As everyone else gets up, we all congregate in the garden. It’s hot already, the air still and heavy, and everyone’s tired and slightly hungover, so we’re all slumped around, not really talking to each other.
Mum’s sitting on the bench reading a Marian Keyes novel. She doesn’t really have time to read at home, so she always brings loads of books with her on holiday. Dad used to say she looked forward to the books almost as much as the holiday.
She’s wearing a stripy maxi dress and she’s got her sunglasses pushed up on her head. She looks better than she has done for a while. More relaxed. Younger. The tension’s gone out of her face and shoulders. Even her skin and hair look better. Dad was right: Italy suits her.
I can’t concentrate on reading, it’s too hot, so I scroll through my phone, switching between Facebook and Instagram and Tumblr. I tap on my contacts and stare at Jules’s name, wondering if I can possibly text her after all this time, but instead I scroll back up to ‘Dad’.
A few months after he died, Mum sent his mobile off in one of those charity envelopes and I cried all night. I wanted to be able to phone him and leave a message. Or text and pretend he was going to reply. And now, even though the phone’s long gone, I can’t bring myself to delete his name.
It’s like how I sometimes picture him coming round corners or pretend he’ll be at home when I get in; as long as his name’s in my phone, I could just ring it. Ring it and talk to him. He’d say ‘Hey, chicken’ and sound really pleased to hear from me. He always sounded pleased to hear from me, no matter what he was doing.
I wish I could talk to him now. I mean, I suppose I could – I know people do talk to their dead relatives, at graves or whatever, and it’s not like I haven’t had imaginary conversations with him since he died, but I don’t know. It seems like we all need to work this out for ourselves. The stuff that’s going on now wouldn’t be happening – or at least not in the same way – if he hadn’t died. So I don’t think talking to him about it would work.
I look through Jules’s photos again and wonder what it would have been like if I’d stayed in the band. They would’ve understood if I’d wanted to take some time out, I’m sure. But after Dad I just didn’t think I’d ever be able to sing again.
Stefano comes out with Vera and they sit on the terrace, talking animatedly in Italian. Even without understanding what she’s saying I can tell Vera is so proud of Stefano – she looks at him with so much love and keeps touching his hands and his face. I feel a pang of envy. We don’t see Dad’s parents, and Mum’s mum died before I was born and her dad has Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s and doesn’t really know us any more. For a while, Alice was really keen for him to come out for the wedding, but he’s just not up to it.
Carlo comes out and pulls up a chair next to Stefano. He looks over at me and I look away, before feeling guilty and looking back over at him. He’s frowning and I smile lightly and do a little half wave. He smiles back and then turns to talk to Vera.
I wonder what it would have been like to kiss him last night. I don’t fancy him, but maybe that doesn’t matter. Maybe the kiss would’ve been good anyway. I didn’t fancy Jake and then as soon as we kissed it was great. Until it was terrible. But I used to see Jake all the time, so it was mortifying. I could have kissed Carlo and then gone home and probably never had to see him again. Maybe I should have done that.
I glance up at him again, wondering if I should maybe go over and talk to him, but he’s talking to Stefano, so I go back to my phone.
Leonie and Gia come out and sit on the grass between me and the bench Mum’s sitting on. They sit cross-legged, their knees knocking against each other. Occasionally Leonie bumps Gia with her shoulder and once I notice Gia curling her hand around Leonie’s wrist and it makes something flutter in my belly. I want that. But I don’t know if I could have it with Luke. Or if Luke would want it with me.
‘What time are you heading off?’ Stefano asks Gia, eventually.
‘Soon,’ Gia says and I see Leonie’s eyebrows pull down. Gia hooks her finger into the hem of Leonie’s shorts.
It’s the middle of the day. The sun is burning and bright and I have to shield my eyes to see Gia properly.
‘You’re not staying for the wedding?’ Mum asks her.
Gia shakes her head, looking disappointed. ‘I can’t. It’s my parents’ twenty-fifth anniversary and they’re having a party. And then I have to stay. My sister’s having a baby and Mamma’s not very well, so they need me to come back.’
‘You can come to our anniversaries instead of our wedding,’ Stefano says, poking her thigh with his foot.
She smiles at him. ‘I will. And I’m so sorry to be leaving you in the middle of the season.’
Stefano scoffs. ‘Is no problem. Toby and Luke will have to work hard for once.’
‘Twenty-five years,’ Alice says, dreamily, ignoring Stefano. ‘And they’re still happy?’
‘Very happy,’ Gia says. ‘They hold hands still. And Mamma makes Papà’s coffee every morning, he makes her hot milk every evening.’
