Chapter 37
Mum and Dad are standing on the edge of the crowd. Beside them, Griselda looks ready to murder me with nothing but eye contact.
I think about diving off the boat and swimming out into the lagoon, never to be seen again – but then Leo’s there, helping me out on to the fondamenta. His triumphant grin fades the second he sees my face. He hovers at my shoulder as Griselda flies at me.
‘We saved up,’ she says, voice low but shaking. ‘We saved up to come and support you at the science fair and you … and you … ugh!’ Her disgust is plain. ‘How do you think we felt when we got to Florence and you weren’t even there? We were worried sick!’
Remorse claws at me. They came all this way, spent money they didn’t have, and thought I’d gone missing. But Griselda’s tone – sharp, accusing, as if she has the right to stand in for Mum – makes me swallow my apology.
‘Yeah? Well maybe if you stopped acting like my second mum for five minutes, you’d get that I don’t want the same things as you! I didn’t ask you to save up, I didn’t ask you to come – you just decided for me, like always!’
Mum pastes on a smile. ‘Evie, there’s a lady asking for you.’ The phoney voice, plus the way she leans on lady, tells me she means someone well-to-do – and she’s desperate not to make a scene.
It’s Silvia, her expression unreadable as she beckons to Leo and me.
‘The sponsors are waiting to speak to our young artists,’ Silvia tells Mum. ‘But I’ll be back to find somewhere more comfortable for you in a moment.’
I squeeze past the backpacks piled at their feet, Dad’s hand brushing my arm as I do. ‘Did you help make that show, Eves?’ His voice is hushed, almost awed. A tone so rarely used for me, it catches me off guard.
Mum’s polite smile barely wavers as she hisses, ‘Not now, Andy.’
Behind me, Griselda whines, ‘You’re not going to let her get away with this, are you?’
Leo’s eyes flick to the squabbling trio. ‘Are they …?’
‘Yup,’ I mutter. ‘My family.’
He looks stunned. ‘But how—?’
‘I have absolutely no idea.’
I’m only vaguely aware of the cluster of well-dressed adults in a cordoned-off area before Martino Ballarin storms towards us.
‘I cannot believe what I just saw out there.’ His words are thick like he’s spitting mad. ‘Your mother tells me she approved this, but—’
‘Martino Ballarin! What a surprise.’
A bearded man in a dark wool coat lays a hand on his shoulder, and Martino straightens at once.
‘Signor Santi.’ He clasps the man’s hand in both of his, in an over-eager double handshake.
I almost laugh. Martino Ballarin actually reminds me of my mum right now.
‘I must say,’ Signor Santi begins, ‘I didn’t expect your school to be involved with Carnevale, and certainly not with a multimedia art performance. And this is your son, correct? The graffiti artist?’
Martino pales, his perfect voice curdling as he stammers. ‘I— No, I can explain, look, we—’
‘Straordinario!’ Signor Santi exclaims, gesturing towards the lit-up floats.
‘Really extraordinary. Don’t get me wrong, Martino, you know I admire your work.
But success can go to people’s heads. They start thinking their way is the only way.
Whereas you have struck the perfect balance by gifting your expertise and allowing your students to run with it and make it their own. ’
‘I have?’ Martino manages. Then, more forcefully, ‘Yes, I have. It’s important for artists to bring their own vision.
’ A hint of colour seeps back into his face.
He extends an arm to Veronica, who’s been listening with a quiet smile.
‘My wife, Veronica, deserves much of the credit. She was very much at the helm of the project and’ – he clears his throat – ‘ultimately approved the plans.’
Veronica lifts an eyebrow at that but says nothing.
Signor Santi turns to Leo. ‘I’ve been thinking about commissioning a mural for one of my warehouses in the Castello district. Perhaps we could chat next week?’
I have to elbow Leo in the ribs to nudge a ‘Sì, of course!’ out of him.
I’m pretty sure that he, like me, fully expects to wake up and find this is all just a dream.
Our classmates are busy too. Alessandra’s explaining how she achieved a 3D lace effect to a woman in a tailored trench and leather gloves.
Nadia’s convincing a committee member to adopt a more sustainable approach to art.
And further along, Fulvio’s telling anyone who’ll listen that his float would have been ‘spectacular’ if only his tech had fired.
Again, I’d laugh. But knowing I still have to face my family … and the Ballarins … and probably Silvia … snuffs out the impulse.
Another sponsor, a woman this time, joins our group and, to my surprise, reaches for my hand. ‘I’m told you are our international artist.’
I fight the urge to look over my shoulder to check she means me. ‘I’m the exchange student from Scotland,’ I say, aiming for neutral.
Her face lights. ‘Such a beautiful country. I could see it in your performance, and Venice too. Very clever. You know, all through history this city has thrived by embracing other cultures, from its naval trade to its cuisine.’ She smiles warmly, reaching out to Silvia as she rejoins us.
‘We should increase our foreign intake next year.’
‘That’s an excellent idea,’ Silvia says. ‘One I’ve heard echoed by the rest of the committee. But if you’ll excuse Evie, her family are waiting for her. It appears their journey here took’ – she pauses, eyes lingering on me – ‘longer than expected.’
I drop my gaze. I still can’t believe they spent all that money to go to Florence only to find I wasn’t even there. And worse, that I’ve been lying about everything. Not just where I was, but what I’ve been doing too.
Leo rests a hand low on my back, silently asking if I need him. I give my head a tiny shake. ‘I think you’ve probably got some explaining to do too,’ I say.
Our hands meet for a brief, fierce squeeze, then slip apart.
‘I’ll find you after,’ I promise.
His eyes catch mine, holding me there, like he won’t let me wriggle out of it.
And in the back of my mind, the thought I don’t want to touch flares – I have to leave tomorrow.
I take a deep breath, hoping if I fill my lungs enough, I’ll find the words I need to say to my parents.
Apologies I don’t feel. Because the truth is, I don’t regret coming here.
I don’t regret taking a risk on art and my certificate, or twisting the showcase into something new.
And I can’t regret a single step that led me to Rebel. To Leo.