‘No, no, you can’t!’
‘Oh, I can.’ Fernanda smiled.
Stella flicked her hair, trying to look nonchalant. ‘There’s no point speaking to Papà. He won’t take any notice of what you say. He hates you and your family.’
Fernanda winced. For a beautiful moment Stella thought she’d won, that she could turn around and go home and hope her parents never found out. Gino would have to face whatever punishment his mother served up but Stella knew Fernanda was too scared of losing her only child’s love to be angry with him for long. Instead, she’d blame Stella for the whole escapade.
Fernanda laughed, a cruel mocking sound. ‘Good. I am glad. If Arturo hates us, he’ll make sure you stay away from my precious boy.’
Stella had played her cards all wrong. She groped for words, desperately searching for a way out. Fernanda’s bony fingers gripped Stella’s lower arm as she steered her towards home. It was pointless trying to shake her off. Stella had nowhere to run.
Mamma opened the front door. Her hand flew to her face.
‘Go!’ Mamma hissed. ‘Please, Fernanda, go before Arturo sees you.’
It was too late. Papà lumbered into the hall, yawning as though he’d just woken up from a doze. His trousers were held up by braces and his sleeveless white vest was splattered with spaghetti sauce. Stella couldn’t help wishing he looked more dignified.
Fernanda launched into a tirade. Papà frowned, trying to grasp everything she was trying to say. Stella couldn’t follow it all either but she couldn’t mistake the list of crimes: joyriding, theft, fornication, corrupting an innocent boy.
‘I didn’t…’ Stella began.
‘I told you not to see that boy,’ Papà said quietly. ‘As for you, Fernanda, I’ve heard enough, you can go.’ He ushered her out into the street.
Papà waited until the door was firmly shut. Then he began to yell. Never had Stella seen her father like this, waving his arms, shouting, eyes bulging. She could hardly make sense of what he was saying. Her younger brother and sister, who had been loitering wide-eyed and silent at the top of the stairs, had the sense to make themselves scarce.
‘You defied me! What do you have to say for yourself?’ he raged.
‘I love him!’ Stella wept.
‘Love him? You don’t know the meaning of the word, you silly girl.’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Don’t answer me back.’ Papà raised his hand. Stella reeled back, whacking her hip on the edge of the hall table.
‘Arturo!’ Mamma’s voice was shocked.
‘I wasn’t going to hit her.’ Papà stood looking at his palm as if not sure what he’d been planning to do with it. Seizing her opportunity, Stella ran up the stairs two at a time.
‘I haven’t finished with you yet!’ Papà yelled.
Stella burst into the bedroom she and Marta shared. Marta fell backwards against the wardrobe, she’d obviously been listening at the door. Stella grabbed one end of the blanket box but it was too late to barricade themselves in. Papà burst into the room.
‘Stella!’ Papà panted, his face red.
‘Get away from me!’ Stella screamed.
‘I told you…’ Papà stopped abruptly. His face contorted. He slapped one hand to his chest, grabbing at the bed’s headboard with the other, doubled up in pain.
‘Papà?’ Stella said.
Papà gave a strange groan. His body seemed to crumple. Marta screamed. The bed broke his fall.
Stella stumbled onto the landing. ‘Mamma, come quickly.’
‘Stella, call an ambulance!’ Marta yelled.
Mamma burst out of the kitchen screeching: ‘I’m coming!’
