Secrets in Sicily

by Penny Feeny

  This was true. The previous day Alex had taken Lily and Harry out for burgers – as a treat, he’d said, but they’d reckoned he didn’t fancy cooking. ‘Whisky, then,’ he said. ‘A wee dram. What about you?’

  Jess shook her head. Alex poured a generous slug of Johnnie Walker into a tumbler. He addressed Lily, who had been listening in silence up to now. ‘How about we give it six months?’

  ‘Give what six months?’

  ‘School.’

  Six months – a term and a half of being cold-shouldered. What could be more crushing? While Jess had been talking, Lily had been imagining herself in a new, happier life, roaming through woods and meadows with real friends, not fake ones; riding bicycles along country lanes, like they used to at Villa Ercole. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Can’t we go sooner?’

  Jess intervened. ‘Not really, because there are quite a lot of things to sort out. I’d have to give notice and we’d have to fix up the cottage and find the right school for you and it will all take time. But by next summer…’

  Alex swirled his whisky and took another gulp. ‘This is a big decision, Jessa-mine,’ he said. ‘And you’ve tossed it in my face like it’s a trip to the flicks. For a film I don’t even want to see. I can grit my teeth for a couple of hours, sure, but what you’re suggesting is major upheaval… it will unsettle the dynamic. You must appreciate that. Everything will change.’

  ‘It will be worth it,’ insisted Jess. ‘Lily’s been through enough. It’s not fair to make her go on struggling.’

  ‘You can’t load the weight onto the child’s shoulders.’

  ‘I’m not! The move will benefit all of us, as a family. I promise you won’t regret it.’

  *

  For Lily, it was as though a pressure valve had been tapped. She felt buoyant. And the thing about feeling buoyant was that it showed in your demeanour, so other people treated you differently. Her classmates began to speak to her again and include her in their activities. And it was only a few days later that she wandered into the cloakroom and spotted Andi snogging one of the boys from the year above – which wouldn’t have been remarkable if she hadn’t had both her arms clasped tightly around him; her sling draped over a coat hook. Lily tried to summon a sense of outrage, but failed.

  Oh, the relief of not caring anymore!

  *

  For Jess, the move that had seemed such an obvious solution at the time became more conflicted as their preparations advanced. On the surface, Alex appeared tolerant of the process – dealing with plumbers and electricians, hiring removers. But it had been dangerous to promise no regrets. She couldn’t get out of her head the notion of a rip in the fabric of their relationship and she didn’t know how to repair it or stop it splitting further. Once they had exulted in honesty, transparency – so why was she afraid he was hiding something from her?

  20

  1982

  Carlotta and Eva were sitting on a bench in the gardens of Villa Sciarra, sharing a bar of chocolate. The park wasn’t far from Eva’s new premises in Monteverde, which they’d been to view, and Carlotta had suggested they go for a breath of fresh air, away from traffic fumes and the annoying buzz of motorini. The afternoon was fine and sunny, a fresh spring light illuminating Rome at its loveliest, and there was over an hour before she needed to get back to work.

  Eva was no longer working for anybody. She had finished her apprenticeship and was ready to set up on her own. ‘My family think I’m mad,’ she’d said, as she’d shown Carlotta the space she was leasing. ‘My mother thinks I should squeeze my sewing machine into a corner of the apartment to cut down overheads, but she’s always interfering. Besides, clients need to be treated with discretion. You have to make them feel special.’ She’d skipped around the dingy room flourishing a retractable tape measure. ‘I’m going to have partitions constructed so there’ll be a changing cubicle and a toilet with a shower. And there’ll be shelves all along the far wall to display fabrics. And a big table for cutting and mannequins in the window wearing beautiful dresses. Like in the shops we saw in London.’

  They didn’t often refer to their trip to London. Eva had enjoyed it hugely, but she knew Carlotta regarded it as a failure, so the subject was seldom broached except like this, in passing.

  ‘That sounds so exciting! Will it be expensive?’

  ‘Not too bad. My brother will do the joinery and the landlord’s agreed to pay for the plumbing and the lovely big window is here already. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you could write messages on it.’ Carlotta had traced her finger through the grime: Come inside. Let me inspire you.

