And then the giant wings unfolded. She felt them stir the air around her face and shoulders. The bird leapt and flew. And she realised that she was flying it with it, carried on its back, feeling the night wind like ice on her cheek, half dazzled by the stars.
She clung on, throwing her arms around the bird’s neck. Through its thick feathers, she could feel the hammering of its heart.
She looked down and saw, far below her, the ocean moving like a gleaming black body. She dug her fingernails deeper into the bird’s neck and it put back its head and let out a blood-curdling scream.
They flew faster, faster. She saw the waves rushing up to meet them, felt the wind pick up and the rain begin to fall, heard a sound like the swoosh of falling stars. Then the bird seemed to tire. A new landscape rose up beneath them, a coastline, beaches still wrapped in night, rocks, palm trees, a jumble of houses and then the grid system of a city. They swooped down closer. Fabia thought she could almost feel the earth breathing, the gentle in-and-out movements of the city sleeping. She began to recognise the streets they passed over, the white bungalows with their glass and wood verandas, the manicured gardens, the trees.
And then here was her house, hers and David’s, on its corner plot, high on the hill. The bird screeched to a halt on the veranda right outside their bedroom window. It shook its wings and she felt herself fall again, landing on the deck with a dull thud. The bird craned its neck forward and tapped on the bedroom windowpane.
And here was David’s face at the window, bleary with sleep.
The bird made a strange, rasping sound as if it was clearing its throat. When it spoke, its voice was strangely high and tinny, with clear-cut consonants.
‘Let me in,’ it said and then, when David didn’t respond. ‘Let me in. Please. You must. I’ve flown a long way.’
But Fabia saw David shake his head. He opened the window a crack and then she heard his voice, that beautiful voice, soft and melodic.
‘You’re not the one,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I’m still waiting for my bird to fly back to me . . .’
And then he closed the window and drew the blind and she saw the light in their room go out again.
She stood on the veranda, the night wind, scented with salt and pine, blowing through her thin cotton nightdress. She watched as the bird sighed and slowly spread its wings and rose up, up above the pine trees and far above the sea, which shone like metal under the rising sun. She watched as it caught the sun on its feathers, as it shrank to a small red flicker and then faded away completely. Then she turned and put her hand on the veranda door and, finding it unlocked, she pushed at it gently and slipped inside.
*
In her bed, tucked under the eaves, Grace stirred in her sleep. She opened one eye and saw the moon glinting through the window and scattering discs of silver over the ceiling. She reached up her hand and noticed that it made a shadow, like the shape of a bird. Like the bird that Granmamma had brought her from America to hang from her mobile. She turned her head to see it, but it was gone.
She closed her eyes again and dreamed that she was a bird, with silver wings and long green tail feathers, flying through a sky scattered with stars. She looked down and saw, through the bare branches of the trees, her mamma and daddy standing on the bridge over the river. She called to them and her voice didn’t sound like her voice at all. It made a loud, high, singing sound, which made her giggle. Her mamma looked up at her, smiling, and her daddy called to her in his clear voice and she felt herself sink down, down through the soft night air and into the warmth of their arms.
25
To summon your true love: Steep witch grass in a cup of water for seven nights. At the end of the seventh night, wash with the witch grass water and let it dry on your body. Call your lover’s name aloud to draw him to you.
– Miss Mary’s Book of Dreams
Bryony clapped her hands together and a flurry of pigeons flew up from the frost-covered lawn. Even inside her old sheepskin mittens, her fingertips were numb with cold. She wished she’d chosen a warmer venue for her meeting with Selena.
She could see her now, gingerly picking her way in her high-heeled boots over the icy path by the ruined chapel. She’d never been one to dress for the weather, Bryony thought. What she looked like had always been much more important. Even as a child, she’d refused to wear the scratchy thermal vests Mother had bought for them, removing hers in the toilets and stuffing it in her bag as soon as they got to school on winter mornings. ‘You do know you can see it through your shirt?’ she’d say to Bryony but Bryony welcomed the warmth. She didn’t care what people thought. She’d never be a beauty like Selena, anyway, and it seemed somehow undignified to even attempt to pay an interest in her appearance. Her hair had always been mousy and her nose was what Mother called ‘a cute button’, dusted with freckles, whereas Selena had inherited their father’s striking looks, the piercing eyes, the chiselled bone structure.
