2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Rory
We stepped off the plane to a wet and windy London. Carlotta hadn’t spoken to me the entire journey, blaming me because she’d have no friends here. It had been two years since Mia’s passing.
I’d stayed a year longer than planned but couldn’t stomach Ernesto and his temper any longer. Mia’s death had affected him more than it had me, and he’d become unpredictable.
He’d never hurt Carlotta. That was something he’d never do, but the disdain he had for me spilt over almost every day.
Nothing I did was good enough, and as for raising Carlotta, I was doing it all wrong. I’d had it. No longer willing to take the verbal abuse he dished out daily.
While he was on a trip to Sicily, I’d taken the opportunity to run with little more than the clothes on our backs. Carlotta had argued, but there was no way I was staying. How could I leave her behind?
She was the only link to my wife. She was my daughter. She was my life.
We collected the few pieces of luggage we’d brought with us from the baggage carousel. Mainly clothes and a few sentimental pieces I couldn’t bear to be parted from.
As we waited for a taxi, Carlotta’s fingers flew across the screen of her phone, her jaw set, her lips thin.
No doubt cursing me for having torn her from her friends.
Yes, it was a tough decision, but this would be our home now. London.
She would settle in. She had to.
I’d been planning the move for a while and had already secured an apartment and a job.
Carlotta was to attend a private school. While she was feisty and strong-willed, much like her mother, she wouldn’t cope in a state-run school.
I didn’t want to coddle her, but it was important she settle in quickly with as little aggravation as possible.
I’d employed a nanny to ensure she was taken care of after school until I returned home. My work hours were flexible, but she was still only twelve. Far too young to be left alone.
The apartment was in a desirable area of London. Not only did I have family money left to me by my parents, but Mia had also left a substantial amount, knowing if anything happened to her, I’d want to escape from beneath her father’s iron rule.
He’d contested the will. I’d expected nothing less, but in the end, the estate was settled in my and Carlotta’s favour.
The taxi driver, sensing the dark mood in the cab, wisely stayed silent, only speaking when we arrived.
“Nice place. Bet that cost you a bob or two. A couple of celebs live local. Maybe you’ll bump into them.”
“I couldn’t care less.” Carlotta spoke in Italian, but her tone was clear.
“Carlotta,” I said sharply. Tired from the long journey and her mood, I couldn’t help myself, but I instantly regretted my words.
This wasn’t an easy time for either of us.
“Thank you,” I said, appeasing the driver. “We’ll be sure to keep a lookout.”
I tipped him twenty pounds on top of the already exorbitant fare, unloaded our luggage, and dumped it onto the wet pavement.
“I’ve got it from here, thanks. Cheers for the ride,” I said through the open window.
“No problem, mate.”
He drove away, leaving me to endure my daughter’s wrath.
How long until she forgave me? Too fucking long, but what choice did I have?
As soon as we walked through the door, a gasp left Carlotta’s mouth. Her eyes lit up, and she dropped her bag to the floor. She raced to the large window and threw back the sheer curtains, giving her an unimpeded view of Hyde Park.
The view was spectacular and one reason I’d purchased this one over the cheaper option. I’d hoped this would more than make up for uprooting her, and I looked upwards, thanking Mia and all the gods I’d made the right choice.
She turned, threw herself into my arms, and wrapped hers around my waist.
“I love it, Papa. I’m sorry I’ve been so miserable.”
“I know, sweetheart, and I’m sorry we left in a rush.”
“Why did we have to leave without saying goodbye to Nonno? He’ll miss us.”
“It’s a long story, but we needed to move away and start our own lives. Mamma would have wanted it this way.”
How did I explain to a twelve-year-old the reasons we’d had to leave? She loved her Nonno as much as I hated him, but I knew that in time he’d poison her mind against me.
I gave her one last squeeze. “Let’s get you settled in. Then we’ll order in some food.”
I wasn’t a skilled cook, and the nanny I’d employed would prepare dinner for us both during the week.
At weekends, I vowed to spend as much time with her as possible. Maybe we’d go out for a meal, or we could learn to cook together.
