If You Could Go Anywhere

by Paige Toon

  ‘He needs to get away,’ he adds. ‘He’s not a city boy at heart.’

  Such a simple explanation, but I feel like there’s more to it.

  *

  I don’t know how I get through the week. I even drop Lea a line on Facebook to ask if she or Logan have heard from Alessandro, but they haven’t. Alessandro is not returning my texts or calls and his phone keeps ringing out and going through to voicemail. I can’t believe that he left without saying goodbye, and I can’t imagine heading home to Australia without seeing him before I go. I’m due to set off to the Amalfi coast and Capri next week, but my heart isn’t in it.

  Bonnie calls me that weekend when I’m lying on my bed, turning my opal around and around in my fingers.

  ‘I was just thinking of you!’ I exclaim. I’ve been wanting to phone her, needing to offload to someone about Alessandro, but I knew she’d steer me away from him and that was not something I wanted to hear. I find it a lot easier to give advice than take it, I’m discovering.

  ‘Oh, Angie.’ Her voice is choked with emotion.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘He told me not to tell you, but I can’t keep any more secrets from you. Jimmy’s not well, darling.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘It’s cancer, Angie. Pancreatic, the same as Vicky. He doesn’t have long.’

  Oh no… Please, no…

  ‘He didn’t want me to say, didn’t want it to ruin your holiday, but perhaps you should call him.’

  ‘I will. Right away,’ I reply, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

  Jimmy sounds tired when he answers. It’s only eight p.m. in Coober Pedy.

  ‘Jimmy? It’s me, Angie.’

  ‘She didn’t bloody tell you, did she?’ he gripes. ‘I knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it to herself!’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I mumble, tears filling my eyes. ‘I’m going to change my flight and come home early.’

  ‘That’s the last thing I want you to do!’ He is practically shouting. ‘The only thing that’s making me smile right now is the thought of you running around Italy, enjoying yourself. If you come home early, it’ll do me more harm than good, I promise you that.’

  ‘Oh, Jimmy,’ I murmur.

  ‘Don’t, sweetheart,’ he mutters. ‘I’m okay. I’m ready. It’s time to go and see my Vicky.’

  I stifle a sob.

  ‘You know, when your grandad died, Angie, you were the only person who didn’t think it should’ve been me.’

  ‘That’s not true!’ I gasp. ‘No one thought that!’

  ‘Oh, they all did, darling,’ he replies casually. ‘And I understood. I had no family to support, I’d lost my Vicky the year before, I didn’t have a whole lot to live for, to be honest. But you didn’t see it that way.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t!’

  ‘You’re such a special person, Angie. You were only seventeen years old, but you came to see me in the hospital, do you remember?’

  I nod, but realise he can’t see me so I mumble a yes through my tears.

  ‘You were so sad about your grandad, but you sat there with me after my op and held my hand and you cried when I told you it should’ve been me. You actually cried and told me not ever to say that again.’

  ‘I want to come home.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ he yells. ‘I don’t want to see you, do you hear me? Hearing your voice is enough.’

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it? You gave me that opal. The hundred-carat one.’ I still have it in my hand and my fist squeezes around it, but it brings no comfort.

  ‘Yeah,’ he says quietly after a long pause. ‘That one had your name written all over it.’

  My heart hurts so much. I long to reach through the phone line and give him a big hug, but I can’t.

  ‘I still have it, you know,’ I tell him.

  ‘Why the bloody hell haven’t you sold it?’

  ‘I like it too much. It reminds me of home, and also of Grandad in a funny way.’

  ‘Well, it did come from our mine. Your grandad used his cut to buy a car and take you on holiday. I always thought my share would find its way into your hands, one day. I only hope it comes in useful.’

  ‘Jimmy?’ I ask in a husky voice when I’m ready to speak.

  ‘Yes, love?’

  ‘Try to hang on until September, okay? That’s when I’ll be home and I want to give you a hug.’

  ‘Deal,’ he replies.

