‘That’s not an answer.’
Joe coughed softly.
‘This is Joe – my fiancé.’ She slipped her arm through his. ‘We’re just visiting for a day… and one night. We’ve been staying in Sanremo, we’re travelling on to Portofino tomorrow.’
‘Portofino, ooh, very nice. I don’t know why Papà didn’t tell me you’d be here.’
‘He didn’t know. We were just… umm… just passing.’
‘He’ll be so excited to see you. He’s very late opening up today. I rang the shop earlier and he didn’t answer but I’m sure he won’t be long. No, wait a moment, Mirtillo is in his cage, Papà must be here. Maybe he just didn’t hear the phone. He is a little deaf, though he’ll deny it.’
She pushed open the door. A bell jangled. The shop was empty, the counter unmanned.
‘There’s no one here,’ Joe said.
‘I’ll go and look downstairs in the cantina,’ Luisa said. ‘He must be checking on the stock.’
‘Okay, sure.’ Stella looked around. The place seemed larger than she remembered. She couldn’t put her finger on why until she realised it must have expanded through into the small milliner’s shop next door which had stood empty since the war.
A piercing scream cut through the silence. Her cousin’s voice called from the cantina below. ‘Stella, Stella, please help!’
Joe hesitated. Stella brushed past him, clattering down the stairs.
Uncle Domenico lay slumped on the floor, his face grey and racked with pain, Luisa kneeling beside him.
‘He must have fallen getting something from a high shelf.’ Her cousin gestured at a ladder leaning up against the wall. ‘Wait here with him, will you? I’ll run outside and call an ambulance.’
Stella sat down on the floor beside him, hoping her presence wasn’t going to make things worse. Uncle Domenico’s rheumy eyes fluttered. A puzzled look crossed his face.
‘It’s Stella… your niece.’
‘Stella? Little Stella? Is it really you? Am I dreaming? Am I dead?’
Stella couldn’t help laughing. ‘Yes, it’s me, Uncle. And you’re not dead and neither am I! We’re both still here.’
‘Well, help me up then. I can’t lie here all day. I’ve got customers.’
‘You’re not moving. Not until the ambulance arrives. But you’re going to be okay. Everything’s going to be okay.’
It had to be okay. Domenico might have broken a hip or a leg but he wasn’t going to die on her. Not like Papà did. For a moment she was back there: Domenico pumping frantically on Arturo’s chest. The paramedics arriving too late. The look Domenico gave her when all hope was gone.
* * *
Stella handed Luisa the battered canvas holdall. She’d worked quickly to find everything her uncle might need: three pairs of socks, underpants, vests, pyjamas, the razor from the bathroom cabinet, the half-read detective novel by his bed.
‘Thanks, Stella,’ Luisa said. ‘The ambulance should be here soon. Let’s hope there’s not too much traffic on the road to Sanremo.’
Stella bent down. She squeezed Domenico’s dry, bony hand, glad to have this quiet moment alone with her uncle and cousin whilst Joe stood outside, waiting to point the paramedics through the shop and down the stairs.
‘What happened to Arturo – your papà – it wasn’t your fault,’ Domenico murmured.
She shook her head angrily. She knew that wasn’t true.
‘I never blamed you, Stella,’ Luisa added. ‘We were shocked, angry, upset when Uncle Arturo died but it wasn’t your fault, whatever you may think. You might as well blame Gino’s mamma for finding you. You and he were teenagers, having fun like teenagers should.’
‘What I never understood is why Papà hated Gino’s family so much.’ Stella had pondered the schism for years. But she wasn’t going to find the answer to that now. A heavy tread on the floor above, voices calling out. The ambulance was here.
‘I’ll go with him to the hospital,’ Luisa said.
