Chapter 40 Sophie
S OPHIE
‘Did you have a good afternoon?’ Rocco asks Sophie when they finally have a minute to talk after the evening diners have left.
‘I did. I followed the Venice Rising trail around San Marco.’
The installations helped Sophie to stop obsessing about Christian and his terrified-looking partner she’d seen at breakfast this morning. She needs to find a way to communicate with the woman and help her somehow.
Rocco pulls her out of her thoughts. ‘You know, yesterday I thought I don’t want to see any more of this art. Today, I have changed my mind. I am worried I will regret it if I miss it.’ He lays down a fresh tablecloth.
‘Why don’t you come with me to see the ones that light up at night?’ she asks.
He pushes his glasses up his nose and gives her his heart-melting smile. ‘Okay, andiamo!’
Marina walks through from the kitchen. ‘Andiamo where, Rocco? Everywhere will be closed except for the bacari.’ She gives him a pointed look.
‘Eh, relax, Marina. Always so tense.’ Rocco laughs. ‘We are going to see the exhibition, that’s all.’
‘Come with us,’ Sophie offers, hoping Marina will decline.
Marina does. She’s having an early night, she says as she shoos them out of the restaurant. ‘Go, have fun.’
Sophie and Rocco take the rickety lift up to their rooms. The TV blasts from the family’s apartment when Rocco unlocks the door.
Loretta retired early tonight, pleading fatigue. She was awfully quiet in the kitchen today, and she was so pale too. Sophie hopes Loretta isn’t getting sick. Alberto, however, came down to hang out in the kitchen this evening and he was full of the joys of spring, singing his lungs out as if he hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack only days before.
In her suite Sophie reapplies her lipstick, sprays deodorant under her arms and perfume between her boobs (for luck), and slips on her warmest woollen coat in a bright royal blue. She adds a white beanie with a fluffy pompom on top before meeting Rocco out in the hallway again, where the ever-present eyes of the Pope watch them leave, arm in arm.
Outside in the cold, clear night, the shops and cafes are closed and the laneways, still prettily lit up with Christmas lights, are mostly quiet. The first installation that Sophie wants to see is only a few blocks away. Rocco knows the way.
When they come around a corner, Rocco says, ‘Ah, look! Our guests, the doctor and Signora Taylor.’
Sophie’s back stiffens as the couple, both dressed in trench coats, approaches them. Christian smiles at Sophie and gives Rocco a high five. While the men exchange pleasantries, Sophie locks eyes with the woman, whose tiny frame is buried under her coat. The woman looks away.
Sophie keeps watching her. The woman’s make-up is flawless. Her dark pixie cut, huge brown eyes and high cheek bones remind Sophie of a young Audrey Hepburn, and that plaid green and black coat is definitely Burberry. Such beauty and terror wrapped up together.
Christian pulls the woman closer to him while he laughs with Rocco. The woman flinches at his touch, confirming to Sophie that she wasn’t imagining things this morning. They stand in silence, her and the woman, until Rocco and Christian say their goodbyes a minute later.
‘Good to see you again.’ Christian gives Sophie another wide smile.
She makes herself smile back.
‘He is a very nice man,’ Rocco tells her when the couple walks away from them, back towards the hotel. ‘Very smart too, a brain surgeon. He saved Papà’s life on Christmas Day, you know.’
‘What do you mean?’
She hears for the first time the details of Alberto’s cardiac arrest and rescue. She hates that Christian is the hero of the story. Really hates that.
‘But his wife is ... ah, she is strange,’ Rocco says.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘She is Venetian, Elena. We knew her very well many years ago. We did not recognise her this time because she has changed a lot since she left Venice. But she knows us, and she pretended she does not know us. This is strange, eh?’
‘Yeah. I think there’s something bad going on there, Rocco.’
‘She is very thin, yes. Maybe she has an illness?’
‘It’s not that. I don’t get a good feeling from her husband.’
He turns to her, his eyebrows drawn together. ‘The doctor? Why?’
‘Just a feeling I have.’
He nods but doesn’t respond, instead pointing ahead of them. ‘There it is.’
The enormous hologram in the piazza can be clearly seen from over a hundred feet away. Sophie lets the conversation drop for now as she and Rocco stand hypnotised by the illusion, along with dozens of other people.
Rocco puts his mouth close to Sophie’s ear to translate the recording coming through the speakers. When he speaks, his warm breath sends tingles down the back of her neck.
They walk closer to the lit-up Messiah.
