Chapter 23 Elena
E LENA
It’s five-thirty in the afternoon, the sun has disappeared behind the grey clouds and the chill in the air reaches Elena’s bones. She pulls her knitted jacket tighter around herself and wills the red bars on the outdoor gas heater to be more effective. She wishes she could stand on a chair and stick her face closer to it.
‘You’re cold, babe,’ Christian says. ‘Let’s go inside.’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’
‘Ellie, your teeth are chattering.’ He laughs.
‘I like being near the water.’
Most of the tables on the bar’s balcony are empty. Aside from a couple of old men smoking and playing backgammon, it’s just the two of them braving the cold on the canal bank.
She casts a quick look at the crowd in the bar. Inside, they could be anywhere, but out here it could only be Venice.
She cradles her steaming cup of tea and turns her attention back to the traffic jam of gondolas floating along the narrow canal, the gondoliers ducking as they pass under a low bridge.
‘They’re just about knocking into each other.’ Christian sips his whiskey. ‘Why’s everyone so desperate for a gondola ride anyway? It’s such a cliché.’
She keeps her eyes on the canal. ‘The best way to see Venice is from the water.’
The gondoliers sing ‘That’s Amore’ together, one of Papà’s favourites. The tea warms her aching chest. It’s been a painful day away from Mamma, playing tourist in her own city. While they followed a tour through the Doge’s Palace and the Gallerie dell’Accademia, as they climbed to the top of the clock tower and took selfies from the Rialto Bridge, all she could think about was Mamma and if she’d received the letter from Gayle. Had Mamma’s life been upended while they were being serenaded by the orchestra outside Florian?
On a footbridge a few metres away, a woman with long black hair, wearing a pink chiffon evening gown and holding a white parasol, leans against the railing, while a man nearby takes photos of her on a camera set up on a tripod. Another man stands off to the side, holding her coat. The model poses so naturally, oozing confidence, seemingly oblivious to the cold wind whipping around her or the people who stop to gawk at her. The woman arches her back, tosses her hair over her shoulder, juts out her hips and stares down the barrel of the camera, revelling in her own beauty. It’s hard for Elena to imagine ever feeling this good about herself.
Someone taps Elena on the shoulder and she flinches.
‘Buonasera.’ It’s Padre Alessandro, smiling down at her.
Christian’s out of his seat like a shot, extending his hand and grinning ear to ear. ‘Alessandro! Good to see you, mate. Join us for a drink?’
‘Yes, okay, why not?’ Alessandro says. ‘I am on my way to my parents’ to eat but I can stop for a little drink.’
Christian drags a cane chair from a nearby table and Alessandro sits between them, facing the canal. He gives a shiver and turns to Elena. ‘It’s cold. You would not be more comfortable inside?’
‘She won’t be told,’ Christian replies for her. ‘Can’t keep the Venetian girl away from the water. What can I get you to drink, mate?’
Alessandro requests a beer and Christian heads to the bar.
‘Come inside before you freeze to death,’ Alessandro says to her in Italian, as soon as Christian’s out of earshot. ‘You’re trembling.’
‘I like it out here,’ she insists. ‘Thank you for everything, yesterday. The service you gave for Papà was beautiful.’
Alessandro zips his charcoal puffer jacket all the way up and rubs his hands together. ‘I loved your papà, you know that. It was an honour to celebrate his life.’
She gulps back the tears that spring.
He nods at her cup of tea. ‘Tea? At a bar?’
‘I haven’t had a drink in years.’
‘Why not?’
‘No reason.’
Alessandro gives her a long look before he speaks again. ‘You’ve changed. You used to be so full of opinions, so loud, always the life of the party. We could never shut you up. Now you’re as timid as a mouse, hiding in the corner all of yesterday afternoon. What’s wrong?’
She licks her dry lips. ‘I’m grieving. It’s hardly the time for me to be the life of the party.’
‘No, it’s more than that. What’s happened to you, Elena? You can talk to me.’
She doesn’t trust herself to speak. It’s been a decade since she last spent any time with Alessandro, but growing up, he and Paolo were inseparable. She spent endless days tagging along with them as they played high stakes games of marbles in the narrow streets of Cannaregio and practised kicking goals at the neighbourhood football pitch, and she had a front-row seat to their hijinks and mishaps later on as teens and young men. Alessandro had begun speaking of joining the seminary only months after Paolo died. Two years later, he left for Rome and the priesthood. She’s often wondered if the two things were connected.
