Chapter 89 Elena
E LENA
Elena runs her hand along Papà’s clothes, which line the wardrobe. She buries her face in the sweaters that still smell of him, before pulling out a favourite blue one and putting it on. It dwarfs her.
Mamma comes into the room, holding a cup of Earl Grey. ‘One milk, no sugar. I made one for me too. I took one sip and poured it down the drain. It tastes like water from a hundred-year-old well.’
Elena smiles. ‘Grazie, Mamma.’ She takes the tea and follows Mamma into the lounge, wondering if there’ll ever come a time when she’ll be brave enough to leave the sanctuary of this apartment. It’s hard to imagine it.
She tries not to think about Christian, because it makes her chest tight and her breath catch, but it’s impossible to keep him out of her mind for more than a few seconds at a time.
The news is on the TV. His death made the headlines yesterday, but it was quickly replaced by stories of the acqua alta, the finale of the Venice Rising exhibition, and La Befana. There’s too much going on in San Marco at the moment for the death of an Australian tourist to matter much to Venetians, even if it did happen in a famous hotel under unusual circumstances.
She’s grateful that Mike and Gayle are safe. She owes them so much. She hasn’t made contact with them yet, though. She hasn’t spoken to Sophie either, or to Sophie’s mother. The four of them will carry the trauma of Christian’s death, of Mike’s assault, of the police interrogations, for the rest of their lives on her account. One day, she’ll have to reckon with that. But that day is not today. Reaching out to those who helped her, reading through the police report, dealing with the guilt – that will all come later.
For now, all she’s going to do is sit on this couch in her childhood home, wrapped in the warmth of Papà’s sweater, drink hot tea brewed by Mamma, and watch the happy faces of the children on TV as they show the reporter the stockings they’ve put up near the fireplace for La Befana to leave them gifts this evening.