by Paige Toon
His body begins to shake as I hold him, and it’s the most gut-wrenching thing, listening to him sobbing his heart out.
He clutches hold of me desperately and I’m shushing him and rubbing his back, tears streaming down my face as I brush away his. There’s no end to them. He’s wrecked, completely and utterly wrecked. But he’s safe. He’s alive. He’s here.
Finally his cries soften to ragged breathing. I slide down into the sleeping bag and we lie side by side, gazing at each other.
His expression is heartbroken and my heart is breaking in turn. How can I help him?
‘I love you,’ I whisper, my eyes welling up and my vision turning blurry.
He thumbs my tears away and stares at me, his eyes burning with intensity in the low light.
‘I love you too,’ he replies, and my battered heart leaps out of my chest for a moment and slams back into place.
Cupping my face with his hands, he very slowly brings our mouths together.
Kissing him makes my head spin in the most delirious fashion. I’m dizzy with love, dizzy with need, dizzy with desire as our lips slide against each other, our tongues entwining and our bodies coming ever closer. The kiss becomes deeper, more loving, increasingly passionate and desperate. In the confined space that we have, we somehow manage to shed the last of our clothing and then Alessandro is pressing against me and I’m pulling him closer and we’re both gasping into each other’s mouths at the intensity of the skin-to-skin connection. At some point during the next couple of minutes, he comes to his senses and hastily retrieves a condom, but the ensuing reconnection feels no less intense, and those final moments when we find our release are so breathtakingly beautiful that I feel emotional all over again.
When we’ve both recovered, I lift my head to stare at him and see that his eyes are shining.
We gently kiss each other’s lips, our arms and legs still entangled, our hips locked together. I don’t want him to let me go.
I rest my head in the crook of his neck, feeling better than I have in a long time.
His voice cuts through the noise of the storm.
‘It was my fault that they died.’
I lift my head to warily meet his eyes.
‘It was my fault that they died,’ he repeats.
His expression is hollow again, lost. He’s back in the past.
‘I used to sit out on the balcony,’ he tells me in a low, wretched voice. ‘Right out on the ledge with my legs dangling off. I wasn’t afraid of heights. I felt comfortable, I liked it there. Sometimes I would stand up on the ledge and I felt invincible. I was never scared.’
I brush away his tears with my thumbs, cradling his face with my hands as we lie on our sides, staring at each other. When he’s ready, he continues.
‘The first time my mother saw me, she screamed and screamed.’ He shudders. ‘That didn’t stop me. In some ways, I think it made me worse. I wanted her attention. She was so fixated on Carlotta. But then she made it about Carlotta. “If she sees you, she will copy you. Her blood will be on your hands, Sandro!” ’
Oh holy, holy hell. . .
‘But she was right. Carlotta did see me. More than once. I told myself it didn’t matter. I always shut the balcony door behind me. But one day I was careless and I left it open. She climbed up onto that ledge because of me. She fell because of me. My mother was right. Her blood is on my hands.’
His tears have become uncontrollable, so I take him in my arms and hold him while he shakes with whole-body-racking sobs.
My mind is racing.
It was an accident. . . That’s what Giulio said. He was trying to reassure Alessandro that it was an accident. But Alessandro doesn’t believe that. He never has. He’s always thought he was to blame for what happened. And he’s right: Carlotta would most likely never have climbed out onto that ledge if she hadn’t seen her beloved brother do it first, and his mother would never have jumped in grief if she hadn’t lost her little girl two days earlier.
It’s no wonder he finds it so hard to forgive himself.
But anyone could forget to close a door – I know that from my experience with Nan. Some mistakes have tragic consequences, but that makes him desperately, desperately unlucky, not wholly culpable or unworthy of absolution.