  ‘It’s a bit of a dump right now. You have to use your imagination.’

  ‘You have a knack, Eva. I know you’ll make a success of it. And women always need dresses made.’

  ‘You’d come to me, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘If I could afford to! And I wish Iacopo and Silvana were as enterprising as you are. We’ve got some really fine craftsmen on our books but we keep missing opportunities because the pair of them are so cautious.’ She was still trying to persuade the di Monzas to shift their wares upmarket, to be bold enough to move to a more glamorous address.

  Eva had grabbed her hands and whirled her in a waltz around the dusty interior. ‘They’re bound to retire soon and when you’re in charge you can do what you want. You’ll get your heart’s desire, Carli. We both shall.’

  It was in this giddy mood that they had bought the chocolate and mounted the incline to Villa Sciarra, taking the route that led to the summit of the park to drink in the view. The city lay spread before them in a voluptuous vision of copper and rose, gold and ivory, all curves and columns, diamonds and sparkle.

  ‘See,’ said Eva. ‘We have the world at our feet.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, tesora.’

  They descended the steps beneath a canopy of budding wisteria and sat companionably on a cast-iron bench. Nearby, fat marble cherubs sprayed water like glitter into the ornate fountain and silky petals of narcissi rippled in the breeze; behind them, tall cypresses swayed and creaked. Carlotta had a particular affection for Villa Sciarra because its baroque architecture and palm-lined avenues echoed the grand decaying villas of her homeland and helped her to feel less of an exile. She crumpled the chocolate wrapper and focussed on Eva’s assurances. Her friend was right: the two of them had ambitions to fulfil, a capital city to conquer. She tipped her face to the warmth of the sun.

  The peace of the afternoon was broken by a gang of teenagers. They gathered at the intersection of the paths, a stone’s throw from the fountain, and started racing their remote-control cars. They shouted insults and called out challenges and whooped from time to time in triumph. Eva put her hands over her ears. A much younger boy, only about six or seven, broke away from them and hoisted himself onto the bench beside Carlotta. He was wearing a football shirt she didn’t recognise, the point of its collar grazing his chin. Elbows on knees, he leaned forward with an intent expression, watching the racing. One of the cars overturned, its wheels spinning, and he blurted in dismay, ‘It’s not fair. I could do better than that but they won’t let me play. And the Ferrari is mine.’

  Carlotta said, ‘Madonna! If they go on making that much noise they’ll frighten the peacocks.’

  The boy said, ‘What peacocks?’

  ‘You don’t know about the white peacocks of Villa Sciarra?’

  ‘I don’t know Rome,’ he said, a little petulantly. ‘We only just moved here so my nonna could help look after me.’

  Carlotta glanced around for a grandmother. ‘Is she with you?’

  ‘No, I’m with my cousin, Paolo. He was supposed to let me join in.’ He pointed at the youth manoeuvring the blue Ferrari.

  ‘I don’t come from Rome either,’ said Carlotta, ‘but I know about the famous peacocks. They used to be bred here before the villa was given to the comune and nowadays they live wild – if the chicks can survive the cats, that is.’

 
; ‘Are they really white?’

  ‘Oh, yes, completely. Like snow. And very beautiful.’

  ‘Have you ever seen one?’

  ‘They’re quite shy but, yes, I have.’ It had been like stumbling upon a fantasy creature from another world, a winged angel in front of her on the path, stately and ethereal. A sight that made you blink and disbelieve your eyes. ‘They’re supposed to bring good luck.’

  The boy slid off the seat. ‘Would I find one if I looked in those bushes over there?’

  ‘You could try.’

  As he ran off Carlotta remarked, more wistfully than she intended, ‘You know what they remind me of? A bride in her wedding dress, with a tiara on top of her head and a long white trailing train…’

  ‘Very fanciful,’ said Eva. ‘But you’ve given me an idea. When you get married, Carli, that’s what I shall do. I’ll design you a bridal gown and tiara so that you can arrive at your wedding looking exactly like a white peacock!’

