Angels of the Flood

by Joanna Hines

  ‘We go now,’ said Mario, guiding her down the steps to his little car. ‘Before worse things—’

  ‘But we can’t!’

  Almost roughly, he pushed her into the car. ‘This is a bad place,’ he said, glancing back towards the house. ‘Bad place for us.’

  Just as he’d got into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition, there was a scream from the house. Simona had broken away from her mother and was running down the steps towards them.

  ‘Mario, wait!’ yelled Kate.

  ‘No!’ he said and the Topolino sped off down the drive, its tyres churning through the dry surface of the road, so that when Kate twisted round to see what was happening behind them, all she could make out were anonymous shapes moving eerily through a column of white dust.

  Chapter 32

  Departures

  THE CRISS-CROSS PATTERN OF noises made a fine-meshed net, raising her out of the deep well of nothingness into which she’d fallen. Closest sounds first: the crackle of starched cotton as hands turned her in the bed, squeak of shoes on linoleum; unknown voices raised to cough or call out, ‘Sorella! Sorella!’ in a sea of words she couldn’t understand at all; and then the murmur of talk she recognized from some other, distant place, David and Jenny and Dido, their conversation weaving through the air above her head, English-speaking voices that must assume she couldn’t hear as they whispered among themselves about an accident and about Francesca. ‘Poor Francesca,’ as they called her. But she must be still dreaming after all. It couldn’t be real. They were talking as though Francesca were dead.

  Her head hurt.

  No, no. Not Francesca. Not dead, not dead. Please God, don’t let it be true.

  She slid back into the dark.

  Next time she surfaced there was another voice—a voice from England—was she home again? It was her mother’s voice, calm but out of place in this murmuring sea of Italian. ‘It’s all right, Katie. We’ll soon have you well again.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Yes, dear. I’m right here.’

  The most familiar face, out of focus but smiling at the edge of sight, was looking down at her. ‘Mum, what’s happened to Francesca?’

  ‘You rest now, dear. It’s all going to be all right.’

  ‘But Francesca—’

  ‘Hush, now. Don’t fret.’

  So it must be true. Kate struggled to emerge from the blackness and the pain. ‘What’s happened? Where am I?’

  ‘You were in an accident, Katie, and now you’re in hospital, but you’re going to make a full recovery. They say you’ll be out again in a few days.’

  ‘But… Francesca… and Mario… where’s Mario? I want to see him. I must…’ But iron hooks of pain dragged her back into unconsciousness before she heard the answer, if there even was one.

  The next time a sound detached itself from the hubbub of conversation all around her it was one that made her want to shrink back into the pillows. ‘Kate, honey, can you hear me? Kate?’

  She didn’t want to hear, but she could. She opened her eyes. Dressed all in black, right down to the black gloves held in her hands and the black hat with a veil rolled back to show her chalk-white face, Signora Bertoni was seated on a chair beside her bed. Kate’s mother and a nurse were standing behind, their faces anguished. ‘It’s so kind of you to come,’ said Mrs Holland, ‘at a time like this. So terrible for you.’

  Now Kate saw that the Signora’s eyes were small dark holes, red-rimmed from weeping. For the first time, her own tears welled up and trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘Are you in pain, Kate?’

  Slowly Kate rolled her head from side to side. No, no pain to compare with the pain of losing a daughter. ‘What happened?’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t you know?’ asked the signora.

  ‘They won’t tell me.’

  ‘You must remember.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Think, Kate. Try to remember.’

  Kate’s mother said, ‘It’s hard for her, Signora Bertoni. She doesn’t remember the accident at all.’

  ‘Really?’ Signora Bertoni smiled and said, ‘Then I’ll tell her. The girl needs to know.’ And her voice sounded almost tender, as though softened by grief. ‘Tell me, Kate. Don’t you remember anything at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even the argument? When you and Mario were leaving?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate closed her eyes in pain as the memories came back. ‘I remember the fight. And I remember you slapping Francesca. And…’

  ‘That’s right. Francesca and I had an… an argument. And you all went outside. Can you remember what happened after that?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate’s voice was stronger as the memories came back. ‘You said you’d kill me.’