‘I thought it was a sign, you turning up when you did,’ he tells me in a choked voice. ‘I thought you were a gift from God, here to release me from my obligations to my stepfather. I thought that was the reason God was keeping me alive, because He couldn’t take me from Giulio. And I believed it would be such a relief to go at last, knowing he would have you. I thought you were here for him, not me. That’s why I felt so guilty about loving you. I thought it was my time, time to do my penance, but then you. . . you. . . you. . .’ He stares into my eyes and his expression is so earnest, so full of love. ‘You’re like no one I’ve ever known. So open and honest and true and pure and good and loving and forgiving and so beautiful, inside and out. I thought maybe you really were an angel.’
‘I’m not an angel,’ I whisper. ‘I’m just a girl who loves you. And this girl would really love you to give her a chance – to give life with her a chance – and to love her back.’
His lips lift into a small smile.
‘I do love you back.’
Chapter 48
We don’t head to Stavanger straight away. Alessandro wants to drive me further north, but first we return the stolen parachute.
Paul and Friedrich didn’t even realise I’d taken it in the first place – we find them at a café having breakfast, seemingly without a care in the world.
When Alessandro explains that my opal has personal value, Paul hands it over easily.
‘We wouldn’t have kept it,’ he says amiably, accepting the four hundred euros Alessandro offers instead. ‘We could see how much it meant to her.’
‘Thank you.’ I’m so grateful to have Jimmy’s opal in my possession again. ‘If you give me your bank details, I’ll transfer the rest of the money to your account.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ Friedrich brushes me off. ‘We only missed out on one jump from Kjerag. And we wanted to come here anyway.’
They’re eagerly anticipating today’s jump. The storm passed quickly and the weather is fine.
‘Thank you,’ I say again, and they stand up to give me a hug. ‘Be careful.’
I desperately hope not to read about them on the news later.
We take it slowly on the drive up through Norway, making the most of the country’s relaxed rules about road-side camping. I lose count of the number of times we make love, but it’s perfect: life-affirming and bonding. I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be than lying in Alessandro’s arms, looking out of the darkened windows of the van at the views across glistening f jords and gleaming mountaintops.
This is the Land of the Midnight Sun and as the sun dips and rises again, sunsets and sunrises blur into one, the sky flashing red, pink and orange, as brilliant as the colours of Jimmy’s opal.
But when the Northern Lights light up the sky, it’s like watching the blues and greens of the opal coming to life.
Alessandro had hoped we would see the aurora borealis, even though it’s rare in late August, and it’s an experience I’ll treasure forever.
I’ve been keeping my opal close during our long days of driving and Jimmy is often on my mind. Sometimes grainy flecks of sandstone come free as I work my thumb across the rough surfaces, revealing the depths of colour beneath. Alessandro looks worried when he sees me doing this, knowing that I’m fretting about Jimmy and how he might be faring.
Finally, we head back to Stavanger. Erik’s apartment is simple and stylish with views across red-tiled rooftops to the water. A cruise ship is gliding past when we arrive and the sun is beginning to cast a golden glow across the sky.
Alessandro smiles at me. ‘I’m going to very belatedly take you up on your offer of a shower and a shave.’
‘Then I will get us a drink,’ I
reply, thinking that the balcony looks like an ideal spot for aperitivo.
I change my mind, however, when I catch a glimpse of his gloriously naked body in the bathroom mirror. Drinks can wait. I hope the shower is big enough for two.
*
We spend a few days in Stavanger, walking into town past brightly coloured weatherboarded coffee shops, bars and restaurants, and exploring the old part near the docks, with its white cottages, cobbled streets, boutiques and galleries.
We do a lot of talking and we don’t kid ourselves: we’re aware the path ahead might be difficult. Alessandro knows he’s got some seriously deep-seated issues to sort out, but by not doing his last jump, he feels as though he’s broken a spell, that insane need to challenge God on those two morbid days every year. He’s agreed to seek therapy to help himself learn to live with what happened.
On a bright, sunny morning, we decide to hike to the top of Preikestolen, but only after we’ve been shopping to buy me a proper pair of hiking boots.
We catch the ferry across to the other side of the Lysef jord and make the short drive to the car park for Preikestolen. It takes about two hours to get to the plateau from here.
