My Heart Lies in Pisciotta

by Cate Nielson Raye

  * * *

  After a short but turbulent flight we touched down on English soil. My heart sank a little, already missing my Italian home as I stared out at a grey sky. I was quickly processed through customs and my bags were some of the first to come off the plane. I wandered through to the arrivals terminal, searching the crowds of people awaiting their family members for the face of my mother or even, heaven forbid, my father. I don’t think I could have faced that prospect.

  My eyes alighted on a white sign with large black letters that read, “Ossani”. A young man dressed in a black suit was holding the sign, our eyes met and he gestured from the sign to me. I nodded and approached him. He introduced himself and explained that my mother had a pressing appointment so had sent him to pick me up. I rolled my eyes as he took my bags and I followed him out toward his waiting car. I should have known.

  When I arrived home all was in darkness and there was nothing except for the strains of classical music coming from upstairs. Leaving my bags in the hall I tiptoed up the stairs and listened to the music coming from my father’s office. Light spilled from around the door and I carefully peeked through the crack. My father was sitting in his wingback chair, two measures of whiskey in hand, and a brooding look furrowing his brow. Obviously not long home from a day at the office he was dressed in his favourite suit, the jacket was laying neatly over his desk. As he sat, dressed in his vest, he looked like a troubled Brontë character contemplating his life’s misfortunes. I wanted to go to him but after an emotional journey I was not in the mood for a heated confrontation, or worse, seeing the disappointment in his eyes as he looked at me.

  I backed away from the door as quietly as I could and hurried back to the hallway to collect my things. Shut safely in my childhood bedroom I collapsed onto the bed and looked around. It felt like years since I had been home and Italy had changed me greatly. It was as if I had discovered adulthood while away and I had returned to a world that now seemed little and childish. I had become hardened and worn but infinitely stronger. I had experienced hurt and love in equal measure but now had a plan for my life that filled me with an abundance of hope.

  My phone buzzed from the front pocket of my carry on bag. I pulled it out excitedly hoping to find a message from Sam but instead read a text from my friend Abby.

  Okay, I’ve given you long enough! Please tell me Nonna hasn’t convinced my best friend to remain permanently in Pisciotta?!?!

  I smiled and rolled my eyes. I’d been friends with Abby since we were six-years-old. She was the only person I truly considered my friend and the only person that knew everything about me. Well, almost everything. After leaving for Italy I had messaged her explaining all the events that led up to my leaving and I had let her know that I would be off the grid for a while. She never questioned anything and she had dutifully avoided messaging me while I was away in order to let me lick my wounds and heal. I felt bad that she didn’t know about Sam and the amazing summer we had spent together. She didn’t even know that I was definitely going to York and that my grandmother would be supporting me. I fired a quick message to her hoping she didn’t really think I was a bad friend.

  So much to tell! You free for coffee?

  An hour later I was sitting across from my friend at the cafe in town, sipping my white chocolate mocha and blushing to my roots. “You mean to tell me that you met some hot Italian guy, had a steamy romance with him all summer and I am only hearing about this just now?” Abby gawked open-mouthed across the table at me. I flapped my hands furiously and shushed her as one or two locals turned in our direction. “First of all he is not Italian, he is English but with Italian parents like me. Secondly it was not a steamy romance. We just get each other that’s all. And we got very close.” She raised an eyebrow suspiciously and leaned over the table toward me, “Yeh, Ana, very close between the sheets I bet!” I blushed once again, confirming her suspicions. “I think I love him, Ab. The real kind of love that you only find once in your life.” She patted my hand sympathetically. “Ok then. Show me a picture of the Italian but not Italian Love God”.

  I flicked through a few pictures on my phone until all her comments about how hot he was made me too embarrassed to continue. “So when’s he back in the UK?” She asked, taking a huge bite out of the panini she had ordered as a late lunch. I bit my lip and shrugged, “I’m not sure. He said he would let me know his plans but the last time we spoke was the night before my flight and we were too busy to discuss that.” Abby whistled through her teeth and lay back in her chair. “Well, I hope he’s back soon. Looking as yummy as he does I bet you’re having withdrawal symptoms. And I want you to get your happy ending in York.” I sighed and ran my finger around the rim of my coffee cup. “Me too.”

