trentasei
As the lights dimmed and the curtain rose at the Il Camino theatre that Friday night, the audience fell silent.
Lucia watched from the wings stage right, where she had found a private nook behind the folded pleats of the heavy velour drapes. It was comforting, like an embrace with a life-long friend. And that scent of the old theatre permeated every stitch and fibre – Lucia was sure she would come away with the smell clinging to her clothes.
As the stage lights rose and the opening scene of La Locandiera kicked off, she felt as if the worries of the week began to ebb from her and seep away through the painted black floorboards. With her students beside her, her sole focus for the evening was on supporting them.
Thanks to Olivia, Francesco was sitting in the front row and had an excellent vantage point from which to collect footage for the Venezia, Ovunque! project. Knowing this, Lucia smiled into the darkness, releasing her students one by one onto the stage with the arrival of the opening applause.
Even in the darkness of the wings, Alex knew that silhouette. The flick of the long sleek ponytail gathered over one shoulder, those slender legs leaning to the right, the nervous tapping of the left boot.
Alex felt a tingle spread from his wrists to the tips of his fingers. It brought with it a nervous fidgeting energy he couldn’t shake. But he had become used to this, as it was the reaction Lucia had begun to stir in him. Even at the comune , and on that walk home, he had intuitively allowed his footsteps to find a natural rhythm with hers. It felt as if something inside him had tethered itself to Lucia. Like they were connected by some unifying thread known only by the universe.
All he knew for certain was that he wanted to talk to her. And despite the complete inappropriateness of the moment, he felt this was too good an opportunity to pass up on.
So, he approached.
Standing just inches behind Lucia, he could smell the familiar kick of her perfume: a heady mix of vanilla and amber. It was warm and inviting, and it brought with it the sensation of how her hands had clung to his forearms in the school’s lobby. His heart beat a little faster.
He leaned forward slightly and whispered, ‘Lucia . . .’ and she glanced at him. Even in the shadows of the stage wings, he could see her expression of surprise.
In a low voice she said, ‘Yes, Alex?’
‘Are you feeling ok after Monday’s ordeal?’
‘Less rattled. Yes. Grazie .’
‘I . . . uhm. I also wanted to apologise for the other evening. After the comune meeting.’
‘For what, exactly?’
‘For that moment at the door. Sorry. It was inappropriate.’
Clearly, her curiosity had been piqued, because she turned completely to face him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know what came over me. When I caught you. I thought you were going to fall. But then I just felt . . .’
Lucia bit her lower lip.
Did she feel it too?
‘Nothing of any significance happened, Alex.’ She turned back to face the stage once more.
‘Oh. Ok.’ Her neutral tone burst the balloon of his spirits. ‘I still felt compelled to apologise. I hope it didn’t cause any misunderstanding with Francesco.’
Lucia turned again, her head tilted in confusion. She whispered, ‘Francesco?’
‘Because you are together. And I shouldn’t have . . . It was just in the moment . . .’ He was aware he’d started to ramble so he stopped talking.
Lucia had gone quiet, too. Her eyes searched the space between them for clarity. Eventually, she said, ‘You think Francesco and I are . . .?’
Alex nodded. ‘Aren’t you?’
‘Francesco is gay.’
Alex blinked as this sank in, then he felt his confidence return. He hadn’t imagined the clinging hands, the grip on his arms. The way she had risen slightly on her toes to meet him. And while none of it made any sense, there was something completely satisfying about this news. ‘So, you’re not . . .?’
Lucia half giggled. ‘ Definitely not.’
‘I’m still sorry.’
‘ Grazie .’
Searching for anything that might stretch their conversation out further, Alex said, ‘After the show, let me walk you home.’
Lucia shook her head. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘I know, Lucia, but it will be late. Dark. We are going in the same direction.’
She paused for a moment then said, ‘Don’t you have to work?’
‘Once the show is done, I can work from my studio.’
‘What is it that you do exactly?’
A burst of laughter from the audience caused them both to turn to the stage and watch the next part of the scene, in which one of Lucia’s students featured, play out.
‘So, you will join me?’ Alex prompted when it finished.
She turned her head slightly and nodded, her eyes never leaving her students.
After kissing Francesco goodbye, and bidding her students a hearty ‘ Bravissimi !’ and ‘ Buonanotte !’, Lucia and Alex set off for Calle del Leone, this time walking companionably side by side.
Tonight the sound of Alex’s footsteps offered her comfort and security, and she was glad that she had accepted his offer – not on account of any fear or concern about being on the streets at night, but rather, because she was curious to feel what his company might be like to share.
