The Memory Box

by Kathryn Hughes

  ‘You take as long as you want, love. Don’t worry about me.’

  60

  Stefano had definitely said he would meet her down at the harbour. He hadn’t been specific about where exactly, but that shouldn’t have been necessary. There were only a couple of bars with tables outside, and he wasn’t sitting at either of them. She looked along the breakwater heading out into the bay, but there was only an old man shuffling along with an even older dog that didn’t look at all thrilled at being dragged out in the heat.

  ‘Candice, ciao, bella. Over here.’ Stefano was standing at the helm of a small motorboat, which wobbled from side to side as he flailed his arms to attract her attention.

  ‘Stefano, there you are.’ She walked to the edge of the jetty. He’d changed out of the dark suit and into a more nautical ensemble of white denim shorts and navy and white striped T-shirt.

  ‘Welcome aboard,’ he said, holding out his hand.

  ‘What’s all this?’

  ‘I take you cruising,’ he beamed.

  She looked at the wooden bench seat that ran around the inside of the hull, a yellow canopy over their heads to shield them from the sun’s fierce rays. ‘It’s . . . it’s so diddy. Is it safe?’ She took his hand and hopped into the boat.

  ‘Diddy?’ He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  Candice laughed. ‘Small.’ She clutched the side for support as another boat went past, causing a swell. ‘Ooh, it’s wobbly.’

  Stefano patted the bench. ‘You sit there and I sit here so that I can steer us.’

  With one hand on the tiller, he guided them expertly out of the harbour and into the bay beyond. The water was calm, its glassy surface only occasionally troubled by the wake of other boats.

  After a few minutes, he nodded towards a cool box tucked under the bench. ‘Drag that over here, please.’ When Candice obliged, he prised off the lid and brandished a bottle of chilled Prosecco. ‘You like?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ She smiled.

  He clenched the bottle between his legs and removed the cork with one hand. Candice held out two glasses, and he slugged in the frothy wine.

  ‘Salute,’ he said, tilting his glass towards hers.

  She took a sip and leaned back against the side of the boat, stretching her arms along the edge. Further out to sea, the water became choppier and the sun’s rays danced on the wavelets, making them glitter like a thousand jewels.

  ‘How is Jenny?’ he asked. ‘She get quite a shock, no?’

  ‘She’s a tough old boot. She’ll be fine. But I’ve never seen her speechless before, I’ll grant you that. Eva’s going to the hotel this afternoon. They have a lot to catch up on.’ She turned her face to the sun. ‘This is heaven,’ she sighed. ‘I hope you appreciate living in a place like this, Stefano. You should see where I live back home. A grotty flat with a shared hallway. I have to fight my way past bloody pushbikes and pizza leaflets and garbage. And there’s always a dodgy character or two lurking in the street, wanting to know if I “need anything”.’ She looked at Stefano, his head on one side as he waited for her to continue. ‘I’ll tell you what I do need. I need to live somewhere like this. I could be happy here.’

  ‘You’re not happy at home?’

  She took another gulp of her drink, then blew out a long breath as the wine loosened her tongue. ‘I dunno. I thought I was. I thought our flat was bloody Buckingham Palace when we first moved in. Compared to some of the places I’ve lived, it was.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You live with someone else?’

  She ignored his question and slapped her thigh instead. ‘Okay, that’s enough about me and my problems. What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?’ She cursed the damn Prosecco. ‘I’m sorry.’ She pointed at her glass. ‘Blame this stuff.’

  ‘It’s all right. I don’t mind. They come and go.’

  ‘What do?’

  ‘Girlfriends.’

  ‘Oh, right. I see.’ She could feel herself blushing. As if somebody like him wouldn’t have a girlfriend.

  ‘Now, Candice,’ he said, ‘we are going to go a little faster. We need to get around the headland and into the next bay, and then you will see what paradise is. Hold on.’

  She gripped the side of the boat as Stefano gradually increased the speed until it skimmed across the waves, the cooling breeze a welcome relief from the sun’s merciless rays. As they rounded the headland, he slowed the boat down, allowing them to glide into the still waters of the sheltered bay. Here the beach was made of finer pebbles, almost sand-like, and the cliffs behind were so densely covered in pine trees, their fresh scent hung in the air.

