by Penny Feeny
‘I can manage,’ she insisted. Gerald described the bikes as old bone-shakers and she could see why. Dust had spurted up into her face and clogged her nose and parched her throat. ‘But I need to rest for a bit.’
Marcello pointed at her back wheel. ‘Look at that,’ he said.
Lily looked. ‘Get off a minute, Harry. You’re weighing it down.’
‘No, I’m not.’ But he got off anyway and sat cross-legged at the roadside.
The tyre didn’t bounce upwards, it remained flat.
‘Una foratura,’ said Marcello. A puncture.
‘Oh…’ She latched onto the expletive she heard most often. ‘Porca miseria!’ She didn’t know what to do. They were nearer to Villa Ercole than the Campiones’ holiday home. She supposed she’d have to wheel the bike back up the hill with Harry traipsing gloomily alongside. Marcello could give one of them a lift on his crossbar, but not both, and as a loyal older sister she couldn’t abandon Harry.
‘We could see if Gerald can mend it,’ she said.
‘Oh, I can mend it,’ said Marcello. ‘I have a kit.’
‘Do you have it with you?’
‘No, but I could go and find it. I’m very speedy.’
Lily considered. They weren’t in any hurry and she could tell from the position of the sun in the sky that it would be a while before lunch. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Don’t be too long.’
He raced away until he was a tiny blob in the distance. Harry tried splitting a coarse blade of grass to make a whistle, without success. ‘We’ve been waiting ages,’ he said, after about ten minutes.
‘No, we haven’t. It just seems like ages.’
‘I’m thirsty.’
‘So am I. We should have brought drinks with us. How about this? If Marcello doesn’t get back by the time I count to a hundred we’ll give up, go home and get one off Dolly.’
‘I’ll count,’ said Harry. He started steadily but wavered when he got to the forties.
‘You can’t stop,’ said Lily.
‘I’m not stopping. I’m saying them in my head.’
An ineffectual scarecrow had been planted in the field opposite, birds roosted on its outstretched arm. This gave Lily the idea of hitch-hiking, though the road was quiet and, so far, only a couple of cars and a camionetta carrying a load of gas cylinders had trundled past. No one would see them sitting down so she stood up while Harry continued to mutter the numbers under his breath. When a vehicle took shape in the distance she stuck out her thumb in an exploratory way. She hadn’t even decided whether she wanted to be taken on to Marcello’s or up to Villa Ercole, when the car stopped.
She was astonished at the ease of conjuring a lift, but less astonished when the driver got out of the car: it was common for the same faces to reappear in Roccamare. Although Carlotta Galetti’s hair was tucked away under a scarf, her pointed chin and big dark glasses were immediately familiar. It was the same car as before, too, but this time she was alone in it.
Carlotta tilted her head to one side, taking in the children, the battered bike, the flat tyre. ‘What are you doing?’ she said.
Harry jumped up, delighted to see her, and explained in a jumbled way how they’d been going to join Marcello’s family and borrow a bike that was the right size for him when they discovered the puncture. He forgot to say Marcello was fetching a repair kit but it didn’t matter because Carlotta said, ‘I can take you there if you like.’
‘What shall we do about the bike?’ said Lily.
They discussed whether it might fit in the passenger seat or the boot, but reckoned in the end that it wouldn’t. Lily was worried about leaving it on the verge for someone to steal, even if it wasn’t roadworthy, so she was grateful for the suggestion they camouflage it with tufts of grass and stems of wild fennel. It was visible if you knew where to look, but not noticeable to the casual eye. Carlotta was laughing as she broke off the fennel stalks. ‘This is a little bit crazy, isn’t it?’
When they had finished, Harry said, ‘Can I sit in the front?’
Carlotta said, ‘Yes, if you want.’ She gave Lily a long sombre look as if she feared she might object, but Lily climbed equably into the back seat, glad to have been rescued.
‘Do you like to ride a bike?’ Carlotta asked Harry as she turned the key in the ignition.
Harry said woefully, ‘I keep falling off. We’re supposed to be visiting the donkey today. Because they’ve gone to Palermo to get Toby.’
‘Who?’
