‘I’m sorry I’ve not been good company.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He knocked back his coffee in two mouthfuls. ‘Finish your drink then I will walk you back.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘Okay.’ He looked too defeated to argue.
She tipped back her coffee. ‘Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.’
‘My pleasure.’ He walked her to the door.
‘Goodnight, Gino.’
He kissed her on both cheeks. Like a friend.
‘You do still want to have dinner with me on Saturday, don’t you?’ he said. ‘I’ve booked a table at Da Luca; I thought a sixtieth birthday deserved more than a return trip to the pizzeria.’
‘Of course I do, that would be lovely.’
She stepped outside; the door closed behind her. She stood in the road, fighting the urge to turn back and bang the knocker. To try and explain. But how could she put into words what she couldn’t understand herself? Logically, she knew that nothing Violetta had done was Gino’s fault. She needed time to think, to be alone.
She walked aimlessly for a while. She didn’t want to go back to her uncle’s house and explain why she’d curtailed her evening. And she didn’t fancy fighting through the crowds in the piazza; someone was sure to stop her for a chat. Everyone knew she was back with Gino. How would she explain his absence away?
She wandered through the backstreets, the sound of the rock music becoming progressively louder then quieter as she went up and down steps, ducked and dived under arches and through alleyways. Eventually she looped back to the start of the passageway beside Sant’ Agata’s and out onto the end of the main street. There was no one around, the shops all shuttered hours before. The bar stood deserted, but the tables and chairs were all set out, ready waiting for the revellers to spill in after the last note played. Behind the counter, a bored member of staff played with his phone.
At the top of the street a lone figure stood at the bus stop, a bag slung over her shoulder, a small suitcase by her feet. The last service of the day hadn’t yet come through the village but it seemed strange that someone would be leaving so late in the evening.
As Stella’s footsteps drew nearer, the traveller turned. Her hair shone golden red under the streetlamp’s soft light. Streaks of dark eye makeup were smudged across her cheeks.
‘Amy?’
The girl let out a strangled sob.
‘What’s happened?’ Stella said. ‘Where on earth are you going?’
‘I can’t stay.’ Amy swiped a hand roughly across her tear-stained face.
‘Is it Leo?’ Stella asked.
‘It’s over.’ Amy stared down at the case by her feet. A bra strap poked out of the hastily closed zip.
‘Are you sure? Gino says the way Leo talks about you…’
‘Please don’t.’ Amy pressed her lips together.
The sound of a car approaching caught Stella’s attention, its headlights too bright in the empty street. Behind it came the bus to Sanremo. Amy picked up her case. She put out her other arm. The bus slowed to a halt. The front and middle doors opened. One lone passenger got off.
‘Bye, Stella.’
‘No.’ Stella caught her by the arm. ‘You’re not going anywhere. Not tonight, not like this.’
‘Why do you care where I’m going?’ Amy shook her off. She stepped aboard the bus. ‘Sanremo,per favore.’
Stella stood half in, half out the door. ‘I don’t know why I care, I just do.’
‘Will you either get on or off please,signora.’ The bus driver looked weary. A murmur rose from the passengers, someone tutted.
‘I can’t go back to Fernanda’s,’ Amy said but she made no attempt to move down the bus and sit down.
