That Summer in Ischia

by Penny Feeny

  ‘The one who found you what?’

  ‘When I was a kid. My little adventure I was telling you about.’

  She tried to remember if Liddy had mentioned the name Cristina, if this information would add another crucial part to the jigsaw. ‘Have I got this right? Do you mean . . .?’ Before she could say anything further, there came a knock at the door and Cristina entered. Although she was dumpy, she moved with such fleet-footed grace she could give the impression of being in two places at once. Within seconds she was cushioning Max’s face between her palms and kissing him on both cheeks. She rattled through a succession of questions while he tried to keep up with the answers. ‘She’s asking about my mother,’ he told Allie. ‘And how everyone’s been coping in the city since 9/11. Senti, Tina, we should speak English for your guest.’

  ‘I have not seen this boy,’ she explained with a dramatic heave of her tightly-packed bosom, a gold crucifix twinkling above its cleft, ‘for five years, no, longer. And he is not a boy, not like my son. Massimo is a man.’

  ‘I’ve been a grown man for close on a decade. Now did you check out your medicine cabinet?’

  ‘I have here.’ She pointed at the metal container she’d set down on a small table and sprang open the locks.

  ‘Come on, Allie,’ said Max. ‘Let’s see this ankle.’

  She crossed her leg and held it stiffly forward, flinching as Cristina prodded the bruised soft tissue. ‘This is painful, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You want to see doctor?’

  ‘No. I’m sure it will be fine if I rest it. It’s very kind of you to do this.’

  ‘Ouf, for Massimo I run around like hen. Even when he is very small.’

  ‘Yes, he was telling me about how you rescued him.’

  ‘He has so many incidenti that boy. You remember, Mimmo, when you broke your arm and were so cross not to swim?’

  ‘That was after we moved to the States. I’d been looking forward to coming for the summer – I missed this place so much – and on my second day I ballsed it up.’

  Accident prone, thought Allie. Just like me. ‘I meant before that,’ she said to Cristina. ‘The time he was kidnapped.’

  Cristina was concentrating on tightening her bandage around heel and instep. Allie hoped she wasn’t going to cut off her blood supply.

  ‘Ah,’ said Max. ‘But here’s the thing: I wasn’t kidnapped.’

  ‘You weren’t? But you said –’

  ‘No I didn’t. They thought I’d been abducted but it was a false alarm.’

  Cristina sat back on her haunches and decided her packaging could be improved. She unwound the length of crepe and started again. Looking down, Allie could see that her bushy hair was unevenly streaked with henna, but everything else about her was trim. And efficient. Yet rewrapping the ankle seemed to be giving her great difficulty.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Allie. ‘How long were you missing for?’

  ‘About two days I think.’

  ‘Not so long,’ said Cristina.

  ‘Long enough for parents to worry themselves crazy, I guess. Though to be frank, it’s all a blur. I did this the same summer, falling from some rocks.’ He bent to touch the narrow white scar. ‘I’ve got a faint memory of being stitched up, otherwise it’s as blank as the business of getting lost . . . well, apart from the candy.’

  ‘Candy?’ She pictured a stranger enticing him with a paper bag of jelly babies.

  ‘We’d been having this treasure hunt on the beach, it was a fun thing for kids. And when we’d stuffed ourselves sick we had a game of hide-and-seek. That’s when I went missing.’

  Cristina reached for a large safety pin, clicking her tongue as though she were dealing with a troublesome hen.

  Trying to make it sound like a throwaway remark, she said to Max, ‘So, what, did you spend the night camping under a gooseberry bush?’

  He grimaced. ‘I was aiming to be really cunning – you know how smug kids get sometimes, thinking they’ve been really clever: ha ha, you won’t find me now? I scrambled up to the top of the cliff, which was exactly what we’d been forbidden to do, by the way, and then, it seems, I climbed into the trunk of a car.’

  ‘But isn’t that how they operate?’ said Allie. ‘Bundling their victims into car boots?’

  ‘Heck, I recognized the car! It belonged to Cristina’s father. He used to drop Rosaria off in it all the time. I was a bit pazzo but I wasn’t stupid. My problem was that I fell asleep and they drove off and no one knew I was there. Vero, Tina?’

