Chapter 29 Rosie – Day 7
Rosie has come to the church in Laprezia.
It must be around thirty degrees today but she is hit with a refreshingly cold wall of air as she pushes open the door.
The creak of wood against stone heralds her arrival.
The simple brick facade is nothing like the ornate architecture of the cathedral in Siena, but as many weighty confessions hang over the wooden pews, clouded by centuries of deep exhales.
A looming marble Jesus peers down as she pads across the faded tiled floor.
His eyes bore into her. She lets her hands trail across the backs of the benches, looking at the Italian names and dates of the dead etched into small golden plaques.
Her hometown church, the one she would visit every Nativity and Harvest Festival with her school friends, smells like a school hall.
This smells of patchouli and heady floral incense.
She sits in a pew, head bowed, hands clasped together.
Her throat constricts with a rush of emotion as her dad’s face appears in her mind.
His memory is never far during moments of stillness like this.
Her fingers trail the sign of the cross over her chest. She likes the cocoon-like feeling this place is giving her.
The cool, musty air, the sacred stillness.
The events of the past few days wash over her.
Rosie had hoped to have some time alone yesterday, so she’d wandered down to the lower garden knowing she wouldn’t be disturbed. But it was too hot to think. It’s so muggy it’s like the weather has got a hand wrapped around her throat. Choking her.
The collection of crumbling grey stone outhouses, used for cattle back in the day, provided shade.
She’d perched on an old railway sleeper and massaged her temples.
That’s when she saw the lock. It looked to be the right size for the key she’d found in the wild garden the other day.
She’d taken to carrying it with her and drew it from her pocket, putting it in the metal opening.
It fit. She tried to turn it but nothing happened.
That’s when she’d spotted Alba toddling down the garden towards her. Alone.
‘Are you ok, sweetie? Where’s Mummy and Daddy?’ she had asked, her voice naturally turning into a sing-song style, stepping into teacher-mode.
Alba had stared up at her with large eyes.
‘Shall we go back to the house?’
‘Ball.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Ball.’ She’d pointed a pudgy finger at a thorny bush. A small flash of yellow was buried within.
‘Let me try and get it for you.’ She’d pulled the key from the lock and put it back in her pocket. The little girl eyed her curiously.
Underestimating how sharp the prickles were, Rosie had reached into the bush and bit down the flash of pain as she caught her skin. ‘We need to find a stick and then—’
‘ALBA!’
A chorus of panicked cries echoed in the air before Rosie saw Luke speed down the garden, racing towards her.
‘Oh my God, where did you find her?’ He’d panted as he scooped up his daughter. Alba giggled in glee.
‘She was . . .’ Rosie started to stutter.
‘Rosie? I thought you were in bed?’ Theo had emerged behind his brother, looking less out of breath.
‘Thank God you were here.’ Luke placed a firm hand on her sunburnt shoulder, his palm pressing into the blisters. ‘Anything could have happened to her. Did you not hear us calling?’
‘No.’ She’d shaken her head.
Luke carried his daughter towards Fenna, racing from the house, leaving Rosie and Theo alone.
Theo had turned to face her. ‘Be careful.’
A prickle of anxiety had tingled across her hearing Theo repeat the taxi driver’s warning.
Her head pounded from the bright glare of the sun. ‘S-s-sorry?’
‘I mean, this is pretty much a building site down here, babe.’ He’d nodded to the dilapidated stone outhouses. ‘What are you doing this far from the house?’
She’d thought of the key in her pocket. How would she explain that?
‘I must have taken a wrong turn,’ she’d lied.
The church door opens, flooding the atrium with a bright strip of daylight as an elderly couple enter, both making the sign of the cross on their chests.
The sound and light pull her from her thoughts.
Rosie stands, unsure why she’s here. Perhaps it was going to the Duomo in Siena, or maybe she wanted to find some inner peace, but either way, she needs to be making a move.
She absently looks at her phone. Theo will be up soon, wondering where she’s gone. Something catches her eye on the way out. Tucked in one of the alcoves is a large, framed photograph of a pretty blonde schoolgirl. She’s starting to become familiar with this image.
Danielle Dixon.
Under the image is a paragraph of text written in Italian.
Rows of burnt-out tea lights sit on a metal shelf.
Someone has left delicate flowers, the stems poked through a tin vase.
Reedy incense sticks from a bronze holder emit curls of fine, smoky fragrance.
She coughs and the sound echoes. She silently steps forward to light a candle and pulls her phone out to take a photo of the shrine before her.
The click echoes. She forgot to put it on silent.
A male voice comes from behind her. ‘Did you know her?’
She gasps. Her heart thrums.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.’
Rosie recognises him immediately. His distinctive dark wavy hair. He talks in near-perfect English, a seductive lilt to his words.
‘It’s fine.’ Rosie steps past. The policeman’s eyes linger on her.
‘I’m Giovanni, by the way.’
She remembers Theo and Luke’s reaction to him coming to the house.
‘I know.’
He sits at the end of the nearest pew, clasping his tanned hands. Far enough away to show he’s not a threat but close enough so she knows he wants to talk. His broad stature is intimidating but there is something welcoming about his face. Still, she is wary of trusting him.
‘My nonna told me every day that I had to be good as God was watching me.’ Giovanni smiles, seemingly talking to himself.
The tanned skin around his brown eyes creases.
‘She must have meant watching over me, but I took it literally, as young children do, that He was able to see everything I did. I figured He had to sleep so I’d get a break from being observed, but I remembered Jesus, who could step in to take over the role of watching me.
