If You Could Go Anywhere

by Paige Toon

  After a bit of small talk, he checks his watch. ‘Melissa is at classes for another two hours and Loreta is out until four. I can show you to your room and then perhaps you would like to go for a walk into the centre? It takes about twenty minutes. It rains tomorrow so you must make the most of today’s sunshine!’

  ‘I definitely will,’ I reply enthusiastically. ‘Do you have a map?’

  ‘Si.’ He points at a large pad of maps sitting on the desk. ‘This is where we are. You take this path here to Piazza San Marco.’ He draws a line on it in blue biro, then tears off the sheet and hands it to me.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I show you to your room,’ he states, setting off up the staircase.

  I’m on the second floor. My room has oak beams on the ceiling and cream-coloured walls. A dark-red floral bedcover and matching curtains hang at the windows, and the bedhead and wall mirror are ornate and gilded.

  ‘This is great,’ I say with a smile as Boris hands over the keys.

  ‘We see you here later. Make the most of the sunshine!’ he urges again.

  We walk out onto the wide pavement. Alessandro comes to a stop and looks at me, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Are you going to be able to find your way with that?’ he asks, nodding at the map.

  I peer down at it. It looks very complicated. The roads are winding and narrow in places and there are canals and footbridges to contend with.

  ‘I’ll be okay,’ I reply uncertainly.

  Alessandro jerks his head in the direction of town. ‘I’ll come with you for a bit.’

  Butterflies fill my stomach as we walk side by side. Alessandro still has his hands in his pockets, but he pulls his right hand out and his phone with it. After a moment, I realise he’s using it to navigate.

  ‘Is that easy to follow?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m used to it. We’re heading here,’ he says, showing me.

  I compare his map to my paper one. Hmm. Maybe I should have chosen a better mobile phone.

  We wander alongside emerald-green canals and beside wooden-shuttered houses in shades of ochre, salmon and cream. We come across another university building – modern and white with a green copper roof – and behind it is a leafy square, edged with pavement cafés.

  A painted-faced mime artist in a black suit and bowler hat performs outside a flower stall bursting with colour, and the air is filled with the heavenly scent of caramelised sugar from a nearby crêperie.

  I breathe in deeply, my chest expanding with more than mere air. I’m beside myself that I’m here in Venice at last. It’s every bit as captivating and unreal as I dreamt it would be. When you see the city in movies, it looks like a film set. But it’s not. It’s real. All of it. I feel as though I’m walking around inside my own personal fairy tale.

  As we draw closer to the historic centre, the crowd thickens. Some of the buildings look quite rundown, but occasionally I’ll catch a glimpse through a window of a huge chandelier or an enormous oil painting in a gilded frame and I’ll remember again that outward appearances can be deceptive.

  Eventually we come to a wooden, stepped bridge that is dense with pedestrian traffic. To our right at the end of a long stretch of sparkling water is a big domed church. Boats carrying passengers and produce for hotels and restaurants pass beneath us and the sight of a couple of gondolas makes me want to squeal with excitement. I am definitely going on one of those while I’m here.

  Leaving the river behind, we enter a series of narrow passageways and smaller roads. Shops line the streets: Chanel and Dior and other designer outlets. There are jewellers and purveyors of Venetian glass and shop upon shop selling touristy gimmicks.

  I stare down at my map and realise that I’m completely and utterly lost.

  Alessandro shows me where we are on his phone. ‘This is where the hotel is. We came over this bridge.’

  A flurry of fear takes the edge off my joy as I see the long and complicated-looking route. I have no idea how to find my way back. I’m really going to need some map reading lessons if I’m to go anywhere else on my own.

  With a sigh, Alessandro presses his phone into my hands and takes my paper map from me, folding it up. ‘You can borrow it while you’re here,’ he says.

  I shake my head. ‘You don’t have to do that. I’ll be okay.’

  ‘I’d feel better about leaving you,’ he insists. ‘Remind me to get my charger from my van before I go.’

  I wouldn’t normally agree to borrow such an expensive device, but I’m touched that he cares enough to lend it to me.

