Ginny let herself into the house with a flip of relief. Her last exam finished. The farce was over. Zippedy zebras …
‘Darling?’ Her mother was in the kitchen. What Ginny didn’t understand was why her mother hadn’t been looking for another job. What was she going to do? Parents had to work, didn’t they, otherwise where would all the money come from?
‘Hi.’ Things hadn’t quite got back to normal since the argument between them. It was difficult to know how to be afterwards. Did you pretend nothing had happened? Did you say you were sorry? Or did you sulk for a while to make a point? Sometimes Ginny was just so desperate to reach out to her mother – it had always been so easy before, but now the Ball seemed to pull her back just as she wanted to go forward.
‘How did it go?’ Her mother had opted not to discuss their row at all. She was sitting at the kitchen table. Spread in front of her was a map.
‘OK.’ Actually Ginny had hardly written a thing. The only way, she thought, of avoiding uni and psychology, was not to compete. And it had been surprisingly simple to just sit there, doodling, letting that part of her brain switch right off. It was surreal – almost other-worldly. As if she were
somewhere quite different. What did any of it matter? Inside her, the Ball rumbled agreement.
What did any of it matter?
‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ Her mother got to her feet.
‘OK.’
As well as not discussing their row, her mother was doing something else lately – this hovering thing, like Ginny was too delicate to touch, too volatile to speak to, on the edge. Ginny hated it. It made her want to jump right off.
‘So – out celebrating tonight then?’ her mother said in a false cheery tone. ‘End of exams … Free at last!’
‘Maybe.’ Ginny didn’t know if she could be bothered, though it was true that quite a few of them would be out and about. Becca would be there for a start. But Becca would be with Harry and Ginny knew how she would be.
She couldn’t deny it, she felt totally derailed by Becca’s obsession with Harry. One minute she had a best friend around all the time and the next, she was never available. As for the Ball … Flunking her exams had not made any difference to the size of It. If anything, it had grown more confident, taxiing round inside her at all hours of the day like A Thing Possessed. (Which was also ironic, when you came to think about it.)
Her mother put a mug of tea on the table in front of her. ‘How’s Ben?’ she asked carefully.
Oh, shit. ‘All right.’ And that was another thing …
Why were relationships all about the balance of power?
Take Ben. In the beginning, he’d had it. Ginny hadn’t known what to do. Then they’d had sex and she knew – just
knew – she was in charge. He wanted her – all the time. It was great, exhilarating – not the sex, but being so wanted. Even the Ball kept quiet during sex; it was afterwards it would start screaming.
‘Now that your exams have finished,’ her mother was saying in that bright voice, ‘you’ll have to think about what to do next.’
Ginny scowled at her. ‘You mean, like today?’
Her mother took a deep breath. ‘No … But soon.’
Ginny sat down abruptly. ‘I told you. I want to go travelling.’
‘Then you’ll need money.’ Her mother’s voice was also kind of brisker than normal. Like she’d decided to stop being nice.
Ginny groaned.
‘You’ll have to get a job.’
Ginny pulled a face. Why were parents always so negative? They could never bring themselves to simply say – enjoy …! ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I’m not stupid.’ Work would be better than studying psychology. It had to be.
‘And you’re sure you won’t change your mind about coming to Sicily?’ Her mother jabbed a finger at the map on the table. ‘We’d have such a lovely time.’
Ginny wouldn’t even give her the satisfaction of looking. ‘No way, José.’
‘OK.’ Her mother shrugged and folded up the map. ‘I’m only going for a few weeks,’ she added. ‘A month at the most. Or two.’
‘A month or two?’ Ginny stared at her. So she could afford to swan off to Sicily for a whole month – or two – and yet here she was bleating on about Ginny needing a job. Honestly. And what about Ginny? What was she supposed to do while her mother was in Sicily? Again. She swallowed.
Her mother put out a tentative hand. ‘Is everything all right, darling?’ she said. ‘Ben …?’
Ben was no longer scared. And although he still wanted her – they had sex all the time – it had lost its urgency, and Ginny had lost the power. Just like that. In fact she’d go as far as to say that he took her for granted. And worse, she’d realised that not only was she derailed – because of Becca and the whole exams/uni/psychology thing – she was also bored. Bored out of her mind. And hating just about everything – including herself.