  *

  I decide to postpone my trip to Capri. I’m still worried about Alessandro, and now there’s this news about Jimmy to contend with.

  I drop Lea another line on Facebook to ask if Logan can put the word out amongst his old base-jumping buddies to see if anyone has heard of or seen Alessandro.

  Logan himself calls me the next morning.

  ‘Lea tells me you’re worried about Allez.’

  ‘Have you heard from him?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘No, not a thing. He’s probably on his way to Norway. That’s where he said he was headed. It’s a long drive.’

  ‘Do you know exactly where he planned to go?’

  ‘Kjerag and Trollveggen, I think. There’s a base-jumping place at Lysebotn, near Kjerag, so you might be able to call and leave a message for him.’

  ‘That’s a great idea! Thank you!’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘Logan,’ I ask hesitantly. ‘Can you tell me about how you guys met?’ I still feel like there’s something I’m missing. ‘Alessandro said you met in the Dolomites. He was on a mountain when you and your friends turned up. He saw you again a couple of days later and you ended up having a chat.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s pretty much it.’

  Logan falls silent, but when I press him, he sighs and comes clean.

  ‘To be honest, I thought he was suicidal,’ he admits. ‘He was standing right on the edge of the cliff. We thought he was one of us, until we realised he wasn’t wearing a chute. My heart stopped. Then he saw us and stepped away from the edge.’

  ‘What did you do?’ My heart is in my throat.

  ‘We went ahead and jumped, like the selfish pricks that we were back then. We’d climbed all that way for the pay-off and wanted the adrenalin rush, like, yesterday. But later I couldn’t stop thinking about that guy on the mountain. I even checked the news to see if there had been any suicides. A couple of days later, I saw him again.’

  ‘That was when you stopped and spoke to him?’

  ‘Yeah. I wanted to make up for my previous mistake. He seemed interested in base jumping so I told him about a mate of mine…’

  The rest of the story is as Alessandro told it.

  *

  Days later, I’m at work when Giulio blows his top at Jacopo. A customer has sent back coffees because they’re not hot enough.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask my cousin because he looks shaky.

  ‘Yeah.’ He nods. ‘He’s always touchy at this time of year.’

  ‘What is it about this time of year?’ I ask with a frown.

  ‘Tomorrow is the anniversary of Carlotta’s death.’

  It’s as though someone has switched on a lightbulb over my head. I go straight outside and ring Logan, willing him to pick up. It’s nine o’clock in the morning in LA.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Logan!’

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s Angie. Angel!’

  ‘Oh, hey. Is everything okay?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Logan, can you tell me something? Do you remember where you were when you last saw Alessandro jump recklessly?’

  ‘Er, yeah, it was Chamonix in the French Alps.’

  ‘Do you remember what time of year it was?’

  ‘Summer.’

  ‘Middle of August?’

  ‘Could’ve been.’

  ‘What about when you first saw him up on the mountain in the Dolomites?’

  ‘It was also summer.’

  ‘Can you be more specific? Can you remember a
ny other occasions when he was behaving irresponsibly?’

  ‘I could look them up,’ he says. ‘Most of my jumps are in my diary.’

  ‘Great!’ I exclaim.

  ‘You think there’s something about the dates?’

  ‘I’m almost certain of it.’

  ‘Let me check and I’ll come back to you.’

  He does, only ten minutes later, and he sounds confused when he asks, ‘What the hell happened to him on the fourteenth and sixteenth of August?’

  Chapter 42

  Astrid and Magnus, my Bake Club friends from Coober Pedy, have a son, Erik, who lives in Stavanger, not far from Kjerag, which is the location where Logan believes Alessandro will be doing his first jump tomorrow. When I tell Astrid that it’s where I’m headed, Erik gets in touch via Facebook to say that I can use his apartment. He and his family are away for the whole of August, but his neighbour has a key and will let me in.

  ‘It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for my parents,’ he writes. ‘Especially with my mother and her hip operation. My parents are very fond of you.’

  I’m touched.

  I can’t get an evening flight so I book the first available the next morning, hoping I won’t be too late.