Then, when he needed a break, it was the turn of the Holy Ghost.’ He pulls a face.
‘You can imagine how terrifying that was as a child – to imagine a spirit watching me.’
She thinks of the ghosts that haunt her.
He presses two fingers to his chin, his gaze fixed on Danielle’s smile. ‘Sometimes I tell myself that one day she’ll return and share the incredible adventure she’s been on. Maybe then the town can begin to rebuild the reputation we’ve lost.’
A shuffle of shoes squeaks on the polished floor tiles, followed by a pointed cough from the older couple.
‘But how can a girl disappear? Some think she ran away but her bank account has never been touched. She has never made contact with anyone.’
‘I should be getting back.’ Rosie inches away. She knows first-hand how innocent conversations can quickly spiral with people like him.
‘You didn’t answer my question . . .’ He nods to the shrine. ‘Why did you take a photo? Did you know her?’
Rosie swallows. The cool church air has vanished, replaced with a prickling heat under his intense gaze. ‘No.’
***
Rosie walks away from the church, and quickly puts on her sunglasses as the glare of the sunshine hits her face.
Giovanni has followed her.
‘Scusa, I’d like to talk to you,’ he persists. His forehead is knitted in a frown. She notices the smattering of freckles flecked across his neat nose. She will not allow herself to be swayed by his good looks.
‘I’m sorry, I’m in a rush,’ she says.
‘Listen, please. Be careful of that family, those men in particular,’ Giovanni orders in a low voice.
Be careful.
Despite herself, she stops. ‘The Fraser family?’
‘Si. Please listen to me. I think—’
The jaunty toot of a car horn cuts off what he’s about to say.
‘Hello, Rosie,’ a man’s voice calls.
It’s Gerry. He leans a hairy arm out the driver’s window, his eyes hidden behind mirrored aviator sunglasses.
She steps towards the car and catches her reflection, taking in her perspiring pink face, the wild strands of hair that are coming loose from her hair bobble, and the look of being caught doing something she shouldn’t.
‘Everything ok, Rosie?’ Gerry asks.
‘Fine,’ she says, self-consciously patting down her hair, hoping the heat leaves her cheeks.
Gerry looks Giovanni up and down. ‘Oh, hello, officer.’
‘Buongiorno,’ Giovanni replies. Before he can say anything else, the door to the church opens and the elderly couple come out. They immediately start talking to Giovanni in Italian, turning their backs to the holidaymakers.
‘Lovely day, isn’t it?’ Gerry says to Rosie, with a half smile once they are alone. ‘Where’s Theo?’ He glances around as if his stepson will magically materialise.
‘He’s sleeping. I fancied a walk . . .’ Her heartbeat hasn’t returned to normal.
What did Giovanni mean when he’d told her to be careful of the Fraser men?
‘Hop in. I can drop you back if you like?’ Gerry offers.
She walks to the passenger side and opens the door.
He moves the empty food wrappers from the passenger seat and squishes them into the gap in the door.
‘Whoops, don’t tell Marianne. She’ll kill me.
The doctor told me off for snacking, not good for the old cholesterol apparently, but I’m on my holiday. ’
The clock on the dashboard says it’s eleven o’clock. She’s been out for two hours. They sit in silence for a few seconds as he performs a three-point turn. The car smells of cheesy crisps.
He speaks first. ‘Did Giovanni talk to you?’
She pictures the serious look on the police officer’s face. Be careful.
She shakes her head.
Gerry sighs. ‘I wonder if he’s had any updates on Carla. We’re completely in the dark. I don’t know if we need to advertise her job or if she’s going to turn up. It’s a real headache.’
They’re stuck behind a car that’s got its emergency lights on.
The rhythmic orange flashing isn’t helping her headache.
She wants to turn the air-conditioning up.
Sweat gathers behind her knees. He offers her a mint.
She shakes her head and looks out of the window, coming face to face with Danielle Dixon yet again.
The missing schoolgirl’s face is plastered on a lamppost, placed at eye height for those waiting at the lights. The same smiling photo Rosie saw in the church, except this one is bleached by the sun. Danielle’s blonde hair is now an even lighter shade.
‘The town hasn’t been the same since she disappeared.’ He sighs.
‘August 22nd, 2010 . . .’ she reads the date.
‘We didn’t know anything about it until the next day when we saw the police helicopters.
There was a period, before the attention went on the school teacher, when the locals were majorly pissed off with the negative press and they started to take it out on anyone who was an outsider.
That was why I rigged the house with CCTV, to protect the family.
A way to capture any evidence in case we have the finger pointed at us for anything. ’
‘It sounds pretty stressful.’
‘It was. But nothing like what her family has gone through. They may never discover where her body is and that’s heartbreaking.
However, they’re clutching at straws that something new is going to come up.
I guess you have to admire their tenacity.
I know Marianne would be the same if something happened to her boys. ’
Rosie nods. ‘Where do you think she is?’
‘Me?’ He lets out a loud crunch, breaking his mint in two. ‘The lake. She probably thought she was invincible, like teenagers do, and made some bad choices. The biggest one being to trust her teacher. Who knows where he put her.’
‘Did the police not check the water?’
He nods. ‘Yes, but they’ve never found any sign of her.’
A shiver dances over Rosie’s skin. The pretty girl’s eyes may be faded by the sun, but it’s like she’s looking straight at them.