  ‘That sounds marvellous.’ Carlotta tossed back her hair, which had grown dark and abundant again (the gamine look had definitely not suited her) and waggled her fingers above her head like a peacock’s crown. Then she became more serious. ‘Why are you always trying to marry me off, Eva?’

  ‘Because it’s what you want for yourself.’

  ‘You mean you don’t?’

  ‘No, not particularly. But you’re so restless, like somebody who’s endlessly searching.’

  ‘Oh, well…’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘That’s because I am. I’m searching for love, aren’t I? Like most people. I just haven’t found it yet.’

  ‘Hey, Luca!’ There was a shrill whistle. ‘You can have your turn now.’

  The bushes parted and the little boy emerged, reaching eagerly for the hand-held controls. But the blue Ferrari wasn’t going as well as before; it stumbled and stuttered along the path and was slow to respond to Luca’s commands.

  ‘The batteries are running out,’ said a youth in an AS Roma tee shirt. ‘You’ll have to get some more.’

  ‘I haven’t any money, said Luca woefully. ‘Paolo’s been playing with it. He should get them.’

  The boys huddled together in discussion. Luca hovered on the edge of the group, patently the young kid they didn’t want to be bothered with. Carlotta opened her bag; she was tempted to offer to buy the child some batteries herself, but the gang moved off, still arguing. She tapped a cigarette from the pack and hunted for her lighter.

  Eva said, ‘That’s because you won’t let go of the past.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Not finding love.’

  ‘Oh, Eva, stop lecturing me. You’re like a stuck record.’ She lit her cigarette and dropped the lighter back into her handbag.

  Eva had spotted the letter, waiting to be posted. ‘You’re the one who’s stuck, Carli. You could have a whole new family if only you’d give up your ghosts.’

  ‘Lily is not a ghost.’ She’d never admitted to Eva how much she looked forward to the photos coming every other month – a tenuous link to the girl she wasn’t allowed to know. Some of them were outdoor shots: Lily on a bike or balancing on her hands or linking arms with Harry on a hilltop. Some gave hints of her home life: there she was icing a cake, hanging decorations on a Christmas tree, practising the flute at her music stand. There were never any accompanying messages or explanations. Carlotta had to build her own picture of Lily’s activities. They were so different from hers at the same age, it was hard to believe they were less than twenty years apart.

  Without warning, the photos had stopped. ‘I haven’t had one since last November,’ she said, in an attempt to justify herself. ‘There should have been two more by now and I’m worried. Anything could have happened.’

  Eva said, ‘I don’t see that writing another letter will help.’

  ‘She might be sick in hospital! She might have had a terrible accident.’

  ‘Or her father could have broken his camera or lost your address or plain forgotten about you.’

  ‘We had a deal,’ said Carlotta. ‘You’re supposed to stick to a deal, but he didn’t.’

  ‘Porca Madonna! You had no power in that arrangement. It was in his hands. If he doesn’t send you pictures, it’s too bad. There’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘I can write,’ said Carlotta, waving her envelope. ‘I can at least ask him why he’s not keeping his side of the bargain, if there’s anything I ought to know.’

  ‘If he doesn’t reply,’ said Eva, ‘once and for all, will you promise me you’ll let it go?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘It will be the end of it. Chapter closed. And maybe that will set you free.’

  ‘Free for what?’

  ‘To begin again.’ She gazed earnestly into Carlotta’s eyes. ‘The next time you meet someone and it starts to get serious, you’ll say nothing about this hopeless hankering – which is probably all in your head anyhow. No man wants to compete with an illusion.’

  ‘Lily isn’t an illusion!’

  ‘No, but your connection is. She barely knows you exist. Post the letter if you must and leave it at that. Then swear to me, Carli, that you won’t let this mess up any new relationship.’

  Carlotta didn’t believe such a relationship would ever develop. She couldn’t see herself making any long-term commitment, though she dated regularly enough. She often went dancing with Eva and other friends, and if she liked a man on the dance floor she might meet him a second time for a meal or a drink or a trip to the cinema. Sometimes she would take him back to her apartment (or go to his, if he had no ties) and let him undress her. Sometimes the sex would be hectic enough to transport her elsewhere; sometimes she would feel detached, as if she were watching through a mirror and the body cavorting on the bed didn’t belong to her. Living each day as it came, absorbed in present sensation – that was the Sicilian way. The future was a risk that might never arrive. At least she didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant.

