Chapter Nineteen
We arrive in Italy early the next morning, feeling somewhat battered and bruised.
Roko is animated when we disembark, insisting we listen to him, pointing at the port with instructions we don’t understand.
I finally have the rather brilliant idea to employ a translation app.
Who knew Roko was speaking Italian? He instructs us to go to the Guardia Costiera, who will apparently have us checked into the country before any onwards travel. Not doing so could have us arrested.
Good old, Roko.
He refuses our attempts to get his bank details so we can pay him, though Gus puts up an admirable fight.
Instead, Roko offers rigorous handshakes to express how much he enjoyed our company.
I find that hard to believe considering I spent most of the night wrapped around Gus, whimpering like a baby.
Once we’re away from the boat I can’t help but relish the fresh, salty air. It’s hard to work out whether the rotting stench of sardines is ingrained in my nostrils, or if it’s actually just coming from our clothing. I step closer to Gus, pulling his dark t-shirt towards my face and sniffing.
He scoffs. “Sara, is this you flirting?”
“Shut up. You stink.”
“Now that is you flirting.”
I glare at him for several seconds, but the longer it goes on the wider his smile becomes.
“How are you smiling right now? Are you not in shock? Exhausted?”
He shrugs. “Honestly, I’m just happy to see the light of day and have my feet back on solid ground. There were moments last night when I didn’t think that was likely.”
“A-ha!” I say, “I knew you thought we were going to die.”
“Someone had to keep a cool composure.”
“Hey. I was fine!”
“I’m pretty sure there are fingerprint-sized bruises all over my neck and shoulders. You know, from where you clung on for dear life.”
“I will abandon you,” I say, pointing at him.
He only laughs.
I make a face, looking away to take in our surroundings. The water is calm again, the sky a perfect, innocent blue. You’d never know the weather here was capable of such calamity.
“I need a shower,” I say, “as do you. And we need another set of clean clothes, all before we plan our next steps.” I drop my arms, my shoulders sagging. We didn’t get any sleep last night as the boat fought its way through the storm. “I’m exhausted.”
He nods. “Yeah, but I’ve stayed awake longer.”
“Probably not sober,” I guess.
Gus nods, a notch forming between his brows. “Never sober. But before we do anything else, let’s get some coffee and breakfast.”
*
We claim a table at a quaint café on the edge of the older part of Bari, only a few strides from the port. Gus insists on ordering, keeping his sunglasses on inside, before returning to the table we picked outside with two strong coffees and a kind of brioche bun filled with cream.
“Apparently this is called a Maritozzo,” he tells me. “Oh, and you can charge your phone inside. There’s a plug behind the counter. I’m pretty sure the server knows who I am.”
I roll my eyes. “Paranoid much?”
He rolls his eyes back, but even more dramatically. “You’re welcome.”
I take a big sip of my coffee, groaning as I feel the delectable caffeine working it’s way through my veins.
An hour later, and two more coffees down, I take my phone back at 70 per cent charge which will have to do.
“The cruise is in Taormina today,” I report.
“It docks there in a couple of hours and leaves at six p.m. It looks as if it will take anywhere between six and fifteen hours to get there from Bari via train, coach and ferry, so I think we’re just going to have to accept that we’re not going to make it for that one. ”
He nods. “Agreed. There’s too many things that could go wrong. I think we’ve had enough trials for a lifetime.”
“So, it makes sense to carry on to Rome, in that case. The cruise is out at sea for two nights after they leave Sicily because of the ball they throw for the guests.”
“Ah, I’m sorry,” he says, his face etched with disappointment.
I glance at him over my phone. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because you’re missing the ball.”
“I’m not fucking Cinderella,” I say, scoffing.
Gus laughs quietly in response as if my reaction confirms the fact.
“I don’t care about the ball. I mean, the cruise was brimming with old men and wealthy families.
It was hardly going to be a rave. And besides, I’m technically heartbroken and it wouldn’t be my scene. ”
“You’re technically heartbroken? How does that work then?”
“My heart is meant to be broken.”
“But it isn’t?” he asks, genuinely.
“I don’t know,” I reply truthfully.
“I think you’d know,” he says.
He’s probably right. I think I know that more happened between Mike and his female colleague than I discovered.
I think my heartbreak was overtaken by betrayal.
And now, I think there’s something new at play that I can’t quite put my finger on.
But I’m so tired it’s not something I’m able to process right now.
Instead, I shake my head at Gus and begin searching the best route to Rome.
“Unfortunately, it’s quickest and cheapest to travel by coach to Naples. Saves us nearly two hours and means no waiting around at the station where it changes. Then from Naples we head into Rome by train. We should be there in about five hours.”
Gus chews on his bottom lip, running a hand through his curls. “That’s a long stretch on public transit.”
“Yes. But do you have a better idea?”
He swallows. “Not really. Not unless we rent a car and drive, of course.”
I shrug. “I still don’t have my licence on me.”