  Stefano reached for a pole and scooped up a buoy, tying the rope securely with deft, expert fingers. ‘Ready for a swim?’ He pulled his T-shirt over his head and dropped his shorts to reveal a pair of black swimming trunks, the sort usually favoured by Olympic athletes. Candice instinctively averted her eyes and peered into her empty Prosecco glass.

  ‘I will give you a refill after we swim,’ he said, rolling his shoulders. ‘Ready?’

  She stood to slip off her dress, suddenly wishing she’d worn a more modest one-piece instead of the brazen animal print, which left nothing to the imagination.

  ‘I go first,’ Stefano said. He dived off the boat, his body slicing into the sea, causing barely a ripple. He was gone for what seemed an eternity, as Candice stood alone on the boat, not another soul to be seen, the only sound the gulls squawking to each other on the cliff edge. She scanned the flat expanse, her pulse quickening as she realised that without him she would be stranded.

  ‘Stefano,’ she called, keeping her voice light. ‘Where’ve you gone?’

  Moments later, like a breaching whale, his head broke the surface. ‘Come on, what is keeping you?’ He shook his head, sending droplets of seawater in her direction. ‘You can swim, no?’

  ‘Yeah, course. It’s just . . . Is it cold?’

  ‘No, not cold, only refreshing.’ He held out his hand. ‘Sit on the edge of the boat and slide in. I will catch you.’

  She held her breath as her toes dipped into the sea. ‘It’s bloody freezing, Stefano.’

  ‘Don’t think about it, Candice. Just drop down. I’ve got you.’

  She pushed herself off the side and slid into the chilly water, the shock rendering her speechless. Stefano’s hands were round her waist as she kicked her legs to stay afloat.

  ‘There you are, see. I’ll race you to the shore.’ He let go of her waist and glided through the water in the direction of the beach. Her plodding breaststroke no match for his athletic crawl, she arrived a few minutes after him, stumbling over the pebbles to join him in the shallow surf.

  ‘Has me mascara run?’ she asked, flopping down beside him and squeezing the water from her ponytail.

  He studied her face. ‘A little. Allow me.’ He grazed his thumb under her eye, using just enough pressure to smear away the offending make-up. His face only inches from hers, she could smell his minty breath and feel the water dripping off his hair and onto her thighs.

  ‘That is better,’ he declared, lying back on the fine stones and putting his hands behind his head. ‘Paradise, no?’

  She squinted at the perfect blue sky, where two seabirds were performing acrobatic loops, as though putting on a performance just for them. The staggering cliffs embraced the tiny bay on three sides, affording them total privacy from all but the most determined sightseers. ‘It’s as close as I’ll ever get,’ she agreed.

  61

  I’m waiting in the lobby, enveloped in the folds of a squishy sofa, when I notice Eva outside in the gardens. She has her gigantic sunglasses on, but I can see she is staring at the hotel, her mouth slightly open. A gold handbag is slung across her body and she delves inside for a tissue. And then it hits me, and I cannot believe I have been so insensitive. This place holds devastating memories for her. It was the last place she saw her mother. I need to stop her from coming i
nside, but there is no way I can heave myself out of this ridiculous sofa without assistance.

  She pushes through the revolving door, steps inside and removes her sunglasses. Her once-ebony hair is now a perfectly coiffured sweep of silver, but apart from that, and a slight stoop, she looks incredible for a woman of eighty-three.

  I give her a feeble wave from my upholstered prison. ‘Over here, Eva.’

  She comes across, all smiles, and sweeps her arm around the lobby. ‘Quite a transformation.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I should never have asked you to come here.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ she says dismissively, holding out her hand. ‘Come on, let’s go and sit on the terrace.’

  We settle ourselves at a table and order a bottle of rosé.

  ‘The view’s not changed much,’ Eva observes, gazing down at the bay below.

  At this minute, I couldn’t care less about the view. I grasp her hands. ‘Tell me what happened that day. I want to know everything. Was Nico mean to you?’