She doesn’t have a single friend left in Australia, nobody to notice she’s not herself the way Alessandro has.
‘You’re so thin.’ Alessandro’s concerned eyes almost undo her. ‘Are you getting any help?’
Christian’s walking back towards them with Alessandro’s drink in his hand.
‘I’m okay.’ She makes herself smile. ‘Don’t worry.’
Alessandro rests his hand on hers. ‘I’m here if you need me. Don’t forget that.’
Quickly, she slips her hand away from his. Priest or not, if Christian saw them holding hands, things would turn ugly.
Christian places Alessandro’s beer on the table and waves away any offer of money.
Elena lets the conversation between them about the latest multimillion dollar signing of a Premier League player to Inter Milan wash over her. The model in the pink dress puts on the fur coat, handed to her by the assistant, and the posse crosses the footbridge before disappearing out of view on the other side of the canal.
Elena’s eyes rest on the row of terracotta planter boxes hanging along the bar’s balcony. The splashes of red and white of the potted pansies contrast with the dark water of the canal behind them. The petals dancing in the breeze hypnotise her. She drinks her tea and listens to the chorus of deep voices from the sea of gondoliers passing by, taking in the atmosphere on Papà’s behalf.
She’s pulled back to reality when Alessandro says he has to go.
‘We should head back too, babe. It’s almost dinner time at the hotel.’ Christian stands up.
Alessandro pats Christian’s back and kisses her cheek, holding her tight. ‘You’re not alone,’ he says in her ear. ‘I’m here for you.’
She watches him hurry away with his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, weaving his way through the tourists, and she has to stop herself from running after him and telling him her secrets.
‘Here.’ Christian takes off his trench coat, which is warm from his body heat, and drapes it over her shoulders. It hangs to her ankles, dwarfing her. ‘Let’s get you home.’
He takes her hand and leads her past the crowded shops and the cafes that line the canal, through the streets that take them back to the hotel. Their suite is toasty warm.
‘Babe, I’m wrecked. And you weren’t well this morning, you must be wrecked too.’ Christian walks to the bed. ‘Let’s give your mum’s place a miss tonight.’
‘What? No!’ She shrugs off his coat and follows him. ‘We have to go see her, Christian. It’s why we’re here.’
‘We came here for your dad’s funeral and so you could show me around Venice afterwards. We didn’t come to sit in your mum’s apartment. We’ll see her tomorrow.’ He kisses the top of her head.
It’s final, there’s no point arguing. ‘Pass me your phone, please,’ she says through gritted teeth. ‘She’ll be worried if we just don’t turn up.’
‘I’ll do it.’ He’s already holding the phone to his ear. ‘Anna-Maria! Come stai?’ He’s smiling his best smile. ‘Ellie has a sore stomach ... Yes, sick ... We’ll come tomorrow, okay? ... She’s sleeping ... Okay, see you tomorrow ... Ciao!’ He hangs up. ‘Off the hook.’ He winks at her.
She wants to claw his eyes out.
‘Come on, Ellie, don’t look at me like that. You’re as buggered as I am, admit it. Let’s go down for dinner and have an early night, hey? We both need it.’ He holds the door open for her.
Rocco greets them at the restaurant entrance. It’s packed inside but Elena quickly finds the table where the Dawsons are sitting. The pair of them are easy to spot with their white hair and bright jackets. They couldn’t be more obvious, gawping at her. These two don’t know the meaning of discretion! While Christian’s chatting to Rocco, she gives Gayle a questioning look. Gayle shakes her head with a pitiful expression. Mike gives her a thumbs down.
What the fuck does that mean? What went wrong?
What was she thinking, trusting hapless strangers with something so important? She should have given Mamma the letter herself. What an idiot she was complicating things this way.
Christian slides an arm around her waist, drawing her into his conversation with Rocco.
‘What a shame you don’t want dinner, signora. Can I make you a fresh juice instead for your nausea?’ Rocco says. ‘What would you like? We have everything: apple, orange, pine—’
‘Anything’s fine, thank you.’ Her eyes are still on the Dawsons.
Rocco guides them to a corner table where Gayle and Mike are now hidden by a fern. Christian reaches his arm across the table to hold her hand. ‘You’re the most beautiful woman in the room tonight, Ellie.’ He smiles at her and she smiles back, her heart racing with anything but affection.