‘How much more serious can it get? This isn’t a practice run for me.’
‘It’s what I want.’
‘This is not what you want. And it’s not the solution to your problem.’
‘My problem?’
‘Your fear. Everything you’ve been running from. You’re not scared of dying, Mia—you’re scared of hurting the people around you who you love the most. But you have got to get your head around the fact that I can handle this. You need to trust me. You don’t need to worry about me.’
‘But I’m doing this for you! Because I love you.’
‘This is unbelievable,’ he says, throwing his arms up in the air. He moves towards me and takes the flowers from me, setting them on the bench. He tries to touch me; I pull away.
‘Sorry,’ I blurt. ‘I can’t do this.’ Hot tears fill my eyes and an overwhelming sense of guilt washes over me, causing all kinds of profanities to be directed at myself, all of them confined to my head.
‘Stop,’ he says, pulling my hand towards his chest. ‘Feel,’ he instructs.
I try to pull my hand away again, only his grasp is unyielding.
‘This, Mia, this is how I feel about you,’ he whispers. His heart is racing; his skin is flushed and warm.
I lower my gaze. ‘I’m sorry. I thought I could, I honestly did … but I can’t …’ My voice is fractured.
‘Bullshit, Mia. You’re thinking about killing something that doesn’t need to die,’ he says.
‘I’ve already thought about it. It’s easier this way.’
‘Easier than what? Easier for who? Jesus, Mia! You can make all the excuses you like. But you know this isn’t what you want.’
‘Stop.’
‘Stop?’ He raises his voice and I flinch because his voice is filled with so much hurt it’s almost unbearable for me to listen to. ‘You tell me why you want me to stop. Why don’t you want to hear this?’
‘Please,’ I whisper.
‘What? You want me to tell you that you don’t matter? Make it easy for you?’
‘No. Of course not.’
‘Then what? Because I’m too old for games. I’ve played them all before, and I stopped playing them the day I met you.’
The words roll out slowly, because I know how hopeless they sound. ‘I’m not playing games.’
‘Then you need to have a conversation with that voice in your head that’s telling you to do this. Because I have made it pretty clear that I love you and I’m prepared to be with you, by your side if you get sick. Which you won’t. But if you do, I’m there. Capisci?’
‘No,’ I reply, my voice void of emotion.
‘Then we have a problem. When I wake up in the morning, I see your face. When I go to sleep at night, I see your face. All that matters to me is your happiness. I’d do anything for you. But I’ll warn you now, I will not let you go without a fight. Don’t expect me not to fight for you.’ He pauses and then lowers his voice. ‘I’m prepared to lose you, Mia, but not like this.’
‘But I’m not prepared for you to lose me any other way.’
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to turn around. I know that if I don’t move now I might slip back into his arms forever. By some miracle I’m able to move my body forward. I slowly close the front door behind me as I hear a fist punch the wall. I head down the steps, chest pounding, legs trembling, heart breaking. Two hours pass while I sit on the pebble beach, staring into space, unable to shed a tear, my heart closed, just like old times. When I eventually head back up the steps to the apartment to gather my belongings, there’s a note on the table for me: I’ve gone looking for you. Stay here and wait for me so we can talk. Luca xo
I purposely leave my phone at the apartment because I know that it will take little more than the sound of Luca’s voice to get me to change my mind. I scribble a note on the back of his: I’m going back home because I know that if I stay, you’ll never let me go.
I take the bus to Sorrento, and two train changes later, I’m back in Florence. Arriving back to the villa, I’m relieved to find that Stella isn’t home. The landline starts ringing. I let it ring out three times until I can’t ignore it any longer. It’s Luca.
‘I wanted to make sure you got home okay,’ he says, his voice flat.
‘Yes, I did,’ I reply, trying to keep my voice even.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you need me?’
Yes. I need you. I don’t know how I’ll live without you.
‘No. I’m okay.’
He clears his throat. ‘Doctor Rossi called. You’re clear, Mia. It was just an infection.’