  I also have an odd desire to hang on to something that belongs to him.

  He peers over my shoulder and points at the phone screen, nodding up ahead. ‘We need to go this way.’

  We walk under a dark, colonnaded archway and quickly become separated in the hordes of people. Suddenly my hand is in his and my heart is racing as he pulls me through the crowd into an enormous square.

  On the other side of the square is one of the most ornately decorated buildings I have ever seen. It’s light in colour and its roof is graced with multiple domes, its front glistening with golden frescoes.

  ‘Basilica San Marco,’ Alessandro tells me, and I can feel him watching me as I stare, slightly breathlessly, at the spectacular view all around.

  To the right is a red-brick bell tower stretching high into the sky. The colonnade goes around three sides of the square and on our left hundreds of arched windows shine bright white in the afternoon sun.

  We set off across the square and I notice that the colonnade to our right is being cleaned and is partly obscured by scaffolding. The rest of the stone is grey and murky.

  ‘This whole square is often under water,’ Alessandro tells me.

  It seems unbelievable.

  But I’m too distracted by the fact that we’re still holding hands to fully appreciate my surroundings.

  Inside my head, Louise is looking very unimpressed.

  I know she’s right. My butterflies are going haywire. I don’t want them to keel over dead.

  Forcing myself to let go of Alessandro’s hand under the pretext of adjusting my headscarf, I return my attention to his phone.

  He slips his own hands into his pockets and my heart feels a little less happy.

  All around the outside of the square, pavement cafés are bustling and delicious-smelling aromas waft through the air, mingling with the scent of the ocean.

  ‘Ooh, check out their lovely white suits.’ I nudge Alessandro’s arm gleefully as I point out the waiters’ uniforms.

  ‘It makes me feel stressed even looking at them,’ he replies moodily, but his lips lift in a smile as he glances at me out of the corner of his eye.

  ‘I saw some photos of you yesterday in Tivoli,’ I tell him casually.

  ‘Did you?’

  I nod. ‘You were wearing so much colour, I barely recognised you.’

  ‘Did you see photos of Carlotta as well?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes.’ My gaze drops to the ground as I add, ‘She was adorable.’

  When we head behind the bell tower, Doge’s Palace – or Palazzo Ducale – comes into view. It joins my list of one of the most ornate buildings I’ve ever seen, with its myriad of arches and sculpted colonnade. We walk alongside it, sidestepping the other tourists.

  The sea is on our right, vast and blue. It’s a very different sight to the beaches in Adelaide where my grandparents sometimes took me on holiday. Instead of long stretches of sand, here the water butts right up against this enchanting city.

  We come to a bridge and Alessandro points out another perfectly arched bridge further along the canal. It’s made of white decorative stone and is entirely enclosed, connecting Doge’s Palace with the building on the other side of the canal.

  ‘Bridge of Sighs,’ Alessandro tells me. ‘That’s the New Prison over there.’ He points to the building on the right. ‘The bridge connects to the interrogation rooms in Palazzo Ducale. Convicts would be all
owed one last view of Venice before their imprisonment.’

  ‘No wonder they call it the Bridge of Sighs,’ I say. ‘I’d sigh too if I thought that might be the last time I saw this beautiful city.’

  ‘Lord Byron gave it the name,’ he tells me with a smile.

  ‘That’s why it sounds poetic.’

  In Venice, even a bridge is capable of being one of the most picturesque things I’ve ever seen.

  When I tear my gaze away to face Alessandro, I’m met with a look of regret.

  ‘I should get going,’ he says.

  His imminent departure takes the edge off my happiness as we return to the hotel.

  Melissa and her boyfriend Otello are waiting for us. Melissa looks like her mother, Eliana, only a younger, cooler version with designer horn-rimmed glasses and thick dark hair pulled up into a messy bun. She jumps to her feet as soon as we walk through the door, enthusiastically greeting us both with hugs and kisses. I gather it’s been a while since she and Alessandro saw each other.

  Otello is more reserved: a tall thin young man with heavy eyebrows and a pointy chin. He seems nice, albeit shy.

