by Karen Moore
Ceri and Sergio squealed with delight as they fought their way down the path towards the waiting vintage car. Before she stepped inside, Ceri turned and threw her bouquet into the crowd. Hanna saw the flowers hurtling towards her and just managed to catch them before they hit the ground.
Rhys winked. “See? I told you it’d be us next.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
A fleet of minibuses waited in the piazza outside the church to whisk the guests off to the wedding reception at the masseria. Ignazio introduced his partner, Elena, who he’d met up with at the church after collecting Hanna and Rhys from their hotel. The Sicilian couple insisted on running them back. It would have been rude to refuse, but there was barely enough room in the back seat for two adults, especially someone of Rhys’ height. Somehow, they managed to squeeze in, although Hanna could tell from his face that Rhys was uncomfortable.
Nevertheless he bravely tried to practise his few phrases of Italian on their new friends, but quickly gave up when he discovered that they both spoke passable, if heavily accented, English. Elena explained that she was a nurse at a Palermo hospital and had been lucky to get time off for the wedding.
Chatting away, the return journey flew by and they were soon back at the masseria, where they were greeted with flutes of vintage Prosecco and escorted to a terrace with breathtaking views over the surrounding countryside. Spectacular arrangements of white flowers graced the long table laid out ready for the wedding breakfast, and tiny fairy lights festooned the nearby trees.
“Wow, this is so…” Hanna struggled to find the right word, as she surveyed the scene.
“Magical?” Rhys suggested, slipping an arm around her waist.
“Yes, that’s it. Spot on,” replied Hanna, a little breathlessly. “So much for a low-key affair!”
Rhys shot her a meaningful look. He didn’t have to say anything; she knew that he was thinking about their future as a couple and whether they would ever get married.
As the minibuses arrived and more people started to flood onto the terrace, collecting in small groups, sipping Prosecco and chatting animatedly, the air filled with tinkling laughter. Rhys’ eyes lit up at the sight of waiters starting to circulate with trays of delicious-looking canapés.
“Thank God for that!” he said with a grin. “My stomach was beginning to think I’d never eat again!”
Hanna laughed; she felt much the same way. “Well, it has been a long time since breakfast. Be warned, the main meal may still be some way off yet…”
Rhys needed no further prompting; he secured two miniature dishes from a passing waiter, passed one to Hanna and proceeded to load his up.
“I don’t know what half of this stuff is, but it all looks luscious,” said Rhys, taking a bite from the top item on his dish.
The canapés could almost have been a feast in themselves, such was the choice and the quantity: tiny skewers of seafood, mini arancini (risotto balls), panelle (chickpea fritters), crostini topped with various chargrilled vegetables, smoked swordfish and eel, and cured meats.
“By the way, you don’t have to taste every single item,” Hanna added, with a grin. “You need to save some space for later, although the main meal is likely to be spread out over several hours. And don’t forget,” nodding at his glass, “that you’ve still got to deliver your speech.”
“Thanks. I’ll try and remember to pace myself, then,” Rhys replied between mouthfuls, looking as though that was the last thing on his mind.
***
Hanna was proved right: the wedding breakfast went on for ages. Course after course of sumptuous food, washed down by copious amounts of wine, prompting flashbacks of Hanna's own nuptials. A time that was meant to be one of the happiest days of her life. And it had been. Then. Before she found out the shocking truth about Luciano, a whole other life that he’d managed to keep secret from her until years later. She tried to brush the thoughts aside, but the nagging question about her marital status continued to plague her. She’d have to find a solution, but today was not the day.
Everyone was in high spirits, and Hanna and Rhys chatted to the other guests, the conversation emerging in a curious blend of local dialect, Italian and English. Rhys’ inhibitions at testing his newly acquired linguistic skills paled the more wine he drank.
Between courses, people left the table for a break (cigarette or comfort) or simply to talk to other guests sitting further away. The handful of children present, all impeccably dressed like child models in a magazine, used the breaks to let off steam and run around noisily before they were admonished by their parents and summoned back to the table.