  Chapter 10

  The next week was relatively uneventful although I felt more on edge in our house than ever before. I did not see my father at all as he chose to spend long days at the office, even on the weekend, and I would spend my evenings locked away in my room or staying with Abby. My mother was also avoiding me. Not because she was also disappointed with me, but because she didn’t want to have to take sides. The pressing appointment that meant she could not collect me from the airport turned out to actually have been with the hairdressers. I didn’t push her, I wanted a peaceful exit from the house.

  By the end of the week I had packed the majority of my room into boxes and suitcases. Surprisingly there wasn’t much there and I’d be able to fit it all in the back of Abby’s car. She had helped me organise and would be coming with me to York to view some studio flats. It was lucky I had her as I had sold my own car to pay for furniture and home essentials when I got to York. My father had made it clear, through his ranting I had overheard one evening, that I was not to remove anything from “his house”.

  Sam should have been back from his fishing trip. I had waited eagerly for an email or phone call but none had come. I told myself there must be a good reason so I fired off a brief email to let him know how things were going and how much I missed him. I left out the information about university, that would best be discussed when we were together again, but I did let him know I was finding my own flat and would share the address with him when he let me know he was coming home. I hoped that it would be sooner rather than later.

  The time had come to visit York for the first time and discover where I would be living for the next few years. I had made bookings to view the top three studio apartments on my list over two days. I was heading up to York on the train with Abby for an overnight stay in a Travelodge near the university campus. After a short journey into London we started the more than three-hour journey toward the north. Surrounded by plenty of snacks and trashy magazines I was set for a girly weekend away with my best friend. She was eager to find out more about my adventures in Pisciotta and for once I was happy to tell her every detail.

  I had not been the kind of girl to have giddy conversations about boys with my friends. I had rarely dated and had been more ashamed than excited about all my previous sexual encounters with the men who always seemed to have used me in the end. For the first time I wanted to tell all the details. I wanted to giggle and blush and show pride in the man that had been mine for the entire summer. Abby was all too keen to lap it up and swooned multiple times as I detailed my brazen visit to the studio on that stormy night and the days we spent out on the boat making love.

  “So have you heard from him yet?” She asked with a mouthful of Mars bar. I sighed and chewed my bottom lip, “No. He should be back on land by now. I don’t know whether to be worried or hurt.” She wiped a string of caramel off her pursed lips and nudged my shoulder. “You shouldn’t feel either. From what you’ve told me he seems madly in love with you. He would have a good reason not to get in touch. Maybe he is arranging to come back to England?” I shrugged and helped myself to some Cadbury chocolate. “I’ll give him another week before I call his grandmother,” I resolved. She nodded as if to say, “that’s fair,” then launched i
nto chatter about the weekend ahead. I surreptitiously checked the email app on my phone once more, but once again there was no contact from Sam.

  * * *

  After dumping our bags in the hotel room we rushed over to the first apartment viewing. While the apartment wasn’t too bad the walls were paper thin. I could hear the students next door running around and yelling between rooms. I was not interested in the prospect of living next door to a party house when I was aiming for a quiet life. It was also extremely tiny. With no separate bedroom a twin bed had been pushed into the corner and was being used as a sofa by the current tenant. I was starting to think I would have to increase my budget if I wanted even the slightest bit more living space.

  The second studio was much nicer. Situated on the top floor of an old three-story building it was cosy but at least had a separate bedroom. The ceilings were sloped with the roof of the building and although it had been completely modernised I could not help feeling like I was in the maids quarters of some rich families estate. But beggars could not be choosers and I pictured myself pottering around the little cubby hole apartment and feeling cocooned away from life’s troubles. I informed the letting agent that I was definitely interested and would let her know before the end of the day.

