by C.J Duggan
I didn’t wanted to give into the aching feeling, the feeling of wanting something I couldn’t have, something that lasted longer than a night. It reminded me how out of step I was with the rest of my generation, for whom hooking up was a common occurrence. Going on an overseas tour with a bunch of twenty-somethings? Well, it just came with the territory. Wake-explore-drink-party-sex-sleep-repeat: it was part of the reason I felt so out of place in my group. I didn’t want to do that, which made me feel completely prudish; even with the one person I had actually connected with, I still couldn’t go all the way. My guarded, sensible self was kind of infuriating. Why couldn’t I just let go, binge-drink and bed-hop with abandonment? Somehow the very thought of that seemed to taint the fleeting hours I had spent with Marcello. I couldn’t help but be filled with more swirling, confused thoughts that had me feeling lost, unsure where to go from here. I sank down into the mattress, feeling the fatigue and sadness claim me as I smelled him on my pillow.
Staring up at the ceiling, I linked my hands across my belly and swallowed deeply.
‘I have a pretty early start so …’ My words fell away. I didn’t dare look at him now. I had to be brutal, act cool, like there were no strings attached; after all, that was how it was. I could only imagine how relieved he would be at being given an out. But still he stood there; I could feel his eyes boring into me, and I thought he might say something, but I heard the door open and my heart stopped.
Don’t go, just … stay.
But my rational mind told me to keep my thoughts to myself, and for once I listened. Just as I thought I would be okay hearing that door close behind him, Marcello’s voice sliced through the room.
‘Safe travels, Samantha Shorten.’
And before I could throw myself out of bed and blurt out that I really didn’t want him to go, the door had closed and Marcello was gone.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I dreamt I was falling, jolted awake by that stomach-dropping, heart-stopping feeling.
Thank God it was just a dream. A dream about impending death, but a dream nonetheless. I was in my bed and awake of my own accord. I couldn’t have had more than three hours’ sleep, but I felt rather rested, considering. I gave it until three o’clock for me to hit the wall, but hopefully by then we would be well on our way to our next adventure. I had to grab my suitcase from upstairs; yesterday I’d only had the energy to bring a spare outfit and some toiletries downstairs with me, energy which had apparently magically restored itself for my evening with Marcello.
Memories from last night had me walking around in a daze as I got out of bed and headed to the mercifully open door to the bathroom. Lost in my troubled thoughts, I almost choked on my toothpaste when I was startled by the loudest knock on the bathroom door.
‘Jurst ugh mirnute.’ I spat. ‘Jodie, is that you?’
Bang-bang-bang.
‘Okay, okay, I’m up, I’m out, jeez.’
Rinsing my mouth and securing the towel around my hair, I packed the last of my toiletries up like I always did; I mean, you just couldn’t trust who might be lurking around for a squirt of foundation or a spray of perfume. I shoved the bag under my arm and all but ran to the door to put a stop to the insistent knocking.
‘Bloody hell, I said that I was re—’
I whipped the door open so fast I almost stepped right into the singlet-covered chest of a man with wild, woolly white hair and a newspaper under his arm. Most definitely not Jodie.
‘Fretta, non ho tutto il giorno!’ the man yelled.
‘Ah, sorry, all yours,’ I said, stepping aside as he made his way in with a huff, slamming the door and locking it behind me.
Making my way back to my room, I decided to traipse up to the eighth floor to wake up the group. They would thank me from sparing them Maria’s wrath; my awakening would be like birdsong compared with that of the passionately punctual Maria. Ascending the stairs, I took comfort in knowing that the circus I was about to join on the road would at least provide a distraction from Marcello.
Making my way up past the sixth floor, I took a moment to glance at the door that I had tried to trick Marcello into believing was mine. That was, until an angry, hairy-chested man came out and abused me. Seriously, what was with me and hairy men?
I sighed. Marcello wasn’t hairy. Despite his thick black hair, and brows most women would kill for, he was all silky smooth. And I really had to stop thinking about him.