As they walked, Alex talked. He explained how he had led the costume department for Olivia’s production at Il Camino, and while that was only one job he had, the hours suited him well since most performances were at night.
Just as they came to a stop in front of La Scuola Rosa, Lucia asked, ‘Alex, why do you work at night and sleep through the day?’
His expression flattened a little and his gaze fixed on the pavers. ‘I’ve been programmed this way for the past twenty years.’ There was something very definite about the way he said it that didn’t invite further questions, so Lucia just nodded.
The faint echo of Foscari barking at her from her apartment window drew her attention away from Alex and the moment. ‘I should head inside.’
‘Yes. Go.’
‘ Grazie for your company tonight,’ she said. ‘This new . . .’ She gestured between them. ‘It’s better.’
‘I agree.’ His lips twitched shyly. ‘ Buonanotte , Lucia.’
The pair turned and made their way to their respective doors. In unison they unlocked them, shared a final smile, and disappeared within.
Foscari met Lucia at the landing to her apartment, clearly happy to have her home. He circled her feet as she made her way to the window. Alex’s top windows were all illuminated, and she found a new ease in the fact that she knew he was home. There was something reassuring, she realised, about having him close by. She hadn’t expected to feel this way, but having now turned a corner with Alex, Lucia felt this was a positive step forward for both of them.
She pulled at the silken curtain tassel, allowing the heavy navy fabric to drop into place across the window. After a quick shower, she gave Foscari a gentle kiss goodnight between the ears and crawled into bed.
Her last thought for the night, before she succumbed to much-needed sleep, was the sensation of Alex’s breath caressing the back of her neck in the darkness of the wings of Il Camino.
That felt good . . .
Just after midnight, Lucia was woken by the sound of Foscari scratching at the wooden landing by the stairs. At first, Lucia thought she had been dreaming it, but the noise soon progressed to distressed growling. Lucia sat upright in bed and tapped the covers to coax Foscari back to her side.
Unusually, Foscari ignored her invitation and began pacing the first rung of the staircase.
‘ Che c’è, amorino ?’ Lucia pulled herself from the bed and walked to where Foscari was now crouched low on all fours, growling and yipping in the direction of the lower floors.
Suddenly, Lucia heard what she thought sounded like metal on glass.
Tink. Tink.
Collecting Foscari in her arms, she strained to listen more closely.
Tink. Crack. Smash.
The faint echo of glass hitting wood caused the skin across her scalp to prickle.
Someone was downstairs.
Eyes darting to and fro, Lucia realised she was trapped; she had nowhere to go, and no way to lock out whoever it was in the school below.
Then came the sound of footsteps; purposely quiet, treading slowly.
Foscari jumped from her arms and sought refuge on the window seat behind her.
Lucia crept to the kitchen as quietly as she could and collected her large meat mallet. Tiptoeing back to the landing, she heard the sound of whoever it was ascending the stairs.
Her heart pounded with such ferocity that she could feel the reverberation in her fingers, which were tightly wound around the mallet’s handle.
What she wanted to do was scream, but paralysing fear had stolen her voice. All she could do was pin herself to the wall beside the landing, mallet raised defensively, and wait to strike. She tried to keep as still as possible, but her trembling hands betrayed her.
Just wait . . . No! Wait for what?
From somewhere deep within, a courageous force gripped Lucia and pushed her forward.
This was her house.
Her life.
No one was going to terrorise her, no matter how hard they tried.
With the curtains pulled closed, there was little to no light to reveal anything of the intruder beyond their bulky frame. As the person carefully made their way up the stairs to the landing of the second floor, Lucia found her voice.
‘ CHI CAZZO SEI ?!’ she bellowed from the top of the stairs, mallet held high in her grasp.
The intruder – a male, she could deduce from the sound of his breathing – didn’t reply. He simply bounded up the final flight of stairs at full speed, directly towards her. Lucia threw the mallet at him with all her might. While it did hit him and cause him to grunt in pain, all it did was slow him down for a moment.
Lucia began to scream; it boiled in her lungs before exploding from her throat, curdling and rippling through the air. She had never made a sound like that, and it was so profoundly foreign to her that somehow, in the moment, she wondered if it came from someone else.
Now in the apartment, the man lunged at her, but missed. Foscari bolted from the window seat and leaped towards the man, trying to nip the backs of the man’s legs. With a swift flick, the man tossed Foscari, and Lucia heard the moment his little body tumbled against one of the dining chairs.
