’t want to show my father how much this upset me.

  “I’ve had the tickets on hold. I’ll pay for them this afternoon, and then you can come home and we’ll help you pack. You can fly out on Friday.”

  “Monday?” I yelp the word. “That’s two days away. What about passports and visas and all that.”

  I’m certain my father laughs.

  “Savannah, you’ve had a passport since you were five, when your mother and I took you on a trip around the world. Pointless exercise, really, considering your age, though we enjoyed ourselves. We always intended to go again, but then I got busy, and, well, time flies. And as for the visa, I do have contacts, Savannah, and the funds to expedite the process. Everything is sorted. We’re really just waiting on you.”

  I want to cry. I want to hide under the blankets on my bed, and cry, and not come out, maybe ever.

  But I can’t.

  So I take a deep breath, and I think of the freedom I’ll have, after these twelve months are over. The freedom to find what it is I want to do with my life, to try one course of study, then another, until I discover what it is I’m supposed to do. Or, of course, there is still the possibility that I’ll find a rich guy to marry and I can stay at home for the rest of my life, and spend my days socializing with my friends.

  I head through to find Brylee chatting with her parents, who’ve just arrived, a day later than expected.

  “Oh, hi Savannah!” Brylee’s mom gives me a wave.

  I say hello, and we have the obligatory small talk, and then I hustle Brylee away to tell her the latest update.

  She hugs me this time.

  “We’ll text, and call, and video chat. Okay. And I’ll set up a roster, so everyone is doing it, too, so you get numerous calls a day, to remind you how much you’re loved, and missed, and we can count down the days till you come home again.”

  I nod, my heart heavy. “Thanks Brylee,” I say. “I’m going to need it.”

  At home, I can’t pack my bags. I have no idea about weather, or temperature, or what on earth I’m going to need over there.

  Mom throws me some brochures, and Dad recommends research.

  “You’re twenty-two, Savannah. The internet is on your phone, all the information you ever needed about anything is right there, in the palm of your hand.”

  Maybe so, but it doesn’t tell me what I’m expected to wear on a farm, of all places. Do I even have clothes suitable for farm work? I doubt it. Dad won’t let me buy more clothes here, though. He says it would be better to wait until I’m there, to see what I need.

  In the end I fill my bag with shorts and jeans, t-shirts, shirts, a couple of pullovers and a warm jacket. We are heading into winter, after all, and despite all the rosy pictures in the tourist brochures, I’m pretty certain it must get cold there, too.

  Everyone comes to the airport to see me off. Jace brings flowers, which as it happens I can’t take on the plane, so I have to leave them with my mom. Amaya and Neveah and Brylee have all chipped in to buy me a beautiful bracelet, diamond studded gold, with all our names carved on the inside.

  “It’ll be awesome,” Neveah says, giving me a hug.

  “You’ll love it,” Amaya says when it’s her turn.

  “I’ll miss you!” Brylee is the first to start crying, which triggers my mom, and then Amaya and Neveah join in.

  “Twelve months. It feels huge standing on this end of it, but you watch, it’ll fly by. It’s a blip in the length of your life.” Mom wraps me in her arms. And I bury my face in her shoulder.

  “Call me,” I say.

  “Of course.”

  My dad gives me a huge bear hug, like I haven’t had since I was a kid. Another wave of tears wells up and it’s everything not to start sobbing like a baby.

  “We’ll miss you,” he says, his voice gruff. “Look after yourself. And work hard. You’ll be back before you know it.”

  He hands me a gift. “Unwrap it on the plane.”

  The final boarding call is announced from the loudspeaker, and I reluctantly untangle myself from all my friends, who surround me the moment my dad lets go.

  I grab my carry-on luggage, take a deep breath, and get on the plane.

  The flight is long. Ten hours to Frankfurt, where I have a three-hour stopover, before a tiny two-hour flight to Rome, where I have to wait another two hours before catching my last flight to a place called Brindisi, and then, according to my father’s handwritten note at the bottom of the itinerary, I’m to catch a bus to a town called Ostuni.

  I’m to catch a bus, in a place I’ve never been to, where they speak a language I don’t understand. Sure. No worries. It’ll be easy.

  My head starts to ache, so I push all of that to the back of my mind to worry about later, and focus on the present.

