‘Francesca, you’re taking it whether you want to or not.’ I pinched her nostrils, jammed the spoon between her teeth and made her swallow the mixture. Why I made such a fuss about an iron and magnesium concoction is beyond me now. I suppose I thought it was better than doing nothing.
When there was no improvement I took her back to the doctor. He read my jottings and re-examined her. ‘Mrs Moretti, I’ve ruled out a physical cause. Your daughter has nerves. I expect she’ll outgrow them, unless hysteria runs in the family.’ He cast a sardonic glance at me.
In a huff, I picked up the repeat prescription he’d written out, took Francesca’s hand and headed for the door. We ignored the receptionist and reeled into the harsh sunlight. I didn’t know what to think.
‘Is there anything troubling you, Frannie? Something going on you’re not comfortable about?’ I asked, trying my best to sound calm. Was Ernesto bribing her to play up? Or was he frightening her?
‘What does hysteria mean?’ Francesca said, pulling free of my hand.
I mumbled something about generating heavy-duty energy.
‘I’m not an electric power station, Mamma.’
‘Well no, but you are overly active.’
‘Would you sooner I was a puppet with no free will?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, Francesca, stop this nonsense.’
‘I was never sick in London.’
What wasn’t she telling me about? Should I mention her uncle? I didn’t want to push her away as I had her father with my badgering. Better to get her out of Naples and back to London where we could talk freely.
At the farmacia, people fanned themselves with whatever they had to hand: shopping bags, hats, newspapers and, in one case, a bunch of celery. Infants grizzled and frazzled mothers leaked milk onto their blouses. We added our fractiousness to the mix.
Back at the villa, I left her with Ben and went for a shower. Under a stream of cool water, I regained a degree of equilibrium.
However, on leaving the bathroom, I was confronted by Ernesto in the corridor. He pulled a bulky handkerchief from his pocket and held it to his lips. Despite the gloom of the landing, I was jolted by a shock of recognition. It wasn’t a handkerchief but Francesca’s frilly knickers, long since given up for lost. I pretended I hadn’t noticed and retreated to my room.
Francesca continued moaning off and on about her tummy ache. I kept her close, watched her every move, never left her alone with her uncle. Tending to my daughter’s needs meant I didn’t meet mine. Without Ilaria’s wise counsel, I was at the mercy of my imagination. Twisted thoughts hounded me. I pushed them aside, believing that such things only happened in fiction or in Hollywood movies.
Francesca’s next outburst happened in front of Ben. We were on the terrace making the most of a light breeze. She was scattering breadcrumbs around the rim of the birdfeeder. I had a spoon and the tonic bottle in my apron pocket. Ben had agreed to stay in the vicinity until the deed was done, so when he raised his arms above his head and arched his back I thought he was about to leave, and yelled, ‘Ben, you promised.’
‘Cool it, Julia. I was stretching.’
While we argued, Francesca vanished.
I found her crouched behind a lattice frame Carlo had erected to support the weight of a clematis plant. ‘Come out this instant,’ I said.
She shook her head. ‘Papa, Papa.’
He ignored her. Confused, she turned to me. ‘Mamma, I hate it.’
‘If you take the tonic we can hunt for lizards,’ I wheedled.
‘Please don’t make me swallow horrible stuff.’
I reached for her. In my haste, I tripped on a jagged-edged metal container, ripping a triangle of skin from my shin. ‘Ben!’ I called as blood trickled down my calf. He glanced over and headed in the opposite direction.
That was the last straw. I was ready to abscond with Francesca and Matteo.
An opportunity arose when Matteo was chosen for a football trial in Rome. ‘We’ll come to watch the game,’ Ben said. ‘Make a day of it.’
I went over the details with Ilaria, having caught up with her at the flat while Francesca was safe at school. ‘Is what I’m thinking even possible? I’m terrified of losing my nerve.’
‘What matters is getting the children to safety,’ Ilaria said. Wrinkles creased her forehead. ‘You and Francesca take the train with the men and Matteo. After the match, while your brother-in-law and husband go for the mandatory after-match drink, whisk the children off in a taxi. I’ll find a place for the three of you to lay low on the outskirts of the city. When it’s safe to go, catch a direct flight out.’