She noticed the familiar ripple of glances as Selena came through the park. Everywhere she went, heads swivelled in her direction. She’d always had model looks. Was it true, what Dr Shaw had once said: that women like Selena, estranged from their fathers, were always looking for approval from other men? Bryony wasn’t sure that she understood. For a while, Selena had been her father’s favourite and she, Bryony, had spent most of her childhood hovering in Selena’s shadow. Which had suited her fine in many ways. She hadn’t really wanted to be noticed.
She raised her hand and Selena waved back. Bryony could see now that her face was set in an expression of annoyance. That was Selena, too. It didn’t take much to irritate her.
‘Selena got the looks but you got the sweetness,’ Mother had once said, and Bryony hadn’t known whether to feel upset or secretly proud. Now she felt sorry for what she was about to do.
‘Hi, sis.’ Selena flung herself onto the bench and stuck her feet out in front of her, turning her ankles this way and that. ‘Bloody hell, it’s freezing. My feet are like blocks of ice. I can’t be doing with this weather.’
Bryony tried to smile. ‘I know.’ She pulled her coat collar up around her neck. ‘How are you, Selena? And how’s Letty?’
‘Oh, I’m fine, I suppose. Well, as fine as you can be when you’re flat broke.’ She reached into her handbag and pulled out a tissue, dabbing at her nose. When she took her hand away, Bryony saw that there was an unfamiliar smile creeping across her face. ‘Actually, though, Bry, all that’s about to change. I’ve had some news. Just this morning. Something rather fantastic. A job offer. Professorship in New York, of all places.’ She laughed. ‘I’m going to New York, Bry. What a laugh! Can you believe it?’
Bryony felt a rush of relief flood through her.
‘Really?’ she said, trying not to let it show. ‘When? And for how long?’
‘I don’t know.’ Selena laughed again. ‘It’s a tenured position so . . . maybe for bloody ever. The pay’s fantastic. It’s a small private college. I get a flat on campus, fees paid for Letty if she wants.’ She hugged herself.
‘Wow. You didn’t say you were applying for anything,’ Bryony said, frowning.
‘That’s just it. I didn’t.’ Selena shook her head. ‘The offer came out of the blue. I got headhunted, basically. They’re setting up a new department. They’d heard about my research. The Vice President called me last week. We had a couple of meetings over Skype and then I got the formal offer this morning.’
Bryony stared at the pattern of frost on the tarmac between her feet. ‘That’s incredible, Selena. Really fantastic. And for Letty. Such a great opportunity.’ She took a deep breath. She had to ask. She just had to. ‘Except that . . . Well, I thought you had your eye on someone?’ she said, carefully. ‘That work colleague you told me about? What happened to him? Is he going to New York with you too?’ She tried not to look too interested.
Selena snorted. ‘Heavens, no! That was a total non-starter. Turns out that he’s utterly besotted with his fat, fr
umpy wife. Or too scared. One or the other, anyway. Tedious.’ She yawned. ‘Probably wasn’t my type, to be honest. Bit . . . well, earnest, frankly.’ She pulled a puppy-dog expression. ‘So did you see him, then, the old bugger? Have you got it?’
Bryony let her breath out slowly through her teeth.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ve got it. The money’s already in my account.’ She didn’t say that she’d sat on the cheque for weeks, turning things over in her mind.
Selena frowned. ‘So why did you want to meet? I mean, not that it isn’t nice to see you and all that, sis. But you’ve got my account details. And, to be honest, it’s a bit bloody cold for this.’ She hugged herself.
Bryony stood up. ‘You can thank me, Selena, if you like,’ she said. ‘Anyway, before I give you the money, I wanted us to have a bit of a talk. I – well, I want to ask you to promise me one thing . . .’
Selena rolled her eyes and that smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. ‘Oh, really? Is this some kind of joke, Bry? C’mon. Don’t mess me about.’
