Chapter 31
Leo and I grab fried mozzarella sandwiches from a takeaway instead of going back to the palazzo for dinner. The wrapping’s already see-through with oil, but our hands find each other between bites, and we don’t even care when our greasy fingers tangle together.
‘Ready for a real tour of Venice?’ He steers me into a low sottoportego, a shadowy passage beneath a row of palazzos.
It takes my eyes a moment to adjust and then I see it – a Tintoretto-style Madonna with chunky headphones, dancing like she’s at a silent disco.
Her colours have disappeared almost entirely into the brick.
‘I remember when you posted this one!’ I gasp. ‘It’s faded a lot though.’
‘I thought it would be more protected from the salt air under here, but …’ He shrugs. ‘That’s street art.’
We keep walking, Leo showing me more pieces he’s shared on the app, until he comes to a halt in the middle of a bridge. I glance around, unsure what I’m supposed to be looking at.
Leo nudges me and gestures to his feet.
I clutch his arm. ‘No! Is this the Sketchy and Rebel bridge?’ I lean out as if to peer under it, but he tugs me back, laughing, and keeps me close.
‘That’s its official name now, obviously. I’ll walk across it every day after you leave.’
Reality sinks in. We only have a few more days together.
‘Hey.’ He nuzzles my neck. ‘We’ve already nailed long-distance, remember?’
He pulls up our Art Exchange DMs and loops his arms around me, the screen held out in front of us.
We fill in the blanks as we scroll, laughing at the times we were sitting right across from each other without knowing it.
I point to one of my messages: Help! I’m already seeing fairy-tale people everywhere.
‘I was talking about you and your mum!’ I tip my head back against his chest and sigh. ‘I was so hopeful good things were ahead when I first got here, but it hasn’t exactly worked out that way.’
‘Wow. Bit harsh, Nessie.’
I twist round to press a quick, conciliatory peck to his mouth.
‘This has worked out. But if my sister’s friend finds out I’m not in Florence, I’ll be in huge trouble.
Veronica and Silvia will find out, and I won’t get my certificate.
Nothing to help me become an artist … or a scientist. My parents will be gutted and Griselda …
’ I groan into his neck. ‘She’ll be unbearable. ’
Leo tries to reassure me, but we both know there’s nothing he can say.
When we come out on to the Grand Canal a crowd is gathering along the fondamenta, all facing the same direction, like they’re waiting for something.
We find a spot, our legs dangling over the water, just as the first boats glide into view.
They’re different to the ones we saw at the corteo acqueo. That was a procession. This is a show. A barge draped in a silk canopy is lit from within like a lantern. Inside, marionette figures move in time to the music. More performers follow on other boats.
‘So … is this kind of what we’ll be doing?’ I ask. ‘You know … minus the actual fun part?’
Leo laughs. ‘Pretty much.’
With his arm warm around my shoulders, I lose myself in the performance and the ever-moving reflections on the water – no pressure to impress anyone. No ticking clock. Just us, watching something beautiful.
We linger until the music fades and the crowd thins, then wind our way back towards the palazzo.
But neither of us is ready for the night to end.
There are only a handful left for us now, and sleeping feels like wasting them.
So we spread out on the living room rug, him with a sketchbook, me with my iPad – finally doing what we always talked about: drawing together, in our true styles.
‘You have to let me draw you,’ I beg.
He rolls his eyes. ‘Any excuse to ogle me, huh, Nessie?’
‘Ha ha. Watch it or I’ll turn you into a skinless horse-demon from Orkney.’
‘Fine. But I get to draw you too.’
So we trade. And it’s nothing like that awful first time in the studio.
I give him the faerie-prince touches I’ve been yearning for, and when he tilts his page towards me, it’s me, street style, in a stripy cardigan, iPad in hand and …
oh, hair wisping out of my fishtail plaits.
I reach a hand up to touch them and, yes, basically I’m a complete mess.
I’m about to undo them when footsteps approach from the hall.
Leo snaps his sketchbook shut, and I hit play on a Netflix series just as Martino Ballarin appears in the doorway.
‘Evening.’ He gives me a brief, uncertain smile before turning to Leo. ‘Just wanted to let you know you’ll be shadowing Signora Dalmasso at the gallery next week.’
‘OK.’ Leo’s thumb works at the edge of his nail.
‘After class, of course, perhaps until Easter.’ Martino taps his phone. ‘I’ll send you the details so you can introduce yourself.’
Leo nods, still picking.
That’s when my phone lights up: Griselda. I want to ignore it, but I know she’ll just keep calling. Martino takes it as his cue to leave and exchanges a few last words with Leo as I answer.
Griselda pounces straight away. ‘Who’s that in the background? Are you with a boy?’
‘A classmate,’ I say quickly. ‘We’re working some last-minute bits for the fair.’
The Netflix da-dum blasts so loudly I nearly jump.
‘Doesn’t sound like it to me,’ Griselda says, dry.
‘It’s late, Grace. I’m allowed to relax.’
Her long sigh crackles down the line. ‘Thanks for the photo of the science centre, by the way.’
I silently thank the free photo-editing app I found.
‘It’s almost identical to one of mine,’ she adds.
‘Yeah?’ My phone digs into my palm. ‘Guess I’m following in your footsteps, then.’
‘Mm. Remind me who your teacher is again? I’m trying to work out if I had the same one.’
I freeze. ‘No, she’s new. I asked if she knew you. Thought I could get myself some sister kudos.’
‘I might still know her. What’s her name?’
‘Her name? Erm …’ I glance at Leo’s hair. ‘Curl … ina. I mean. Carlina.’
There’s a pause. ‘Is that her first name or surname?’
Leo mimes a cutting motion, like stop, you’re digging yourself deeper.
‘Erm, good question. I’ll ask someone. Anyway, got to go!’
I drop the phone and clutch my head. ‘Great. I just named my imaginary teacher after your hair.’