My hand grips the phone tighter. ‘That can’t be right. Are you absolutely sure?’
‘He even got your oncologist back home to check things over.’
I cover my mouth with my hand and stare at the phone in disbelief. I’m stunned. Shocked. Relieved. Not relieved.
‘Mia?’
Nothing.
‘Jesus Christ. I’m leaving now. Everything’s fine. We’ll talk when I get there.’
Nothing.
‘I love you, Mia.’
I love you, too.
He hangs up, and then there is silence.
I drop to my knees and stay there until I can no longer feel the sensation in my legs. And all I can think of is that nothing can heal us, or hurt us, quite like love can.
TWENTY-ONE
When Stella arrives home at nine o’clock that evening and checks on me, I pretend I’m asleep. She walks upstairs and a few minutes later I hear her stomping back down again. She barges into my room and rips the covers off me. ‘Get the hell up,’ she commands.
‘Leave me alone, Stella,’ I groan. I try to pull the covers over my face, but she won’t have any of it.
‘Get your ass into the kitchen,’ she says, switching the light on as she leaves the room.
I scrunch my eyes closed at the sudden influx of light and obey like a child, using every ounce of strength to pull myself out of bed to face Stella’s wrath.
She pulls out the heavy wooden chair, scraping it viciously against the terracotta tiles. ‘Eat,’ she says, shoving a sandwich in front of me. She opens a bottle of wine and pours me a glass. ‘Whatever you need to get out of your system, get it out now.’
I slide the wineglass away and she firmly places it back down in front of me, like a mother of a small child who isn’t complying at mealtime. I know there’s no point fighting Stella. Her relentless nature would win every time. She’s determined to pull me out of this hole, and I suddenly hate her for it.
‘I can’t talk about it, Stella,’ I tell her as adamantly as possible. ‘It’s also none of your business,’ I add, hoping this will be the end of our conversation.
‘Can’t talk about what?’ she asks. ‘He sounded pretty upset when Paolo spoke to him earlier today. Whatever you did you’ve done a great job of messing up something great,’ she says, crossing her arms, waiting for my reaction.
My stomach is churning and my head is spinning. I know I should eat, but I have no appetite.
‘It’s nobody’s business,’ I say coldly.
‘Your relationship with him is nobody’s business. But you? You’re my business,’ she says, like a tigress ensuring the wellbeing of her cub.
‘I’m not your problem,’ I mutter, with an ugly bitterness in my voice.
‘Friends. Friends, Mia. You know, amicizia. You’re practically family,’ she says. ‘The people who care about you? We worry. It’s okay for us to worry. I’ve only heard about what happened via Paolo, but if you think anyone believes for a second that you’re not in love with him or that he doesn’t mean the world to you, then the only person you’re kidding is yourself. And you can bet your ass that you’re making the mistake of a lifetime because what you and he have is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.’ She reaches for her wineglass and takes a gulp. ‘You cut your hair,’ she says. ‘You look amazing.’
I’m taken back to the night I removed my extensions, and the tears slowly begin to roll. I cry for what could have been a relapse and for what I’m doing now. I can’t make head nor tail of this distorted reality contaminated by fear. Throwing everything that’s good in my life down the drain can surely not be the way forward.
‘Let it out,’ she says. ‘All of it. As long as it takes.’
When I don’t have any tears left or energy to expend, Stella reaches for a box of tissues and pours me a shot of strong liqueur. ‘You have to eat though. Just a little bit,’ she says.
I don’t have the energy to argue with her so I take a bite of my sandwich. She waits until I finish and then hands me a shot of liquore.
‘Now we talk,’ she commands.
‘I got so scared. I didn’t want to hurt him. You should have seen him. He was worried. He tried to hide it, but those doubts about whether I was sick or not—I saw the fear in his eyes.’
‘You need to let him love you.’
We’re interrupted by Stella’s phone ringing again. It’s been buzzing continually with text messages. I know it’s Paolo because of the ringtone.