  ‘Sì, è vero,’ she agreed.

  ‘What happened when you woke up? Didn’t you yell for help?’

  ‘I guess I did but nobody heard me.’

  ‘And they didn’t open the car boot for two whole days?’ The point of the pin jabbed into Allie’s flesh and she yelped. Cristina apologized and tried again to dig through the layers of crepe.

  ‘I was lucky there, if you can call it that. The catch was faulty – which was how I’d crept in in the first place. Only by the time I managed to get out it was dark and I was so disorientated I got myself lost all over again in the woods.’

  ‘You must have been terrified!’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember.’

  ‘What, none of it? I’d’ve thought an experience like that would be indelible.’

  ‘Or I blanked it out.’

  ‘Poor Mimmo,’ said Cristina. ‘When I find him, I want to make him well to return him to his mama, but he cannot speak and this is big problem.’ Finally she pinned the bandage successfully.

  ‘Now you walk,’ she said.

  Allie rose gingerly and took a step. She’d have to wear trainers, but the pain was bearable. ‘Thank you, that’s much better. Couldn’t he tell you anything at all?’

  ‘Not one word. We make him clean and warm. We feed him minestrone, sing songs. Niente.’

  ‘Trauma allegedly,’ said Max. ‘It took me days to get my speech back.’

  ‘But were you okay physically? You weren’t suffering from exposure or –’ she glanced down at her foot ‘– a sprain or some other injury?’

  ‘Just a few cuts and bruises. It seems I took care of myself pretty well. The crisis was more of a psychological one.’

  ‘Did it really screw you up? Did you have to see a shrink?’

  He laughed. ‘This was Italy, not the States. People believed in old-fashioned cures. Rosaria offered up a million prayers. My mother kept putting me to bed, so at least she’d know where I was.’

  ‘And it worked? You must have had nightmares?’

  ‘Well, yes. I didn’t come through unscathed. For years I had to sleep with the light on.’ He spoke casually, but Allie’s mind flew back to the night they had spent together and his desire to see the stars, which she’d taken as a seduction ploy. Perhaps, instead, it was the vulnerability of a little boy, resurfacing. She longed to probe deeper, but it was like inching along a narrow precipice. She had to pretend she was only half-interested – even though there was something about the whole story that didn’t ring quite true. The nub of it eluded her. She chewed at her thumbnail and then said, ‘But hang on, if it was your own doing, getting yourself lost and carted off, why was there a ransom note?’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you did.’

  Cristina’s face was sphinx-like. She appeared to be having trouble with her skirt, which had twisted on her hips when she’d knelt to attend to Allie. She fidgeted and wriggled until the zip was settled neatly centre-back. She flicked invisible specks of cotton wool from the fabric and replaced scissors and dressing in their compartments in the first aid box.

  ‘Right, yeah, there was a note that put the wind up everyone. But it turned out to be a hoax. No doubt they figured Fabrizio was good for a few bucks so they’d try it on. People do some sick things sometimes.’

  ‘Scusi signorina,’ said Cristina. ‘You will inform us before midday if you wish to stay another night?
’

  Allie had the impression she was anxious to get away. Already one hand was poised on the doorknob: she probably had a million other errands to run, she was entitled to resent being sidetracked by nursing duties. Although Cristina tried to be scrupulous about treating her visitors as house guests, Allie felt once again that she didn’t fit the mould.

  After she’d gone, Max said, ‘Afraid I can’t offer you a bed at the villa, because we’re all going back to the mainland tonight. Working tomorrow morning.’ He faked a sigh. ‘But you don’t want to sleep with me anyhow.’

  ‘It’s not that . . .’

  ‘No, it’s against your principles to encourage a guy to cheat. Fair enough. I shall respect them.’

  Allie said ruefully, ‘I hoped we could be friends.’

  ‘Given our countries of residence, do you think that’s practical?’

  ‘Whereas if we fuck it makes all the difference?’

  ‘It gives you a connection. And a pleasant memory.’

  ‘Don’t we already have a connection?’

  She’d been limping from one side of the room to another to gauge how far she might be able to walk. As she finished speaking, she stumbled. He reached out to stop her falling and she grasped both his hands to steady herself. An idea came to her. ‘Sing with me,’ she said.