‘It’s not a joke. Not in the slightest.’ Bryony shoved her hands in her pockets. ‘I just want you to promise me that you’ll never ask me anything like this again. I know you don’t believe me, Selena, but this is absolutely the last time I can do this for you. I didn’t find it easy, you know. And Dad doesn’t believe me anymore when I say that it’s for me –’
‘Oh, great. So you dropped me in it, then?’
Bryony tried to keep the exasperation out of her voice. ‘No, I didn’t. It was my name on the cheque. But I think he knows that it’s for you. I think he guessed. So you see, there’s no point in us pretending anymore. There’s no point in me covering for you. He gave me the money, just the same. So you’d be better off asking him yourself in future. I really think he might like to see you.’
Selena pulled a face. ‘Well, he’ll be waiting a bloody long time, is all I can say. There’s nothing I want to say to him that hasn’t already been said a million times before.’
But you’re perfectly happy to take his money, Bryony thought.
‘OK. But I’m just saying that I can’t . . . I won’t do this again.’
‘All right, sis. Message received, loud and clear. As I say, I’ll be out of your hair soon, anyway. Thousands of miles away.’ She waved her gloveless hand in the air. ‘Now, can we just get this over with before I turn into a bloody icicle?’
She’s not even listening, Bryony thought. She still thinks she’ll always be able to talk me round.
‘And I’d like to see Letty, before you leave,’ she added, surprising herself. ‘She’s my niece, after all. The only one I’ve got. I’d like to . . . well, I’d like to get to know her a bit better, I suppose.’
Selena shrugged. ‘She’s fifteen. I don’t even know her and I’m her bloody mother . . .’
Bryony followed Selena’s gaze. A woman pushing a pram and dragging a reluctant toddler behind her was negotiating the path as it wound around an ornamental flower bed. They could hear the toddler’s wailing protest and the woman’s voice, abrupt and weary, carried to them on the cold wind. The pram’s wheels skidded on a frozen puddle and the woman swore loudly.
Bryony unzipped the pocket in her handbag and took out the cheque.
For a moment, Selena’s face relaxed. Then she opened her own large bag and slipped the cheque inside.
‘Thanks.’ She forced a smile.
The woman with the pram was pushing up the hill towards them now, her cheeks reddening with the effort. The toddler was chasing pigeons, his hands flapping. Behind them, a group of tourists spilled out of the museum onto the terrace, talking loudly in Japanese.
‘Well, I’d better be off to bank this, then.’ Selena stood up, stamping the feeling back into her feet. ‘Don’t want to be walking round with it all afternoon. Look, I’ll call you. About Letty. OK?’
Bryony watched her sister walk stiffly through the wrought-iron gates towards town, her bag swinging from her shoulder, her blonde hair blowing out all around her.
She let out a little sigh. She felt a flicker of sadness – brown flecked with muddy green – for the woman walking away from her. She realised now something that she’d never imagined she might feel, all those years ago when Selena had been her beautiful tormentor. It was as if her sister, destined to be so extraordinary, so beautiful, was still tied to some image of herself, some expectation that she’d never managed to fulfil. Bryony could almost see it, bobbing in the air in front of Selena, always just a little way ahead of her as she walked, like a perfectly shiny silver balloon. She was pleased for Selena, for her chance at a new start, far away, safely on the other side of an enormous ocean. She hoped that she’d finally find whatever it was that she was looking for. Because Bryony now knew that she herself could be anything she wanted. No one had ever expected anything of her, anyway. And that, she now realised, meant that she was free.
*
The wind whipped around the courtyard and the cobbles shimmered with a fine layer of frost. Grace traced experimental zigzags across the shop doorstep with the toes of her new red leather boots. Then she drew a circle and jumped inside it.
‘Ooo! It’s slippy, Mamma!’
‘Yes,’ said Ella. ‘It’s very slippy. You be careful.’
She thought of the January day when she and Mamma had first arrived here, how she’d drawn a heart in the dust on the window with a damp finger.
She bent and hugged Grace to her. Her daughter’s cheeks were as crimson as her red woollen coat.