It was just a summer fling, Sammi, let it go.
I put it down to naivety. I had never had a summer romance before, and certainly not one in Italy, so I was bound to go a little gooey. And, really, I had done pretty bloody well for myself; wait until my friends back home asked about my holiday. I would tell them all about the tall, dark stranger I invited into my bed on a hot Roman night. Of course, they probably wouldn’t believe me, and I didn’t exactly have any photo evidence that included him. As far as anyone would know, Marcello was a figment of my wild imagination, and in some ways I wished he was—then maybe there wouldn’t be a dull ache inside me every time I thought about him and how things had ended last night.
I walked up the last few steps to the eighth floor, impressed at my lack of exhaustion. The first night up these very stairs I had thought I might pass out from a lack of oxygen to the brain, but now I could hardly even feel the burn, conditioned by my sightseeing wanderings. I hadn’t quite got over the door-opening incident with Jodie and Gary, so was relieved to see that the door had been left ajar; I only hoped that, unlike other mornings, Nate had a sheet wrapped firmly around him. I slid my hand through the door, taking great delight in flicking the light switch off and on like my dad used to do, ensuring I woke up in a foul mood on school days.
‘Wakey-wakey, rise and shi—’
I flung open the door, lighting up the room and coming to an abrupt halt.
‘What the …?’
The room was in its usual disarray, sheets and pillows flung, beds crooked and shifted, an apple core on the floor and an empty can of Coke on the windowsill. But more disturbing than any of that was the fact that the room was completely empty. No twisted, half-naked, snoring, drooling, farting bumps in the beds.
I stepped over a blanket, bending down to pull out a squeaky crate from under the bed. It was well and truly empty—they all were. I sat back on my haunches, looking around, confused. Even my own things were gone.
Where was everyone?
I walked back down the hall, opening up the bathroom door. The vanity was clear of all products, a wastebasket full of make-up-stained tissues and some eyeliner shavings in the sink were all that was left. The room was misty and damp, proof that someone had taken a shower not too long ago.
Nice one, guys. You could have bloody woken me!
Heading downstairs, I was pissed off, and felt a little rejected; clearly they didn’t want me at the breakfast gathering in the courtyard as was outlined in the itinerary. I felt kind of nervous making my way through reception. I wondered if Marcello would be at the breakfast table, here to see us off—or, more specifically, me. But then I shook that absurdity from my thoughts. I was probably a distant memory to him now, and here I was daydreaming that he would be standing in the courtyard with a single rose.
Settle down, Sammi.
I walked through the arched doorway that led into the courtyard overgrown with potato vine and flaky mint-coloured picnic tables … empty picnic tables, apart from the elderly couple drinking coffee and playing with their expensive-looking camera.
I made my way over to the breakfast buffet feeling something twist in my stomach, and I knew it wasn’t hunger pains. Pouring myself a juice, I hoped that there might be a clue lingering somewhere. Maybe they had left a note somewhere, or a message with reception. A young staff member I had seen around the hotel moved along the table, collecting spoons, lifting and stacking bain-maries and wiping down the grubby surfaces. He looked pointedly at the carafe of juice I had just poured from.
‘Oh
, scusi,’ I said, handing him the carafe and stepping away to allow him to continue cleaning.
‘I am sorry, signora, but breakfast is over.’
I breathed out a laugh. ‘That’s okay, I’m not really that hung—wait, what?’
The man pressed his lips together and lifted up his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture. ‘I am sorry, breakfast is over.’
‘W-what time is it?’ I blurted out, trying to remember the serving times. Did it differ depending on the day of the week?
The man looked at me, confused. I was one step away from grabbing him by the arms, shaking the shit out of him and yelling, ‘WHAT FUCKING TIME IS IT?!’
‘Dieci e trenta—ten-thirty.’
‘What? That can’t be, there must be some mistake.’ The man looked forlorn. ‘Mi dispiace,’ he said, bowing his head and stepping quickly away from the mad woman.
