A knock on his door jolted Daniel from his thoughts.
‘Daniel,’ his mother called out. ‘Are you awake?’
‘Yup,’ he replied.
She opened the door to see him sitting outside, pencil in hand. ‘You’re writing,’ she said. ‘What a spot!’
Daniel was going to tell her about the man he’d seen but he quickly thought better of it. She seemed happier than she had since the crash and he didn’t want anything to spoil her sprightly mood. He would just keep a watchful eye out and say something only if he saw the man again.
‘You know, you spend a lot of time on your music for something that’s an elective subject. You must really enjoy it.’
She smiled, and Daniel knew this was his opportunity to tell her the truth. That there was no elective subject. That he’d dropped out of university altogether. That music was something he felt in his blood. That it was the path he wanted to follow.
‘Promise me you’ll play something for me,’ she said.
‘I will. Soon.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Mamma, there’s –’
She interrupted him before he had the chance to continue. ‘I’m so proud of you sweetheart, for working so hard on your studies.’
The opportunity to tell the truth came and went. Guilt wedged in his throat like chalk.
‘It feels like yesterday that you were a little two-year-old boy, obsessed with cars and your toy percussion set. I know you’re all grown up now, but do you think you could give your mother a hug?’
Daniel put his arms around her, feeling so grateful that she was alive. If one second, one metre, one bump in the road, had been different, he would not be standing there with her now. He resolved to be honest with her when they returned from Como.
‘I’m so happy to be spending this time with you and Emmy,’ she said. ‘I’ve made a big breakfast, so come down when you’re ready.’
Most Italians usually never had more than a coffee and biscotti for breakfast so it was treat to see the table on the terrace filled with ripe tomatoes still on the vine next to slices of creamy mozzarella drizzled in olive oil, scrambled eggs, toast, crispy pancetta, cornetti and a bowl of fruit.
‘Wow, Mamma, this is a feast. How did you prepare this with one hand? And when?’ Daniel asked.
‘I’m used to getting things done despite this thing now,’ she said, gesturing to her plaster cast. ‘I slept with my curtains open and woke up at sunrise. I walked to Piazza Garibaldi and then found this incredible bakery in one of the cobbled laneways.’
Emily was biting through a cornetto al cioccolato that smelled as if it had just come out the oven. ‘If this is what you have planned for the rest of the week, I could get used to it,’ she said between mouthfuls as the melted chocolate drizzled out the sides of the pastry.
‘Me too.’ He smiled, pleased to see his mother with her energy back. The only visible remnants of her accident were the plaster on her wrist and a thin scar on her forehead.
‘Good, well, I hope you’re both hungry, ’cause I may have over-catered for just the three of us.’
‘I’ll get through this, don’t you worry. I need to be strategic though,’ Daniel joked. ‘For the first course, I think I’ll have the scrambled eggs on toast with a side of tomato and mozzarella, then I’ll move onto the fruit salad, and for the third course I’ll have a chocolate cornetto, if Emily hasn’t eaten them all by then.’
‘First come, first served,’ Emily said, teasing.
After breakfast they made their way down to the pier to wait for the tour of the villages along the lake. The water was so calm that the ferry approaching looked like it was gliding on glass. The towering mountains rose up from the water, dotted with charming towns. Everything was so picturesque that it seemed almost dreamlike.
When the passengers disembarked, Daniel, Emily and their mother were beckoned to board by a crew member yelling ‘Buongiorno! Buongiorno!’ while he held the gangplank anchored to the deck with his foot.