‘What if Matteo won’t come with me?’
‘Tell him his father will follow in a week or two. Don’t let him near a phone. Lie to him, if that’s what it takes.’
‘It won’t be a lie. Ben is sure to follow us. And when we’re back in London we can go back to how we used to be.’
45
I made lists in my head, not trusting anything to paper. I washed and ironed the clothes we would wear, set aside Ilaria’s books to return to her.
An hour before we were due to leave for the station I went to collect our three passports from my underwear drawer. They weren’t there. Initially I thought they had slipped behind the dresser. I checked. Nothing. I emptied the contents of the drawers onto the bed, rummaged through silk, lace and cotton, perspiration oozing from every pore of my skin. Disbelief sent me crawling on my hands and knees across the floor, hunting under chairs, the bed, searching behind cushions, under vases, beneath mats. All possibilities exhausted, I returned everything to where it belonged. I can’t recall going downstairs or getting into the car. Everything was a blur.
Ernesto met us at the station, waving our train tickets, reptilian smile in place. ‘Roma, here we come,’ he said, and clicked together the heels of his shiny black shoes. I half-expected him to give a Fascist salute.
Acting as normal as possible I took Ben’s arm. We found seating for four. Ernesto sat behind us, scheming no doubt what more he could do to frighten or thwart me.
The football trial passed in a haze. Francesca sat beside me. Her freshly washed hair smelled of apple blossom. I rested my chin on her crown, wondered if I had sufficient courage to make a second attempt, whether Ben’s comment about most people having a single chance to escape applied to me.
At Ilaria’s flat, I described to her the terror I felt at opening my underwear drawer the morning after the Rome trip and finding the passports lined up in a row.
She looked aghast. ‘Was Ben in the room?’
‘Yes, he was watching me dress. He asked me to go back to bed.’
‘Did you?’
‘I was tempted because I wanted to be held.’
‘What stopped you?’
I lifted a shoulder. ‘The last time we made out, he lost interest midway. That had never happened before. I assumed he’d gone off me. Also I thought it odd he would try that particular morning.’
Ilaria shook two cigarettes from a crumpled packet on the ledge, wedged them between her lips and struck a match. ‘Are you having second thoughts?’
‘I can’t believe Ernesto returned the passports unseen. Unless …’ The horror of what I was thinking sunk in. My voice dropped to a whisper, ‘What if Ben is in his brother’s pocket as Alessia inferred?’ I puffed on the cigarette she handed me. ‘Or Ernesto has some sort of hold over him? It’s so damn confusing.’
Ilaria went into the kitchenette. Unable to stay put I got up and walked the length of the room. As she reappeared with two cups of coffee, the tooting of a horn outside startled me. I almost bumped into her. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t go on like this. My nerves are shot.’
She set the cups down on the table. ‘Until another chance arises for you and the children to leave I suggest you play the part of a submissive housewife at the villa. Stop arguing with your husband and his brother. Let them think they’ve broken you. Can you manage?’
‘I’ll find the strength somehow,’ I said, blind to what this might entail, and also aware that Ilaria had never met my husband so her opinion of him was based on what I had told her. What if I was wrong?
‘Then it’s settled,’ she said. ‘Drink your coffee while it’s hot.’
We spent the remainder of the hour hatching a fail-safe plan and deciding to settle on the first viable departure date. ‘Less chance of caving in,’ Ilaria said.
‘I agree. Besides, I don’t want a second Christmas on the Vomero.’
I left her flat brighter than I had felt for ages. The feeling waned when Francesca wasn’t waiting for me at the school gate. She wasn’t in her classroom either. When a frantic search of the grounds failed to find her, I bolted to the headmaster’s office. He was behind a desk marking papers. ‘Mr Moretti has beaten you, Mrs Moretti.’
It was possible I’d forgotten an arrangement with Ben. ‘Did my husband say where they were headed?’
‘Your husband wasn’t here. Only his brother.’
I tore out of the office and ran towards the villa shouting Francesca’s name, stomach churning, heart leaping like a goldfish out of water, every part of me wired.