We walk uphill on dirt tracks through forests, traipse across rocky stone paths and amble along blissfully level wooden platforms over squelchy mountainous bogs. But soon it becomes all about the steps: chunky, rocky steps carrying us ever upwards.
The sun beats down on our heads, making it hard work, but at least it’s not as slippery as it would be if it were wet. Alessandro waits patiently whenever I need to stop to catch my breath, never once even so much as smiling with amusement at my woeful levels of fitness. It’s as if he can’t shake the memory of me climbing Trollveggen on my own. He keeps taking my hand and I keep letting him go because I’m hot and sweaty enough as it is.
Eventually our path levels out to larger slabs of rock and we’re rewarded with some far-reaching views. There are dozens of people up here, behind us and up ahead.
‘I thought you didn’t like crowds,’ I tease, panting. There’s still a bit of a way to go before we reach the plateau.
‘I don’t. I’m doing this for you.’
The path narrows to only a few metres across. I stop short and look at Alessandro.
‘Come on, it’s only around the corner,’ he encourages.
‘I can’t walk on this path.’
‘It’s three metres wide, you’re not going to fall.’
‘It’s too narrow.’
‘Angel, you’re so close,’ he chides. ‘You’re not giving up now.’
He takes my left hand and directs me to put my right on the rock wall to centre myself, holding on every step of the way.
I’m scared, even as we catch sight of the famous platform up ahead, but soon the path widens out again and Alessandro guides me to a rock wall that’s a more comfortable ten metres or so away from the cliff edge. He lifts me up and plonks me on a ledge and I scoot backwards until I’m pressed right up against the wall, as far away from the cliff as I can possibly get. He chuckles, then stands in front of me and kisses me, centring me much more than holding on to any stupid rock ever could.
‘Okay?’ he asks after a moment.
I nod, slightly breathlessly.
He grins and unclicks his rucksack, placing it on the ledge beside me before climbing up to sit on my other side. I distract myself getting out the picnic things we brought with us.
‘How do you feel?’ he asks when we’re well into our lunch.
I’m growing accustomed to the height now and can finally appreciate the view. We can see right down the Lysef jord, all the way to Lysebotn. The distant mountains fade away in a purple-grey heat haze and the water in the f jord below is as sparkling and as blue as the sky.
‘Like I’m on top of the world,’ I tell him with a smile.
Over on the square-shaped platform there’s a queue – a queue! – of people going, one by one, to stand beside the 600-metre sheer drop to pose for photographs.
‘Would you do that without a parachute?’ I ask with a sidelong glance at Alessandro.
He nods. ‘I’m really not afraid of heights.’
My mood deflates without warning. I might have claimed that I could learn to cope with him going base jumping, but that was before I fell so deeply in love with him that the thought of him getting hurt makes me feel as though I’m being impaled by a hundred knives.
Alessandro turns to look at me.
‘Angel,’ he prompts when I continue to stare at the queue of people, even though I can feel his eyes on me. ‘Hey,’ he whispers, reaching out and gently taking my chin between his forefinger and thumb. He turns me to face him. His expression is concerned. ‘I’m going to quit base jumping,’ he tells me in a quiet voice. ‘I’m done with it. I have quit.’
My heart leaps, but then I remember he’s said things before that he didn’t mean, including telling me he’d drive me to Stavanger only to abandon me instead.
‘I swear to you,’ he says seriously. ‘I’ll never jump again.’
I find my voice. ‘How can you say that? It’s what you’re most passionate about. I can’t make you give up what you love.’
‘You are what I’m most passionate about,’ he tells me fervently. ‘You are what I most love. I don’t want to do anything to hurt you. I’ve hurt you enough and I will not do it again.’
His green eyes are glittering with emotion.
I give him a small smile. ‘You can’t promise that you won’t hurt me. It’s impossible to promise such a thing.’
‘I can promise you that I will try. I want to protect you, not cause you pain.’
‘I don’t want to cause you pain either, yet I know it will hurt you to never go base jumping or wingsuiting again.’