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘If you don’t want me to go,’ her mother said, ‘I won’t.’
But clearly she wanted to. ‘Go to Sicily,’ Ginny said. ‘I’ll be all right.’
She felt deserted. Left in limbo. Bereft.
What about me?
she wanted to wail. She swallowed again. It was painful.
‘Nonna wants you to stay with her and Pops,’ her mother said brightly. ‘It would be a bit like a holiday.’
Ginny snorted. They only lived three roads away. But … ‘OK,’ she said. And then she got up to go to her room because suddenly the Ball was making her head ache and she wanted to cry – again.
Upstairs, she put on her iPod and scrunched up her eyes.
She saw a birthday cake with candles and she could hear people laughing. It was her thirteenth birthday party; just the four of them – Ginny, her mum, Nonna and Pops. Her family.
Nonna had made the cake – as usual – but the night before, Mum had iced it, complete with the chocolate buttons and hundreds and thousands Ginny asked for every year.
Pops produced a bottle of champagne from the fridge. ‘Da-daa!’ He grinned and shook it up a bit.
Mum and Nonna backed away, shrieking in unison and Ginny giggled. Pops eased off the cork. Mum, Ginny and Nonna clutched each other by the arm, waiting for the explosion.
Whack! The cork cannoned out in a rush of air and ricocheted from the ceiling. Mum and Nonna shrieked again.
‘Glasses!’ shouted Pops, as the liquid frothed from the lip of the bottle.
Mum grabbed them and held them steady so he could pour. She raised an eyebrow at Ginny.
Happy birthday
, she mouthed.
‘Thirteen,’ Pops mused. ‘Now your life really begins, my lovely.’
Ginny watched the champagne fizz up the glass like a promise.
‘To Ginny.’ Her mother handed Ginny a glass and raised her own.
‘To Ginny,’ they echoed. Family.
‘You’re a teenager now.’ Mum’s hair was as tousled as ever,
but she was wearing a new pink lipstick. She moved around the table lighting the thin waxy candles – blue, pink, white and yellow until the chocolate cake with cream-frosted icing was a beacon of flames.
Ginny looked at the chocolate buttons and the hundreds and thousands and the thirteen candles burning. She felt a weird dip inside. She thought about her life ahead – school, university, career and the biggie – True Love. It was exciting – but scary. She looked from one to the other of them. Pops beaming, Nonna smiling her encouragement, Mum’s face flushed and proud. And she thought of what she was leaving behind – childhood, she supposed. Safety. Ginny gulped the champagne which tasted dry and unfamiliar on her tongue.
‘Now, the world is your lobster,’ Nonna pronounced.
Ginny glanced at her mother. Her lips were twitching. Ginny felt the giggles rising up in her like the bubbles of champagne. She caught her mother’s eye. They spluttered with laughter, bending double, Mum practically in tears and having to put her glass down on the table.
‘And what is so funny?’ Nonna’s hands were on her hips, her eyes fierce and her tone indignant.
‘Nothing, Muma,’ said Tess.
‘Nothing, Nonna,’ said Ginny.
But they both started laughing again anyhow. Until Nonna sighed loudly and Pops said, ‘Oyster, my lovely. The world is your oyster.’
And by now Ginny wasn’t even sure what was so funny, but it was anyway.
‘Group hug,’ said her mother, drawing them into a circle and clearly struggling for control. ‘Time to sing.’ The candles were burning down and spluttering wax on to the frosted icing.
‘
Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you
.’ Their voices rose: Nonna melodious and throaty, Pops a deep tenor, Mum clear and confident. ‘
Happy birthday, darling Ginny
…’
Mum was holding her hand now. ‘Blow out the candles, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘Make a wish.’
Ginny took a deep breath and blew. She wished that she would soon know what it was all about – Life. And she wished that nothing would change.
Everyone clapped and cheered. Nonna produced the knife to cut the cake, Pops poured more champagne, Mum touched her hair, very lightly.
All that mattered was family …
And that was what she had lost, Ginny thought now. She flicked on to the next track on shuffle and she thought of Nonna and Pops, of the food Nonna cooked and how the house was always warm and homely and made her feel safe. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. And besides … It would be far, far easier to avoid the whole work and university issue – not to mention what happened when the results came through … if her mother wasn’t actually here.