‘Our parents.
‘And that’s what you prefer to do?’ said Carlotta. ‘Ride a donkey?’
‘Actually,’ confided Harry, ‘I’d rather go fishing.’ The promised fishing trip had still not materialised, but he was the person going on about it; Lily didn’t much mind.
Carlotta began to motor slowly along the empty road. ‘Your parents are in Palermo all day?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you would like to go fishing?’
Harry’s eyes glowed. ‘Can we? Do you know a fisherman?’
She hesitated. ‘I do, but not here. In Marsala.’
‘Can we go there?’ said Harry.
‘I think it is too far.’
Lily had a hazy idea where Marsala was because they’d been through it on the way to Mozia; she knew it was closer than Palermo. ‘Are you very busy today?’
‘As it happens,’ said Carlotta, taking one hand from the steering wheel and flapping it, ‘I am free as a bird.’
‘You don’t have to meet your amico?’ Usually her boyfriend was somewhere nearby.
‘No,’ she said with a hint of bitterness. ‘Claudio is not my friend at this moment.’
‘Oh.’
‘We are not speaking,’ said Carlotta, without giving any further details.
‘But you’ve got the car?’
‘This is true.’
‘Then you can take us!’ said Harry with impeccable logic.
‘You want to have an adventure?’
‘Oh, yes! Can we? Please! Can we? Please!’
Harry’s insistence was noisy and infectious and Lily wasn’t surprised when Carlotta gave in.
‘Va bene,’ she said with a little mock sigh. ‘You win.’
It was lucky that she was still driving slowly enough for Lily to spot Marcello in his yellow shorts pedalling towards them. She called ‘Stop!’ and Carlotta braked. Lily rolled down the window and poked her head through. ‘Did you find it?’ she said.
‘No. I looked everywhere!’
‘It doesn’t matter. We don’t need it after all.’
‘Why not? Where are you going?’
‘Fishing!’ squawked Harry.
Lily wondered whether to ask if Marcello could join them, but Carlotta’s mouth was set in its turned-down position. Also, she couldn’t risk her changing her mind. Harry would never forgive her. He was the most obstinate of the McKenzies and, having finally got his way, he wouldn’t let this chance pass him by.
Carlotta revved the engine. Lily said, ‘Ci vediamo, Marcello. See you later.’
Marcello waved them off without protest. All summer their arrangements had been easy-come, easy-go so this was no exception. And Lily suspected he was showing off anyway, that all he wanted to do was scoot around on his shiny new bike until sundown.
She left her window open so when Carlotta put her foot down the air whistled past and she could pretend they were flying (which was what cruising downhill on the bike should have felt like). In the front seat Harry was prattling away as if the two of them had known each other for years, whereas Lily found Carlotta disturbing. When she wasn’t wearing her dark glasses (which wasn’t often), her gaze had an unsettling intensity that made Lily think she must have done something wrong.
‘Are you okay, Lily?’ she asked. ‘You are very quiet.’
‘I’m thirsty, that’s all.’
Harry said, ‘Me too!’
Carlotta had taken the main road, which led inland and skirted Castelvetrano. Villa E
rcole was now several kilometres distant. She said, ‘Then we must buy you a drink. Also, I have been thinking. You need to get permission to come on this trip with me. When we stop for the drinks you should make telephone call.’
First, they had to find a bar with the black and yellow telefono sign hanging outside. By the time they located one they were nearly in Mazara del Vallo and Marsala wasn’t much further away. Carlotta bought gettoni so Lily could feed the telephone slot, and a can of Pepsi each. Harry sat at one of the cane tables and pulled the square napkins from their dispenser, folding them into paper darts. Lily held the clammy receiver in one hand and the can of cola against her cheek with the other, to cool her face. She worried about how much to tell Dolly, who wouldn’t be happy to hear of the fishing idea. She’d throw a panic about Harry falling overboard and drowning, even if he was wearing a life-jacket. And if she vetoed it, Lily would have to face his acute disappointment, his wails of, ‘Spoilsport!’ She’d be sandwiched between the two of them. Fortunately it wasn’t Dolly who answered, but Gerald.
