by Paige Toon
‘Where did you see my parents together?’ I ask. It’s something I’ve been wondering.
He frowns. ‘When do you mean?’
‘That night, when you were a boy. Where did you see them?’
‘Here, in the stockroom,’ he replies, nodding at the far wall.
A shiver goes down my spine and I turn and look around. Is this where I was conceived?
‘How come you’re not angrier about their affair?’ It’s another question I’ve been meaning to ask.
He seems to consider this. ‘I guess I understood why Giulio longed to be with someone else, because I did too. I always preferred coming to Serafina’s to staying at home with my mother. He must have felt very guilty, because I felt guilty.’
I take a step towards him.
‘Jacopo is coming in today,’ he says abruptly. Before I can feel too pleased he adds, ‘He and Valentina turn eighteen next week so Jacopo’s going to run the bar while I’m away.’
My mouth falls open as he walks out of the stockroom.
*
It’s like watching water tumbling over rocks. The river is determinedly surging onward and you’re powerless to stop it.
I thought I had two weeks to soften Alessandro up and make him think twice about leaving, but with every day that passes, the task seems to grow more impossible.
He’s putting things in order, getting his ducks in a row.
He even takes the time to help me plan a trip to Capri and the Amalfi coast for the week after next, showing me which trains and ferries to catch and talking me through everything on a map.
At least he’s attending Valentina and Jacopo’s birthday celebrations on Sunday – Giulio is closing the restaurant for the day. They’re having a party at home with all their friends and family – Loreta, Boris, Melissa and Otello are coming from Venice, and Francesca and Pepe from Bologna.
Giulio is heading to Tivoli a day early to help prepare the food and Alessandro will drive Cristina, Stefano and me on Sunday. Cristina and Stefano are staying the night with friends who live nearby, and Giulio and I will sleep in the house. I’m bunking in with Valentina. Alessandro, of course, will stay in Frida.
He comes to collect us early on Sunday afternoon. I invite him in because Cristina isn’t quite ready.
‘More postcards,’ he murmurs, picking up a small stack from the dresser.
Quite a few came for me while I was away: Cathy telling me about her daughter’s reaction to the personalised wedding card I’d left for her to give; Rita and Jan sharing the wonderful news that she’s pregnant after trying for a baby for so long; Pasha, my Russian miner friend, informing me that he’d received an A for the Open University dissertation I was helping him write before I left; Jimmy divulging that he’d shared the wine I gave him with Bonnie, Mick, Vera and Laszlo on his late wife Vicky’s birthday – they raised a glass to me.
‘Do you miss them?’ Alessandro asks.
I nod. ‘Especially Jimmy and Bonnie. I worry about Jimmy at home on his own, and Bonnie. Even though she has Mick, she used to spend much of her time at Nan’s with me. Mick still mines every day and Bonnie is retired so she was often seeking company.’ I’m glad she and Jimmy have been seeing a lot of each other since I’ve been away. ‘As for my other friends,’ I continue, ‘Facebook keeps me in touch with most of them, so they don’t feel that far away.’
‘They message you on Facebook, yet they still send you postcards.’
I shrug and give him a small smile. ‘It’s my thing.’
‘How are you feeling about going home in September?’
My lips turn down. ‘Conflicted. I’m looking forward to seeing everyone and there are things I need to sort out, but I do want to come back to Italy soon.’ The paternity test returned positive for Giulio so we’re on the right track – I’m so delighted. The thought that I might end up with an Italian visa so I can come and go as I like gives me such a thrill, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up until I know for sure it will happen. ‘I’d love to spend Christmas in Tivoli,’ I say longingly.
His eyes dart to mine and the pain on his face takes my breath away. Before I can ask him what’s wrong, Cristina comes out of her room. ‘Ready!’
Alessandro puts down the postcards and opens the front door.
