Chapter 35
It’s Sunday morning, parade day, and Griselda has already left a message telling me to call her. There’s one from Mum too, ordering me to return Griselda’s call. I toy with the idea of just phoning, ripping the plaster off, but go for a text instead:
Science fair today. Too nervous to chat right now. Call you when it’s over.
Which isn’t a total lie. I am nervous. It was easy to believe in what we were doing when everyone was sketching and arguing and laughing together. Now all I can picture is Martino Ballarin’s face when he sees our new floats. And Veronica’s face. And Silvia’s. And – OK. I feel sick.
The queasiness spikes when I step into the kitchen and find Veronica at the table with Leo and his dad, their voices low and serious as she mentions something about the art being damaged.
My eyes snap to Leo’s. This is it. We’ve been caught. My brain’s already scrambling for … what? An apology? A cover story? Both?
Then I listen more carefully and realize she’s worrying about the workers moving the portraits and the base structures. ‘Remember when the removals people damaged our baby grand? I should be there to keep an eye on things.’
‘But the Palazzo Grassi exhibition finishes today,’ Martino huffs. ‘Carnevale has taken enough time already.’
Leo and I share a panicked look. Not because of a slightly dented piano – I mean, boohoo – but because if Veronica shows up at the studio today, she’ll see exactly what we did yesterday and it’ll be over before we even begin.
‘There is a problem?’ Jacopo appears, dragging his mum’s carrello behind him.
‘Mum’s considering heading to the studio later to supervise the workers,’ Leo says, voice smooth as glass. I’m amazed at how calm he sounds. ‘But Dad wants her to visit an exhibition with him.’
Jacopo nods slowly, like he’s slotting pieces into a puzzle. ‘Vabon. If that’s all it is, I can do it. I’ve been helping out all through Carnevale. It’s often the same crew, and we’re friends now. I can make sure they’re extra careful.’
Veronica hesitates. ‘Are you sure?’
She glances at Martino, who’s stabbing an angry finger at his state-of-the-art coffee machine, grumbling about how temperamental it is.
Jacopo’s mum sweeps in, presses a single button, and the machine bursts into a grind-whirr before dripping espresso into the waiting cup.
‘As I was saying,’ Jacopo goes on, deadpan. ‘Better to have the right person for the job.’
I bite back a grin as, oblivious to Jacopo’s jab, Martino brightens. ‘There, see, Veronica? We are free to go.’
She relents. ‘Fine. But please be careful. And Leonardo, Evie, you go too, and call me if there’s any problem, OK?’
The workers aren’t due until late afternoon and the parade doesn’t kick off until seven, but being in the studio with the floats – the others busy around me – soothes me a little. Approved soothing would be better, obviously, but this stolen, precarious kind will have to do.
I’m in the middle of tweaking an animation loop when I think I hear my phone. I grab it, but the screen is dark and there are no missed calls. I’ve got so used to Griselda calling every five minutes that I’m imagining it now. The silence makes me uneasy.
I try ringing her. Then Mum. Then Dad.
Straight to voicemail, all three.
They’re probably at work, but I can’t concentrate on making my piece feel like me when I’m listening out for my phone. After a moment, I switch it off and shove it deep into my bag. Griselda will see my text and my missed call. She’ll know I tried.
Leo appears, right when I need him – the same way Rebel’s posts always used to land in my inbox at the right time.
‘Hey, guess what?’ He drops on to the bench beside me, smelling faintly of sawdust and turpentine. Most of his changes will happen live at the parade, so after sketching his plan yesterday, he’s spent today helping everyone else with the practical stuff, alongside Jacopo.
‘I’ve been looking at flights,’ he says, out of the blue. ‘There are loads of options. When you’re back in Scotland, I’ll come over all the time. And I’ll visit you wherever you end up studying art, too.’
My toes curl in my boots. He’s really thought about this. About me.
Then reality edges back in. ‘Study art? Yeah – in a parallel universe or something.’
He covers his ears. ‘Not listening.’
I pull his hands away and swat his chest. ‘What about you? Will you keep going with the Ballarin Institute?’
‘After today?’ His eyes stray to where Alessandra is raising her panel so her portrait looks as if it’s wearing the paper-lace dress she’s fitted beneath it. ‘Maybe not.’
My shoulders tense and he kneads them gently. ‘I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t even know if I want to be an artist at all. At least, not as my main job.’
My mouth gapes. ‘What? But you totally could be!’
‘Only because it’s what I’ve been trained for. What I’ve been told I’ll be all my life. I haven’t even let myself think of other options. I love art. I love street art that’s just out there, where people can see it without a ticket. But apart from that … I don’t know.’
I groan. ‘God, this is my fault, isn’t it? If I hadn’t come here—’
‘No!’ Leo tugs me on to his lap and presses his forehead to mine. ‘All this has been a long time coming. For you too. It’s like we had to meet in person to find the courage to be ourselves. Like I already said … it was meant to be.’
I know he means us too. Not just the art. Not just the risk.
‘Ehi, ragazzi,’ Jacopo calls across the room. ‘Save it for the gondola.’
Laughter ripples through the studio, and just like that, the moment is gone – or maybe only paused.
We’re all still making tiny tweaks when the workers show up.
They’re nothing like the clumsy movers Veronica was imagining.
They’re efficient and careful and know exactly what they’re doing.
Jacopo jokes with them in bursts of dialect I have no chance of understanding and gets teased back.
When the boats are set up and ready to move, we trail them to the meeting point at Rio di Cannaregio.
I glance nervously at Leo. ‘Won’t your parents spot the floats before it starts?’
He opens the map on his phone and zooms in.
‘No. Look. We set off from this fondamenta here. The sponsors, with Silvia and my parents, will be waiting there, at the end of the route.’ He points to a bridge around a bend from where we are now.
‘By the time they see us, we’ll already be in the water. ’
I breathe out and force myself to relax.
Then Fulvio turns up.
He doesn’t say anything at first. Just circles the floats, eyes flicking from the spray cans stacked beneath Leo’s portrait to the cables running along mine.
His lip curls. ‘Didn’t come to your senses then?’
When neither of us answers, his gaze slides to me. ‘I don’t know why you’ve let someone like her influence you. You know she’s only here so the school could get the funding.’
‘Don’t talk about her like that,’ Leo snaps. ‘Evie’s here on her own merit. Not sure you can say the same.’
‘Yeah, well … we’ll see about that.’ He stalks off towards his own float, but his words sting, if only for a moment.
Because, yes, my route here wasn’t like theirs.
My life isn’t like theirs. But even if I do end up trudging down the science path – if they’ll still have me without a single InterSTEAM credential – I know I won’t go back to hiding my art.
Not again. Even without my certificate, I won’t be leaving with nothing.
That thought buoys me as the floats line up and the workers step back, everything poised to move.
Then the sharp click of heels on stone makes me turn. Veronica’s there, red hair blazing, phone clutched in one hand.
‘Fulvio just rang about an emergency. Can someone tell me what’s going on?’