  ‘You won’t wait to see Loreta?’ Melissa asks Alessandro with dismay when he tries to make a move. ‘She hasn’t seen you for a year, Alessandro!’

  ‘I really can’t stay longer,’ he replies. ‘But I’ll stop for a coffee on Friday.’

  ‘I’ll come to your van with you to grab your charger,’ I say, asking him to wait for me.

  When he realises that I went upstairs to get my own charger so he can take my phone in return, he tells me he can manage without.

  ‘What if you need to call for help when you’re on the mountain?’ It’s a disturbing thought.

  ‘Fine,’ he concedes as we set off across the bridge. ‘I won’t read your text messages.’

  ‘There won’t be anything of interest there, I assure you.’ After a beat, I add: ‘I won’t read yours either.’

  ‘There won’t be anything of interest there, I assure you,’ he repeats my words to me.

  ‘No messages from girls asking why you’re not returning their calls?’ I mock, finding it harder to force humour into my tone.

  ‘I don’t give out my number so that is highly unlikely.’

  ‘You don’t give girlfriends your number?’

  He gives me a meaningful look.

  That’s right, he doesn’t do girlfriends. I think of the woman from a couple of weeks ago and feel ill.

  We walk in silence for a bit. He’s the one to break it.

  ‘When you called that night, after we’d been out with Logan and Lea…’

  I glance at him. Where is he going with this?

  ‘Nothing happened,’ he tells me. ‘I mean… Nothing happened with the woman you heard.’

  I immediately avert my gaze, blushing. I wish I could tell him that it doesn’t bother me either way, but I can’t bring myself to lie.

  ‘And if Carlo calls?’ he asks, not offering up any information about why he carried on drinking that night after he’d put me in a taxi. ‘Any message you’d like me to give him?’

  I don’t know if he’s bantering or being serious.

  ‘I think it’s highly unlikely Carlo will call.’

  ‘And why is that?’ he asks.

  ‘We’ll never be more than friends.’

  A feeling of déjà vu comes over me and I realise that these are the exact words Alessandro said to me.

  ‘Oh,’ he replies, and we both fall silent again.

  The walk to his van from the hotel, at least, is fairly straightforward. I think I’ll be able to manage the return trip without directions. Alessandro slides open the side door and climbs in to open one of his cupboards.

  ‘How long will it take you to get to the mountains?’ I ask.

  ‘About two and a half hours.’

  That’s not too bad. I don’t like depriving him of his music.

  He steps out of the van.

  ‘Charger.’ He hands me a corded plug. ‘And power bank.’ He places a small but weighty black device in my hands. ‘You’ll chew through the battery using the navigation, so charge this up and take it with you in your bag. I know it’s a bit heavy, but I don’t want to lose you.’

  He says it casually, and he’s said it to me once before, after I found out about Carlotta, but this time his words turn themselves around inside my head.

  I don’t want to lose him.

  When he lifts his eyes to meet mine, I think he’s startled by what he sees there.

  What if he hurts himself? I really don’t want him to do this.

  ‘Please don’t jump,’ I blurt.

  His expression becomes very serious. He shakes his head. ‘Do not ask that of me, Angel.’

  My heart twists and I look away, slipping my bag off my shoulder and onto the ground. Crouching down, I securely stow his charger and get out my own phone and charger, slowly straightening up and handing it over.

  ‘Have a good time,’ I mumble.

  ‘I’ll see you on Friday,’ he replies.

  ‘Thanks again for driving me,’ I say without looking at him. ‘And for the loan of your phone.’

  I feel his eyes on me as I turn away.

  Chapter 38

  Despite my feelings of confusion over everything Alessandro, I have a great time in Venice. Loreta, my aunt, is as lovely as the rest of the family, and Melissa and I get along like a house on fire.

  She and Otello have the attic room, which is small with pine ceilings and Velux windows, as I see when she drags me upstairs to ask my opinion on what she should wear for a night out. As if I’d know!