*
The Marchesis have gone all out on this one. Colourful pompoms, paper chains and stars hang from the trees and the large trestle table outside is laden with a delicious assortment of antipasti and bottles of booze on ice. Live music fills the air courtesy of Jacopo and Valentina’s school friends, and several dozen people are mingling, chatting, eating and drinking on the top terrace by the house.
Even Carlo and Bruno are here – I’ve already gone over to say hi, and apart from a slightly awkward moment of Carlo blushing after our double-kiss greeting, we chatted amiably.
Now the afternoon has spilled into evening and the festoon lights hanging from the trees have been turned on. People have started to dance, with Stefano, predictably, leading the charge. He’s in a good mood because he got a callback for the soap opera he auditioned for. I have my fingers crossed for him.
Cristina finds me when I’m on the terrace talking to Melissa. My cousin goes off in search of Otello.
‘Hey,’ I say to Cristina, scanning the crowd for Alessandro. I find him over by the band, with Jacopo.
‘I kissed Lindsey last night,’ she blurts.
Now she has my full attention. ‘Did you?’
She nods, blushing.
‘How was it?’
She shrugs, but her eyes are sparkling. ‘It was sort of great.’
‘That’s a good start!’ I say with a laugh.
‘I don’t know how it happened. One minute we were dancing, the next we were dancing closer and then we were kissing. I don’t even know who made the first move, but there you are.’
‘Have you been in touch with her today?’
‘She texted me earlier.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She wanted to know if I was free for lunch, but I had this going on.’
‘You’re free tomorrow though, right?’
‘Do you think I should text her?’
‘Of course you should!’
She grins and gets out her mobile phone.
Alessandro is still standing with Jacopo, but they’re not talking.
Stefano comes over to help himself to another beer from the ice bucket and drapes a slightly sweaty arm around my shoulders.
‘You love him, don’t you?’ he asks, following the line of my sight.
‘Stefano!’ Cristina erupts, overhearing.
I tense and give Stefano a look of alarm.
‘It’s obvious,’ he says with a shrug, taking a swig of his beer.
I glance at Cristina and she also nods and shrugs. ‘Very.’
My shoulders slump. Cristina’s phone rings and she takes the call, walking away from us a few paces. I have a feeling it’s Lindsey.
‘It’s hopeless, in any case,’ I say to Stefano, returning my gaze to Alessandro.
‘Well, yeah, we all know that,’ he replies flippantly.
Despite myself, I flash him a smile, albeit a weary one.
‘How could he have been attracted to Teresa?’ I mutter. ‘Apart from the obvious…’
‘Teresa charmed him like she did all of the customers,’ Stefano says facetiously. ‘And Susanna is spoiled – she desired Alessandro and she wasn’t going to stop until she got him.’
I sigh. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. Like Cristina said, he’ll never lay a hand on me.’
‘Why not?’ Stefano asks.
‘He wouldn’t disrespect Giulio by taking it further.’
‘Pfft.’ He’s dismissive. ‘Alessandro will do whatever Alessandro wants to do. Not that I think you should pursue him. He’s a bit of a strange one, if you ask me. Why don’t you find yourself a nice boy like Carlo? Or me?’ he suggests cheekily.
‘Yeah, yeah.’ I p
at his chest good-naturedly.
‘Fine. If you don’t want Carlo, maybe I’ll attempt to sway him from the straight and narrow.’
‘I knew it!’ I exclaim, leaping out of his grasp and pointing at him.
‘I like men and women, Angel. Don’t put a label on me.’
I shake my head at him, amused.
‘Enough of this serious talk,’ he snaps. ‘Let’s go dance.’ He grabs my hand and pulls me towards the band.
Alessandro is no longer there, but I see him on and off throughout the night. I still get this sense that he’s on the outside looking in.
It’s how I felt when I first came to Italy, but I don’t understand his self-imposed distance. I know he’s not cold and standoffish at heart, so why does he project that aura to everyone?