‘How goes it?’ he said. ‘We’re not expecting you back to eat, are we?’
‘No,’ said Lily. ‘But we had a problem with the bike and Marcello couldn’t find his repair kit…’
‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll get one of the boys to look at it some time. I’m sure you’ll have more fun with the Campiones than old fogeys like us.’
‘Actually…’ Lily faltered. ‘We’re on a sort of expedition…’
‘Well, I hope you enjoy yourselves! The main thing is to make sure you get home before your parents or they’ll have my guts for garters.’ His voice was jokey because both Jess and Alex would go out of their way to appease Gerald. He was much more likely to sulk than they were.
So Lily giggled because he was clearly in a good mood today, and said, ‘Of course we will,’ and put the phone down.
‘Everything is okay?’ said Carlotta. ‘You have the permission?’
Lily nodded and drank her cola. Carlotta squeezed her shoulder and let her hand rest on it for a moment. Lily assumed she was trying to be reassuring so she didn’t like to shake her off.
‘Can we go now?’ said Harry. He’d finished his drink and was tired of firing his paper darts.
‘You are both ready? Andiamo!’
Carlotta drove straight to the quayside in Marsala. Rows of fishing boats bobbed along the harbour wall. The sound of their masts creaking and the sea slapping at their sides, the stench of oil and salt and fish guts, were the same as Roccamare but on a much bigger scale.
‘I will know the boat when I see it,’ she said.
‘Is that it?’ asked Harry, whose fancy had been taken by one painted cream and crimson. It stood out like a bowl of cherries amidst all the blue.
‘I’m sorry, no. The person I’m looking for, Peppe, is a cousin of my mother’s, but I haven’t seen him for a long time.’
‘So he might not be here?’ said Lily. ‘He might have got another job.’
‘No, carina. A fisherman is always a fisherman. I will ask.’
Holding onto Harry, she approached a knot of men who were gathered around a freshwater tap, rinsing out their crates. They welcomed the excuse to stop their work, but they couldn’t help. They indicated another man, further along the dock, who reputedly knew everyone. Lily followed at a distance. Carlotta had an animated discussion with the man who knew everyone and told them, ‘Peppe is in Favignana.’
‘What does that mean?’
She pointed towards the horizon where a hump rose from the surface of the sea. ‘Favignana is an island. We often call it the butterfly because of its shape, like a body with two wings. Peppe went there to help with the mattanza and has stayed for the summer because the fishing is good. He’s probably sleeping on his boat.’ She wrinkled her nose, as if the boat might not smell very nice.
‘How can we get there?’
‘There is a ferry.’
‘Oh, wow!’ said Harry. ‘Can we go on a ferry?’
‘Is this what you want?’ She was beginning to look uneasy. ‘Or should I take you back to Roccamare?’
But Harry began his begging chant again: ‘Can we? Please!’ and this time Lily joined in. She was curious to see a butterfly-shaped island and if they went home now, without doing anything interesting, they might as well have been sitting in the car all the way to the airport.
Once they had boarded the ferry and were churning across the water, they couldn’t help being excited and running from side to side to look at the white trail they were leaving behind. Carlotta kept telling them anxiously to keep away from the edge, though she relaxed when they began to approach the harbour. She pointed out the big brick sheds of the tonnara where the tuna were processed, where enormous fish, bigger than a man, would be divided up and squashed into tins. She told them that in the mattanza shoals of tuna were driven through a series of nets, decreasing in size, until they were trapped in the death chamber. Then the fisherman, brave warriors rocking in their dinghies, would spear them with their harpoons until they were slaughtered and the sea was red with blood.
The sound of this intrigued Harry. ‘Will it happen today?’
‘No,’ said Carlotta. ‘It’s too late in the season. Do you really want to see so much dying?’ He squirmed and she went on. ‘Peppe will be fishing for sea bream and sardines and red mullet.’
Lily said, ‘Can we look for him after we’ve had lunch?’
Before Harry could object, Carlotta said, ‘That’s a good idea. We should eat.’