Choosing the rooms wasn’t difficult. I’d given my sister, Kate, a generous budget to furnish the place and make it homely.
She’d done a damn fine job. There was no mistaking Carlotta’s room. I’d told Kate what she liked, and she’d decorated the room in lilac, her favourite colour. The furniture was white wood: a bed, a wardrobe, a chest of drawers, and a desk.
My room was masculine but soft at the same time. Muted undertones accented with dark chocolate brown and a splash of teal on the walls. With a duvet to match and many teal-coloured throw cushions on the bed, it looked like a hotel room.
It was perfect.
The last room was bland by comparison, but I doubted it’d get used much. I had no plans to have anyone to visit, but it might do as an office at some point.
We’d need to go shopping to replace the items we’d left in Italy. I’d contact Lucia or Isadora and see if they could ship them to us. It would mean telling them where we were, but I had no choice. No doubt Ernesto’s contacts would have us tracked down within days anyway.
Later that evening, Carlotta settled with little to no fuss. We both agreed the pasta here left a lot to be desired. Not a patch on what we got back in Italy, but we could search out a new place together.
Living in London would be a learning curve for us both and a far cry from Ernesto’s villa just outside Naples, but change had needed to happen, and that meant moving away.
In time, she’d see it was for the best. I only had her best interests at heart.
I kissed her forehead, whispered goodnight, and closed her door quietly. I sank into the soft cushions of the sofa and sighed.
It had been a long day, but relief surged through me. Finally, I could breathe. Finally, I was free from Ernesto’s tyranny and abuse.
I didn’t know how I lasted as long as I had, but it was time to build the new life we’d planned, except Mia wouldn’t be with us.
Two years had passed, and still the weight of her death pressed down, squeezing my heart.
At thirty-eight, the chances of meeting anyone else were slim. Not that I was looking. I had my hands full raising Carlotta in a strange city, a new job, and a new home. I had no time for anything else.
I eventually climbed into bed, closed my eyes, and slept well for the first time since losing Mia. We were safe at last.
“Papa! Where’s my bag?” Carlotta rushed into the kitchen and picked up a homemade blueberry muffin. “I’m going to be late for school.”
How things had changed in the last two months. She’d settled into her school, met some great friends, and while she’d not forgotten her Italian roots, she was becoming more British with each passing day.
She loved going to Starbucks with her friends, shopping trips into town at the weekend, and if I was very much mistaken, she had snagged herself a boyfriend.
The fears I’d harboured had eased, knowing she was happy. Yes, at times, she’d wanted to go back to Italy and visit Nonno, but she understood without asking that things weren’t as good as they could be between me and her grandfather.
“Your bag is in the hall where you abandoned it last night.” The coffee was good this morning, especially drunk from my ‘Best Dad’ mug. She’d bought it for me as a Father’s Day gift. It was my most-prized possession.
She’d been studying with a girlfriend who lived close by. I’d picked her up at nine, and she’d come home, dropped her bag, and headed to her room for a shower before bed.
That girl took after her mother. Not the tidiest person around and was forever losing things, but I wouldn’t have her any other way.
The resemblance to Mia grew with each day, her beauty shining through. No wonder she had a boyfriend. Who wouldn’t want to date the prettiest girl in the school?
Maybe I was biased. She was my daughter after all.
I’d need to vet him, though. I’d become friendly with a few of the mums at the school and would have to do a little digging.
Carlotta dashed past me, shoving the last piece of muffin into her mouth.
“Slow down. You’ll choke.” I took her hands and forced her to stand still while she emptied her mouth.
“Sorry, Papa. I need to go. Ellory is meeting me in about five minutes downstairs. I gotta go.”
I tapped my cheek with my finger, and she placed a crumb-filled kiss on it.
“Eww.” I wiped my cheek. “Have you cleaned your teeth?”
“Papa!” She rolled her eyes.
“Teeth. Now. Ellory will wait for you.”
As much as she tried my patience, I loved spending mornings with her before she headed off to school. My job started late, so I could see her off at eight o’clock on the dot.
