Chapter One

Chapter One

“The cure for anything is salt water �" sweat, tears, or the sea.”

�" Isak Dinesen

I remember I felt free, standing at the rail, face turned into the breeze, bathed in the warm sunlight. My heart lifted. All around me was open blue sky, clear air and the vastness of the sea. The ferry skipped smoothly along unfettered, fluid and serene through the waves, like a gliding shearwater. I hugged my bag to my chest, clinging to the sensation and tried to ignore the bitter aftertaste lingering on my tongue.

Gripping the rail, I looked towards the island, golden cliffs loomed up from the churning sea. I breathed in the promise of a relaxing and indulgent vacation, days spent lazing on the beach, eating my fill of pasta and gelato, of not being scrutinised. The seeming innocence of the island beckoned to me, an outstretched hand and beguiling smile that hid the deception and death that would soon unfold. 

A heated voice drifted up to me from the lower deck. 

“I just need one more week,” a male English voice growled.

There was no reply.

“I told you to trust me,” he whispered angrily. “I’ve got it all under control.”
I assumed he was talking on a phone.

“Just you see I get what I was promised, and not a penny less.”
Another pause.

“You don’t need to worry about that, I’ll take care of it as soon as I’m back on the island.”
He fell silent. Then another man spoke.

“You need to relax,” he said, with a thick Italian accent. “Stress is no good.”

“Shut up,” the Englishman snapped. “What are you doing here anyway?”
I imagined the Italian man shrugging.

“I was visiting Valeria,” he explained. 

“Who’s Valeria? Oh forget about it, I don’t care,” spat the Englishman. 

“So grumpy today. Did you not sleep well?”
“Oh go to Hell!”

The railing below clanged and heavy footfalls stormed off aft. Other footsteps creaked along the deck, the Italian. He jogged up the steps to the upper deck, the rungs ringing. I turned to look over. He was tall with a halo of black curls that bounced in rhythm with his steps. He was dressed in a fitted white suit and a black shirt, a diamond stud twinkling in his earlobe. He sauntered past and smiled at me, an air of mischief in his wry eyes. A lovers’ tiff, I thought. We drew closer to the island, my excitement brimmed and I swiftly forgot all about them. 

The sea was the color of spilled ink as I stepped off the ferry, and though the island welcomed me with sun and salt air, there was a hush beneath it all, as if the rocks themselves were holding their breath. Waves crashed against the hull of the ferry, insistent and impatient, spraying droplets onto the harbour. Overhead gulls screeched and wailed mournfully against the clear blue of the sky. A crown of buildings adorned the rising golden cliffs, bathed in balmy sunshine. The air pulsed with the relaxed hum of car engines snaking up and down the cliff roads. The wind raced and spun, flapping the harbour flag vigorously. I clutched my hat to my head and paused. I wanted to drink it all in, inhaling the briney sea air deep into my lungs, savouring the stark contrast of the land before me to the busy, grey streets of London I had left in the early hours of the morning. Now I had arrived, the anxiety of the journey lifted and I felt light-hearted and easy. The glow of the sun dancing on my skin was a balm to my weary mind. I shut my eyes and leaned into it. 

“Jenny!”
I opened my eyes and smiled. I tripped forward, my free hand waving at Sofia, my old school friend. I dropped my bags and embraced her. My straw hat fell from my head and I laughed. Sofia’s husband, Luca bent to retrieve it for me, beaming at me. The warmth of their welcome banished any lingering ghosts hovering over my shoulders and immediately made me feel at home. Sofia thread her arm through mine, just as she did when we were at school. Luca picked up my bags and led the way to the car. 

Cruising along the coastal road and up the cliff sides, I gazed dreamily out of the window, Sofia chattering away, telling me the latest news on all her family and what she had planned for my visit. I wallowed in the delightful sensation of being far away from home, of being untethered, the feeling that comes with being in a foreign country, that you are somehow no longer controlled by rules, confined in rigid schedules or limited by time; the world is yours and you are free. 

My forehead rested against the glass as the serene sea drifted by, soon merging into sand coloured houses and narrow shadowed alleyways. The car bumped jauntily over the cobbles of the piazza. The church stood stoically silent, its doors shut but people spilled down the steps, unhurriedly watching the bustle and the traffic of the town swirl by. We turned a tight corner and drove upwards, past packed cars and mopeds, beneath balconies strewn with drying laundry. A man stood smoking in his doorway, casually dressed in shorts and a vest. He winked at me and I had to resist smiling. He was old enough to be my father. 

Sofia’s parents were waiting to welcome me. They lived on the ground floor of the apartment building while Sofia and Luca were three floors up. Giuseppe, Sofia’s father, greeted me with his ever warm and friendly smile and we exchanged a few words in English. Maria, his wife, was more reserved but her smile was equally dazzling and she commented in Italian that I changed a lot. We sat in their soggiorno and enjoyed the cool breeze provided by a fan. Maria offered me a coffee and cannoncini. I did not refuse. 

Later, after I had washed off the journey in the shower, we rejoined Giuseppe and Maria for dinner before returning upstairs. Luca lounged on the sofa flicking through the TV channels while Sofia and I reminisced about our school days. It was strange, remembering the past, all our hopes and dreams as we sat now, two grown women with very different lives, Sofia achieving many of her dreams whereas I had barely begun. 

I revealed none of my troubles to Sofia. I did not want to taint this reunion or let the so recent past invade the enjoyment of my holiday. I wanted to forget, erase it all from my mind completely and begin again. And where better to start, than here, thousands of miles away from home. 

But I must confess, laying in my bed, staring up at the high ceiling in the thick darkness, the anguish found me and I cried. It felt inescapable and impossible. Yet if I had known what tomorrow would bring and glimpsed the future to see how the coming days would shrink my own personal worries to mere irritations, my tears perhaps would not have been so desolate.