A trattoria in the piazza had tables outside, the paper tablecloths held on with clips. It wasn’t very different from the places they ate in with their parents, but it had a distinctly novel appeal: here they were on an island in the middle of the sea with a lady who was taking them on a magical excursion, like Mary Poppins. Cartoon penguins might start singing any minute.
‘You eat fish?’ said Carlotta, scanning the menu. ‘Else why would you want to catch it?’ They both nodded, but Harry confessed he would rather have pasta and Lily joined him so he wouldn’t feel left out. Carlotta chose mussels, picking them deftly from the dish with her sharp red nails. She noticed Lily was staring at her. ‘Is there a problem?’
Lily said, ‘Why do you wear sunglasses all the time, even when you don’t need to?’ It was shady under the awning.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ She took them off and Lily at once felt guilty. It was obvious she’d been hiding behind the glasses because she’d been crying over the boyfriend, but she put on a cheery smile. ‘I hope we can get to know each other better this afternoon. I want you to have a nice time. You must tell me the things you like to do.’
‘We’re going on a boat, aren’t we?’ That was one thing about Harry, he never gave up.
‘Certo, as long as we can find Peppe.’
‘If we can’t, could somebody else take us?’
‘Dio mio! I couldn’t hand you over to a stranger, it wouldn’t be safe.’ By accident, Lily made a snorting noise as she set down her drink and Carlotta added quickly, ‘I hope you don’t think of me as a stranger?’
Lily deliberated. They had seen Carlotta a few times now and she had always been friendly. They wouldn’t have got into her car otherwise. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Not exactly.’ She wanted to be fair and was surprised when Carlotta seemed upset.
After lunch she promised them ice cream. They chose two flavours each from the gelateria to eat in a cone on their way to the harbour. This time their search was more successful. Carlotta found an acquaintance of Peppe’s who gave them directions. Further along the shore they spotted a man sitting by himself, mending a net even faster than the widows in Santa Margherita at their crochet. Greying hair curled onto his neck beneath his cap, his trousers were rolled up and his skin was brown like old leather. Carlotta held herself very still and took a deep breath.
‘Is that Peppe?’ said Harry.
‘Yes, we’re in luck.’ She led them both over to the fisherman. ‘Peppe! C
ome stai?’
At first, concentrating on his shuttle, Peppe didn’t register their arrival and she had to repeat herself. Then, carefully, he coiled his net away and got to his feet. He tipped back his hat. His eyes were black as currants in his lean lined face. He would have been handsome, thought Lily, if he hadn’t looked so old.
‘Buon giorno,’ he said. He wiped his hand on the end of his shirt and held it out.
Carlotta took it between both of hers and tossed her hair from her face. ‘Non mi cognosce, Peppe?’ To the children she murmured, ‘He hasn’t seen me for many years. I didn’t think I had changed so much, but maybe I am wrong.’
‘Matre santa!’ he exclaimed. ‘Che sorpresa!’
‘Una sorpresa buona?’ A nice surprise.
‘Sei tu Concetta? Ritornata qui? La mia piccola Concetta…’
‘I’m not little any more, am I?’ she said gaily to Lily, though actually she was quite small compared to Jess.
‘Why did he call you Concetta?’
‘Ouf… Who knows?’ Then she said, although it wasn’t a proper explanation, ‘Concetta is what he cares about most of all. It’s the name of his boat.’
11
On the way back in the car they found a radio station that was playing Elvis tributes. Alex and Jess and Toby sang along to ‘Hound Dog’ and ‘Don’t Be Cruel’ and ‘Suspicious Minds’, giddy with the pleasure of reunion. Jess was transported back to the early days when Alex, barnstorming and gregarious, had introduced her to his diffident friend and she had marvelled at their contrasting personalities and the strength of their attachment. After school, Alex had gone to the LSE (History) and Toby to Leeds (Archaeology), but it hadn’t affected their friendship. After graduation, flitting between research and temporary lectureships, Toby had squatted on their sofa and the three of them had done everything together – a bit like Jules et Jim, with Jess as Jeanne Moreau. (In the glorious early scenes, of course.)
‘Toby’s madly in love with you, you know,’ Alex had told Jess casually.
‘God, that’s awkward.’
‘Not really.’