The Lancia was out front, the Fiat gone. Ignoring Ben’s rule about not driving, I got behind the wheel of his car and turned on the key dangling from the ignition. Speeding down Via Ruoppolo, I spied Ernesto driving up the other side. I wound down my window to get a clearer view. As the two cars drew closer, I craned my neck to see if Francesca was with him. Was that her next to him, licking a gelato? Yes, it was. I slammed on the brakes and sounded the horn. Ernesto waved and drove on. I made a U-turn and nipped in behind him, my head pulsing with fear. Horrendous sensations swamped me. Vile fears fought for attention. I pressed on, terrified, desperate.
Periodically I caught a glimpse of Francesca’s curly hair. At one stage, Ernesto raised both his hands and fanned them, letting me think he was driving recklessly.
The Fiat whizzed through the gates of the villa and stopped near the front steps. I pulled up alongside. Aware of what was at stake, I stuck to Ilaria’s advice and greeted Ernesto civilly. ‘Thanks for picking her up.’
‘No trouble,’ he said. ‘You’ll drive yourself insane if you don’t have a break now and then. I’m happy to take her off your hands any time or place.’
Over my dead body, I thought, but said, ‘Much appreciated. She’s such a messy little eater. Come with me, Frannie.’ I led her inside and upstairs to our bathroom, where I filled the tub and had her stand in the water while I scrubbed every inch of her body with soap and a flannel. Oblivious to my turmoil, she blew bubbles from the foamy webs forming between her fingers and chatted about a new girl at school. ‘Her father has a truck business and lire to burn.’
In London, class mattered; in Naples, money.
And sex.
I thought of Sergio supplying the Fascists with young girls. I thought of Ernesto’s photograph of a child lifting her skirt. I thought of his drawings of Francesca. Was he trying to turn me into a lush to get his hands on her? The contents of my stomach gushed into my mouth. I ran across the room to the toilet and threw up.
‘Mamma, what’s happening?’ Francesca said. ‘Does your tummy hurt, too?’
I wiped my mouth on a strip of toilet paper and pulled the chain. ‘We’re both going to be fine, Frannie. I promise.’ She studied me intensely as I cleaned my teeth.
I curtailed her activities, kept her in sight at the villa, arrived at school well before her class was out, made sure the headmaster knew not to let anyone but me collect her. I also tied a bell to a hook on the inside of her bedroom door to alert me if anyone entered during the night.
46
As my second attempt to flee drew closer, my dread of Ernesto harming Francesca had escalated to such an extent that I felt bilious in his presence. I had to carry out the plan Ilaria and I had concocted. If not, Ernesto might orchestrate my demise — the cat was a warning — leaving him free to act on his cravings.
Despite my vigilance, I caught him photographing Francesca while she undressed in her bedroom, his camera shutter clicking as I reached the landing. I’d only been gone a few minutes. Crouched in the doorway of her room he turned towards me, every aspect of his beguiling face, except his eyes, mirroring the warmth of the sun.
Francesca flung her arms around my neck. ‘Leave us please, Ernesto,’ I said.
His features set like concrete. ‘I’m in charge, Toothpick. No one does anything or goes anywhere unless it suits me.’ He swung about on his heel, leaving Francesca and me cowering against the wall.
I knelt down and hugged her. ‘I won’t let anything bad happen, Frannie.’
‘Mamma, my tummy’s really sore. Please make it better.’
‘Everything will be fine,’ I said, putting her into her pyjamas. ‘We’ll tell Papa that Ernesto is bothering us.’ No matter what he was caught up in, he wouldn’t allow his brother to harm our daughter.
We spotted Ben near the water tanks, smoking. At the sight of me running towards him holding Francesca’s hand he took his car keys from his pocket and said, ‘I have to collect a payment for Ernesto.’
Thereafter, I struggled to swallow solid food. I jumped at the slightest noise — a rattling window frame, dripping taps, the clank of an olive-oil tin — while pushing on with an escape plan.
I was all fingers and thumbs in the kitchen, too. While Rosa made tagliatelle for lunch one day, she had me measure the flour to make a couple of loaves. Satisfied the oven had reached the correct temperature, I swung around to retrieve the baking tins from the bench just as Rosa had some sort of dizzy spell and staggered sideways. The dough she’d been kneading dropped to the floor. I let go the tins to steady her and accidentally stepped into the mixture. It squelched beneath my shoes. I was leaning over pulling mush from the soles when the rolling pin she had in her hand collided with my head. I roared in pain.
