Secrets in Sicily

by Penny Feeny

  Carlotta was grateful for this. The hotel and the general locality – with its trattorias and cafés and sandwich shops run by fellow Italians, its atmosphere of bustle and fizz – was like a little piece of home, protecting the two of them from the vast bewildering indifference of London. The size and spread of the city was daunting, but they were learning to decipher the Tube map. Eva was enormously excited by the department stores on Oxford Street (one of their easier journeys). These were as grand as palaces, with their marble pillars and chandeliers, and sold such an extraordinary range of products; Selfridges, in particular, enthralled her.

  ‘The quality is not so good,’ she said, fingering a skirt in the Miss Selfridge boutique. ‘But I like the way they display the clothes on the mannequins. Don’t you? There are some useful ideas to take home.’

  Eva was full of ideas. Like cutting Carlotta’s hair. ‘You don’t want to be recognised,’ she’d said. ‘Not at first, at least. This is the quickest and easiest way to change your appearance.’

  ‘Do I have to cut it all off? Can’t I wear it up? Or hidden in a hat?’

  ‘We must do things thoroughly.’ By this stage they had been in London for three days, getting their bearings. Although Eva claimed her main purpose was to see the famous sights – Buckingham Palace, Madame Tussauds, the Tower of London – she was clearly excited by the nature of Carlotta’s quest. ‘And you must be prepared to trust me. You know I’m a wizard with the scissors. I’ll do a good job.’

  Carlotta had agreed with some reluctance. ‘Not too short, then. I don’t want to look like a boy.’

  ‘Tesora mia,’ said Eva. ‘No one will ever mistake you for a boy. We should change the colour too.’

  ‘Dye it?’

  ‘Bleach it. Haven’t you ever wanted to be blonde?’

  Of course she had. Blue eyes and blonde hair gave Jessamy McKenzie a queenly look; she would never be mistaken for a peasant. ‘But what about when we get back to Rome? What will people think?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. They’ll think you went mad on holiday. Or that the English hairdresser didn’t understand your instructions. Anyway, you can dye your hair dark again and it will soon grow if you don’t like it this way.’

  She had moved in front of Carlotta, blocking her reflection, so she could tackle her fringe. Now she stood aside to let her see. Carlotta had to admit the result was professional, even if she barely recognised the person staring at her from the mirror. She wasn’t used to having a fringe, it changed the structure of her face. Her eyes were bigger; her cheekbones more pronounced.

  Eva opened the packet she’d bought from the chemist and mixed powder and cream into a paste in a bowl she’d borrowed from the breakfast table. (They were both flummoxed by the English breakfasts. What was the purpose of half a grapefruit and why was the coffee watered down?) ‘And another thing,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t wear make-up.’

  ‘But I always wear make-up! I feel naked without it.’

  ‘If you want to appear incognito, I’m afraid that’s what you must do.’

  ‘Not even lipstick?’

  ‘Especially not lipstick.’

  ‘You’re trying to make me look like you.’

  ‘Exactly!’ They both laughed, though Carlotta’s was uneasy. Eva went on. ‘We will be a pair of nondescript sisters. That’s how you become an observer, Carli. Not by waggling your bottom so that all the men around start whistling at you.’ She began dabbing the peroxide mixture over her scalp.

  ‘I’m not trying to attract men. Not that sort anyway – though it would be nice to have someone to take care of me.’

  ‘Ouf, don’t sound so mournful! I’ve told you before, you don’t need a husband to make you complete. Things are different now.’ This was one of Eva’s favourite hobby-horses. ‘We are the new generation. We aren’t trapped like our mothers. We can get divorced if we want to. We don’t have to churn out children to provide fodder for the Church. We don’t have to die young.’

  Carlotta gave a sharp intake of breath and Eva’s brush hovered in mid-air. ‘Oh, God, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I meant, you know, that childbirth – stop looking as though I’m torturing you! – is much safer these days. Medically speaking. Besides, there are methods of prevention.’

  ‘I know,’ said Carlotta. ‘Which is why I can’t have another baby.’

  ‘No, you mustn’t talk like that!’