  ‘Signora Bertoni.’ It was Kate’s mother speaking. ‘I think she’s still delirious.’

  Signora Bertoni held up her gloves, silencing Mrs Holland. ‘Of course,’ she said, ‘I understand perfectly. And then, Kate?’

  ‘Then I got in the car with Mario.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘We drove away.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘And… and… I can’t remember any more. What happened? What happened to Francesca? How did she die?’

  ‘There was an accident, honey. Francesca tried to follow you on one of the Vespas, but she was upset, her judgement wasn’t too good. We think she was trying to overtake the car, to make you stop, but she must have lost control. She went into a tree beside the road and fell off. Mario swerved to avoid her and that was when you hit your head. Lucky it wasn’t worse for you. Mario reckons Francesca must have been killed instantly.’

  ‘Oh my God…’

  Kate’s mother put her hand on Signora Bertoni’s shoulder. ‘If there’s anything we can ever do…’

  ‘No. Nothing. And there’s nothing more to be said, is there, Kate? Except goodbye.’ She leaned forward and the scent of her face powder was pungent as she kissed Kate on the left cheek. ‘Goodbye, Kate. Get well soon.’ And then, when she stooped to kiss her other cheek, she said in a voice so low that only Kate could hear. ‘Just remember one thing, Kate honey, you’re to blame. Francesca’s death was all your fault. If you hadn’t interfered in our private family business, none of this would have happened. Francesca would be alive right now. I guess that will be on your conscience for the rest of your life, won’t it, honey?’

  She straightened up and smiled.

  ‘Thank you so much for coming,’ said Mrs Holland. ‘It’s very kind…’

  ‘Not at all.’ Signora Bertoni was pulling on her black gloves. ‘It was the least I could do.’

  ‘Say goodbye, Kate.’

  ‘No! No, it’s not true!’

  Mrs Holland tried to comfort her daughter, then exchanged a few words with Signora Bertoni. Kate heard their absurdly polite conversation but she couldn’t speak. Where was Mario? She needed him, needed him to wash away the poison Signora Bertoni had dripped into her brain. What had happened to him? Why didn’t he come? Couldn’t he hear her? Hysteria was building up inside her, a huge tide of misery and rage and denial. She screamed out for Mario, pushing her mother and everyone else away, convinced that he had been killed too and no one had the courage to tell her, and eventually the nurses had to administer sedatives to plunge her back into welcome oblivion.

  David came the next day. He had a bunch of carnations in his broad fist and he looked wretched. The Bertonis had been adamant they didn’t want any of Francesca’s foreign friends to go to the funeral, that it was going to be a private family event.

  ‘It feels all wrong,’ he said miserably. ‘Why won’t they let us say goodbye to her? It’s almost as if they blame us for what happened.’

  ‘Maybe they do,’ whispered Kate.

  ‘But that’s crazy.’

  ‘Isn’t it just?’ said Kate. ‘But so much easier than blaming themselves. God, I wish there was some way we could get Simona away from them, it’s what Francesca would
have wanted us to do, I know it is. Remember when we met her, when she was standing on that bridge? She pretended it wasn’t true, but I know she was thinking about suicide then. While she was with us she learned what it’s like to be happy—that’s what they can’t forgive us for, because she was free and happy for the first time in her life.’

  ‘You sound very sure about this, Kate.’

  ‘There’s nothing to do in here, except think.’

  ‘But why didn’t her parents want her to be happy?’

  ‘It’s her mother,’ said Kate slowly. ‘She’s… she’s weird and…’ She broke off, unable to find the words.

  ‘Well, you can understand if she’s acting strangely now, losing her daughter and all… Still…’ He was silent for a while, looking at his hands. Then he said, ‘I’m going back to England the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought you were planning to stay till the end of April.’

  ‘I know, but… it’s not the same any more. Not since Francesca died—and now you’re going. There doesn’t seem any point in staying. Jenny’s gone already, so has Aiden. Dido’s leaving at the end of the week.’

  Of course. The carefree world of the mud angels had been shattered for ever. There was no point in staying in Florence any longer.