The ferry glided across the lake to their first stop of Bellagio, where pastel-coloured villas and lines of trees along the waterfront rose from the pier. Daniel left his mother and sister to explore the jewellery and accessory shops while he wandered around the bustling cafes and bistros, where live music played and waiters wore crisp white shirts. The air was perfumed with the smell of dough, chilli, garlic, melting mozzarella and woodsmoke. He went up cobbled stairs and pottered through a medley of steep lanes and past a Romanesque church, the Basilica di San Giacomo. From there, he made his way to a park and sat on a bench under linden trees, listening to the chirps of swallows and staring out to where the lake divided. Every vantage point of Lake Como was so beautiful that he understood why it had been a muse for writers, poets, artists and composers like Puccini, Twain, Bellini and Liszt. From where he sat, the colour of the water was deep sapphire and it made him think of Caterina’s alluring sea-blue eyes. She was so different to every other girl he’d ever met. He felt a flutter in chest every time he thought of her. He wished she were with him now. Her warm hand on his, her smile lighter than the rays of sun on his skin. He thought again of how strange it was that he met her on the worst night of his life.
He joined Emily and his mother an hour later at the ferry pier for the next stop to Varenna, a small hamlet ten minutes away. ‘Buy anything?’ he asked.
Emily frowned. ‘Everything was so expensive,’ she said, exasperated.
‘I got these vintage opera glasses for Grandma,’ his mother said.
‘They look delicate,’ Daniel said, taking them in his hands and admiring the mother-of-pearl casing and the telescopic handle. ‘You’ll have to package them really carefully to send them to Australia by post.’
‘I know. I thought about that. So I might hand-deliver them. I’m overdue for a visit. Once everything settles down with the necklace, I might make a trip there.’
‘Maybe we could all go back,’ Daniel suggested.
Sarah’s eyes lit up. ‘I’m sure your grandparents would love that.’
After visiting five of the villages, they returned to Menaggio as the sun was setting. Daniel had been desperate to call Caterina, so as soon as they reached the villa, he closed his door and dialled her number.
‘I thought you’d never call,’ she said when she heard his voice, and he was immediately flushed with relief. Their relationship, or fling, or whatever it was, was still so new that he wasn’t sure how she felt about him.
‘We were out exploring the scenic villages along the lake all day.’
‘I just love Lake Como,’ she said. ‘You know, my nonna used to say that Como bewitched whoever visited its sublime waters; it made couples fall in love again.’
There was a knock at his door. Frustrated by the interruption, he told Caterina to hold. ‘What is it?’
Emily opened the door. ‘I’m going for a run,’ she said. ‘Mum’s asleep, so if she wakes up just tell her I’ll be back in an hour.’
‘Okay,’ he said, dismissively. She closed the door and he returned to the sound of Caterina’s honeycomb voice. They talked for so long that he lost track of time.
When he eventually hung up, it was dark outside and the moon was streaming through his open window. He’d long forgotten what Emily said before she went for her run. In fact, when he settled on the balcony to write lyrics, it was the farthest thing from his mind.
EMILY
Emily Moretti loved to run. The feeling of wind sweeping through her hair, the rhythm of her stride, that brief moment of being airborne before her feet hit the ground only to rise again – it was invigorating, exhilarating. She felt powerful when she ran. Invincible. Her fitness was at its peak. Sometimes she barely broke a sweat. And afterwards, she would feel euphoric, as if anything were possible.
Emily was one of the star runners on the school athletics team, competing in the 100-metre sprint, 400 metres, long jump, the relay and the five-kilometre long-distance runs.
Unlike most teenagers, Emily loved s
chool, and she had been a student of many of them across Europe. She like that each time she moved cities, new friends seemed to gravitate towards her, interested in her unique nomadic lifestyle. She was bilingual, interchanging between Italian and English with ease, with an accent that was a fusion of her mother’s Australian intonations, her father’s Italian lilt and sprinkled with her years spent in different places across Europe. She had maintained many of her friendships as she moved to each new city.
So, as Emily ran through the streets of Menaggio with her headphones on and music playing loudly, she was thinking about what stories she would have to tell her friends when she returned from their week in Lake Como. The villa would be a start. She didn’t have to tell them the whole truth – that they were staying there for free thanks to a friend of her father. Rather, she’d let them think it was just the kind of place her family could afford to stay in when they travelled.