  She takes a sip of her wine. ‘No, of course not. I’m not going to say it wasn’t traumatic. Saying goodbye to Lena was truly terrible. It’s a long time ago now, but I can still remember how she fought for me. She was like a woman possessed as she clawed at Nico’s arms to try to wrestle me free.’

  My heart swells with love for my late mother-in-law. ‘She always was a fighter.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Eva nods. ‘She was never going to win that battle, though. Enzo calmed her down, promising that Nico knew what he was doing and that they should let me go.’

  My face colours with shame as I recall where I was at that precise minute: gallivanting with Max on the peninsula, both of us oblivious to the unfolding drama below. ‘I should have been there, Eva.’ My eyes fill with tears.

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference. Nico had it all worked out. It was a six-mile walk to the convent, a lot of it uphill over rough terrain, and my little legs were so tired. He had brought bread and some water and he let me rest. When I could go no further, he hoisted me onto his back and carried me the rest of the way. At the convent, he handed me over to the mother superior and thanked her for taking me in. He rooted in his bag and pulled out my dolly, smiling as he pressed her into my arms, then he crouched down and kissed my forehead. “Goodbye, Eva,” he said. “You’re a brave little girl.” Then he stroked my hair with such tenderness, I couldn’t believe they were the same hands that had wrenched me away just a few hours before.’

  I am so relieved he was gentle with her at the end. ‘He was quite a disturbed character,’ I tell her. ‘When I first met him, he was utterly charming, and he captivated me in a way that nobody else had ever done. I gave up everything for him, I loved him that much.’

  She touches the back of my hand. ‘I can see why.’

  ‘Looking back, the signs were there, I suppose. Not wanting Louis to be part of our lives, always wanting me to himself, never letting anybody else get close to me. He was incredibly insecure.’

  ‘I think he loved you very much.’ I have no idea what Eva is basing this notion on, but I don’t push it. None of it matters any more.

  ‘After that day – the day of the massacre – Nico was never the same again. Oh, I’m not making excuses, but it changed him. To see his family, his neighbours, everybody wiped out like that, well . . . it’s got to have some effect.’

  ‘I suppose these days he would’ve had counselling or something.’

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ I say. ‘Anyway, enough about Nico. What happened to you after the war?’

  ‘Well, I was an orphan, obviously. I had absolutely no family left, so nobody came to claim me. I harboured the hope that you would come back for me, but it wasn’t to be.’

  This hurts, like a dagger to the heart. ‘I would’ve done, Eva. If I’d known you were there all alone, nobody could’ve stopped me. You were like a daughter to me.’

  She pats my knee and I appreciate the gesture. ‘I know you would’ve.’ She refills my glass without asking and continues. ‘I was adopted by a couple from Tuscany and went to live with them on their olive farm. They’d not been able to have children of their own, so they took me and another little girl, Anna-Maria. She’s three years younger than me and we grew up as sisters. We’re still close to this day, although she’s moved to the south now.’

  ‘You’ve no idea how glad I am to hear that, Eva. My whole life I’ve tortured myself with the fact that you’d still be alive if I’d listened to Nico. I still can’t believe he didn’t tell me.’

  She wafts away my concern. ‘I expect he had his reasons. I have two sons now, and four little granddaughters who are my world. None of them would exist without your husband.’ She seems unsure about her next question. ‘What happened to him? I assume he is no longer alive.’

  I cannot possibly go into all that now. Eva thinks of Nico as a bit of a hero, so there’s no way I’m going to tell her exactly how he died. ‘He . . . um . . . fell to his death, two years after the massacre.’ I nod towards the peninsula. ‘Up there. It was a terrible accident.’

  She closes her eyes and rests her head against the back of the chair, inhaling a deep breath through her nose. ‘I still dream about that day in the basement, the day I chose you over my own mother.’ She opens her eyes and looks at me. ‘I didn’t want to choose you. I wanted to go with my mother, but she knew, didn’t she? I don’t know how, but she did. The look in her eyes when I took a step towards her . . . I’ll never forget it. And then you dropped that pebble on the floor.’

