Chapter 10 Rosie – Day 2
Rosie tries to match the men’s footsteps. Their long legs stride effortlessly ahead causing her to scurry breathlessly behind them up the hill. The night sky chitters with crickets and a dog barks from somewhere. The temperature has dropped for the first time all day.
‘You ok?’ Theo asks. ‘Not much further to go. There’s a path but we always take this shortcut through the grounds to get to the village.’
‘Fine,’ she pants. The porcini mushroom risotto she ate rolls in her stomach.
Luke leans against a tree, pausing for them to catch him up.
He was the one to suggest they go for a nightcap after knocking back most of a bottle of red wine with dinner.
There’s nothing wrong with him letting his hair down on holiday, she reminds herself.
But there is something about his energy tonight that is different to the first night.
Fenna huffed about being left on baby duty.
Rosie threw her a well-meaning smile, but she didn’t catch it.
Marianne, on the other hand, looked pleased when the brothers said they were going for a drink.
She practically ushered them away from the dinner table before they had finished their last mouthful.
Rosie worries she’s imposing but Theo promised she isn’t.
The torch on Luke’s phone zig zags as he steps forward, swaying slightly.
The ‘grounds’ they are walking through are more like a wood than a garden.
A stretch of dark, evergreen-filled land between their holiday house and the small village centre.
A gnarled wooden handrail guides the way up deep stone steps.
There is little light through the leafy canopy above their heads. She reaches for Theo’s hand.
As they emerge from the winding woodland path, Rosie catches her breath and tries to get her bearings.
The taxi drove them through the village when they arrived two days ago and it wasn’t exactly heaving with life then, but at nighttime it’s even emptier.
Uninviting sleepy corners are hidden down dimly lit lanes.
An imposing red brick church peers over the marketplace .
. . or at least what remains of a marketplace.
A couple of locked-up shops are plastered with faded posters for a circus that passed through two years ago, another board says ‘Vendesi’, and a tatty metal sign points the way to ‘Lago Parrocchetto’.
The trio walk down the deserted main street, past a cafe and a circular grey stone water fountain that’s long dried up.
Television sets blare from behind half-closed shutters.
A skinny tabby cat prowls by. They wander past a bus stop with a large noticeboard full of posters and timetables.
Tiny metal birds are sitting on the top of the bus shelter. Green parakeets.
Luke tears something off the board. ‘Whoops.’
A sheet of A4 paper flutters to the ground.
‘Luke, man. Don’t be like that,’ Theo snaps.
The paper rests in the gutter, near a dusty drain cover. Rosie tries to see what’s going on, but Theo blocks her view of what his brother has torn from the board.
‘What? My hand slipped.’ Luke holds up his hands in defence and walks backwards a few steps.
Theo makes a noise between his lips. He picks up the crumpled poster and tacks it back onto the bulletin board as Luke carries on walking up the street, veering into the empty road, muttering to himself.
Rosie glances at the board and spots which poster caused this reaction.
It’s hanging slightly haphazardly compared to the other pieces of paper.
She blinks.
A young woman in a school uniform smiles back.
Her ash-blonde hair with a strip of unforgiving roots hangs in a sheet around her slender face.
She’s wearing silver hoop earrings and has a bright, toothy smile.
Alongside the photograph is a blur of text.
It’s all written in Italian, but she can guess what it says.
An appeal for information; fifteen years on.
A local phone number is printed in bold at the bottom.
‘I think that was an accident,’ Theo says to Rosie, a flash of embarrassment on his face.
Rosie doesn’t know what to say. It didn’t look like an accident.
‘Come on. Let’s make sure he doesn’t get into any more trouble,’ Theo says, rolling his eyes, leading her away.
***
Luke has made it to a bar at the top end of the town.
It looks like someone’s house; the sand-blasted bricks are worn and tired, and an amber glow spills from the windows.
A couple of round, wrought-iron tables and plastic chairs are laid out on a driveway.
Inside the bar is a small shop selling pastel-coloured gelato from a chest freezer and packets of cigarettes lined up like dominoes.
There is a smell of spilt beer, sweat and stale smoke.
There’s no music. It isn’t like any bar she’s been to on holiday before.
Drinkers pause their conversations and glare at them. Rosie tells herself it’s their English voices, but she realises that no one is looking at her. It’s the two brothers they’re staring at.
‘Is there a problem?’ Rosie whispers to Theo.
‘God, what is wrong with these people?’ Luke cuts in, slurring his words. ‘Xenophobes, the lot of them.’
‘Luke,’ Theo chides.
‘None of them can understand English; I can say what I want.’
‘Please ignore my brother,’ Theo says to Rosie, rubbing her hand with his. ‘The locals are still, for some reason, pissed off that Mum and Dad bought the house back in the day. They think it should be owned by Italians.’
‘They loved tourists when it made them money. Since the businesses at the lake closed down – which has nothing to do with us, by the way – they treat us like we’re the problem.’ Luke shakes his head. ‘These people think they know everything about us.’
If they know the locals don’t like them, why did they come here?
Theo reads her mind. ‘It’s the only bar in the village. Desperate times and all that.’
‘You can say that again.’ Luke pops a piece of gum into his mouth.
Chairs scrape across the scuffed stone floor. The other drinkers peel their eyes from the trio and their conversations slowly pick up again.
Luke calls over the barman, ordering in English. ‘Two pints of lager . . . and?’ He turns to Rosie.
‘Erm, a glass of vino rosso, please.’
The barman nods. His face is on the wrong side of friendly.
The three of them take their drinks and sit at one of the outside tables. The air isn’t much cooler, but there’s fewer people to stare at them.