But what Emily really needed was a romance. And not just any romance, one with an incredibly rich or super hot guy. She pictured him wearing a white shirt with the top buttons undone, just enough to show off his dark olive skin. He’d have black hair, or dark brown, and it would fall to one side naturally. He’d have perfectly straight white teeth, and the kind of smile that made her insides turn over. Ideally, his eyes would be blue, just to make him look a little more exotic, but brown, a hazel-brown only, would be okay too. He’d be tall and dress incredibly well, and he’d be toned but not too muscly. She hated the guys who walked around like they had watermelons under their arms.
Emily could just imagine her friends’ envy when she told them romantic stories of how she met a dreamy guy under the wisteria by the lake at night, how they shared their first kiss in the moonlight at the end of the jetty and spent their days on his yacht travelling from village to village.
But more than just grabbing the attention of her friends, it was Amando, the star football player of her school, who she really wanted to make jealous. They’d kissed one night at a party after his team won their league but she hadn’t heard from him after, even though he’d taken her phone number. She still went to all his games with her friends, making sure her hair was washed and straightened, and her make-up was heavy enough to look done up but not too much so that she didn’t look natural.
The sun was setting as Emily ran through the piazza when she decided to stop at the beautiful fountain. Usually she wouldn’t break stride but it was the perfect selfie opportunity. She fixed her hair while she caught her breath and then stood by the fountain, with the lake and sunset behind her, and posed as she snapped a photo. She quickly added a filter and then uploaded it to Instagram with the caption ‘Running at sunset in gorgeous Lake Como.’ Amando was one of her Instagram followers, so she hoped he’d see the picture.
It was getting dark and Emily knew she should head back to the villa but she wanted to do at least eight kilometres so she ran farther, away from the bustling cafes and restaurants. She turned down a narrow cobbled laneway, hoping to do a loop and then head back the same way.
It was quiet, the lane was empty and the sunset threw long shadows over the stone houses. As the sun began to disappear, Emily felt an unexpected chill as it became cooler. She picked up her pace, hoping the next cobbled street would take her somewhere near the back of the piazza.
But when she reached the end of the laneway, there were two ways she could go and Emily suddenly felt disoriented. She usually had a strong sense of direction but she’d been so engrossed in her thoughts of Amando that she hadn’t been paying attention.
Instead of breaking stride and checking her phone GPS, Emily decided to go back the way she came, but as she turned she felt a gloved hand come over her mouth. Her body stiffened and in an instant her heart was pounding and her mind began to churn through a million worst-case scenarios of what was about to happen. She prayed she’d turn around and it would be her brother, playing a stupid practical joke on her. But then an arm came around her waist and gripped her so tightly she couldn’t move.
She felt a surge of terror run through her body. She kicked her legs madly but she couldn’t break free of the stronghold. Her cheeks flushed and her body trembled as she kept fighting. It was only then that she realised the hand around her mouth was covered in a cloth and it smelled strange, like alcohol. She tried to scream but her voice was muffled through the choking grip. Who had her and what did they want with her?
She was now completely overwhelmed by panic and the morbid thought that she was seconds from death. She tried with all her energy to fight and free herself. She attempted to swing her body around but her assailant was just too strong. Suddenly, a wave of exhaustion began to overcome her. She’d seen this kind of thing in movies and she knew what was happening. The cloth was covered in some sort of narcotic. But the more Emily tried to pull her face away and hold her breath, the more tightly she was held.
And before she knew it, everything went black.
SARAH
I dream that we’re at a beach in Sydney. It’s one of those perfect days where the sky is pastel blue and there’s not even a whisper of a cloud. The sun is warm on our skin as we sunbathe, with only our faces covered by the shade of a bright green umbrella. I’m with Emily. Her fingers and toenails are painted in glitter purple polish and they shimmer like sequins. I watch the gentle waves lap against the shoreline as my daughter swims. Even the water is crystal clear. Aquamarine.