“Fuck. I forgot.”
“What’s the worst that could happen? Are you a big name in Italy?”
He gives me a sardonic look. “We’re an international success, Sara.”
“Alright, Elvis. I’m just saying—”
“I’ve been recognised in Vietnam.”
“Good for you,” I say sardonically. “You’re really famous, I get it, Popstar. Would you like me to shave all your hair off now, so nobody recognises you?”
He shakes his head slowly, clearly horrified by my suggestion and without saying another word rises from the table and heads in the direction of the clothes stores we passed on the way in.
Clearly, I’ve finally rattled him. Our coach is booked and we’re going to gamble with trains being available once we reach Naples.
In the meantime, I find an H her icy blue eyes are the spit of mine as she blinks.
“Don’t go, Mum,” I whisper.
She does that big smile she does. It reminds me so much of Millie. It’s so full of energy and trouble. “It has to be here, darling.”
“No. Mum. Just a little longer.”
But like always, the second we hit the roundabout a switch occurs. Mum is gone and I’m behind the wheel.
And every single time, I find myself on a roundabout with no exits.
“Sara,” a soft voice is nudging me awake.
I sit up fast, taking in my surroundings. It’s bright. I wince. The engine hisses as the coach presses on up a hill. Gus is beside me. In fact, I’m on Gus. Somehow, I’ve managed to get my head into the crook of his neck, and my legs are in his lap.
When the fuck did I do that?
My own body betrays me.
I don’t move right away. Better to give myself a moment to reset. I clench my eyes closed and let the adrenaline wash through my body. I used to imagine all the feelings pouring like liquid out of my fingertips. I try that now.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Gus has one hand on the back of my head, holding me to him, stroking me gently. “Hey. You’re ok.”
“Was I sleep talking?” I ask, eyes still closed.
I feel him nod, his chin pressing into my forehead.
His voice is low as he says, “I woke you before it got bad.”
The fact that he knows it gets bad is horrifying on its own. What has he heard? What has he chosen not to mention? With the panic attack at the start, the sleep talking and now this, he must think I’m insane.
“What did I say?”
“You just kept saying ‘Mum’,” he murmurs.
I groan, slowly untangling myself from him and rolling my head back. Most other passengers on the coach seem to be either sleeping themselves or have headphones on. It doesn’t appear as if anyone cares about my mishap.
Gus rearranges himself too, twisting towards the aisle again. He insisted on me taking the window seat this time. I could’ve leant that way, used my bag as a pillow, but no. I used the popstar as a human mattress.
Great. Good. Just brilliant.
“Sorry,” I say again.
“Stop apologising. It’s fine.”
“It’s embarrassing. I’m nearly thirty,” I whisper-hiss.
Gus leans forward, grabbing a bottle of water we bought at the bus station and offers it to me. I take a sip and hand it back.
“What was she like?” he asks.
“Who? My mum?” Nobody ever asks me about her. I don’t think I’ve spoken about her out loud in years, except for with Dad and my sisters. Gus nods.
“She was… fierce. But funny. And outrageously creative. None of us inherited that from her. I haven’t got an artistic bone in my body; it’s why I like what I do.
It’s structured and clean and I can tidy all the loose threads up into a contract.
Mum was messy and chaotic. A lot like my sisters, I guess. ”
“You miss her,” he says, peeking down at me, his face so close to mine I can feel his breath brushing over my nose.
I nod, swallowing.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but talking about it might help,” he says, his voice muffled so that only I can hear. “What is the dream about?”
I close my eyes again and press my face into the top of his arm. I realise, as soon as I’ve done it, that it’s an intimate gesture, especially when he presses his chin to the top of my head, the light bristle there sending shivers from my scalp racing down my spine.
“She leaves me. We’re driving towards a roundabout. Then, every time we reach it, she disappears and I’m the one driving.”
“Makes sense,” he says.
I sit back, frowning. “No, it’s doesn’t. She leaves me going round and round until I wake up crying. None of that makes sense.”
Gus reaches out and tucks some of my messy, loose hair behind my ear.
He’s so gentle with me, I feel that hardened heart of mine soften, tears building at the back of my eyes.
“You took over, Sara. At least from what you’ve told me.
She leaves, you take the wheel, and you keep on going round and round, right? ”
I swallow the spiky lump in my throat. I hate how it feels like he’s taken a knife to my chest in the most careful and sweet way. It’s entirely contradicting. I want to hate him for it, but maybe he’s onto something.
“I don’t know how to get off.”
“Maybe the exit hasn’t revealed itself to you yet?” he says. “But it will come.”
His eyes are so hooded, I watch as he finally drifts off to sleep himself, head leant back against the chair. Moments later, as the coach turns a tight bend, his body shifts and he ends up leaning his head against my shoulder.
Just as well he’s out for the count as it means he can’t see me furiously wiping tears from my eyes with my new J4S t-shirt.