By the time they’d finished eating the light was starting to fade, and the fairy lights twinkling in the dusk were making the terrace look even more magical than before. Vincenzo stood up and tinged his glass several times to ask for silence, but the sound got lost in the noisy crowd and he had to resort to bellowing across the terrace, “Signori, vi prego, silenzio!” several times until the assembled guests reluctantly fell silent.
He launched into a short speech, relating how he and Marta never reckoned they would see the day when their son got married, so intent was he on his career.
“What’s he saying?” Rhys whispered in Hanna’s ear.
“The usual wedding stuff,” Hanna replied. “I’ll translate for you as we go along.”
Vincenzo continued his speech: how they’d hoped Sergio would follow him into the police force. There was no mention of Sergio’s strained relationship with his brother, Pino, the black sheep of the family. Pino had been involved in the rival clan responsible for Eva’s kidnapping and had ended up dead in a shoot-out with Luciano and his associates.
Hanna shuddered at the sudden memory, and shivered despite the heat. It was as if someone was running an icy finger down her back. Would the spectre of Luciano never disappear, even on such a happy occasion that had nothing to do with him?
Vincenzo finished with a couple of jokes in dialect that she could barely understand, before handing over to his son. Sergio stood up, looking flushed and a little nervous. He kept his speech short – how lucky he was to have met Ceri, and how he was looking forward to their future together. Ceri also said a few words, echoing similar sentiments, adding in English how much she owed to her big brother. As they spoke, the newly-weds kept looking into each other’s eyes, clearly besotted. Hanna felt her eyes prick with tears again.
They fell silent and Hanna nudged Rhys, who seemed to be miles away. Nodding, he shuffled to his feet, clutching his notes in one hand. He began by apologising in faltering Italian for his poor grasp of the language, before switching back to English, aware that several of the guests had some knowledge of that language. He kept the rest simple – how happy he was that his sister had found a soulmate in Sergio and how much she loved life in Sicily – in the hope that some of his words would be understood. He sat down to rapturous applause. Whether the guests had understood, or were merely being polite and appreciative of his efforts to speak to them in their own language, was uncertain.
“That went down really well!” said Hanna, squeezing his hand. “You can relax now.”
With a sigh of relief, Rhys reached for his glass of wine and took a large gulp. “Thank God. I hate this kind of thing, especially when you’ve got to speak in an alien language.”
Hanna laughed. “You make it sound as if we’re in outer space, rather than a European country.”
“It feels a bit like that to me,” said Rhys, with a grin.
Vincenzo stood up again and called everyone to order. “And now,” he announced in a booming voice, raising his glass of Prosecco. “I invite you all to join in a toast to the happy couple.”
A loud shuffling as everyone rose to their feet and raised their glasses.
“A Ceri e Sergio, evviva gli sposi!” he proclaimed.
“Evviva gli sposi! – Long live the newly-weds,” echoed the guests.
“And now, to the cake!”
Respondin
g to his cue, Ceri and Sergio moved across to a separate table, where a magnificent multi-layered cake embellished with a colourful cascade of intricate iced flowers awaited their attention. Together they gripped the knife and cut into the bottom layer, to more tumultuous applause from the assembled guests.
As the waiters began to distribute portions of the cake, Vincenzo announced that the dancing would begin shortly on the lower terrace. Ceri and Sergio mingled with the guests, accepting their exuberant embraces and endless good wishes for the future.
Gradually everyone began to drift down the stone steps towards the lower terrace and the sound of music playing. Hanna and Rhys linked arms as they followed. It was dark now, the fairy-lights glinting in the trees, the air still heavy and claustrophobically warm. Endless stars sparkled in the sky and crickets chirped loudly.
She felt strangely euphoric and full of optimism for the future. Life had finally settled down. They all had the rest of their lives to look forward to. More tears threatened to flow. What was happening to her? She was turning into a romantic old fool. Or too much Prosecco, maybe? Oh well, she was allowed – it was a special day after all. She could be forgiven for being lost in the moment.