‘That’s lovely,’ Alice says. ‘You can make me hot milk every evening, Stefano.’
‘Only if you make me coffee in the morning.’
Alice tips her head back and Stefano kisses her neck. ‘Nah,’ she says. ‘You get up too early. You can get your own coffee.’
‘Oh no,’ Stefano says, nuzzling into her hair. ‘The wedding is off.’
‘Don’t even joke,’ Alice says, but without any heat, her eyes closed.
‘Gia has a VW van,’ Stefano tells the rest of us. ‘It looks like it will completely fall apart at any time, but she’s driven it all over.’ He beams at Gia.
‘It’s fine,’ she says, hunching forward over her knees. ‘I get it checked out a lot. It’s totally safe.’
‘Not so comfortable to sleep though,’ Stefano says. ‘There’s a bed in the roof!’ He laughs and dips his head against Alice’s shoulder. Alice’s eyes are closed, but she smiles fondly.
‘Mum,’ Leonie says. ‘I’ve been wanting to ask you something …’
I glance at Elyse to see if she knows what Leonie’s talking about, but she’s got her head tipped back to the sun, eyes closed, her long hair is fastened up in a messy bun on top of her head and I can see new freckles sprinkling her cheeks and nose.
‘Gia says I can work at her family’s place for the rest of the summer,’ Leonie says. ‘And I really want to.’
Mum frowns, putting the book face down on the bench next to her. ‘Wait. When?’
‘This summer,’ Leonie says, shifting up on her knees and leaning towards Mum. ‘The rest of the summer. Instead of coming home with you after the wedding, I’d go down to Positano and work at Gia’s family’s place.’
I look at Gia. She’s staring down at the grass, her fingers twisting together.
Mum shakes her head, as if she’s still not really understanding. ‘Where would you live?’
‘Gia has a flat,’ Leonie says. ‘Gi, tell her.’
Gia looks up at Leonie and then over at Mum. ‘My parents would be very happy. We always need extra staff. Especially now. Even if they’re probably not good.’ She grins.
‘Hey!’ Leonie says, leaning against Gia. She looks up at her and I feel my insides twist, she looks so fond. Then she looks back at Mum. ‘I really want to go. I love it here. In Italy, I mean. I don’t want to go home yet. Please say yes.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Mum says, frowning.
Leonie’s cheeks go pink and I look from her to Mum. Mum gathers her hair back with one hand and then lets it drop down her back, I can see some strands sticking to her neck with sweat.
‘Maybe we could all go,’ Elyse says, lazily.
She’s dropped down onto her back but her eyes are still closed, and she’s apparently unaware of the tension simmering between Mum and Leonie. ‘I’m not ready to go home yet.’
‘That does sound lovely,’ Mum says. ‘But I have to be back at work.’
‘Of course you do,’ Leonie says, bitterly. Her hands are balled into fists.
‘I’m sorry, Leonie,’ Mum says, ‘But you know I have to work.’
‘You don’t need to speak to me like that,’ Leonie says, sitting back down, her legs crossed. ‘I’m not a child.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Mum says. ‘But you’re still young, you’ve just sprung this on me, totally out of the blue … and it’s not safe.’
‘How is it not safe?’ Leonie says, shaking her head. ‘Gia lives there! Gia’s family is there! Of course it’s safe. I’m sure it’s safer than London.’
‘I’m just not comfortable with the idea,’ Mum says. She picks up a glass of water from the small metal table next to the bench and drains it.
‘But why not?’ Leonie says. ‘Elyse went away with her friends when she was sixteen.’ She reaches out and shoves at Elyse’s leg.
‘To Newquay,’ Mum says.
‘So?’ Leonie says. ‘She was still away. You didn’t know what she was getting up to.’
‘It’s different,’ Mum says.
‘Because I’m gay?’ Leonie says, moving up on her knees again.
‘What?’ Mum says.
‘Leonie …’ Gia says, quietly.
Elyse sits up and looks over at me. I don’t know what to do.
‘Is it because I’m gay?’ Leonie says, slowly, enunciating every word. ‘And Gia is my girlfriend?’
‘I- I didn’t even know that,’ Mum says, looking confused.
‘No, I know you didn’t,’ Leonie says. ‘So let me tell you. I’m gay, I’ve been seeing Gia for a year – since we came out here last summer actually.’
‘Leonie,’ Gia says again, hooking her hand around Leonie’s ankle.
‘It’s fine,’ Leonie tells her. ‘She needs to know.’
‘Leonie!’ Elyse says, sitting up. ‘Not like this.’