‘I hope Mamma does not see this,’ Rocco says.
‘She’d be offended?’
‘It would break her heart.’
‘Because she’s so religious?’
‘Because she’s Venetian.’
‘Ah.’ Sophie nods. ‘My mum would be outraged by it.’
‘Your mother is very religious?’
‘Only since my dad died. Before that we only went to Mass at Christmas. We were more cultural Catholics than anything.’
‘Ha! Cultural Catholics, I like this. Then she changed after your father died?’
‘Yep, she started forcing us to go to Mass. She quoted the Bible to us all the time, telling us we had to repent for our sins. She’s still the same now.’
He tilts his head towards her. ‘You have problems with your mother, eh? I can tell.’
She takes a deep breath. ‘We have our issues.’
‘Do you want to talk to me about it?’
She looks up at his beautiful face, full of kindness. ‘No.’
The water pours and pours from Jesus. The voice reminds Venetians that they’ve been abandoned, left to sink by everyone, even their God. No ark is being built to save them.
God let her family sink too.
She watches the hovering Jesus as memories of her dad fill her mind.
Martin Black was screamingly funny with his imitations and his anecdotes. He was warm and cuddly, and he showered little Sophie and David with affection. They grew up on his lap with his arms around them. He was generous, spoiling them rotten with gifts and treats.
Martin was also musically gifted. He sang and played piano and they all joined in, even her mother. All four of them sang in the car on the long trips when they went on holidays, harmonising together.
Martin was truly wonderful.
Except when he wasn’t.
He wasn’t so wonderful when he beat Penelope to a pulp, more and more regularly as the years went on. He wasn’t wonderful when he tried to kill his entire family, twice.
The first time, they were in the car on the way to a party. It might have been someone’s birthday. Tension had been brewing between Martin and Penelope all morning. Sophie was nine years old by then and had long given up keeping track of what the fights were about. Penelope had worn the wrong clothes, or used the wrong tone, or taken too long doing her hair, or not ironed a shirt well enough, or laughed at something on television that Martin didn’t find funny. This was one of those mornings. David and Sophie did what they did whenever they knew trouble was coming: they stayed quiet and kept out of Martin’s way.
The drive began peacefully enough even though it definitely wasn’t the sort of drive where there would be any singing. David and Sophie were too wary to even talk to each other in the back seat.
‘It’s never going to get better,’ Martin declared suddenly. ‘You’re never going to change, and you’ll never make me happy. There’s no point continuing with this life any more.’
Penelope stared out the window.
‘Did you hear me?’ Martin turned to her. ‘I said there’s no point continuing with this life any more.’
‘I heard you,’ Penelope snapped. ‘Good. Now we can get a divorce.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’ His voice was steady.
Martin looked at the children in the rear-view mirror. ‘Sophie, David, you’re better off dead than being raised by a mother who doesn’t respect your father.’
Sophie’s stomach clenched hard.
Martin pressed his foot on the accelerator. The car began to speed up.
‘Daddy, what are you doing?’ Sophie cried above the noise of the revving motor.
The car went faster and faster. Martin weaved in and out of the lanes on the freeway. ‘It’s over!’ he shouted. ‘It’s over! I’m giving us peace from this miserable existence.’
‘No, Daddy!’ Sophie screamed.
‘Daddy, I’m scared!’ David cried.
Penelope turned herself towards Martin. His hands shook on the steering wheel. ‘Darling, my darling!’ Penelope cried. ‘Forgive me. I love you! I love you with all my heart. I love you!’
Their car was flying past all the other cars. Sophie craned her neck to see the speed on the dash. The dial pointed to the maximum, two hundred kilometres per hour. Still, Martin drove like a maniac, changing lanes constantly. Sophie wet her pants, soaked them right through. David vomited all over the back of Martin’s seat.
‘Darling, we’ll start over. I promise it will be better. I love you!’ Penelope’s voice became more and more shrill. ‘I’ll do everything you say. Whatever you want I’ll do it. I’ll never disrespect you again. Please, I love you!’
The car took a sudden swerve into the emergency lane. Martin slammed on the brakes and the car came to an abrupt and screeching stop. Penelope, David and Sophie all screamed as they hurtled forward. Martin dropped his head onto the steering wheel and sobbed like a baby. Penelope cradled him in her arms.
‘I love you,’ they told each other over and over again.
Penelope turned to Sophie and David after what felt like a very long time, looking at them as if she’d only just remembered they were there. ‘Are you okay, you two?’