  ‘I’ve got your address,’ he said. ‘I’ll get in touch in a week or so. Dido and the others are talking about organizing a reunion in London in the summer. Maybe we could—’

  She interrupted him. ‘No, don’t write to me, David. Or phone. Maybe I’ll get in touch with you some time, when all this has faded.’ But she knew she wouldn’t and he must have guessed it too.

  ‘Not even a card?’

  ‘I need to get away from all of this. Everyone who had anything to do with it.’

  He nodded. ‘It must be worse for you, because you were there. You saw it happen.’

  ‘But I can’t remember.’

  ‘Dido thinks you blanked it out, because the memory was so horrific.’

  ‘Maybe. There’s no way of knowing. Her mother said she died instantly, but I keep worrying that Mario told her that, just to make it easier for her.’

  ‘Of course it was instant!’ David had been staring at his hands. Now he looked up at Kate in disbelief, then quickly looked away again. ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘No one’s told you, have they?’

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘How she died.’

  ‘Her Vespa came off the road and she was killed. Isn’t that what happened?’

  ‘Yes, but…’

  ‘But what? What aren’t you telling me? David, I have to know!’

  He hung his head and said in a low, almost inaudible voice, ‘Apparently Francesca was flung off the bike but it wasn’t the fall that killed her.’

  ‘So… what did?’

  ‘The Vespa fell on top of her. The windscreen caught her throat. It cut right through to the bone. That’s how she died. Quick, yes. Like a guillotine.’

  Kate thought she was going to be sick. ‘I can’t believe it. How do you know? Did Mario tell you?’

  ‘Mario? No one’s seen him since the Villa Beatrice. But it’s true all right, we heard it from Hugo, who got the news from the consul.’

  ‘Oh God… Kate lay back on the pillows, tears rolling down her face.

  ‘Kate, I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.’

  She wiped her eyes. ‘I don’t know why it makes it so much worse, but it does.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘To think of her… mutilated like that. She was so… so beautiful… and… I loved her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  After a while, Kate said quietly, ‘Will you do something for me, David?’ He nodded. ‘Will you take these flowers—’ she took up the carnations he’d brought her and handed them back to him—‘and go to the bridge where we first talked to her? And throw them into the river. Say a prayer from us, or something. You’ll know what to do. It can be our goodbye.’

  Another day passed and still there was no sign of Mario. The doctors were pleased with her progress and Kate’s mother began making preparations for their homeward journey. ‘You’ll start feeling yourself again once you’re home,’ she said, worrying now more about the damage to Kate’s mind than to her body. ‘You’ll be able to put all this behind you.’

  ‘I can’t go yet,’ said Kate. Why hadn’t Mario been to see her? It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t shake off the idea that he had been maimed or even killed in the accident and no one would tell her the truth. Her longing for Mario was a raw hunger, an ache deep in the pit of her stomach. She went over and over the night they spent together, every word and gesture and caress. If it had meant to him even a tenth of what she’d felt, how could he stay away from her now? ‘I’m not going till I’ve seen Mario,’ she said.

  The resulting argument left both Kate and her mother exhausted and with aching heads. But Mrs Holland had observed a new steeliness in her daughter, so she made enquiries.

  ‘He’s coming in tomorrow morning,’ Mrs Holland said when she returned to the ward the next day. ‘He’s going to be taking time off specially. And after that we’re catching the three o’clock train, no matter what. I’ve been to that room of yours and got all your things packed and ready.’

  ‘Okay, Mum.’

  But Kate didn’t believe in the reality of the three o’clock train back to England. She still clung to the idea that once she saw Mario a more generous future was sure to open up.

  It felt strange to be back in her own clothes after the shapeless hospital gowns she’d been wearing for nearly a week. Her head hardly hurt at all any more but the back of her neck was stiff and her legs felt as if the bones had turned to water. She had that convalescent feebleness which made her feel as though a small thing would be enough to make her cry.

  Visiting hours were strict, but Mario, being a doctor, was permitted to come in after the morning rounds. He was wearing a rumpled suit and there were dark shadows under his eyes. The nuns fussed over Il dottore and brought him a chair.

  ‘Hello, Kate.’ He pulled the metal chair further away from her bed and sat down.