By the time Tess got back to Cetaria, the season had already taken off in Sicily. The hotels seemed full, bars and restaurants were overflowing and holiday traffic streamed down the
strada
.
But Cetaria was sufficiently off the beaten track to escape mass tourism, and the
baglio
and bay seemed unchanged to Tess as she drove the hire car into the village early Wednesday evening. The sun was low but still warm, casting its honey glow on to the rippling water in the bay. And in the distance, on the hills, a different, pinkish light was filtering between the tapering spires of the cypress trees.
Tess drove towards via Margherita, the side street that led to Villa Sirena, winding down the car window to sniff the scents of evening cooking wafting through the narrow streets; sweet caramelised onions and tomatoes, fragrant herbs – oregano and basil – roasting meat. Aware of the rush of anticipation inside her.
She drew level to the black wrought iron gates, jumped out to open them wide, got back in and did a sharp right turn between an ancient
Ape
and a blue-and-yellow Fiat Panda.
Behind the oleanders and the old stone wall, the villa
stood waiting for her, dusky pink and glowing faintly in the sunshine, the mermaid motif above the door seeming to smile gently as she inserted the key and opened the front door. Tess didn’t much like the idea of renting out her villa. But it was better than selling up completely … If she rented it out for holiday lets then it would still be here, for her, when she was able to get away.
So … All she had to do was find the money to do it up a bit (well, a lot) and … Geronimo. She would have her very own holiday home in Sicily.
Tess went back to get her stuff from the car. Who wouldn’t want to spend as much time as possible in this seductive place? She could smell the jasmine that grew around the side of the villa. The scent was heady and yet familiar. She felt as if she’d hardly been away.
And that’s why she was back here. Because it was a place she wanted to be. Villa Sirena was her link with Sicily and the girl her mother used to be. How could she let it go?
She hadn’t travelled light – this time she’d brought her diving equipment – so she had to return to the car three times before she was done. An old woman was walking past the gates. She looked in.
‘
Buona sera
,’ Tess called out cheerfully. Listen to her …
A grin stretched across the old woman’s brown leathered face. ‘
Sera
,’ she said in reply.
Tess shut the front door and went straight out back. She leaned on the rail by the terrace and looked down into the
baglio
. Tonino’s door was not open and he wasn’t outside his
studio. She smiled. No need then for her stomach to churn. Even though it felt as if she’d come home.
The following morning she threw open the shutters, ate a hurried breakfast and took her diving equipment down to the bay. She was wearing her wetsuit and had been organised enough to stop on the way through to Cetaria from the airport at a diving centre near Palermo, where she’d rented a scuba tank. Sorted.
The
baglio
was quiet – just a few people wandering around and drinking espressos in the bar; Tess could smell the rich fragrance of freshly roasted coffee mingling with the sweetness of breakfast
cornetti
. It was still morning, and the
baglio
had a white and expectant feel. Tonino’s studio door was propped open now, but there was no sign of him.
The serpent, she noted, was still in the studio window; its green scales smooth and shining, its yellow crown flat against the head. Hang on. She paused. Crown? Yes, it was unmistakable now she looked more closely; at the points of the yellow-glass coronet were pearls of amber, and along the base were threads of brown. She did a double take. And the thing had a face. Green eyes, curly eyebrows, a ’tache and a beard – in pearly white glass this time. With a serpent’s tongue, a forked flash of jet. Right …
But there was no evidence of whatever Tonino might be working on now. And he was nowhere to be seen. Tess shrugged away her disappointment and lugged her gear over to the water’s edge. The rock formation fascinated her. The
coastline itself was jagged cliff but these rocks were like granite towers thrusting through the water. She reached the stone jetty. She couldn’t wait to get in to explore. She wanted to know what lay beneath, what was at the core, at the bottom of the sea.
‘Hey!’
She recognised his voice before she even turned around. The tone was belligerent, but … She gave a small wave. ‘Hi!’
He was striding towards her. But his face when he reached her was dark and angry. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ He gesticulated towards her gear – the air tank, the weight belt, the face mask.