  Otello’s shyness evaporates after his first beer and he turns out to be really funny. He and Melissa take it upon themselves to show me the best Venice has to offer. They don’t mind doing touristy things – we take a ride on a gondola, which makes me feel like a child in my excitement, and we even have a Bellini in Harry’s Bar, the famous 1930s establishment that was once frequented by writers, artists and celebrities such as Ernest Hemingway, Charlie Chaplin and Alfred Hitchcock. The fresh peach puree and prosecco cocktail quickly becomes my new favourite tipple, which is unfortunate, because it’s the most expensive drink I’ve ever ordered at about twenty euros a pop. We only have one.

  I am totally taken in by Venice and its ethereal beauty, even though at times I feel like I’m walking around an elaborate theme park. It’s quite shabby in places with crumbling walls, flaking paint and lots of graffiti, but I still think it’s magical and I definitely want to return.

  When Friday comes, I’m in a better place about Alessandro. He texted me yesterday to let me know that he was on track for today, but it’s still a relief to see him.

  He stays for a coffee with his step-aunt, as promised, but he’s stiff and standoffish, so much so that I’m squirming with embarrassment by the time we leave. The last few days have been relaxed and light-hearted, but Alessandro’s behaviour dampens the atmosphere. What has this family ever done to him? I don’t understand.

  Even when we’re alone in his van, you could cut the tension in the air with a knife. I thought he’d be relieved to get out of there, but he’s being off with me too.

  ‘Why are you like that with them?’ I ask, unable to keep it inside any longer.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You were so…’ I try to think of the right word. ‘Cold,’ is the one I opt for.

  Rude would be more accurate, if I’m being honest.

  He doesn’t reply. I wait in silence while he stares out the front window with a dark look on his face.

  ‘I don’t know them that well,’ he says, chewing the corner of his thumbnail.

  ‘Neither do I!’

  ‘I’m not like you,’ he mutters, returning his hand to the steering wheel so heavily that it makes a thudding sound.

  No one’s arguing with that statement.

  Minutes pass by. I don’t know what to say. Eventually he lets out a long, heavy sigh.
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  ‘I’m sorry if I embarrassed you,’ he mutters. ‘It’s been a strange couple of days.’

  I turn to look at him. ‘In what way?’

  He shakes his head, his lips pulled down at the corners. ‘I can’t explain.’

  ‘Please try.’

  ‘Maybe later.’

  ‘Shall I put some music on?’ I suggest after a moment.

  He nods and passes me the phone I returned to him earlier.

  ‘Francesca has asked if we’d like to have lunch with her in Bologna,’ I mention. Loreta suggested it because it’s on the way to Florence. ‘I’m not sure you’re in the mood—’

  ‘That’s fine,’ he interrupts me. ‘We’ll be there at midday – ask her where she wants to meet.’

  I’m not sure about this, but he seems to be trying to improve his mood, so I call ahead to make the arrangements.

  *

  Both Francesca and her husband Pepe manage to escape from work to join us for lunch. Pepe is a lecturer at the University of Bologna, which is the oldest in the world in continuous operation – it was founded in 1088! – and Francesca is a dentist. She’s the eldest of my four cousins at thirty-five and Pepe is ten years her senior.

  We go to a small, unimposing Italian restaurant on the outskirts of the city that Francesca mischievously claims gives Serafina’s a run for its money. She tells me that I simply must have the tagliatelle al ragu and I have no reason to disagree.

  Although spaghetti bolognese was invented in Bologna, here they simply call it ragu. It’s made with at least two different types of meat – usually pork and beef – as well as pancetta and a concoction of carrots, celery and tomato. It’s never served with spaghetti, since spaghetti is from the south, but always with fresh handmade egg pasta such as tagliatelle or fettucine.

  It’s lovely, but I’m not sure it tastes all that different to the one Giulio makes.

  Over lunch, I ask Francesca about her pregnancy and she admits that she’s relieved to be past the morning sickness stage. Her due date is 18 December, so the baby should arrive before Christmas.

  Alessandro chats mostly with Pepe about his work at the university, but I’m just thankful he’s warmed up since Venice.