I couldn’t blame him—my mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wide and crazed.
‘No, no, no, this cannot be,’ I mumbled to myself, walking past the grey nomads and back into the hotel. I stood in front of reception in a daze, turning to look at the clock in the lounge area where I could see the breakfast waiter had indeed told the truth. I felt my world drop away. I pushed past the line of people checking in, earning myself some choice Italian abuse and a couple of dirty looks, but I didn’t care. I gripped the edge of the desk so hard that my nails bit into the wood.
‘Gabriello!’ I yelled, despite the fact that he was standing right behind the counter. He ignored me for a long moment, stamping the paperwork and handing a credit card back to a young couple with a smile.
‘You need to wait your turn,’ he said, without even looking at me.
‘Gabriello, please, where is everyone?’
‘Everyone?’
‘The tour group, my tour group, Maria, Bellissimo Tours, Nate, Jodie, Johnny.’ I continued rattling off the names of more group members, but I had his attention the moment I said Maria.
‘They are gone,’ he said, as if it were bleedingly obvious.
‘Gone?’
‘Si, they checked out a few hours ago.’
‘A FEW HOURS AGO?’
It was like there was an echo in the room.
Gabriello shifted awkwardly, offering the people behind me an apologetic ‘nothing to see here’ smile.
I gripped the bench harder, the crazed Aussie having a meltdown. I shook my head, barely believing this was real. Surely this was some practical joke, the group would come leaping out from behind the pillar and yell, ‘Just kidding!’ Then, through the fog of my brain, a remembered warning sounded in my mind: ‘if you’re late she will leave you behind, make no mistake.’
Like a zombie, I lifted my head to see Gabriello watching me, wary that I might lose it completely and start tearing the place apart. I was confident that I wouldn’t do that, too numb and weary to muster such a reaction. I know I had longed for a distraction, but this? All I could do was stand and stare and shake my head, over and over, until the words finally formed in my mouth as I looked up at Gabriello once more.
‘They left me. They really fucking left me.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I got lost once. In Chadstone Shopping Plaza when I was six years old. Nothing too traumatising, I had spent most of my time in the Barbie doll section, fantasising about the next purchase I would beg my mum for. I had been alright—I’d known where I was, no drama. In fact, at the time, I hadn’t known what all the fuss was about. This, on the other hand, was very different. There were no hot-pink glittery distractions and I didn’t know what to do or where to go. I was so screwed.
I couldn’t believe they left me. And where the hell was my stuff?
I sat slumped in the lounge area, cold to my core, struggling to believe the harsh reality of what had happened.
My mind flashed to Jodie’s sparkling smile at dinner as she lifted her glass to me. ‘To new friends.’ To our chat in the bathroom, her laughter as she said, ‘Oh, Sammi, you didn’t really think I would destroy you, did you?’ And her promise to wake me.
I buried my head in my hands. I was such an idiot. How had I not learned that when something seemed too good to be true, it always likely was? Had I been so eager for her to like me that I simply discounted all the dirty looks and threats? Well, she had done a pretty good job. Jodie: one, me: zero. Unless of course I was just being paranoid; surely someone couldn’t be that evil … could they?
After all I had been through in this hell-hole, I thought that I would welcome the sight of Gabriello wheeling my suitcase towards me but, at this point in time, all I could think about was trying to come up with some kind of plan.
‘Here you go; it was in the luggage holding area.’
‘How thoughtful,’ I said bitterly, imagining Jodie lovingly zipping up my luggage and dragging it to reception.
Gabriello sat at the coffee table opposite me, his eyes full of concern. ‘Signora, I do not understand. Was your sister not meeting you here?’
I blinked, looking at him. ‘My sister?’
He shifted in his seat. ‘Luciano said he overheard the crazy one telling Maria that you had cancelled the tour because you were catching up with your sister.’
Bingo! The crazy one—Jodie.