  My father drives me to the airport and, for once, he’s quiet. I haven’t shared my concerns about Alessandro’s planned jumps – I promised that I wouldn’t – but he must know I’m worried. He seemed shaken when I told him that I planned to fly to Norway to try to catch up with Alessandro.

  ‘I have been blind,’ he says, glancing across at me when he pulls up outside Departures. ‘Venice… Florence…’

  I shake my head. He thinks we stayed away as lovers. ‘It wasn’t like that at all. But I do care about him, Papà. A lot.’

  ‘I can see that, but I didn’t know how much.’

  ‘I love him,’ I say gently, and he flinches. ‘It’s not something you need to concern yourself with.’

  ‘How can I not concern myself with this?’ he erupts. ‘Alessandro will do to you what he has done to all of the other girls in the past. He can’t keep his—’

  He launches into Italian at that point, too angry to continue in English.

  ‘Calm down,’ I say, after letting him rant for a while. ‘This is not good for your blood pressure.’

  He makes a noise of disgust.

  ‘You make sure you’re taking those tablets while I’m away.’

  He grunts again and I sigh.

  ‘Alessandro is different with me.’

  He doesn’t think much to this comment, either.

  ‘I’ve seen a side of him that I don’t think he shares lightly,’ I continue.

  Giulio is still muttering under his breath in Italian and I’m not even attempting to understand. I’d rather not know.

  ‘He is still very deeply affected by his mother and sister’s deaths, more than you realise. That’s why he goes away like this, not because he’s selfish.’

  He falls silent.

  I reach across and press his hand. ‘Papà, it will be okay. Whatever happens, I promise this will not affect our relationship.’ I mean his and mine. I lean across and peck him on the cheek. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

  I’m flying back to Australia out of Rome in three weeks.

  I know he’s not happy about it, but he’ll survive.

  If it’s one thing that can be said about Giulio, he’s a survivor.

  *

  It’s a bright sunny morning when the plane touches down in Stavanger, but my stomach has tied itself in knots. I’ve worked out that there are ferries all the way down the Lysefjord to the tiny village of Lysebotn where the base jumpers set off from, but it takes two and a half hours and I’m terrified I’m not going to make it there in time. If I can’t stop Alessandro from doing this jump, I at least want to try to catch up with him before he leaves for his next, but I might be too late even for that.

  There’s no way I can go to Erik’s apartment first so I’m hot and sweaty when I arrive at the docks, carrying Cristina’s borrowed backpack over my shoulder. Boarding the ferry, I go upstairs and stand by the railing, too nervous to sit down. I barely register the Scandinavian architecture: the pitched roofs and gleaming weatherboarded houses that rise up the hill away from the docks.

  We leave the city behind and head past rocky islands topped with conifers. Soon we’re in the Lysefjord, a long 42-kilometre stretch of water that will come to an abrupt end at Lysebotn.

  The granite cliffs on either side of the boat slice straight through the water like knives. At one point, I hear other passengers mention Pulpit Rock and follow the lines of their pointed fingers to a high cliff up on our left that looks like a small stone cube placed on top of the mountain.

  Some of the cliff faces are so sheer that nothing is capable of growing on them, but other jagged plateaus are alive with greenery and there are even a few goats living on one steep slope.

  It all feels otherworldly, but I’m too stressed to enjoy it.

  What if Alessandro is not in Lysebotn? What if he’s changed his mind about where he’s jumping? I’ve tried calling the base-jumping place a couple of times, but no one has answered the phone. It’s probably best that he doesn’t know I’m coming, in any case.

  As the boat draws closer to Lysebotn, I go to stand at the front, a nervous, shaking wreck. My heart leaps.

  Frida is parked by the shore.

  *

  I don’t know what drove Alessandro to begin jumping from cliffs on the anniversaries of his sister and mother’s deaths, but it’s clearly a ritual he goes through every year, regardless of the weather conditions. If it’s safe, he jumps. If it’s dangerous, he jumps. That was the behaviour that Logan witnessed – a compulsive need to jump, even at the risk of his own life.