She screamed again, filled with fear and fury, as the man – who smelled distinctly of cigarette smoke and pine-laced aftershave – pinned her to the ground. Lucia kicked and fought with every fibre of her being, but he was simply too strong for her. After a swift kick to his groin, Lucia bought herself a few seconds to wriggle free from his grasp and stumble to her feet.
The shadowed silhouette of the man also stood up. In the gloom Lucia could make out that he was wearing an all-black half-mask, so all that was visible was the thin line of his lips. These contorted into a devilish grin when he noticed her looking at him.
‘ L’Orfana ,’ he practically hissed, slowly inching his way towards her.
Lucia braced herself for his weight, the force, the sheer magnitude of the man, to hit her. She closed her eyes, knowing what was to come; before it could, however, a deafening cry split the air.
‘Leave her alone!’
Lucia’s eyes flew open, and she dropped to the floor, gasping for air.
There were now two figures thrashing about, and it wasn’t until the second man cried out again that Lucia could process it all.
It was Alex.
‘Get out! GET OUT!’ Alex screamed, the exertion of which caused his voice to crack.
The intruder threw a well-directed punch through the air, catching Alex’s chin, and even in the darkness Lucia could discern the sound of his teeth smashing against one another.
‘Alex!’ she bawled into the abyss.
Another punch, followed by a short, sharp kick.
Alex moaned and Lucia heard him drop onto her bed.
Through the shadows Lucia could make out the figure of the intruder moving towards her again. Then he stopped short, standing over her. ‘ Troia ,’ he jeered, before spitting on Lucia.
The sensation of the warm saliva on her cold clammy skin made her retch. As she gagged, Lucia could just make out the sound of the man retreating down the stairs. Pulling herself up as quickly as she could from the floor, she made her way to the window above Calle del Leone. She pulled away the curtain and opened the window. As if in a trance, she watched the dark figure of the intruder emerge at ground level and disappear up the calle .
She let out a furious cry: for the fight, from the terror, and for Alex.
Alex .
Bolting to the kitchen she hit the lights, and suddenly his contorted frame, curled up on her bed, was visible.
‘ Oddio !’ she wailed. ‘Are you ok?’
Rolling him onto his side, the damage was clear – two split lips, a bloody nose, and a gash across his left eyebrow.
‘Lucia, are you ok?’ he croaked.
She wanted to help, but her hands were quivering so much from the shock that they were no use to her. ‘What has he done to you?’ she cried between sobs.
‘I’m ok. I’ll be alright.’ He dabbed the corner of his mouth where blood was pooling. ‘How are you?’
His usually collected, sensible facade seemed to recede. Perhaps it was the fight, or the bruises. Perhaps it was the low light and ruffled hair which softened him considerably. In any case, Lucia darted to the en suite to fetch her first-aid kit and a wet face washer.
Returning to the main room, Lucia’s breath hitched when she spotted Foscari padding slowly towards her.
‘ Amore ,’ she whispered, and collected him, running her hands over him to check for injuries. ‘ Tutto bene ?’ He pushed his nose into her palm as she patted him. ‘Thank you for waking me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.’ Setting Foscari down on the bed, she collected what she needed for Alex, and returned to his side.
Alex was running his tongue along his teeth, assessing each for chips and cracks. ‘He didn’t hit me hard enough to damage any, thank goodness.’
‘Here,’ she said, taking his face into her left hand while dabbing the drying blood with the washcloth in her right. She felt him flinch under her touch. ‘ Scusami .’
Alex scowled. ‘I should be the one helping you .’
‘I’m not the one bleeding.’
‘Did he . . .?’
Lucia gave a gentle shake of the head. ‘No. And thank you for coming when you did.’
‘I usually wear earplugs when I work. But I had only just taken them out to listen to some music instead. That’s when I heard you scream,’ he said, between wipes and blots. He closed his eyes as she dabbed around the cut above his brow. ‘How deep is it?’
She flicked his curious fingers away. ‘Don’t touch it. It’s just superficial.’
‘ Grazie , Lucia.’
‘ Prego .’
‘Let’s call the carabinieri . File a report. It’s the most important thing to do right now.’
Lucia swallowed then nodded, and began to gently weep. ‘Thank you again.’
The carabinieri came and left within an hour. They took statements from both Alex and Lucia, and suggested Alex might benefit from a medical examination, which he was adamant wasn’t necessary. Before departing, the officers also helped Alex secure the front door with a chipboard panel to replace the smashed glass pane. In the meantime Lucia gave Foscari a proper check over, and despite his treatment at the hands of the intruder, he was moving well and seemed unharmed.