  ‘Well, I think the Church is right not to approve of the coil.’

  There had been many bleak moments in Carlotta’s life. Concussion had blotted out the worst of the earthquake; for much of its aftermath she was too numb to feel. But her collapse in her uncle’s Brooklyn restaurant was still vivid and accompanied by a recollection of searing pain. She’d been eaten up with it, unable to afford treatment. She had staggered into a table busy with diners and the armful of pizzas she’d been carrying had soared and smashed. There’d been horrified screams. She’d been bundled into a darkened room and diagnosed with pelvic inflammatory disease; the fever had raged for days. Ricky had brought her flowers, but asked her to return his ring.

  Eva said, ‘The American doctor might have been wrong.’

  ‘The infection was severe. He said it was very unlikely I would become pregnant again… No one wants a barren wife.’

  ‘Unlikely is not the same as never.’

  Carlotta shrugged and her towel slipped. Eva knelt to adjust it. She put her arms around Carlotta and pressed her cheek against hers. ‘You’re very brave,’ she said. ‘And I understand why you’re doing this, searching for your daughter, and naturally I want to help you succeed. But you have a future as well as a past, whatever any doctor says. Magari, we’re both still young, aren’t we? We have the whole world before us. And it’s exciting, isn’t it, this adventure?’

  ‘If you don’t move away from me this minute,’ Carlotta said, ‘you’re going to have a white streak like a badger.’

  Eva squealed and ran to the basin to rinse off the paste that was sticking to her. Then, following the instructions in the pack, she wrapped Carlotta’s head in a swathe of plastic and set the alarm on her watch so they would know when the dye had taken.

  *

  The next morning, they took the Victoria line Tube to Highbury and Islington station and opened up the A–Z street atlas they’d bought. They were too nervous to catch one of the wonderful red buses in case it carried them in the wrong direction, but they were prepared to tramp the streets. Carlotta hadn’t quite recovered from the shock of her straw-coloured hair. American white-trash, she thought, familiar from the movies, but highly disturbing when it framed her own face. ‘You’ll get used to it,’ Eva consoled her. ‘I think you look like Mia Farrow. Terrific.’

  The plan was for the two of them to saunter down the McKenzies’ street, chatting, pausing every now and again, or pretending to search for something they’d lost. A contact lens, they’d explain, if anyone tried to help, because it was the kind of thing you could hunt for hours without success. Carlotta had initially intended to do her own research, but Eva had pointed out that a single person loitering would look highly suspicious. ‘You don’t want anyone to think you’re a prostitute.’

  ‘At eight o’clock in the morning, when people are going to work? Who would I solicit?’

  ‘As two women together,’ said Eva, ‘we won’t stand out. In any case, this isn’t something you ought to cope with alone. You’d do the same for me.’

  ‘I’ve had to cope with many things alone,’ said Carlotta.

  ‘Precisely!’

  The print in the A–Z was small and the distances further than they expected. Carlotta worried it was taking too long to locate the street. Besides, they all looked the same; the houses too. They all had stone steps running up to their front entrances, which gave the illusion of grandeur, though most had been divided into flats and the paintwork was shabby. Leaves were turning colour on the trees and rustling on the pavements along with sweet wrappers and cig
arette ends. Dustbins lolled against railings, pictures of a missing cat were plastered to lamp posts. ‘A cat!’ exclaimed Eva. ‘Somebody is worried about losing a cat!’

  Finally they reached their goal. ‘It’s the red door, I think,’ said Carlotta, counting down the numbers. Her throat felt constricted, her stomach sick with anticipation.

  ‘Shall I ring the bell? I’ll make some excuse about who I am and then you can join me.’

  ‘No! We should cross over so we don’t get too close and watch to see who comes out. They may not even live there anymore.’

  What could be more frustrating than staring at a door, willing it to open? It was another cool grey London morning, busy enough with commuters and shop workers and school children, but quiet and restrained by Italian standards. No horns, no sirens, no explosions of temper or shrieks of laughter. It didn’t feel normal. Carlotta worried the pair of them would be lurking too obviously, contact lens hunt notwithstanding.