  ‘Sin with you? Now you’re talking.’

  ‘No. Stop taking the piss.’ But she didn’t withdraw from his touch: holding hands was innocent, childlike. ‘I’d like to see if we can harmonize together.’

  ‘Like how exactly?’

  He had a way of narrowing his eyes to convey scepticism, but in Allie’s view it gave him the look of a thwarted goblin and she wouldn’t let it deter her. She plunged in. ‘Okay, so we’ve no instruments and I’m not going to choose a specific song. It’s more of a warm-up exercise. It’s very effective when you’re in a group, getting everyone into the right frame of mind so you’re on the same wavelength and in the same mood. Last summer holidays I ran these percussion workshops for kids and I always used to start this way.’

  ‘Sounds kind of new age to me.’

  ‘No excuses,’ she insisted. ‘Don’t pretend you’re an inhibited Englishman when we both know you’re not. Just try it.’

  Singing in harmony could be as intimate and as revealing as touch. Would he be uncomfortable exposing his vocal chords or would he follow her lead? She began to vibrate her tongue against the roof of her mouth and the notes emerged in a clear and swelling stream. She held his gaze and after a moment he unlocked his throat, at first a beat behind, but then catching up in a low and tender counterpoint. We can do it, she applauded, drawing him on, leading him through a vortex of sound so that the music they were making filled not only her ears and her brain but the whole room: springing from the canopied bed to the beamed ceiling, reverberating around the walls, flowing like honey through the open window. Nothing else could compete until Max broke the spell by laughing.

  ‘Wow,’ said Allie. ‘That was good. You see, it works as long as you absolutely forget everything and follow the tune. Connection? Check. Pleasant memory? Check. We can do it! I suppose you think I’m crazy but I just had to . . . had to try it with you.’ Max’s expression, the slight upward curve of his lips, was enigmatic. ‘Plus,’ she added when he didn’t say anything, ‘it helps me forget the mess I’m in. Shit, I haven’t even got a phone any more.’

  He dug into his pocket. ‘You can borrow my cell if there’s someone you need to call.’

  ‘Oh, Liddy!’ she said, remembering. ‘Did anyone ring her back after the police told you where I was?’

  ‘Bobby was supposed to,’ said Max, ‘after I left with your stuff, but Giulia was giving him grief over something so I don’t know.’ He’d been turning the phone over in his palm, rubbing its surface as if a genie might appear. He held it out to her. ‘Do you want to try?’

  ‘Thanks.’ She could only remember the home number, but she’d probably be in on a Sunday morning. She pictured the calm, spacious house, the background ticking of the clocks, Liddy with the Sunday newspaper on her lap and Rolo thrashing his tail at her feet. She imagined those perfect oval fingernails twirling a pencil like a baton over the crossword puzzle; the husband she’d never met would be reading the sports pages or brewing more coffee. Allie felt a sudden urgent nostalgia for a landscape she knew; no matter that the weather would be dismal and the sky grey. She pushed buttons and waited. ‘Liddy? Hi, it’s me.’

  ‘Allie! Oh thank heavens.’ The line was surprisingly clear, not a crackle of interference. ‘I’ve been so worried about you. What happened? Are you all right?’

  ‘My phone was snatched while I was talking to you, that’s all.’

  ‘All? All?’ A high pitch of disbelief.

  ‘Honestly, if I’d been at home I wouldn’t have bothered reporting it. I wouldn’t have reported it here either but the police got to me first and made me spend hours filling in their forms. I think they didn’t have anything else to do. Anyway, I expect Bobby explained all that when you rang him.’

  ‘I didn’t speak to Bobo.’

  ‘You didn’t?’

  ‘No, it was your mother . . .’

  ‘Mum!’ This was unexpected. ‘But she doesn’t know where I am.’

  ‘Yes she does. I . . . I went over to the house because I thought you were in trouble. Luckily she was in and I was able to tell her –’

  ‘What, exactly?’ Allie was annoyed. What rights did Liddy think she had? ‘You’ve no business interfering. It’s got nothing to do with you.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s quite the case, actually. I felt responsible.’