Noting how Lucia’s hands were still shaking, Alex said, ‘I would like to stay here with you tonight. In case he returns.’
Lucia looked down at her simple grey pyjamas, realising that the intruder had torn the pants and separated the lace from the waistline. She didn’t care in the slightest about them, but it was a reminder of what could have been, so she nodded.
Accepting this support and allowing Alex into her private space was a big step for Lucia. But judging by the ease which settled in her belly knowing she wouldn’t be alone for the night, she knew she was ready to trust him. ‘Would you like to . . .?’ She tapped the bed between them.
Alex’s eyes darted across the apartment, as if checking for more appropriate options. ‘No. I won’t sleep. I can just sit here.’
Lucia studied him as he made to sit by the calle -facing window, but noticed him wince in pain as he moved.
‘You’re hurt, Alex, please. Just come and at least sit on the bed.’
Alex looked around the apartment, and conceded. ‘ Grazie .’
Lucia fussed for a moment, gathering things and putting them away before eventually turning off the light and slipping into bed. With obvious apprehension, Alex eventually eased himself down beside her.
Foscari, unsure about their new bedfellow, stayed close by, and every now and then raised his little head to check on Lucia.
‘If you get cold, you can—’
‘ Tranquilla . You should rest now.’ He kicked off his shoes and propped the pillow behind his back. He didn’t join her under the covers; instead, he lay on top of them. His weight pulling down on the bedsheets next to her felt reassuring to Lucia, as if she were being held tightly and securely. ‘Just sleep. Nothing will happen to you.’ He turned off the light on the nightstand by his side of the bed, plunging them once again into darkness.
Lucia, with her limbs balled tightly under the linen, began to weep.
She felt Alex’s hand rest on the covers pulled over her shoulders. ‘It’s ok, Lucia. Let it out. You’ll feel better.’
Lucia nodded into her pillow. ‘ Buonanotte ,’ she sniffed. ‘Please don’t leave until the morning.’
‘I won’t. Sogni d’oro .’
The low dawn glow stole past the edges of the curtains, allowing in enough light to illuminate Lucia’s face as she slept beside Alex. True to his word, he hadn’t slept a wink. Instead, he’d spent the hours absorbing both Lucia and her apartment.
Her kitchen was an eclectic collection of odds and ends, all on display thanks to the open-style shelving. Plastered across her fridge were photos. Even at the three-metre distance from the end of the bed to the kitchen, Alex recognised Francesco and Mariella in some of the newer ones. And then there were some of Foscari as a pup. There was a collection of older photos, too, all with a common theme – Lucia with her parents.
Her small writing desk by the landing had been left neat and tidy, and the freestanding wardrobe to the right which displayed her clothes revealed her preference for understated colours.
In her sleep, Lucia turned on her pillow to face him. He studied her profile and her long, dark lashes. The last of the bruise on her forehead was healing, with only some yellow shadowing remaining.
Despite the awful circumstances which had brought Alex to Lucia’s bed, he did enjoy being there. He felt a sharp little pang of guilt over this realisation and silently berated himself for it.
You’re only here because of what happened. Calm down.
The pair had cleared the air since last Wednesday’s appointment at the comune , and Alex could sense that something inside him had changed. Or perhaps, shifted . He suspected it had something to do with the recently arrived temptation and attraction he felt for her. His mind kept returning to this, looping over and over in unhelpful revolutions and coming to rest on one thing.
Her eyes.
They drew him in time and time again.
With Lucia still and settled beside him, he carefully eased himself off the bed and tiptoed across to the fridge. Up close, he was able to take in the finer details of the photos. They were all taken in Venice, and in a few, Alex even recognised dated versions of the very apartment he was standing in.
Something about the photos suddenly stirred something in his memory. Lucia – it was undoubtedly her, given away by her trademark long black hair, pale face, those eyes – suddenly seemed familiar. He carefully removed one photo from behind its magnet and held it in better light.
Lucia’s father, a tall man with deep-set eyes and broad shoulders, stood next to his wife, Lucia’s mother. Lucia and her mother had clearly been cut from the same cloth: the same fine features, the high cheekbones. But it was Lucia who his attention kept returning to. In these photos, she looked no older than ten, or perhaps eleven. Joy resonated from her beaming smiles; a joy Alex had not seen in Lucia since he’d known her.
Then, with a crashing flood of adrenaline, it clicked.