We have endless days like this ahead of us. Salt in our hair. Sand between our toes. Swimming in the cool waters of the ocean. Sticky skin from sun lotion.
Then we’re in the car heading home. She’s in the passenger seat and I’m driving alongside the ocean when, just ahead, I see the water draw back and a towering wave barrelling towards us. I slam my foot on the accelerator but it’s too late. The tsunami crashes over the car, engulfing us. Choking for air, I frantically search in the black muddy water for Emily but I can’t find her. Suddenly, the water falls away to reveal her limp body, her purple lips, blood on her cheek, her eyes unseeing. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I cry.
But when I look again, it’s not her in the car. It’s me. I’m limp and bruised and purple and lifeless.
And Emily is the one standing outside the car. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she cries.
I wake with a jolt. I have that awful, sickly feeling that comes after a vivid nightmare. Even my breathing is heavy, as if I’ve been running in my sleep. Sitting up, I try to calm my racing heart.
It was just a dream.
I shrug it off and get out of bed. When I reach for my phone I am startled to see that it’s nearly 8 pm and that I’ve napped for two hours. Daniel and Emily are probably ravenous and waiting for me so we can head to the piazza for dinner. I shower and dress quickly and then call out to them. The villa is quiet. Emily is not in her room, so I wander to Daniel’s. After knocking on his closed door, I open it and find him sitting on his bed, scribbling on his notepad as he looks out the window at the moonlight catching on the lake.
‘Writing lyrics?’ I ask, leaning against the door.
‘Yup,’ he says, with a smile but also a hint of embarrassment, as if I’ve caught him out doing something wrong. Marco has made it clear he has no interest in Daniel’s musical pursuits – he wants our son to follow an academic path, or as he puts it, ‘a viable career’. In Marco’s opinion, music is a hobby and nothing more. It’s that attitude that I think has made Daniel almost ashamed to write or play music, so he hides it from us. I then overcompensate by being excessively interested, which seems to only make my son more uncomfortable.
‘Glad to see you’ve found some inspiration here. Sorry I slept so long. You must be starving. What do you feel like for dinner?’
‘Pizza and gelato,’ he says, grinning. ‘You just can’t go wrong with those choices in this place.’
‘Where’s Emmy? If she’s ready, we can head straight out.’
At the mention of his sister, he seems to stiffen. ‘Isn’t she in her room?’ he asks.
‘No. She must be downstairs or by the pool.’
He puts down his notepad. ‘I’ll go have a look,’ he says and walks off promptly.
I hear him calling her name as he walks through the many rooms on the downstairs level, and then his voice get louder as he shouts it from outside. I’m probably imagining it but I sense panic in his tone, which is so unlike him. He races back upstairs, breathless. ‘She’s not here,’ he says, his face pale.
‘Well, maybe she went down to the piazza,’ I suggest.
Daniel runs his hands down his face. ‘She said she was going for a run.’
I exhale with relief. ‘Okay, well, I’m sure she’ll be back any minute. God, Daniel, you scared me there for a second.’
But Daniel seems to be getting increasingly unsettled. ‘No, that’s the thing. She said she was going for a run two hours ago and she told me that she’d be back in an hour.’
I immediately feel my body tense and my heartbeat quicken. A jolt of fear runs through me. I sit down on the bed. ‘Are you sure it was two hours ago?’
Daniel looks at his watch. ‘Yes, positive.’
‘Could she not have decided to go for a longer run?’
He narrows his eyes. ‘She said to tell you she would be back in an hour.’
It was entirely out of character for my daughter to do something like this. If Emily said she’d be back in hour, she would have returned by now. She ran three times a week and she never went for more than sixty minutes.
I try not to lose my temper with Daniel. ‘Why didn’t you wake me when she didn’t come back?’
‘I lost track of time. I was –’ He stumbles. ‘I was on the phone and then I started writing.’
The Perfect Couple Page 14