At that moment, Ceri and Sergio came over, all beaming smiles, radiating happiness, arms around each other.
“What a fantastic day it’s been,” said Ceri, breathlessly breaking free from Sergio to throw her arms first around Hanna, then Rhys. “Thank you both so, so much for coming. It wouldn’t have been the same without you.”
“We’ve enjoyed every minute,” said Hanna. “It’s wonderful to see you both so happy.”
“It’s wonderful to feel so happy,” said Sergio. “Almost like a dream. Never thought it would happen to me.”
Ceri laughed. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age, amore! Next thing, you’ll be talking about starting a family.”
“Funny you should say that…” Sergio began, with a wistful look in his eyes, only to be interrupted by a shout from his father, beckoning them over. “Oh, oh. Must be time for our first dance. Ready?” he asked Ceri.
Ceri tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and nodded. “See you both later. Hope you’ll join in the dancing.”
Rhys pulled a face. “Not my thing. But for you, Sis, I’ll make an effort.”
Ceri smiled and kissed him quickly on the cheek before Sergio pulled her towards the space cleared by the guests in the middle of the terrace. The opening bars of their chosen song, the romantic It’s You by Ali Gatie, sounded through the speakers. Sergio took Ceri in his arms and they started to dance slowly, lost in the moment and in each other.
Watching them, Hanna felt so happy that the tears began to flow freely down her cheeks. Rhys wrapped his arms tightly around her. Hanna thought she glimpsed a tear in his eyes too. Together they swayed in time to the music, closing their eyes, entranced.
Then, a fleeting glare of headlights. A screech of brakes. Cracks of gunfire. Screams. And Ceri slumped in Sergio’s arms, a crimson stain spreading across the back of her white wedding dress.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Sergio collapsed to his knees, cradling Ceri’s inert body in his arms, his face a picture of horror and despair. She lay still, her eyes closed, her face contorted in agony. No visible sign of life. A single low, guttural growl emanated from his throat.
Hanna tried to move, but her body refused to obey her brain’s instruction. Her blood felt like ice, and her head and heart pounded in unison.
None of the guests moved, looking on in shock and abject dismay, incredulous, as if staring at a still from a film.
An eerie silence descended, broken only by the roar of a high-powered 4x4 accelerating away at high speed. Racing across the lower terrace, guns raised, the three men Hanna had noticed in the church launched themselves into an unmarked car and set off in hot pursuit.
Rhys and Vincenzo were the first to react, running over to the newly-weds. Rhys gently prised Ceri away from Sergio’s grip to check for a pulse.
“She’s still breathing,” he murmured, then yelled at Vincenzo. “Call an ambulance!”
Vincenzo stared at him with uncomprehending eyes.
“NOW!” Rhys roared, shocking the other man into action. Vincenzo fumbled in his pocket, drew out his mobile and began dialling slowly with trembling fingers.
Rhys snatched it off him. “What’s the emergency number?” he asked.
“118,” Vincenzo replied.
Rhys punched in the numbers, flinched at the response, and handed the phone back to Vincenzo. Rapid words at breakneck speed punctured the silence as the older man explained to the operator what had happened.
Hanna forced her reluctant limbs into action and dashed over to where Ceri lay. She knelt down, noting her friend’s ashen face, lips pale and unmoving, eyes glued shut. A slight chest movement was the only indication she was still breathing. Hanna felt her pulse; it was faint, erratic. She gulped, a huge lump in her throat, fearing that she was about to lose her best friend.
“Oh my God, we’ve got to stop the bleeding,” said Rhys, the panic rising in his voice.
Then a familiar voice rose from the crowd. “Let me through! I’m a nurse!” Elena barked at the staff to bring some towels. “Help me move her onto her front. Gently now!”
Hanna nodded, unable to speak. She and Rhys did as Elena asked. Sergio watched, distraught, his head in his hands, as Elena gently examined the wound which was still bleeding profusely.