  ‘Why? Because I wouldn’t have made it over here without your input?’

  ‘Something like that, I suppose.’

  ‘I’m old enough to look after myself, you know! I’ve been around a bit. I’ve handled worse situations than bloody phone muggers.’

  ‘Yes, but Allie, I didn’t see that I had a choice. She’s your next of kin. If something dreadful had happened to you . . .’

  ‘Well, it didn’t. I was perfectly okay and Mum should have heard about what’s been going on from me, not you.’

  ‘Then you ought to ring her,’ said Liddy firmly. ‘Let her know you’re safe. Where are you anyhow?’

  Max was leaning out of the window as though the activities of the front courtyard were of absorbing interest, as though – the angle of his back was informing her – he was doing his very best to be discreet, to avoid listening. Allie suppressed her anger. ‘As it happens, the police found me somewhere to stay, Fattoria La Castagna, up in the hills. And by quite a coincidence . . .’ She paused.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, you know how I met this . . . guy whose American name is Max but in Italian it’s Massimo? It turns out he knows the woman who runs the place. She’s called Cristina and her aunt used to work for his family.’

  ‘Cristina?’ repeated Liddy. ‘Rosaria’s niece?’

  ‘That’s right.’ She tried to sound nonchalant. ‘He’s known her for ages. Ever since he was a little boy and she discovered him when he went missing.’

  ‘Good Lord, you’re actually staying with Cristina! Surely I told you about her, producing Mimmo like a jack-in-the-box? She wasn’t very keen on us. Helena was rather rude to her – she was probably glad to see her get into trouble.’

  Allie glanced towards Max’s back view and under cover of a sudden squawking of hens from the courtyard she said quickly, ‘You didn’t tell me he hid in her car.’

  ‘He hid in her car? I didn’t know that!’ Liddy became distinctly animated. ‘I didn’t even know she could drive. But if she’d been on the beach too, why didn’t she come forward when they asked for witnesses? And why didn’t she bring him back right away?’

  ‘Afraid I can’t really . . .’

  ‘Is Mimmo with you at the moment?’

  ‘Yes. He’s lent me his phone.’

  ‘Oh I see. It was outrageous re
ally, the way Cristina got all the glory and Helena was made a scapegoat. This is a gift, Allie, it’s been handed to you on a plate. You have to follow it through.’

  ‘How on earth can I do that?’

  ‘Ask some questions? Scout around?’ She gave a small sigh of disappointment. ‘No, you’re right. What’s the chance of finding anything out after so long? One per cent? Two if you’re lucky. Forget it. The most important thing now is to ring your mother, let her know you’re safe.’

  ‘I will, I promise, right away.’

  She’d make it quick, casual, non-committal (Hi, Mum, I’m fine, no worries); Helena wasn’t the only person who could keep secrets. But then she’d take a punt on that two per cent: she’d find her hosts and tell them she was staying another night.

  21

  After Max left, Allie found herself engaged in a bizarre battle with Cristina. In the afternoon, while she was reading on the terrace, the rest of her clothes went missing. She tracked down Enrico, the son, who suggested his mother might have taken them to wash. ‘That’s very kind of her,’ said Allie, who didn’t care to be held to ransom for some faded denim and a selection of cotton tops from H&M. ‘But I didn’t ask her to. I wouldn’t want her to go to the trouble.’ He assured her it was no trouble at all, but he was hazy about when the laundry would be completed and she was left with the disquieting notion that her wardrobe would either vanish mysteriously or turn up as motley rags.

  That evening, dinner was served to the guests at the long refectory table where they had breakfasted. The occasion was sociable and over the antipasti – platters of salami and ham, roasted peppers and pickled artichokes – everyone joined in with halting but friendly conversation. When Cristina served the pasta, Allie noticed she’d been apportioned twice as much as the rest of the company. ‘She needs to build her strength,’ Cristina explained, to general agreement.

  Allie resolved that she would not be intimidated. She floundered through the coils of fettucine della casa while the stout German couple sitting nearby grunted encouragingly at her laden fork. But when Cristina dished out the main course, and a rocky mountain of potatoes and bales of involtini swamped her plate, she tried to object. ‘Honestly, that’s more than enough.’