  ‘Hello, Mario.’ The words came out more as a sob of relief. Such love was welling up inside her, it seemed as if nothing else mattered, not even Francesca’s death, so long as they had each other.

  He avoided her eye. Something was wrong: Kate felt a chill of fear as he asked coolly, ‘You go to England tomorrow?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  ‘Is good you go home. Better for you.’ His manner was all wrong. Kate had waited nearly a week to see him, but this cold, distant man was not the person she’d been yearning for. How could someone change so much in just a few days?

  ‘Why didn’t you come earlier? I was afraid you’d been injured too and no one would tell me.’

  ‘I am very busy man, Kate.’ His voice was reproachful, as though she had no right to make any demands on him. ‘Is not possible to make visit before.’

  A whole week? And not a moment when he could have visited? Kate didn’t believe him, and the knowledge that Mario was lying made her heart ache with a new kind of pain. She shivered. His hair, she noticed, was cut very short, as it had been when she met him first.

  ‘What is it, Mario? What’s happened?’

  He must have thought she was referring to Francesca. He sighed, more a groan than a sigh, and said, ‘Is terrible. Big tragedy for the family. Terrible, terrible.’

  Of course, she told herself, relief flooding through her body, that must be the reason why he hadn’t been in to see her until now: it was only natural that the Bertonis and their tragedy had taken up all his time. Francesca’s grieving relatives needed his support much more than she did.

  ‘How are the family?’

  He made a gesture with his hands as though to say, what did she expect? He said, ‘Is hard, very hard. They are brave people but… to lose a daughter. And in such a way…’

  ‘Have they had the funeral?’
/>   ‘Yesterday. It was most beautiful funeral. So many flowers.’

  ‘Signora Bertoni didn’t want any of Francesca’s friends to go.’

  He shrugged. ‘Is bad time for family. You must try to understand…’

  ‘I do try, but it’s hard. Did you know Francesca’s mother came to visit me?’

  ‘Yes, she said you remember nothing. Is true?’

  ‘I remember the fight in the hallway, Francesca’s mother hitting her and everyone yelling and screaming. Then I remember us going down to the car and driving away, but after that, no. I don’t remember a thing.’

  ‘Is better that way. Is terrible thing to see. I am a doctor, I see many bad things, but nothing so bad as how she die… the pictures never go out from my mind.’

  ‘Francesca’s mother said…’ Kate hesitated, but she had to unburden herself to someone, and who else would ever understand? ‘She said that it was my fault, all of it.’

  He raised his head, looking directly at her for the first time. ‘Is not true, Kate,’ he told her gently.

  ‘I know, but…’

  ‘She saw her daughter’s death. I think maybe that make her go a little bit crazy. Is terrible thing for mother to see. And poor Simona too.’

  ‘Simona saw?’

  ‘Certo. She was on Vespa also. She see everything.’

  ‘But I thought it was just Francesca and…’ Kate’s head was beginning to thump, the pain of forgetting and that black cloud where memory should be. ‘Mario, tell me what happened.’

  ‘You know already.’

  ‘All I know is that Francesca was thrown off the Vespa, and it fell on top of her, cutting through her… through her…’ Kate couldn’t finish the sentence. ‘No one said Simona was there too. You have to tell me,’ she said.

  ‘Why you want to know?’

  ‘I don’t want to but… I have to. Or else it’s going to haunt me for ever.’ Even as she said those last words she thought, what was she saying? This horror was never going to go away. ‘Please, Mario, tell me what happened.’

  ‘Okay. I tell you and then I go. You are well now and you are going home to England. With your family—that is best. And Francesca she is dead, dead for always.’ He closed his eyes in pain, then opened them again and said, ‘You and I, we drive in the Topolino, but Francesca and Simona, they come after us. And then Signora Bertoni follows in the Mercedes, but I do not see the Mercedes until after. Francesca tries to overtake, but there is not room enough on the road, so I pull to the right, like so, to make space, that is why the Topolino goes into the ditch and you have injury to your head. But is no help. The Vespa hit my car in back, Francesca and Simona fall off, Vespa come down on Francesca. Is very quick. Is over when Signora Bertoni see.’