  It’s crazy. Frighteningly crazy. I have no experience with mental illness and the thought of trying to make Alessandro see sense scares the hell out of me. All I know is that I’ve got to try.

  Logan suspected that Alessandro was suicidal when he first saw him on that mountaintop. Maybe he was, and maybe he still is. There was something about the way he was with me at the party that felt final.

  ‘I just want to hold you…’

  He could have added ‘one last time.’

  And there was the way I caught him watching me over the course of the evening. So many conflicting emotions crossed his face that I couldn’t make sense of them all. I believe I saw joy and sorrow, but most worryingly, I believe I saw acceptance.

  I think he considered it his duty to settle me in Rome. He was pleased to hear from me when I first called from Australia, happy to bring me to Italy to be close to Giulio. He’s done everything he possibly could to make me feel at ease in an alien environment. From his late-night tour of Rome to the way he reluctantly went with me to visit my family for the first time, to how he came over and watched a film with me when I was feeling homesick. He’s taken on the role of protector, settler, comforter.

  Yet everyone else sees him as selfish.

  Is he selfish? Did he do all of this for his own ends? In what way? How is my existence, my happiness to be in Rome, settled with my father, helping him?

  And then it comes to me and the fear is so debilitating and dizzying that I have to grip on to the railings to stop myself from passing out.

  I don’t think Alessandro ever saw me as a replacement for Carlotta.

  I think he saw me as a replacement for himself.

  Chapter 43

  My heart is pounding as I run over to the van and try the side door. It’s locked. I peer through the window, not caring if I’m about to give Alessandro a heart attack. I have to know he’s okay.

  But Frida is dark and empty. I look around and see the base-jumping place, but that door is also locked.

  Hurrying around the side of the building, I jolt to a stop at the sight of a lone guy sitting at a bench table, reading a book.

  ‘Hi!’

  He looks u
p.

  ‘Excuse me, I’m looking for a base jumper. Alessandro? Do you know him?’

  He shrugs. ‘I think so, but the group has already left. They should be coming down in about an hour and a half.’

  I’m too late!

  ‘What are the conditions like?’ I ask in a panic. ‘Are they okay?’

  He gives me a funny look. ‘They’re fine. Great. They wouldn’t be jumping if they weren’t.’

  Relief sweeps through me. If everyone else is jumping, at least I know Alessandro isn’t being reckless.

  ‘Where do they come down from?’ I ask.

  He points at the fjord. ‘A little way along there. You can come with me for the boat ride, if you like?’

  ‘Can I?’

  ‘Yeah, you need to buy a ticket from the shop. I’ll be leaving in about an hour.’

  ‘The shop is closed.’

  ‘That’s fine, pay for it later.’

  I have a feeling he wants to return to his book.

  There’s a small café over by the water so I go and buy myself a cup of tea to kill time, but my hands are shaking so much that it’s hard to drink it.

  Alessandro is an experienced jumper, I try to reassure myself. If the weather is good, he’ll be okay.

  But until I know for sure that he’s landed safely, I’m going to continue to feel sick to my stomach.

  I’m too fidgety to stay seated so I get up and go for a walk across a stretch of grass that’s dotted with purple and pink bell-shaped wildflowers. Someone has built a sculpture out of white pebbles by the shore – I go to have a closer look. A noisy waterfall cascades down the cliff face on my left, and straight ahead is a view of the Lysefjord. The cliffs make a V-shape on either side of the glassy water, sloping diagonally outwards instead of the vertical sheer drops of the cliffs on the way here. Their image is reflected up at them like a mirror.

  There can’t be many places on this earth that are more idyllic.

  Not wanting to miss the boat, I go and wait by the dock.

  After a while, the guy I saw earlier comes over.

  ‘Okay?’ I ask.

  ‘Yep.’ He climbs down the ladder and gets into a small boat, then holds it steady for me to follow.

  ‘Lifejackets are under the bench.’