‘It has to be like this,’ Leonie tells her. ‘Because there’s no other way. She doesn’t listen. She doesn’t hear me.’ She turns back to Mum. ‘She came to see me at home, you know? No, of course you didn’t know. And I flew out here to see her. You didn’t know that either, did you? No, because you work all the time and you have no fucking idea what’s going on with any of us. So if I want to go to Positano, I don’t think you have any right to tell me I can’t. Or to tell me anything at all, if I’m honest.’
She stands up, using her hand on Gia’s shoulder for leverage, and runs through the garden, past Alice, who’s getting up to go to Mum, past Stefano, who’s looking at Gia in confusion, past Elyse who’s pulled her knees up to her chest, her head bent, and past me.
‘Fuck,’ I say, quietly, pushing my fingertips into the ground.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Gia says and follows Leonie inside.
Mum just sits there for a couple of minutes. We’re all silent – the only sounds are the church bells nearby. And then she also gets up and goes inside.
‘Should we go in?’ I ask Elyse, who’s lying back down again.
‘No. Let them sort it out between them. It’s probably time they did anyway. Leonie’s been building up to this for a while.’
I shake my head. ‘You know what she’s like though. I don’t want her to go off on one and –’
‘This isn’t your problem to solve,’ Elyse says, her eyes still closed. ‘Let them deal with it. They’ll be fine.’
I stare at my sister, her face freckled, her long hair piled up on top of her head, the massive sunglasses she got free with a magazine hiding her eyes.
‘Fine,’ I say.
But the longer I sit there, the more annoyed and restless I feel. I want to go upstairs and find Mum and Leonie and make them sit down and sort it out. But I can’t. Because I can’t talk about it either. Maybe Elyse is right. Maybe it’ll be good for them to get it all out in the open. But I can’t just sit here while they do.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ I tell her.
‘Okay,’ she says. Her voice is slow and I know she’ll probably be asleep before I’ve even left San Georgio.
I cross Campo de’ Fiori towards the Farnese cinema and walk down the side street. It’s shady and quieter than the square and I walk slowly, stopping to look in shop windows and down side streets. But I can’t stop thinking about Leonie and Mum. I know they’ll both be upset – how could they not be – and I feel like I should be with them. But Elyse’s right – there’s nothing I can do.
The street opens out into a square on the left – the kind Dad loved. There’s a small coffee shop/creperie with seats outside and a tiny church. Dad would have gone to look at the church. In fact, he probably did. He could never pass one in Rome. He wasn’t great at passing coffee shops either. I think about maybe sitting down and getting a coffee and just imagining Dad’s with me, but I realise I’ve come out without any money. Also that it would be mad.
I keep walking and as the street opens up, I realise where I am. There’s a coach party pulled up outside San Carlo ai Catinari, one of my Dad’s favourite churches. I think for a second about joining the tour, just following them inside, but I don’t want to go in without Dad, so I keep walking towards the tiny garden in the next square.
There’s a newsstand, a small florist’s, more jewellery and art sellers. And, sitting on the small perimeter wall, Carlo, his elbows on his knees, head hanging down.
‘Hey,’ I say, as I walk up to him. I worry for a second that it’s not actually him, but then he looks up and his face breaks into a smile.
‘Ciao.’
I sit down on the wall next to him, but it’s too small to be comfortable, so I suggest we move inside the park. We both get up and he follows me around the railings. There’s a section of railings that presumably someone’s crashed into – there’s a big chunk missing and the gap’s been filled with orange plastic netting and yellow warning tape. Maybe when we get home we should buy some and wrap it around our house. Or around ourselves.
Inside the park, I sit on a wrought iron bench opposite a stone fountain and Carlo sits next to me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘Last night.’
I look at his mouth. ‘I’m sorry too.’
‘I thought …’ he says. ‘I understand … wrong.’
I’m still staring at his mouth. His lips look soft. And I just … want. I just want someone to want me. I’m so tired of wanting all the time. I lean forward and press my lips to his. I feel rather than hear his intake of breath and I close my eyes. His lips open a little and I slide my tongue inside his mouth. I don’t feel anything. But I want to. So I shift on the seat and press up against him. I feel his hands on my arms and then he’s gently pushing me away. No.
I move closer, pressing my chest up against his and opening my mouth wider, my eyes tightly closed. But he’s still pulling away. I shake my head. No.
‘I think …’ he says. ‘I think you don’t want.’
I look down at my hands gripping the metal of the seat either side of my legs, my knuckles white.
‘I’m sorry,’ I murmur. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
‘You are sad,’ he says, turning the corners of his mouth down.
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I am.’