I’ve been trying to give him some space today, trying to prove to myself – and him – that I can be happy independently, but sometimes I catch his eye, and his expression is a baffling mixture of emotions. He seems content, but also somehow desperately sad, and there’s another sentiment there that I can’t quite put my finger on.
The next time our eyes meet, I don’t look away. And neither does he. I jolt as he starts towards me, coming to a stop a metre away.
‘Walk with me a moment?’ he asks, his gaze still locked with mine.
I nod, feeling nervy.
We leave the glow of the party lights behind and set off down the hill, the short grass beneath our feet growing longer and wilder as we near the river.
‘I used to love playing in this river,’ he confides. ‘I’d make boats out of paper and put them in up there.’ He points to his left. ‘Then I’d try to race them down here.’ He nods at his grandparents’ house. The whitewashed walls are gleaming under the moonlight. ‘I rarely won.’
‘Does anyone live here now?’ I ask as we come to a stop.
He shakes his head.
I figured as much. There’s something about it that feels dark and empty.
‘Carlotta also loved the river,’ he says. ‘I lived in fear of her falling in. You had to watch her like a hawk. She was as quick as lightning when she wanted to do something.’ He sighs. ‘She would have turned twenty-three tomorrow.’
My chest twinges with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry, I feel like I should have known that. Her birthday is so close to Valentina and Jacopo’s.’
He nods sadly.
‘I’m glad you came to their party,’ I say.
‘I didn’t want to miss it.’
‘Alessandro, why are you still so distant with your family?’ I ask. ‘And please don’t tell me that they’re not your family, because they don’t see it that way. They love you. It’s as clear as day. Don’t you think it’s time you let them love you? Don’t you think it’s time to forgive yourself?’
He stiffens and stares at me, his expression tight and wary.
‘Your grandparents forgave you for disappearing,’ I continue gently as he turns his attention to the river. ‘And it was right of them to do that. No one should have had to go through what you went through. You were only a young boy. You can’t be blamed for running away and everything that happened afterwards. Any behaviour would have been understandable considering that level of trauma. And Giulio, Serafina, Eliana, Loreta, they all forgive you too, I’m sure, not that I believe there was ever anything to forgive. I really think it’s time you forgave yourself,’ I repeat.
He exhales heavily and turns to face me. The festoon lights up at the house glint in his eyes as he gives me a sad smile.
‘You’ve got your halo on again,’ he murmurs, reaching up to touch my hair. It must be backlit by the lights. ‘You have the purest heart of anyone I’ve ever known, Angel,’ he adds, brushing my cheek with his thumb. ‘Please just let me hold you.’
My heart quickens as he draws me into his arms. I tighten my grip on him, but we’re still not close enough. I don’t know how much more separation my body can take.
Off in the distance, the band is playing a slow song. The hard muscles on his back ripple beneath my fingers as we turn a half circle. I lift my face away from his neck and find myself staring directly at his mouth. His lips have parted and in the closeness of our contact, I can feel his chest expanding against mine in short, sharp inhalations.
But he never runs out of breath.
My eyes dart upwards and my own breath hitches. There’s heat in his expression.
‘Alessandro?’
He lifts his hands to cup my face and we stare at each other in the darkness.
‘Che Dio mi perdoni,’ he whispers, tormented.
Then he brings his hot, dry mouth down to mine.
My heart had stopped, but now it jolts violently to life, and the bolt of electricity zipping through my veins is so powerful that I feel as though I’ve been branded.
At first, our kiss is slow and tentative, our tongues exploring each other’s mouths, but then something happens – some sort of chemical reaction that kicks in and makes everything speed up.
My hands fist in his T-shirt, our hips pressed hard against each other. I gasp as his body moves against mine, walking me backwards until my back hits the wall of his mother’s childhood home. He lifts up my legs and hooks them around his waist, kissing me fiercely. My whole body is overwrought with desire and need, and I know it’s the same for him – I can feel it. I want him to take me right here and now, and that shows how insane he’s making me because the party is happening a hundred metres up the hill.