  We had to take a taxi to the third apartment, something Abby pointed out would be very costly in the long run, but I had researched the area on Google maps and found I could cycle into campus on fine days and take a bus when the weather was changeable. We pulled up to a large, three-story red brick house on a quiet street that differed greatly from the areas closer to town. There was a small paddock situated behind the property and behind that there were trees that obscured the river. “Not very student-y is it?” Abby scoffed, but I smiled to myself. I had already lived the undergraduate life once, I was happy to have a quieter university experience this time around.

  The flat was on the top floor of the building. I was informed the owner of the property lived on the ground floor and the second floor was occupied by an individual who split his time between York and London. He was in York mostly but kept himself to himself and would often disappear for days down south. This flat also had a separate bedroom and an open plan kitchen and living area, but the living area was much more spacious and I was drawn to the large windows that were the length of the far wall. Warm light spilled across the room and I was overcome by comfort without feeling boxed in as I had in the previous property. I pictured the window space as the perfect place for an easel.

  Abby was pacing around the living room swinging her arms into the open space. “You could fit a sofa and coffee table in here but you’d have nowhere for a TV with all those windows.” I did not own a TV and did not intend to purchase one. I shrugged and peered out at the paddock and trees below. “It would be a lovely view to paint. Quite tranquil really.” Abby was now opening cupboards in the kitchen and turning the taps on and off. “The kitchen in the last one was better,” she nudged, making it clear which property she had preferred, “and it’s closer to campus.” I ignored her, crossed my arms, and gazed around the living room, “Don’t you think the light here is perfect?” Abby rolled her eyes and gave me one of her looks that let me know she disapproved. “Ana, you are looking for a place to live here, not an art studio.” I wandered over to the door where the estate agent was waiting out in the hall, a small smirk playing on my lips, “I beg to differ.”

  We left the property after informing the agent that I would be in touch later that day. I wanted to explore the area some more and find a bus route to the campus. Once closer to town I searched for the coffee shops that I had expressed an interest in for part-time work. I introduced myself formerly to the managers and was even offered an interview for the following day. Piece by piece I could see my life as a student here coming together. A glow of hope took my mind away from my worries about Sam and put me in the mood to celebrate. I knew where I wanted to live and would hopefully soon have a job. Abby was all too happy to join me in buying a few bottles of wine to take back to the hotel room.

  I called the estate agent later that afternoon and asked to reserve the third property. After payment of the deposit, which I sent over by bank transfer immediately, I would be able to move into the property in just over a week’s time. Excitement bubbled within me at the prospect of living in York so quickly and establishing a life here well in advance of the beginning of my first semester. Another part of me ached with sadness as I realised I would be moving out of my family home, possibly never to return. There was nothing for me there now, and that thought caused an ache in my heart that I knew I would probably never get over, even if my father miraculously forgave me.

  * * *

  The following afternoon Abby and I sat on the train heading back to Surrey. We had spent the day exploring the York St John University campus and the surrounding areas, Abby was excited that she would have somewhere to visit outside of London. I had also interviewed for a position at a small coffee shop near campus. The interview consisted of a casual chat with the owner, who was a forty-something slightly bohemian lady called Val, followed by a trial behind the counter serving food and coffee. She was very laid back and I liked her immediately. The feeling must have been mutual as only an hour after I had left the interview I received a text message from her offering me a job. She wanted me to start as soon as possible so I informed her that I could start a few days after I moved to the area. My start date was set for two weeks time.

  “Wow, I can’t believe how much you’ve got sorted already.” Abby leaned her back against the train window and stretched her legs across the seats. “You really have your shit together you know.” I couldn’t help but smile proudly, I was in the middle of writing a long email to Nonna, updating her on everything that had happened since I had been back. “I think it’s just because I have to be,” I shrugged. “I don’t exactly have the family to sort it for me anymore do I?” Abby gave me a sympathetic look and twirled the end of her plait around her fingers. “Do you think your dad will come around eventually?” I stopped my email mid-sentence and thought about all my father’s rants I had overheard recently. I shook my head. “If you’d heard all the things he has been saying recently, Ab you wouldn’t think I was once one of his favourite people.” I went back to typing my email as Abby fell silent. She studied me quietly, obviously waiting for a tear to fall or further comment. When I didn’t continue she grabbed her magazine. “Never say never, Ana,” she whispered and gave me an encouraging smile before going back to her gossip columns.