“Where are those damn towels?” she yelled.
Two of the waiting staff rushed in with a fresh batch of towels. Elena grabbed one and pressed it to the injury. She held it in place for several minutes, applying pressure directly to the wound. The towel quickly deepened in colour as it absorbed the blood flow. Adding another towel on top of the first, she said brusquely, “Hanna, talk to her, reassure her everything’s going to be okay. Rhys, get a coat or blanket to put over her. We need to keep her warm until the paramedics arrive.”
Rhys nodded and rushed off, while Hanna held Ceri’s hand and whispered softly in her ear, trying to keep her voice steady. “You’re going to be just fine, Ceri. Nothing to worry about. The ambulance is on its way. Won’t be long now. Hang on in there.”
Sergio held Ceri’s other hand, tears flooding silently down his face. He looked helpless, a broken man.
“Is she on any medication, Sergio? Any drug allergies?” Elena asked, never taking her eyes off the task in hand.
He shook his head and mumbled, “No, nothing. No medication, no drug allergies.”
Rhys sprinted back, carrying several blankets which he laid on the stone floor by Ceri’s side. Elena examined the wound again and seemed satisfied that she’d managed to stem the blood flow. Still keeping pressure on the towels, she nodded to the blankets. Hanna and Rhys carefully spread them over Ceri’s prone body.
When she looked up, Hanna noticed that several guests had started to melt away. Whether through fear, either for themselves or of getting involved, she couldn’t tell.
And then, a faint wail in the distance. The ambulance was on its way.
***
The paramedics loaded Ceri into the back of the ambulance on a stretcher. Elena was allowed in too, in case they needed an additional pair of hands en route. Rhys helped Sergio, dazed and still in shock, into the front cabin. Ignazio insisted on taking Hanna, Rhys and Vincenzo to the hospital. They crammed into his convertible, Hanna and Rhys once again squashed in the back, and roared off at breakneck speed after the ambulance. No one spoke, the air charged with emotion.
After a few kilometres, Hanna finally asked, “Where are they taking her? Did they say?”
“To Elena’s hospital, the policlinico in Palermo.” Ignazio had to shout to make himself heard above the ambulance siren. “It’s got a first-class Pronto Soccorso. She’ll be in the best possible hands. The doctors there are used to dealing with this type of wound.”
A look of alarm flickered across Rhys�
� face. Christ, he must be wondering what sort of place Sicily is, thought Hanna. She squeezed his hand and attempted to smile, trying to reassure him, but her face froze in the attempt.
Silence resumed as they hurtled down the dark country roads, lit only by the screaming ambulance ahead of them and the twinkling stars above. Hanna shivered despite the clammy, humid night, and slipped her jacket round her shoulders. Rhys sat staring out of the car window into the darkness.
Gradually the roads widened, and streetlights appeared as they approached the coast. The late hour meant there was little traffic for the ambulance to contend with on its mad dash towards the city hospital. Ignazio followed closely behind, but the traffic thickened once they reached the outskirts of Palermo and the ambulance disappeared out of sight.
“Minchia!” growled Ignazio, punching the steering wheel in exasperation. “What the hell do we do now?”
Rhys looked puzzled.
“Roughly translated, that means ‘fuck’,” Hanna murmured in his ear. Rhys nodded.
“Don’t worry, I remember which road the hospital is on – Via del Vespro,” said Vincenzo, punching the address into the car’s sat-nav.
Ignazio glanced at him quizzically.
“Years of police work. Having to deal with victims being rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment,” he explained with a shrug. “The address is etched on my memory.”
“Grazie a Dio – Thank God for that,” muttered Ignazio as he swung the car round in a U-turn in response to the sat-nav’s instructions.
After a further 10-15 minutes of weaving through the city’s streets, they finally spotted the hospital sign: Azienda Ospedaliera Universitaria Policlinico Paolo Giaccone.