We ended up sprawled across the flagstones, eyeing each other like feral cats. I skimmed a finger over my skull and found the beginning of a lump. It occurred to me that Rosa might have clouted me intentionally on Ernesto’s instructions, though what on earth they imagined would happen next was beyond me. Confused and troubled, I heeded Ilaria’s advice and took the blame. ‘Sorry, Rosa, I hope you’re not hurt. I’ll clean up.’
Once I had everything shipshape again, I scooped out flour for another mix, measured the water and yeast, added a slosh of olive oil, and started to knead. Was it just an accident? What’s going on? Concealing the furtive workings of my mind was the biggest role I’d ever had to take on.
That week I gave Ben another chance to make things right between us. He fobbed me off, saying he was furious that I’d taken the Lancia after he had forbidden me to drive. Eventually I cornered him in the east garden where he retreated sometimes when he wasn’t working. Ernesto was at his studio and school was in. I flung myself down on the ground beside him. He didn’t move or speak. I leaned against the trunk of an apple tree that a wisteria vine had colonised. A frond fluttered towards the sun-baked earth. I caught it and tore it into shreds. ‘We have to talk, Ben. I fear for our children. Matteo has changed. He’s either angry or sullen. Francesca is acting weird, too. I think we’re all in danger.’
He bent his legs and lowered his head to his knees.
‘I realise you’re in a bind, that you have conflicted loyalties, but Ernesto managed without you before. He can do so again.’ I nudged Ben’s arm with my elbow. ‘Don’t you value our marriage, our family?’ No reaction. I poked him in the side. Again, he ignored me. In frustration, I pulled on the tail of his shirt. When he didn’t react, I got to my feet, spread my legs apart like a fishwife and in a voice to match, yelled, ‘Answer me, damn you!’
He didn’t move a muscle.
I stormed off, too angry for tears.
The following Monday I made it to Ilaria’s flat. We hadn’t met the previous Wednesday because Francesca had her familiar tummy ac
he. There was no sign of a pipe-smoker in a straw fedora, which lulled me into thinking the children and I could skip the country this time without a hitch.
‘We’ve had a stroke of good luck,’ I said, removing my sunglasses as I came through the door.
‘What exactly?’ she said, settling into a chair.
‘Ernesto was full of himself this morning. A gallery owner in Sorrento phoned to say the artist scheduled to exhibit this Saturday evening had pulled out. So with a space to fill, he invited Ernesto to showcase his newest photographs.’
Ilaria leaned forward, rested her elbows on the table. ‘Carry on.’
‘He’s going over early and staying late. Best of all, he’s roped Ben and Carlo into hanging the work and serving drinks at the function. I’ll have Matteo and Francesca with me for up to ten hours. It’s the best chance we’ll ever have to vanish. If I give you the cash, could you sort the air tickets?’ Over recent weeks I had siphoned off large amounts from Ben’s wallet.
‘Leave it to me. It’s too good an opportunity to pass up,’ Ilaria said.
I pulled a box of matches and a pack of cigarettes from my handbag.
As a spiral of smoke wafted upwards, I recalled a plane on fire, an expanse of empty sky. My parents wouldn’t be at Heathrow to greet me. I had to stay in the present, take one day at a time. ‘Rosa’s a problem,’ I said. ‘Even if I cut the lines to the telephone to prevent her ringing Ernesto at the gallery, she could call him from the cottage.’
Ilaria lifted her eyebrows. ‘Not if you doctored her coffee with sleeping pills. Didn’t Signora Moretti’s doctor prescribe her a fast-acting type?’
I had a vague recollection of tidying Alessia’s room after the funeral and handing a half-full bottle to Rosa to throw out. A hoarder, she likely kept the pills in case she or Carlo needed them. ‘I can probably lay my hands on some.’
‘Good. Get up early. Fix Rosa’s coffee so she’s out cold for a decent stretch. Does the villa have a scullery?’ I told her it did. ‘Drag her in there before the children come downstairs. I’ll drive up to the gate at eight-thirty. Bring only a handbag. It has to look to the neighbours like we’re going on a routine trip to the market.’
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