At first, I’d walked her to school, but soon enough, she’d insisted she was old enough to walk with her friends. I’d been reluctant initially and had trailed her without her knowledge, making sure she was indeed going to school.
After a week, she sat me down one night after dinner and told me she didn’t need me to do that anymore. She was twelve now and a sensible twelve at that.
So the following day, I kissed her cheek at the door and watched with butterflies in my stomach as she waved at me and headed off down the road, chattering and laughing with a bunch of girls.
It was a tearful morning for me, realising that she was growing up and very soon would be a beautiful, independent young woman, just like her mamma.
I waited in the hallway for her to finish.
“All done?” I handed her the bag.
She nodded.
“Mrs Rogers will be here when you come home. I have a late meeting. I’ve left instructions for her to cook dinner for you, and please, leave some for me.”
“It depends on what it is. If it’s that lasagne she cooks, I make no promises, Papa.”
“Make sure to come straight home too. No hanging around with your boyfriend.”
I dodged away from her, avoiding the light punch aimed at my arm.
“I do not have a boyfriend, Papa.” But the blush on her cheeks told a different story.
“Go on. Ellory is waiting for you.”
I followed her downstairs and to the front door. “Papa, you don’t have to come with me.”
“I’m in my pyjamas, Carlotta. I’m not stepping foot outside the apartment.” Although the temptation was there.
“Hello, Mr T.” Ellory waved vigorously, her smile bright.
I waved and glanced down the street, searching for the potential boyfriend.
There was no one around, and I was about to shut the door when something caught my attention. Not a person or a sound but a feeling of being observed.
I frowned, scanning up and down the road.
I saw nothing, but the feeling persisted. I shivered, took one last look, and closed the door.
I climbed the stairs back to the flat, uneasiness settling in my body. There’d definitely been something there. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but then, I hadn’t known what I was searching for.
It’d soon be time for work, and I pushed whatever it was from my mind.
I showered quickly, dressed in a suit, gave my shoes a brush, and looked at myself in the mirror.
The dark circles beneath my eyes were slowly fading. Two years since Mia had died, and there hadn’t been a night since I hadn’t woken up and reached across the bed hoping to feel her there.
Cold sheets greeted me every time, except when Carlotta had crawled into my bed in the early hours and snuggled into my side, her silent tears staining my T-shirt and pillow.
Thankfully, she did that less now since we’d moved. I sincerely thought the move had helped her, even if it had done nothing to ease the heavy heart I carried each day.
I ran a hand through my hair and tried to tame the wildness. I could do with a haircut, but finding the time was nigh on impossible. What with work and looking after Carlotta, I barely had time.
One last pat down: keys, phone and wallet.
I double locked the door behind me and made my way downstairs. If I hurried, I could make it to the tube in good time for the next train.
I stepped out onto the street, and while it wasn’t as hot a Mediterranean summer in Italy, the sun was doing its best to melt me.
But what was that? A movement to my right.
I turned quickly, but still there was nothing, just some cars, a van, and a motorbike. A Ducati if I wasn’t very much mistaken.
I’d always dreamed of owning a motorbike, but it was never the right time. I got married. Then Carlotta arrived, and it didn’t seem the right thing to do, knowing the dangers involved in riding one.
She’d already lost one parent. She didn’t need to lose another, and to be honest, who needed one in this city when public transport was so easy to come by?
Still, the sensation of being watched persisted.
Fuck, it’d be just my luck for one of Ernesto’s men to have tracked me down. I wouldn’t put it past him. He was an ornery bastard. The many, many messages and calls proved that to the point I’d eventually blocked his number.
He would have hated that, but I knew that Carlotta still kept in touch. How could I deny her access to her nonno?
The feeling subsided the farther I moved away from the flat. Maybe it was nothing to do with me after all. I couldn’t take any chances, though, and vowed to be extra vigilant. By the time I boarded the crowded subway train into the city, I’d forgotten all about it.
It was going to be another long day, but the thought of the tasty lasagne waiting for me when I got home gave me something to look forward to.
It was always the little things that mattered.