  There’s a screen in the back of the seat in front of me, and soon an air hostess appears, with my very own headset.

  Dad has bo
oked me an economy flight, more punishment, I guess, but at least I have a window seat, so there’s only a person on my right to ignore.

  I scroll through the movie options. I’ve seen most of them, at the cinema, with Brylee, and the thought of watching on a tiny screen doesn’t really appeal.

  I turn to the in-flight magazine.

  By now we’re being interrupted by the hostesses, giving a safety demonstration. She shows how to put on a life jacket, but when she demonstrates the oxygen mask falling from the roof my stomach clenches, and the room begins to spin.

  I close my eyes, gripping the armrests as I take several deep breaths.

  “Are you okay?” I open my eyes to see a hostess peering at me, and I force a smile.

  “I will be.” My voice comes out hoarse.

  “Is this your first time flying?”

  I nod, feeling like a child again, though as soon as I do I remember my father saying we travelled the world when I was younger. Still, I don’t remember that, so it doesn’t really count.

  She gives me a smile, and pats my hand. “You’ll be fine. It’s a bit strange the first time, but we’re here to help, if you need anything at all, just push the button above your head there, and we’ll be right with you.”

  I glance up to where she’s pointing. Sure enough, there’s a button with a picture of a stick person on it.

  I nod my thanks, having finally regained my breath, and sink back into the chair.

  This will be fine. People fly all the time, every day. Thousands of planes, all around the world, flying millions of people. The chances of an accident are tiny. Miniscule. I can feel my breath getting shallow again, and I stop that line of thought, turning back to flick through the magazine.

  There are all the usual sorts of things you’d find in a magazine, advice and gossip columns, news and opinion articles, interviews, and recipes. Even the obligatory crossword.

  I’m halfway through the editorial when the plane starts moving, and instantly my heart starts racing again. The plane eases along the runway, the roar of the engines building as it picks up speed.

  I can feel the nose of the plane lifting, and I grip my armrests, close my eyes, and focus on slow steady breaths.

  When the plane lifts off the ground I can feel that too, a slight wobble, as though it’s suddenly unbalanced, and then we’re up in the air, and the air hostesses are moving about again, and everyone is carrying on like this is completely normal.

  I mean, I’m sure it is completely normal. But that is completely beside the point. When the air hostess comes around with the dinner menu, I order a rum and cola alongside my lamb stew. I’m going to need it.

  I get through the magazine quickly. There’s nothing much of interest anyway, so I mostly skim the articles, wishing I had something better to do with my time.

  Food arrives in preheated plastic containers, and doesn’t taste too bad, despite how it looks. As I finish, I spy my dad’s present, which I’d shoved into the holder in the back of the seat in front of me as I sat down, and I pull it out.

  It feels like a book. My heart sinks at the thought that he’s sent along more law texts, but it is smaller, so it can’t be that. Maybe it’s a novel.

  I tear open the packaging to find a guide book, with an English-Italian dictionary in the back.

  Practice up, Dad has written inside the front page. You’ll be speaking Italian in no time. In the meantime, I’ve highlighted some phrases you might find useful. Love you!

  I flick through the dictionary; to find the bright yellow highlight marks he’s left.

  Where is the toilet, please? translates into Dov’e il bagno per favore.

  Right. That will be a good one to learn, though I have no confidence in my ability to pronounce these sounds correctly. Perhaps I can just point to the phrase in the book and hope for the best?

  Hello is ciao, and I realize I have heard that phrase, at least, and goodbye is addio, and help is aiuto. Lei parla inglese is the phrase I repeat over and over in my mind though. It is ‘Do you speak English’, and I hope it means that there will be some English speaking people in the country.

  I tuck the book into my bag, and check the time. It’s 10 pm already, but I don’t feel tired. I turn on the screen and start the first movie I come to, a romantic comedy Brylee and I had loved, and settle back into the chair to watch. At this this will pass a couple of hours. I know my father booked an overnight flight so that I could sleep, but I honestly can’t see that happening.

  If I let my brain have a moment’s peace it starts filling with all the terrible things in my near future, and I can’t possible sleep. I’m dreading what’s to come, and the only way to forget about it is to focus on something else. In this case, this movie.

  I wake with a jerk as an announcement comes over the loudspeaker, announcing that breakfast will be delivered shortly.