  My lips are trembling so much I can barely sip my wine. I press a napkin to my mouth, steeling myself to answer. ‘I remember the day you gave me that pebble on the beach. I promised to treasure it forever.’

  I reach into my pocket and hold my hand out flat, the pebble balanced on my palm. ‘That’s one promise I did keep.’

  I press it into her hand, and suddenly I feel lighter, as if a weight I never knew I’d been carrying has been lifted.

  Eva turns the pebble over in her fingers, marvelling at it as though it’s a priceless diamond. ‘All this time, Jenny?’

  ‘I couldn’t part with it. It would’ve been like denying you ever existed.’

  She goes to give it back to me, but I hold up my hand. ‘You must keep it, Eva.’

  ‘Oh, but it’s yours.’

  ‘Please. It belongs to you and your children now. Besides, I no longer need it. You are here, in the flesh, and this is the memory I’ll keep with me now.’

  62

  It was late afternoon by the time Stefano steered them into the harbour. Candice could feel her skin tingling with salt, her cheeks glowing with sunburn. Her hair hung in loose, wavy strands, sticky with salt water.

  Stefano was watching her, a half-smile on his lips.

  ‘What are you staring at?’

  ‘You look beautiful.’

  Her hand automatically went to her hair. ‘Give over. I must look a right state.’

  He shook his head. ‘You look radiant, happy. No, more than that. You look . . . what is the word . . . without cares. There is no tension in your face. It is a look that cannot be achieved with any amount of make-up. It is pure joy.’

  She patted her crimson cheeks. ‘You’re making me blush.’

  He finished tying up the boat. ‘Come on. Let’s eat.’

  The restaurant was situated at the end of the jetty, so close to the surface of the water she could hear the waves slapping against the wood. The air was filled with a mouth-watering mixture of barbecued fish, garlic and lemons.

  Stefano held out a chair. ‘Please, have a seat.’

  She tucked herself under the table. ‘Me stomach’s rumbling. I didn’t realise how hungry I was.’

  ‘I can recommend the ravioli.’ He kissed his fingers. ‘They say it was invented right here in Liguria.’

  Candice frowned. ‘I thought it was invented by Heinz. I’ve only ever had it out of a tin.’

  Stefano shook his head. ‘You have much
to learn about Italian food, Candice. On the ships at the end of a meal, all the leftovers were gathered together, chopped up and stuffed into little pasta parcels ready to be served to the sailors at the next meal.’

  ‘Simeon, that’s the chef where I work, he does a similar thing with left-over spuds and cabbage and onions and whatnot. Calls it bubble and squeak.’

  Stefano laughed. ‘You are funny, Candice. Now, we must order.’

  The ravioli was certainly easier to eat than the spaghetti she was more used to. All those long strands of tomato-covered pasta had a habit of trailing down her chin in a most unattractive way.

  ‘So,’ ventured Stefano, drawing out the word. ‘Do you have anybody special in your life?’

  Candice almost choked on a square of pasta. She chased it away with a swig of her water. ‘Erm . . . yes . . . well . . . no. I mean, sort of.’

  He raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

  She placed her fork down and blotted her mouth with her napkin. ‘I have a boyfriend. He’s called Beau and we live together, but just before we came away, I discovered he’d been lying to me.’

  Stefano picked up his wine glass and stared at her over the rim. ‘He sounds like a fool.’

  ‘Yeah, well. You’re not wrong there.’

  ‘He has been cheating on you?’

  ‘No, nothing like that.’ She looked at Stefano’s expectant face. ‘He told me his parents were killed in a plane crash out in Malaysia, in one of those tiny planes as they were flying over the jungle.’

  ‘Oh,’ Stefano said. ‘That is tragic.’

  ‘Yeah, it would’ve been if any of it was true.’

  ‘Why . . . why would he lie about that?’

  ‘Jenny thinks it’s all about control. You know, getting me to feel sorry for him. He would often mention it, now I come to think about it. He said he had no family and was an only child. That turned out to be rubbish an’ all. His brother turned up on our doorstep just as I was about to get in the taxi to the airport. He told me their father had just died of a heart attack and their mother wanted Beau to attend the funeral.’