  A man emerged from a house on their side of the street, swinging his car keys. ‘Can I help you?’ he said pleasantly, when he noticed the A–Z gripped in Carlotta’s hand. ‘Are you lost?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, pointing randomly at the map. ‘We are looking for this road.’

  ‘Let me see. Oh, yes, left at the end here, then second right for about two hundred yards till you get to this junction… Actually, you might need to ask again. It’s a bit of a walk. I’d offer you a lift if I wasn’t running late.’

  ‘No, please, is not necessary,’ said Carlotta, dragging Eva after her.

  The man continued to his car, unconcerned. The women didn’t look back until they had reached the corner, turned and waited. Once they’d checked he had driven off, they retraced their steps, feeling foolish. No one else accosted them.

  ‘Why doesn’t the door open?’ complained Eva. ‘Don’t the children have to go to school? Maybe it’s the wrong address, after all.’

  ‘Or we came too late and they had gone already. Or we missed them while we were walking away.’

  ‘That would be very unlucky.’

  ‘But it’s possible.’

  Eva threw up her hands. ‘Oh, Carli, I’m sorry for all these troubles!’

  ‘You want me to give up, don’t you? You think this is a stupid idea and we should leave?’

  ‘I think we should enjoy our holiday, that’s all.’

  ‘So I’ve dyed my hair for nothing?’

  ‘No! For fun.’

  ‘Fun? How can you say that? This is not fun. Not for me anyway.’

  ‘Are you the only person on this trip? The only one who matters? I’ve spent money coming here too, you know!’

  For a few seconds they glared at each other; then they embraced. Friends shouldn’t quarrel, especially when they’re a long way from home. It was ironic, Carlotta thought that although she was the one who had crossed continents and Eva had scarcely ever left the family base in Monteverde Nuovo, her friend was the more confident traveller.

  They were still embracing and Eva was gazing over Carlotta’s shoulder, directly at the red door. ‘Don’t move,’ she said. ‘Don’t get excited, but I think someone is coming out.’

  Carlotta stiffened. ‘Is it Lily?’ She had shown Eva the Polaroid photograph, but that was now two years out of date. The girl would be maturing, developing into a woman, displaying those markers of adolescence, which, like her childhood, Carlotta had missed.

  ‘No,’ said Eva. ‘It’s a boy.’

  ‘Harry? By himself?’ She turned slowly. She needed to see and she didn’t think Harry would recognise her. For a moment she didn’t recognise him either: his hair was ridiculously long. Then a second person came through the door, tall and fair, wearing a swirling coat and carrying a small suitcase. ‘That’s the mother,’ she said in an undertone. ‘Oh, my God, it is the right house.’

  ‘Why does she have a suitcase?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Fortunately, neither Harry nor Jess noticed them. They walked along the opposite pavement together, Jess switching her suitcase from hand to hand to ease the weight of it, Harry running ahead and then back again as if attached to an invisible piece of elastic. Carlotta and Eva watched until they were out of sight. ‘And I don’t know why Lily isn’t with them.’

  ‘She could still be inside,’ said Eva. ‘Shall we knock and find out?’

  This was tempting, but Carlotta resisted. If Lily had already left, she might find herself face to face with Alex. She would never forget how angry the McKenzies had been on the quayside in Marsala. ‘I’m not ready to do that. I have to be careful or everything will go wrong again like it did before. And it’s late to go to school, isn’t it? We should come again tomorrow, but make sure we set off earlier so there’s no danger of missing them.’

  She expected Eva to groan, but her sparrow eyes were bright, the pupils dilated. They had traced their quarry – which was a success in itself – and who knew where it might lead?

  17

  They were waiting for her at the bus stop: Andi and Michelle and Beverley and Faye. Lily dragged her feet; she wasn’t ready to deal with them. Fellow pupils streamed past in ribbons of maroon and grey, twining into knots and untangling again, surging into freedom, but she didn’t feel the least bit liberated. The girls ahead were nudging each other, craning their necks to seek her out, their faces smug. She swerved down a side street. She told herself she didn’t need to take the bus today; she would walk. If it took longer to get home than usual, it wouldn’t matter. Jess was the person most likely to worry and she wasn’t there. She’d gone to visit her parents because her father was in hospital. Alex had a more relaxed attitude to time-keeping.