‘Hold on. I’ll tell him I’m busy,’ she says, then speaks to the phone. ‘Pronto, amore, I can’t really chat now. I’ll call you back tomorrow.’
Paolo’s voice is unusually loud, but I’m not close enough to hear what he’s saying.
‘Oh my God,’ she gasps, her hand covering her mouth. The colour drains from her face as her voice wavers. ‘What? What do you mean? Which hospital?’
She darts out of the kitchen and grabs her coat from the sofa.
‘What’s wrong?’ I ask, following her as she races around the house, trying to find her keys.
‘There’s been an accident. I have to go,’ she says.
‘What kind of accident? Who’s hurt?’
‘You don’t know her,’ she says, sounding desperate.
‘Let me call you a cab, you can’t ride in this state.’
‘Stay here until I call you,’ she says.
I grab her phone and follow her. ‘Wait! Your phone!’ She’s already out the front door and by the time I call out again, she’s whizzing past me on her scooter.
I wrap myself in a blanket and sit on the swing outside, taking the time to reflect on everything Luca helped me to see and how, because of him, I’ve been able to truly embrace my life. I know this isn’t the answer. It’s almost ten o’clock, and he still hasn’t come past the villa. Maybe he’s changed his mind. I try calling him using the landline, but there’s no answer. Not bothering to change into my pyjamas, I curl up on the sofa, the music videos on TV giving me a false sense of company. Dozing on and off, I fully wake at two am to find that Stella still isn’t home and neither is Luca.
I use Stella’s phone to text Paolo so I can check on her. Picking up her phone, a series of unread text messages from Paolo catch my eye.
21.38 Stella, call me please. There’s been a horrible accident. It’s Luca.
I open the history of text messages, my fingers trembling so violently that I drop the phone several times.
21.22 Amore, call me. I need to speak to you ASAP.
21.26 Stella, call me.
21.30 Stella, it’s urgent. Call me now.
21.38 Stella, call me please. There’s been a horrible accident. It’s Luca.
My back falls back against the wall, and my body slides down to the floor.
Luca.
I am stone cold; the only reason I know that I’m still alive is because my hands are shaking. My entire body is trembling. I pick up Stella’s phone. I dial Luca’s number.
No answer. I try calling multiple times in succession, followed by a text message: It’s Mia. I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so, so sorry.
I call Paolo’s number again. No answer.
My cab shows up thirty minutes later. I hope I have the right hospital.
Barging through the sterile doors, I fling myself at reception and blurt, ‘I’m here for Luca Bonnici.’
‘Si, signorina. Hold on while I find out where he is,’ says the triage nurse. She makes a call to someone while I impatiently tap my fingers on the counter. If he’s gone I don’t know how I’ll live another day.
Life, you can be so cruel.
‘I’m sorry, signorina, but he’s in critical condition. Only family is allowed, but in the waiting room only,’ she says.
‘But I am his family,’ I squeak.
I am his. He is mine. Please. Please, God, don’t take him away.
‘Va bene, come this way, dear,’ she says as she shuffles down the sterile corridor, our footsteps echoing loudly.
The nurse points to the intensive care unit but warns I am not allowed into Luca’s room. She tells me that a doctor will be here at seven am to speak with us. She turns the corner and that’s when I notice Stella, sitting in chair, hunched over, hands clasped, head bowed.
‘How dare you! How dare you not tell me! Why didn’t you tell me? How could you leave me at home like that?’
She gazes up at me in her half-dazed, shocked state. Her eyes are as puffy as mine, with traces of mascara smudged across her cheeks. She blinks at me with eyes filled with the deepest kind of sorrow. My anger is quickly replaced by guilt.
‘I’m so sorry, Mia. We didn’t want to worry you. We wanted to wait for the doctor first. We thought it best to break it to you gently,’ she says. ‘I knew how upset and fragile you already were. I was just trying to protect you.’
‘Break what to me gently?’ I hold my breath, waiting for an answer.
As soon as I ask the question I regret it. I know that as soon as she answers, life can never go back to what it was before I ruined everything between me and Luca.