  ‘You’re impossible, Eva!’ she said. ‘But I understand what you mean. So, if it makes you happy…’

  ‘It’s not to make me happy,’ objected Eva. ‘For the love of Jesus, Mary and all the saints, just make the promise!’

  Carlotta glanced at her watch; it was time to be heading back to work anyway. ‘Fine. I promise.’ Eva was the nearest thing she had to a sister and as Eva herself had only brothers they were mutually dependent; she would never fall out with her.

  Eva jumped up from the bench and pulled Carlotta to her feet. They embraced tightly, as if to seal the pact, and then strolled together to the park gates where they parted: Eva to go home to Monteverde and Carlotta towards viale Trastevere to catch a bus across the river. She hadn’t gone far when she was accosted by a boy waving a long feather, a dirty shade of ivory.

  ‘Look, I found this!’ said Luca. ‘Do you think it could be from the peacock’s tail?’

  Carlotta didn’t like to say she had no idea. ‘Yes, I expect so. Well done.’

  ‘It will bring me luck, won’t it?’

  ‘Of course!’

  He fumbled in his trouser pocket and brought out another, much smaller. ‘Do you want this one? Then you’ll be lucky too.’

  He gave her a winning gap-toothed smile and she couldn’t help but be touched by his gift. ‘Thank you, that’s lovely! I could do with some good luck.’ She accepted the feather and stowed it carefully in her bag. ‘Where are the others? Your cousin and his friends? They haven’t left you alone, have they?’

  ‘They went to get batteries.’ He pointed to the junction, though Carlotta couldn’t see anyone.

  ‘I’d better take you to find them,’ she said. ‘You shouldn’t be by yourself. But first I must post this letter.’

  There was a red post-box, plastered with old flyers, on the wall opposite. ‘I’ll do it for you,’ said Luca, keen to impress, though she wondered if he would be tall enough. He ran across the cobbles and stood on tiptoe. She followed at a slower pace. Th
e street was narrow, one-way only, so they were both surprised to see a pair of scooters bolt illegally around the corner.

  ‘Those damn motorini,’ said Carlotta, reaching instinctively for Luca, who slipped his small hand into hers, warm and trusting.

  At the other end of the street, a grey Alfa Romeo, entering quite lawfully, swerved to avoid a collision. Carlotta and Luca were facing the wrong direction, their attention captured by the scooters. Neither of them saw the car coming.

  21

  Lily had taken the phone call. Jess had been in her studio – which was rather a grand term for an unheated dilapidated outbuilding at the end of the garden. Lately she’d avoided answering the phone, letting Lily and Harry step in on her behalf. The demands of her relatives were escalating and she was feeling beleaguered. Her father was confined to a wheelchair, her mother couldn’t drive and her brother-in-law had managed to lose a large amount of money on the stock exchange.

  ‘The bloody idiot,’ Dinah had cursed. ‘He knows nothing about these things. He’s a civil servant, not a stockbroker or a merchant banker. Agriculture, Fisheries and Food. A farmer basically! We’re in debt with the farm too and interest rates are horrendous. I’ve no idea how we’ll get by.’

  ‘I know—’ Jess began.

  ‘You can’t possibly,’ snapped Dinah.

  Jess had been going to say she knew what it was like to struggle for cash. Instead, she’d murmured, ‘Everybody’s capable of making poor choices. It’s easily done.’

  Two and a half years ago, she had tried to calibrate her own decision with a list of pros and cons. It had been quite clear, on paper, that moving to the country would be better for the children, Lily in particular. (She hadn’t even needed to write down: no threat from Carlotta.) But they’d agreed to keep the lease on the flat and maintaining two places was complicated as well as costly. She was increasingly aware of the damage to her marriage. ‘Alex doesn’t want to,’ had headed the cons list and they weren’t spending enough time together. When she remonstrated that he was spreading himself too thinly, he countered that she was the one who’d wanted to relocate. He needed to go where the work was.