Though I had my suspicions, hearing the exact details of how Jodie had plotted my downfall made it all the worse. She had turned my plan to meet up with my sister in Venice into a means to destroy me. Wow, if I hadn’t stayed in another room, would she have laced my gnocchi with a sedative? Or clubbed me over the back of the head with her make-up bag? My leg was jigging up and down, I was so mad. In the space of a few hours I had gone from ecstasy to agony, from wanting to track Jodie down and tell her what for to just wanting to grab my bags and leave this place forever.
‘I am guessing this is not the case.’
My crazed eyes flicked up to Gabriello. ‘No, no, it wasn’t.’
I sighed, rubbing my hands on my thighs. Which was worse—the feeling of abandonment or the reality of having to spend another night here?
‘What are you going to do?’ Gabriello asked tentatively.
I shrugged. ‘Drag myself back to my room, take stock, form a plan B.’ Though part of me was hell-bent on revenge, most of me was happy to never see them again.
‘Ah, yes, about that,’ said Gabriello, his face twisting in distress.
‘What?’
He looked as though he was struggling to form the words, dreading what he was about to say. The penny finally dropped.
‘Oh, of course I will pay for my extra nights here, don’t think I’m going to be dodgy about it. I hadn’t planned for it but I will fix it up right now.’ I went to stand but Gabriello stopped me.
‘No, Sammi, it is not the money.’
‘Oh.’ I slowly sat back down.
‘Your room is already booked by someone else.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, if I have to move, I have to move.’
‘Unfortunately the hotel is fully booked. I am afraid that you will have to find alternative arrangements.’
Well, today was just getting better and better.
‘Of course we can help you find another hotel—Luciano can even take you there.’
He was being kind, sympathetic, helpful—all the right things—but I was so overwhelmed in that moment that nothing could have made me feel any better. Until my glorious Plan B hit me like a freight train.
‘Thanks, Gabriello, but I think I’m sorted,’ I said. ‘Would you mind if I stored my luggage until I need it?’
‘Of course, for however long you need.’
‘Grazie.’ I beamed, hopping to my feet and making a determined path to the internet kiosk, thinking that perhaps not all hope was lost. There would just be a slight detour in my plans.
I had never been to Paris, although I felt like I had from listening to Claire, who spoke, at length, of its beauty. I was suddenly filled with excitement. I was trading in a not-altogether-
cheap, bug-infested hotel for free accommodation in the city of lights. Screw you, Jodie! As gutted as I was not to be exploring more of Italy, survival mode kicked in. I was not going to run home with my tail between my legs. But when I did choose to go home, I would storm through the doors of Jan and John Buzzo’s travel agency and demand a refund. ‘Bellissimo’ was a really misleading word. As the brochures didn’t showcase a girl crying and disfigured by bug bites, I’d be calling them out on false advertising.
I pulled up a chair, mentally pushing the Buzzos to the back of my mind; besides, it was the weekend, so contacting them about my disastrous abandonment by my tour group was not going to get me anywhere today. But what I could get was a plane ticket to Paris, to be comforted by my big sister. I felt better already, moving to turn on the computer screen, only to still.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’ I lifted the tiny yellow Post-it note from the computer screen that read:
GUASTO! (OUT OF ORDER)
What was going on with my life right now? Was I cursed? What had I done in a past life to deserve this? The beautiful man in my bed last night was just a way for the universe to lull me into a false sense of security, because come the light of day—bam! The universe had whacked me straight between the eyes, repeatedly. Just like it always did.
I sighed, sliding out of the chair and dragging myself to the front desk, where Gabriello seemed to be even less excited to see me. I slapped down the Post-it note on the counter.
‘Can I please use the phone?’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Finding Claire on any given day was always a process of elimination. Useless at answering her phone, she could be anywhere between her and Louis’ apartment, Louis’ restaurant, Noire, and Hotel Trocadero, where Claire spent a lot of her time. I opted for the last; with a little help from the operator, I was put through to the Hotel Trocadero, as I had been a million times before.