Paolo emerges from a nearby bathroom and joins us. Stella starts sobbing, and I turn to Paolo for answers. In his dishevelled state, he, too, looks visibly unsettled.
He clears his throat and takes a deep breath. ‘Mia, he was in a bad accident earlier this evening,’ he says. ‘We don’t know much about what happened, but we do know that he lost control going around a bend and hit a tree.’
‘No.’ I will not accept this. This is not happening. ‘Which bend?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he says, resting his hand on my shoulder.
The anger rises in my throat. ‘Which bend?’ I demand, although I think I already know the answer.
‘The bend around the corner from the villa,’ he says.
This cannot be true. ‘What time?’
‘We don’t know for sure. Around eight o’clock, we think.’
Luca was a skilled driver and rider. There’s no way he’d have lost control under normal circumstances.
‘It’s my fault. He was coming to see me. What have I done?’ I ask, filling up with tears. My hand clasps my chest in an effort to still my racing heart. I’m struggling to breathe, starting to hyperventilate.
‘Mia, honey, this is not your fault,’ says Stella.
‘Stella’s right,’ says Paolo. ‘Don’t blame yourself. You know he wouldn’t want that.’
‘But you said he was upset.’
‘Yes, he was. But you know what he’s like, he knows how to keep a level head …’
The rest of Stella’s words trail off into nowhere.
‘How bad is it?’ I ask finally. My body tenses as I brace myself for an answer I don’t really want to hear.
‘We don’t know,’ they say in unison. Neither of them can seem to look me in the eyes.
‘Stop lying to me! What do you mean you don’t know? You’ve been here all night! Where are the doctors around here?’ I yell.
Stella cringes and turns away.
‘They won’t tell us anything other than that he’s in a coma,’ says Paolo.
‘What?!’
‘And that he suffered several broken ribs and internal bleeding. Aside from that, we don’t know anything,’ he adds.
‘Someone needs to call Rosetta,’ I say.
Stella still can’t look at me. She walks away and sits on the dark-blue vinyl chair.
I’m numb.
I take my spot beside Stella and wait.
For the doctor.
For a miracle.
TWENTY-TWO
When the first pink hues light up the sky, I watch the sunrise through the window, praying that Luca will live to see the beauty of such a treasured daily occurrence as this, one that is so often taken for granted. Paolo brings me a coffee. It grows cold by the time I remember to take a sip of it. I fix my gaze on the dated wall clock, watching it tick over and over and over again until the weight of a hand presses on my shoulder.
‘He’s here,’ whispers Stella, nodding in the doctor’s direction. He’s wearing a pair of blue scrubs, a surgical cap with ties that have come undone at the back and a pair of glasses that have slipped down his shiny nose. Must have been a hard night. He pushes them up when he starts to speak.
‘Ragazzi, Luca has sustained some considerable injuries. He went into cardiac arrest twice, once in surgery and once post-surgery.’
No.
‘There’s some swelling on his brain and he’s in a coma. This is a touch-and-go situation. I wish I could tell you more, but for now the best advice I can give you is to pray. If you like, I can call a priest, or the nuns if you prefer.’
I hate you. I hate you so much right now. Shut up. Just shut up.
Paolo declines the priest and asks what Luca’s chances are.
Why couldn’t you just tell him to shut up?
‘It doesn’t look promising,’ he says. ‘I’m sorry. I wish I had better news.’
‘I want to see him,’ I say.
‘I don’t think that’s possible right now, signorina.’
‘It wasn’t a question,’ I hiss.
‘Five minutes,’ he says, after considering me. ‘I’ll have the nurse call you.’
When I’m finally allowed in, I hover, quivering, in the doorway. Between the swelling and bruising, the ventilator and tubes, he’s barely recognisable. There’s no sound in the room except for the steady hum of the machines that are keeping him alive. When my brain confirms that it’s him—oh, God, it’s really him—I release a moan from deep within, the sight in front of my eyes too unbearable for words. The nurse gives my hand a squeeze.
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