  I ended my email asking if Nonna had heard from Sam since I had left. I pressed send then quickly checked my inbox for something from him. There was nothing. I was beginning to feel uneasy about his lack of contact. I wondered if I had given him the correct email address and worried that something had happened to him on the fishing trip and he was injured. The seeds of doubt that had been planted in my mind the morning I left Italy were sprouting new roots each day that I didn’t hear from him. I couldn’t stop myself thinking, “What if he doesn’t want me anymore?” I resolved that if Nonna had not heard from Sam either then I would contact him sooner rather than later.

  I pushed the laptop away from me and spent the rest of the journey staring out of the window watching the countryside whizz by. My mind wandered back to Pisciotta, the smell of the sea, and Sam on my sun-warmed skin was vividly emblazoned in my memory. I longed to be back in Italy, surrounded by friends and family, and I longed to be back in Sam’s arms. Abby looked up from her magazine now and then to study my face but I ignored her. She took the hint and did not engage me in further conversation. Everything was changing so fast my head spun. I had so much to look forward to over the next few weeks but I was also leaving so much behind. I wished Sam and Nonna were there to experience it all with me.

  As the train pulled into our final station we quickly gathered our things and stumbled for the doors. “You’ve been quiet,” Abby pointed out and I shrugged nonchalantly as I hopped down o
nto the platform. “Are you freaking out about the move and everything?” I smirked a little, Abby could always practically read my mind like a book. I remained silent as we walked through town, thinking about whether I was going to admit my worries. “I guess I am freaked out. Just a bit. It’s just a lot and it’s all so fast!” I gestured wildly in the air as we headed back home. “It’s not fast,” Abby rolled her eyes. “You’ve been waiting years to study art and move out from under your father’s domineering grasp!” I laughed heartily at her exaggeration then argued back, “I never thought it would actually happen though!” We came to a stop outside my house. “Ana, all your dreams are coming true. Forget about the haters who want to hold you back. They’ll eventually come round. And if they don’t then you will be too busy being an artiste that you won’t have to worry about them anymore.”

  I hugged her goodbye and made plans for the following week and my moving day. I then ran to the house, bags over one shoulder, and checked that my father’s car was not out on the street. It wasn’t, he was obviously still at work, so I dropped my bags in the hallway and strolled into the kitchen looking for snacks. My mother, who was sitting at the breakfast bar reading her horoscope in the back of the newspaper, looked up as I entered. A crease immediately formed between her eyebrows and I knew an argument was brewing. I quickly grabbed a bottle of water and some hummus dips from the fridge and turned to escape to my room but she stopped me. “I know you are cross with your father right now, Ana but you could at least tell your mother when you won’t be coming home.” I sighed, gave a brief apology, and rushed toward the hallway to grab my bags.

  She followed me, clearly unsatisfied with my apology, and seeking an explanation. “Where have you been?” She asked, following me up the stairs and through my bedroom door even though I had not invited her in. She noticed the boxes stacked here and there around the room and looked at me, shocked. I sat on my bed and could not look at her. “I was in York, checking out the university and finding somewhere to live before the semester starts.” My mother’s face was frozen into a sad frown. “Come on, Mum. You knew I would be leaving for university soon. I found a nice little flat. Abby is going to help me move my things.” She nodded but did not respond further. After a few seconds she gestured to the boxes, “You haven’t left anything behind. Everything is in boxes. It’s like you’re not planning on coming back?” I heard the question in her tone and shifted awkwardly. I could not look at her again. “I think Dad has made it clear that I’m not welcome here. Especially if I pursue art. I suspect I will be living in York for the foreseeable future.” The hurt in her eyes was suddenly replaced with a flash of anger. After one last look around my almost empty room she turned on her heel and left, the door slamming hard behind her. I knew that was our goodbye.