  Mine is scrambled eggs, and a strong coffee, and I’m ever so glad for it as I rub the crick in my neck from sleeping at such a strange angle the previous night.

  I peer out the window, hoping to see a glimpse of something, but the land below is completely covered with cloud, a soft white blanket over the land. It looks pretty amazing, really, the sun shining across the surface, really lighting up how fluffy those clouds are. I grab my phone and take a photo, I’ll send that to everyone back home as soon as I land. It’ll give me something to do in my three hour stop-over.

  “This is your captain speaking,” a voice crackles over the loud speaker. “We’ve made good time on our flight tonight, we’ve had a nice tailwind for most of the way, and we’ll be arriving in Frankfurt in approximately half an hour, a good twenty minutes early. We sincerely hope you’ve enjoyed your flight, and want to thank you again for flying Italy Air.”

  Twenty minutes early. That’s twenty minutes to add to my three hours. I slump back into my seat. Why did I ever agree to this?

  The half an hour remaining flight time passes quickly, as we have to pack up our tray tables, and put away carry-on luggage in preparation for landing.

  In Frankfurt we pile out of the plane. Most people head off to pick up their luggage, but mine, so I’m told, is automatically sent straight through on my next flight, so I’m free to wander the airport.

  It’s enormous.

  It’s like one huge shopping mall. There are stores for everything, clothes, books, chocolates, perfume, even alcohol. Signs in English, as well as other languages. That’s a relief!

  I spy a cafe and sit down, order a coffee and a piece of chocolate mud cake, and pull out my phone.

  Made it to Frankfurt. Slept most of flight. Clouds look awesome from above! I attached the photo I’d taken on the plane and waited for the messages to come back.

  Nothing. That’s weird. Then again, maybe they were sleeping still. I couldn’t quite get my head around all the time difference stuff. My plane had left at eight thirty the night before, and the flight was ten hours, or a bit less, according to the captain’s announcement. So that made it… I do a quick calculation on my fingers. Six thirty in the morning. Right.

  I knew Brylee would still be asleep, but Dad should be up, and Amaya always had her phone close by regardless of the time of day or night.

  I finish my coffee and slump back in my chair.

  Have they forgotten me already?

  I open up the social media app, watching as the little loading circle spins in the top left hand corner.

  The page takes forever, and I drum my fingers on the table, waiting, waiting, waiting.

  How long can it take?

  I refresh the page. This loads up instantly back home. Is something different, here?

  My heart clenches as I remember the poster at the airport back home, something about a special sim card, with international roaming? Does that mean I won’t be able to use my phone while I’m away?

  I can feel my heart rate increasing, and I take slow breaths. When I get there I can use their phone, surely? I could call Dad at least once, to
let him know I’ve arrived safe and sound, he and Mom would be wanting that, wouldn’t they? They wouldn’t just send me out into the world and trust that I’m okay for twelve whole months?

  The waitress comes to clear away my finished dishes, and while she doesn’t say anything I sense I shouldn’t be still sitting here, so I start walking the airport again. I feel lost without my phone, but there’s so much to look at, if I focus on that I can push those worries away, for the moment.

  There’s so much temptation here, so many gorgeous clothes I’d love to buy, and amazing gifts I could take back as presents. But a year is such a long time to hold on to anything, and I don’t know what conditions I’ll be able to store it all in when we get there either.

  I eye off a gorgeous porcelain fairy figurine, that I’m certain Amaya would love, but it’s so delicate, and fragile. Stefano’s kids will probably smash it within five minutes of getting it there.

  I spend ages in a newsagent, flicking through magazines. After a while I realize the fellow behind the counter is glaring at me, so I grab a couple that I haven’t looked at yet and head up to the counter to pay.

  There’s not really a whole lot more to do, but it’s a relief to check my phone and see that it’s been two hours already. I head toward my gate, where I sit back and start flicking through the magazines.

  Chapter 3

  Finally, my next flight boards. I’ve read one and a half of those magazines, only half of one to go, but this next flight is only two hours long, so that should pass soon enough.

  I hope so, anyway.

  The flight attendants do their usual safety demonstration, and then we take off.

  This plane is smaller than the last one, and as it lifts as the ground I can feel it swing to one side before it straightens up. My stomach churns.

  The hostesses come around with their meal options, and once again our food is delivered in little plastic containers.