‘Thanks for the drink,’ Rosie says, lifting her glass from the sticky tabletop.
‘No problem.’ Luke has gulped half of his, wiping the frothy moustache from his upper lip.
‘So, how’s work?’ Theo asks his brother.
Luke launches into a long-winded story about how he decided to quit his steady office job in order to start his own recruitment consultancy, and how much he’s expecting to make in the first year.
‘Isn’t that the new girl? Carla?’ Theo says, nodding at two young women when Luke finally pauses for air. Rosie turns to see Carla wave shyly at them. Her friend leans over and whispers something in her ear. She giggles.
‘Anyone want another?’ Luke asks, standing up and finishing his pint.
Rosie shakes her head.
‘I’m good, thanks,’ Theo replies, swatting away a mosquito.
‘Lightweights,’ Luke says as he wanders off towards the bar, stumbling into a table on the way.
‘God, sorry about him.’ Theo groans.
‘What was that about before? With the poster?’ Rosie asks, dropping her voice. Danielle Dixon’s young face leaps to the front of her mind.
‘Luke’s under pressure juggling his new job and the baby and stuff. Maybe he needs to let off steam.’
‘Yeah, maybe . . .’
Theo picks up his pint. ‘That’s Luke’s sense of humour.
He pretends like everything is a big joke.
It’s all masking. He was here that summer when everyone was searching for Danielle.
Mum’s told me before that she felt completely helpless.
I guess this is his way of dealing with those tough memories. ’
‘Fenna said you were away when Danielle disappeared?’
‘Yeah, I was playing football in Croatia; competing, trying to get spotted out there. I’d completely forgotten the anniversary was around this time of year. I hope it hasn’t put you off being here,’ he says with a sheepish grin.
She leans over to kiss him. ‘It’ll take more than that.’
‘Phew.’ He smiles.
Rosie looks at Luke through the doorway. He’s standing at the bar. One of his shirt buttons has come undone. Carla is laughing at whatever he’s saying, her eyes fixed on him as one hand wraps a dark strand of her hair around her slender fingers. Over and over.
‘I didn’t know he spoke Italian,’ Rosie says, overhearing their chat.
‘Non è bravo quanto me,’ Theo purrs.
‘What? You speak it too? What does that mean?’
‘It means he likes to show off. We both know a little, though I’ve forgotten most of it. He’s probably chatting nonsense. The booze makes him think he’s bilingual but he’s not.’ He pulls her closer, running his lips across her bare shoulder. The sensation makes her tingle. ‘Dov’è il mio astuccio?’
‘That’s pretty sexy,’ she whispers into his ear. ‘What does it mean?’
‘Where is my pencil case?’ he breathes, trying to keep a straight face.
She laughs.
‘Oi, Theo. You got cash on you?’ Luke yells from inside the bar, ruining the moment. He’s oblivious to the looks he receives from the other drinkers.
‘Hang on.’ Theo gets to his feet, planting a firm kiss on Rosie’s head.
She pulls her phone out once she’s alone.
She can’t shake the feeling that Theo was making excuses for his brother’s strange behaviour.
Why did Luke really tear down that appeal poster?
She types Danielle’s name into Google. A list of English and Italian news sites pop up. She clicks on the most recent article.
MISSING SCHOOLGIRL’S GRIEVING FAMILY STILL SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS
The mother of missing schoolgirl Danielle Dixon urges people not to forget about her daughter, fifteen years on . . .
She jumps when a heavy hand presses down on her shoulder and flinches at the sting of her sunburn being touched.
‘You ok? I was calling you for ages,’ Theo says.
She quickly turns her phone face down. ‘Oh? Sorry, I was checking the weather. Everything ok?’
‘You ready to head back? I’m not sure I can handle another.’
‘Sure. Let me nip to the loo. I’ll be right with you,’ she says, relieved that he’s happy to call it a night.
Before she can get to her feet, an older man strides over to the table and slaps Theo on the back. ‘How the devil are you? Long time no see.’
Theo leaps to his feet. ‘Hello, Uncle Richard.’
They embrace in a bear hug.
‘And who’s this?’ Richard leans over and takes Rosie’s hand.
‘I’m Rosie,’ she says, trying to remain polite despite the man’s clammy hand gripping hers too tightly. This must be the family friend that Marianne mentioned.
‘Ah, yes. Theo’s mother said he was bringing a date. Welcome.’ Richard chuckles. He looks like a bald Father Christmas with a sizeable belly, ruddy round cheeks and a deep, warm laugh. ‘Is Luke out, too?’
Theo glances around and Richard follows his gaze.
‘Of course your brother’s propping the bar up. Who’s that he’s with? I think I recognise her . . .’
‘Carla. She works for Mum. Luke launched himself into the poor girl’s night out with her friend.’
Richard pulls out a chair, shaking his head with a smile. ‘So how long are you here, Theo? You didn’t reply to my last email.’
‘I know, I’ve been busy, sorry.’
Rosie politely excuses herself, leaving the two men to catch up.
On her way back from the bathroom, Rosie walks past the entrance to a narrow alleyway that runs down the side of the bar. There’s a couple sharing a cigarette in the darkness. Luke’s booming laugh makes her stop and take a better look.
He’s leaning against a rough granite wall, near a stack of metal beer barrels and a heavy-duty black bin, talking to Carla. He stubs a cigarette against the bricks.
There’s a tinkle of a flirty giggle. Rosie’s sure she hears Theo call her name but she can’t tear herself away. Luke takes an unsteady step forward. She watches as he trails one hand down Carla’s back and uses the other to tip her jaw to his, leaning in for a kiss.