  Within moments of turning the corner, she knew she’d made a mistake. On the bus she’d be surrounded by other passengers, the conductor would be patrolling the aisle. Andi and her friends would be all talk and taunts but they couldn’t put pressure on her. Here she was on her own and she could hear footsteps catching up. Andi was tall, with a long stride; she wore chunky heels the school disapproved of, which thudded on the pavement. Lily couldn’t possibly show she was frightened, so she carried on walking. She knew they were closing in, but she kept her eyes fixed ahead. She pretended she hadn’t noticed them until the arm landed on the back of her neck.

  ‘Hey,’ said Andi. ‘Why are you avoiding me? Why’d you rush off like that?’

  ‘I’m not rushing. Didn’t fancy the bus, that’s all.’

  The other girls hung back, whispering among themselves. Andi left her arm draped across Lily’s shoulders; her voice was warm. ‘Look, you paid up for the belt, right? So why don’t we let bygones be bygones?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve shown willing and that’s a start. How d’you feel about being friends again?’

  Oh, the delicious sensation of being welcomed back into the fold! But Lily was suspicious. Although Andi’s behaviour suggested reconciliation, she’d learnt from last term how she could blow hot and cold so you never knew where you stood.

  She tried to sound non-committal. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  Andi took a packet of Chiclets from her pocket and offered one to Lily. ‘Fab! There’s just one more test you have to do to join us.’

  Lily’s stomach contracted. ‘Is there?’

  ‘Honestly, it’s a cinch. You’ll pass with flying colours.’ Andi’s hair was drawn tightly from her face in a high ponytail, exposing the mocking lines around her eyes and mouth. She distributed further pieces of gum among her friends. Their smiles also looked false and untrustworthy, but Lily was trapped. She couldn’t hope for a passer-by to come to the rescue, there was hardly anyone about: a figure or two in the distance, some younger children playing, the odd car gliding past. The girls linked arms and swept Lily along between them.

  ‘Do you know the shortcut through the estate?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Come on, then, we’ll show you.’

  The estate was built in a design that was absu
rdly confusing, with roads that curled pointlessly or led into cul-de-sacs. Lily generally avoided it for fear of getting lost. ‘There are pedestrian passageways,’ Andi said, as they passed two identical blocks of flats. ‘Can save you a bit of time if you know which to take. Shell lives here, doncha?’ Michelle nodded. ‘See over there?’

  Behind a row of maisonettes was a broad strip of tarmac with hopscotch squares chalked onto it. Facing them were a dozen single-storey garages with up-and-over doors of corrugated aluminium. Lily couldn’t imagine Andi wanted to play hopscotch – that was a kids’ game. ‘See what?’

  ‘Them garages.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Do you know how to pick a lock?’

  Lily’s eyes widened; she shook her head.

  ‘Then we’ll teach you.’ Andi grabbed her arm and pulled her along to the end garage. ‘Right, Shell. Do your stuff.’

  ‘You’re not going to steal something?’ said Lily. It was a silly thing to say because Andi did steal. Her locker was crammed with random objects, and once last summer she’d shown Lily her collection of nail varnish from Woolworths: the bottles lined up on her bedroom window sill, far more colours than one person could ever wear.

  ‘No. You are.’

  Michelle was advancing on the handle of the garage door with a piece of wire.

  ‘It’s a doddle,’ said Andi. ‘A basic twist and turn mechanism. Watch carefully and you’ll see how it’s done.’

  But Michelle was having problems, frowning and swearing. ‘It’s a bugger, this one. Must be rusted or something.’ She moved on to the next garage, where she had more success. Lily couldn’t see properly what she was doing, but she heard a click and saw the handle spin. They only raised the door a few inches because they didn’t want to attract attention.

  ‘Now, Lily,’ said Andi. ‘What we’re asking you to do is wriggle inside and nick something. Quick as you can.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ said Lily. ‘And why?’

  ‘Because that’s the deal if you want to be in our gang.’