He sighs and gazes down the Lysef jord before turning back to me. ‘I can’t honestly say that I won’t miss the adrenalin rush,’ he tells me. ‘But you are the greatest adrenalin rush of my life. You mean more to me than anything else.’ He brushes my cheek as I blink away tears. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what Logan said. His reasons for quitting. He and Lea want to start a family and Logan doesn’t want to risk leaving his son or daughter without their dad.’
I nod. I remember that conversation well.
‘He’s not the first base jumper I’ve heard say that,’ Alessandro continues. ‘Base jumping and wingsuiting are selfish sports, purely driven by what that one person – the jumper – wants. For most, it’s all about the thrill. For me, on those two significant days a year, it was about something else. But I’m not going to do anniversary jumps again. I can promise you that,’ he says. ‘And as for thrill-seeking, I don’t need it. I don’t want to be selfish. I have so much to live for and I want to be here. For you. For Giulio. For my family. I want a future with you. I hope that one day we will get married and have children.’
At this, my heart soars higher than the Lysef jord, but he’s not finished.
‘The only reason I claimed I’d never quit base jumping is because I expected to do it until it killed me.’
I flinch. It’s agonising to hear him say this out loud, even though he’s not telling me anything I didn’t already know.
He leans forward and presses a tender kiss on my forehead before going on.
‘I don’t want to die. I want to live. Not only for you, but for me. When I think about my anniversary jumps now, it’s like watching a version of myself through fogged glass. I can’t actually believe I did that. It seems so surreal. It’s like I was drugged or in some sort of trance. I wasn’t myself. I really don’t feel like I’m that person now. I feel like this is me.’ He touches his hand to his heart. ‘This is the person I want to be, the person I’m meant to be, the person I believe I would have been if Carlotta and my mother hadn’t died. I feel like you’ve helped to bring the real me to the surface and I don’t want to let that person slip under again. I know I’m finally free of whatever crazy curse I thought plagued me.’
/> ‘Alessandro,’ I murmur, reaching forward and touching my fingers to his lips.
He slips his hand behind my neck and tangles his fingers in my hair, still staring at me steadily.
‘I love you. Utterly. Deeply. Profoundly.’ His lips curve upwards as he slowly stresses each word. ‘Boundlessly. Ceaselessly. Infinitely.’ He’s properly grinning now and I’m sure he’s going to run out of words. ‘Acutely. Desperately. Unequivocally.’
I start to laugh. ‘Will you stop showing off with your excellent vocabulary and kiss me?’
‘I can do that.’ With the hand that is still holding the nape of my neck, he draws me closer. Our lips meet and I feel familiar sparks heating up the blood in my veins and making me feel heady. With some effort, I withdraw.
‘You’re bringing on my dizziness,’ I tell him breathlessly. ‘I don’t want to feel giddy up here.’
‘It’s all right, I’ve got you,’ he murmurs, giving me one last lingering kiss.
I press my face against his warm neck, breathing him in.
‘Will you come travelling with me?’ he asks in my ear.
I lift my head, my eyes lighting up. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. In Frida. Do you think you could handle it for an even longer stretch?’
‘Living in such a small space? Oh, sorry, I forgot,’ I say with a grin, adopting his voice, ‘You don’t live inside the van, you live out there. . .’
He laughs and takes my hand as I dramatically wave it before me.
‘I would love you to show me the world,’ I say to him, growing serious. ‘But I do think we need to focus on getting you better first.’
‘I’ve never felt better than I do right now,’ he tells me earnestly, and I believe him, I honestly do.
‘Where would you want to take me?’ I ask with a smile, indulging him for a moment.
‘Cappadocia in Turkey.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘That’s random.’
He shakes his head. ‘It’s not. Cappadocia is one of the best places in the world for hot air ballooning. You fly over the Göreme National Park and look down on the most incredible landscape of fairy chimneys and colourful volcanic valleys. The people there even live in caves carved out of the rocks like in Coober Pedy. I’ve seen pictures, but I’ve never been. It’s magical. I know you’d love it.’