‘Come on,’ she said, fiddling with the lock, before she realised that the door was already open. The back of her neck prickled. Instantly, her mind jumped to Maadar-Bozorg sleeping in the bedroom upstairs. Was she all right? Had she forgotten to lock the door behind her last night? Surely there couldn’t have been a break-in? She cupped her hand against the window and peered through the glass, but inside the shop seemed undisturbed.
‘Grace,’ she said, crouching to get her attention. ‘Wait here. OK?’
Grace nodded. Ella saw her own concern reflected in her daughter’s blue-grey eyes. She pushed gingerly at the door.
‘Hello? Maadar-Bozorg? Are you there? Is everything all right?’
Maadar was standing in the shadows at the back of the shop, behind the cafe counter. She turned and smiled at Ella’s voice.
‘Don’t fret, child. Everything’s perfectly fine.’
Her woollen shawl was thrown over her pyjamas and she held the coffee filter in her hand.
‘Sorry. Just trying to figure out how to use this thing.’ She waved the chrome barrel in frustration, spraying droplets of water over the floor.
‘I thought . . .’ Ella looked around the shop. ‘I thought –’
‘Oh, child. You think too much.’ Maadar-Bozorg cupped Ella’s face in her palm. ‘You had a very early visitor, carina, that’s all.’ She dropped her voice conspiratorially and gestured up the stairs to the flat. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but she seemed in desperate need of a nap so I offered her my bed and took the liberty of warming up the machine here, while I was waiting.’ She patted the shiny Gaggia. ‘But I just can’t get the hang of it.’
‘Mamma? MA-mma!’ Grace called from the doorway.
‘Oh, Grace. I’m sorry.’ Ella turned to see her daughter still obediently waiting on the wrong side of the door. She beckoned to her. ‘Come in now, out of the cold. Mamma’s going to make you some hot chocolate.’ She turned to Maadar-Bozorg. ‘A visitor? But who?’
Right on cue, the stairs creaked and a figure began to descend, appearing bit by bit in the stairwell. Ella saw a pair of feet in elegant tan leather boots, then denim-clad legs, followed by a section of torso in a simple black sweater.
The headless torso spoke. Her voice floated down the stairwell. ‘Isabella?’ Really? It is really you?’ The voice was soft, musical, heavily accented. A face bobbed into view. A beautiful face with a large smile. ‘Oh, it is! Veramente! It is!’<
br />
The woman clapped her hands together in excitement. Ella felt herself looked up and down by this stranger with enormous dark eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I don’t . . . Do I know you?’
The Signals buzzed and whirred around her like tiny insects. Her head was full of noise.
The woman frowned.
‘Ma dai! How stupid of me.’ She banged the side of her head with a theatrical flourish. ‘I would recognise you anywhere, tesora. But me – pouf!’ She jabbed at the air with an elegant finger. ‘How could you possibly know me from the next person?’
She crossed the room in a couple of enthusiastic strides. Ella felt Grace press herself against her leg. A tiny hand reached for hers.
The woman’s arms were thrown wide in an effusive greeting. ‘I am Valentina Moreno,’ she said. ‘And I am sorry to just turn up like this but, you know, I was so curious to see you. Really, I could not wait a minute longer!’ Her face broke into that wide smile again, showing a perfect set of white teeth. ‘Isabella, I am your . . .’ She looked at Maadar for approval. ‘Her aunty. Is that right?’
Maadar nodded.
‘Yes, I am your father, Enzo’s, sister!’
Ella saw the words hang in the air between them for a moment. Everything else stopped. She cleared her throat.
‘I’m sorry? You’re –?’
‘Valentina. I’m your zia. From Italy, tesora. And I’m sorry to just, well, turn up here like this. But I can explain. I am just telling your nonna here that . . . Well, it is a long, long story. But, a-ha. Who is this? This piccolina?’
Her face lit up again as Grace stuck her head out from behind Ella’s thigh. Valentina crouched and fixed Grace with her large brown eyes. Grace stared back at her.
‘This is Grace. Grace, say hello.’
Grace stuck her thumb in her mouth and mumbled. She pulled at Ella’s hand.
‘Sorry. She’s a bit tired today.’ Ella raised an eyebrow at Maadar-Bozorg, who was now standing with a steaming cup in one hand.
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