‘Well, before the . . .post. . . it was ten thousand. Now . . .’ He reached for his phone and opened the app. His eyes widened, again, when he saw the plethora of notifications and messages awaiting him, and he said, ‘Coming up on thirty thousand.’
‘Thirty thousand?!’ Mariella shrieked. ‘People?’
‘Mostly. I suspect we have caught plenty of bots too, though.’
‘Robots?’ Mariella pushed her glasses to the top of her nose. ‘What in the world?’
Francesco shrugged. ‘That’s what happens when you go viral.’
Lucia suddenly realised that the post and the attention it had drawn could perhaps serve another purpose. A more useful one. And dare she think it – somethingpositive? New eyes were looking at her and La Scuola Rosa, and that had the potential to be converted into revenue. ‘It still baffles me.Incredibile.’ She shook her head. ‘And these followers don’t pay anything, do they?’
Francesco tutted. ‘Notyet.’
That was the kind of uncertainty that Lucia liked. It was steeped in potential. ‘How so?’ Lucia asked. Foscari turned himself over in her lap, and Lucia’s hand found his belly. She gave it a scratch, her eyes never leaving Francesco’s screen.
‘We could set up a channel. A private space or website which people pay a fee to access. And we could advertise that on our Instagram profile.’
‘Un abbonamento.’ Lucia’s green eyes seemed to flash with renewed determination. ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘We can choose the terms. The cost. And of course, the content.’
‘What do you mean, content?’ Mariella wiggled forward in her chair to reach for anotherbiscotto. She took two to make it worth her while.
‘What we make and put out there to the world.’ He looked at Lucia. ‘Whateveryouwant to share.’
‘Our Venezia. That’s what I want them to see. The real Venice. Not just the tourist trap it has become. I mean, the backstreets. The darkeningcalli. The pockets of history. The nuanced patches of narratives that together form this wild, untameable city.’
‘Allora, no Zoom lessons?’ Francesco’s eyes squeezed shut as his fingers met in a tight and hopeful steeple at his chest.
‘Not on my watch.’ Lucia smiled. ‘No lessons. Those are for our students. ProjectVenezia,Ovunque!will be different.Ourspecial brand of different.’ She paused for a moment. ‘This isn’t about selling out and becoming a touristy Venetian brand. This is about authenticity and sharing what many people miss. It’s about uncovering the hidden Venice. Onecalleat a time.’
‘Like influencers?’ Francesco asked.
Lucia grimaced. ‘Absolutely not. We are educators. End of.’
Mariella reached across to her notebook which lay by her empty coffee cup. ‘Shall I take notes?’
Lucia nodded. ‘Let’s get started.’
Slowly, Lucia peeled the bandage from her forehead, wincing at the sight of the bruise morphing from red to purple in her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She tossed the bandage into the waste basket and removed her sling for the night, enjoying the range and freedom of movement she now had.
Carefully gathering her long dark hair so as not to hurt her shoulder, she wound it together and tied it in a high topknot, but the usual side wisps managed to escape her grasp and fell loosely by her cheeks.
She changed slowly into her pyjamas – her trusty singlet and loose cotton bottoms.
Hopping into bed, she snuggled down into the pillows beside Foscari, and he raised his head to check on her. ‘Just adjusting,’ she said, smiling. ‘Even you worry about me.’
Foscari whined then yawned, dropping his head to rest on his folded paws out the front.
For the first time in weeks Lucia felt a sense of calm. Perhaps it was assertiveness. But something in her had shifted from panic mode to determination. She knew she could function well and thrive like this. Despite it all.
In her lap sat the ProjectVenezia, Ovunque!plan.
Guided walks: La Scuola Grande di San Rocco, il Gran Teatro La Fenice, l’Arsenale, Lido di Venezia, Murano, Burano, la Chiesa dei Frari, la Scala Contarini del Bovolo, il Ghetto Ebraico . . .
Tours: Il Palazzo Ducale, La Basilica di San Marco, la Chiesa di San Zaccaria, il Museo Peggy Guggenheim, il Campanile di San Marco . . .
All to be recorded and shared on the platform.