With a low agonised moan that seems to come from deep in his gut, he rips himself away from me. That’s what it feels like – a physical wrench.
‘Wait.’ I reach out to snag his wrist.
He’s panting heavily and shaking his head as he detaches me.
‘Tell me what’s wrong?’ I demand to know.
‘Everything’s wrong,’ he tells me unsteadily. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ I state firmly. ‘This is right.’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘No. You are not meant for me!’
What does that mean?
But I don’t get a chance to ask because he turns and stalks away, leaving me staring with despair after him, my back still pressed against the cold, crumbling walls of his late grandparents’ home.
For the rest of the night, I look for him, but he’s nowhere to be seen. In the early hours of the morning, I leave the house in search of his van, only to find that Frida is no longer there.
Chapter 41
Giulio gives me a lift home the next day after a mammoth clean-up operation. I’d never normally shirk hard work, but I’m itching to get going. I can’t shake my concerns about Alessandro. He’s not answering my calls. All I want is to get to Serafina’s so I can see his face and reassure him that everything is going to be okay.
When we do finally roll into the car park later that afternoon, his van is not there.
‘He’ll come back, don’t worry,’ Giulio tells me, unconcernedly.
The next morning I go into work early and, once again, my blood runs cold at the sight of the empty car park.
I pop my head around the door of the kitchen.
‘Where’s Alessandro?’
‘He’s probably at confession,’ Giulio replies dismissively.
‘Did he come home last night?’
‘I don’t know. I went to bed early with a headache.’
He did drink a lot at the party.
‘What do you mean confession?’ I backtrack, registering what he said.
‘Confession. Church. He goes every week.’
‘What’s he confessing to?’ I ask aloud, aware as I say it that it’s a stupid question.
‘I don’t know,’ Giulio replies with a chuckle. ‘It’s between him and the priest and the man upstairs.’ He points at the ceiling.
‘I didn’t know he was so religious,’ I murmur, wondering how many other secrets the man might be capable of keeping.
Giulio shrugs. ‘H
e never used to be. He once told me that he found God at the top of a mountain. He said he stood way up high in the sky and looked at a church in the valley and decided to go down and confess. I think he’s been going ever since.’
I recall the night of the party, when Alessandro uttered something about God – Dio – before he kissed me. What was it he said? It sounded like pardon. I remember: ‘perdoni’. I look it up. It means ‘forgive’.
And then the rest of his sentence comes back to me: ‘Che Dio mi perdoni.’
‘May God forgive me.’
But why?
*
Another day passes and there’s still no sign of Alessandro.
‘I’m worried about him,’ I tell Giulio.
We’re standing on the roof of St Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City after climbing goodness only knows how many hundreds of steps to get up here. I was worried about the strain on Giulio’s heart, but he managed it with less huffing and puffing than I did.
He’s been wanting to bring me here ever since telling me that he once came with my mother. Unfortunately, I’m now too miserable to enjoy it.
‘Si.’ My father sighs, sounding glum. ‘I think he might be gone. He’s done this before, setting off on his travels without telling anyone. He has a date in his mind that we all work towards and then he ups and leaves. I don’t think he likes saying goodbye. That’s Alessandro. He can be very selfish sometimes.’
‘No.’ I shake my head, gazing out past the big white stone statues of Jesus, St John the Baptist and the eleven other Apostles that line the front elevation of the roof. Down below is the vast expanse of St Peter’s Square and beyond is the city’s skyline and a multitude of church domes glinting under the piercingly bright morning sunlight. We came early to avoid the crowds.
‘Alessandro is not selfish,’ I protest. ‘I don’t believe that. There must be another reason he disappears like this.’
‘The boy is a mystery,’ Giulio declares. ‘You will never understand him so it’s best not to try. He comes and he goes and he comes and he goes. And he will come again and go again. You’ll get used to it.’
I try not to show that I’m fighting back tears.