They nodded mutely.
‘Oh, David, you vomited,’ she groaned.
‘I ... I felt sick,’ David stammered.
‘It’s all right,’ Martin said gently. ‘We’ll go home and you can get changed.’
‘I need to change too,’ Sophie said, scared of their reaction. ‘I’m all wet.’
Penelope shook her head. ‘Daddy was upset but he’d never hurt us, would you, darling?’
‘Of course not!’ The indignation rang through Martin’s voice. ‘You kids overreact to everything.’
The children apologised.
Martin drove them home at a slower than normal speed, showing them what a careful driver he was. He and Penelope held hands the whole way and said kind things to each other.
At home, while David and Sophie changed their clothes, Martin cleaned the inside of the car and Penelope rang her mother to say they’d had car trouble and would be arriving late to the party. Sophie asked if she could have a shower, but Penelope said there wasn’t time. She still smelled like pee, David still smelled like vomit.
They went to the party, they played with their cousins. Everything was normal again. For a while.
The second time Martin tried to kill them was just under a year later. Sophie was ten years old by then.
This time, it was premeditated. First, Martin had their home fitted with security blinds that were key-locked. Then he had deadbolts fitted to all the doors.
One night, after the dishes were washed and dried and put away, and David and Sophie had retreated to their bedrooms, Martin quietly set a pot of boiling oil on fire in the kitchen, then went to the lounge room and lit a cigarette.
It was David who first noticed the smoke. By then, the entire kitchen was in flames. They stood there, the two children, frozen, staring at the fire, uncomprehending.
‘Get away from there!’ Penelope screamed. ‘Quick, run!’
They ran for the front door. It was locked. They ran to the back door. That was locked too. The keys to the doors were missing. Panicked, they dashed to the windows, from room to room, only to realise the steel blinds were also locked and those keys were missing too.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Sophie was beginning to gag.
‘Cover your mouths! Drop low!’ Penelope shouted. She screamed Martin’s name.
The children crawled along the floor after Penelope and found Martin sitting in the far corner of the lounge room, calmly smoking. The fire behind them had spread to the dining room. Sophie could barely see through the smoke.
‘Save us!’ Penelope hugged Martin’s legs. ‘Save us! I’m begging you,’ she spluttered and coughed. ‘Please, I love you!’
‘Please, Daddy!’ Sophie cried.
David collapsed face down on the floor.
‘David’s dying!’ Penelope screamed. ‘I promise I’ll change. I’ll do whatever you want!’
Martin stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray and threw a set of keys on the carpet next to Penelope’s feet. Penelope lunged at them. Covering her mouth, she ran to the front door. She couldn’t stop coughing and neither could Sophie. David was unconscious.
Penelope tried different keys until one finally unlocked the door. ‘Help me!’ she screamed at Sophie.
They dragged David along the floor. He was so incredibly heavy. Sophie’s arms and legs were like jelly, her head swam. It was hard to keep her eyes open; they were raw from the stinging smoke. The fire was only a few metres away from them now and the heat coming off the flames made her face burn.
The sound of sirens blared in the distance. They managed to make it out into the front garden with David.
The neighbours, who had gathered on the footpath, raced to them. ‘We thought you’d all died! Half the roof’s gone.’
David was now alert and coughing up black spit on the ground.
A fire engine came flying up the road to the house and the firemen jumped out. Two firemen ran up the driveway and two more pulled hoses from the truck. ‘Anyone left in the house?’ one of them shouted.
‘No,’ Penelope said.
Sophie looked at her dumbfounded. ‘Daddy’s in there, Mummy!’ she cried. ‘My daddy’s in there!’ she shouted to the men, who ran into the house.
They quickly came out again, with Martin’s arms draped over their shoulders. His head was lolling about, his legs were slack and dragging. They had to resuscitate him.
The house was destroyed but the family survived.
Martin and Penelope made up. They were the happiest they’d ever been after that fire. It was as if something finally clicked between them, and the fights stopped. They moved into a new home and they used the insurance money to fill it with shiny new things.
Exactly three months from the day of the fire, Penelope killed him.
‘Sophie? Sophie?’ There’s a look of concern on Rocco’s face. ‘You are far away, Sophie. What are you thinking about?’
She realises with a start that the hologram has been turned off and the crowd is clearing. ‘I was just thinking about my dad,’ she tells him.
‘What was he like, your father?’
‘Dad?’ She sighs. ‘Dad was wonderful.’