I love how he calls it an art, like it matters as much as anything in a gallery. But I don’t love it when he asks, ‘Ready to sing? You know “O Sole Mio”,sì?’
Leo takes one look at my horrified face and bursts out laughing. ‘Jacopo’s kidding.’ Then, when I relax, he adds, ‘Just hum along if you don’t know the words.’
Since when does Leo-Leonardo make jokes?
And since when do I like it?
Might be time to call a truce and just enjoy this new side to him. All this second-guessing is exhausting, and it’s hard to stay angry when I’m drifting silently through the floating city.
Without the engine noise, away from the peopled chaos of thecalli– and especially here in the smaller, quieter canals – I hear water sloshing against stone, the creak and glug of the oars.
Streaks of green slime mark the tides like a ruler. If Griselda were here, she’d collect it and turn it into biodegradable bubble wrap, or something equally world-changing. I picture her wandering around with armfuls of it like a monstrous blob and make a mental note to add this to my growing collection of unflattering Griselda portraits.
At every junction – if canals have junctions – Jacopo calls out in a deep, musical voice. And other people respond like it’s some kind of code.
‘What is that?’
‘It’s what we should do in the mornings,’ Leo answers.
‘Huh?’
‘So we can work out if the bathroom’s free. We can shout “Pope oeeee” to check the coast is clear like thegondoliers do, and reply “Oeeee vien vanti” if it is.’
Jacopo splashes Leo with the oar. ‘Andthatis why you do not have a real girlfriend. Me? I’m happy to share. Especially with Evie.’
Arealgirlfriend? What … does he have a fake one or something? Before I can ask, my mobile buzzes.
Griselda.
I ignore it, but it buzzes again. And again.
‘Sorry – better take this,’ I mumble, hunching over the phone. ‘Hi.’
‘Finally. Mum’s been asking me why she can’t see your posts. Why haven’t you been sharing anything? You usually photograph your dinner before you eat it.’
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Just … busy settling in.’
‘Has Paola called yet?’
My stomach lurches. ‘Um, not yet. Just got here, remember?’
She pauses to decide what else to hassle me about, then, ‘Switch to video? Mum said you got a big fancy room, but that can’t be right.’
‘My signal’s rubbish,’ I lie.
‘Where are you? Sounds like you’re outside.’
I swallow. She’s on to me. ‘No, no, like I said, my signal’s pretty bad.’
‘I didn’t have any problems when I was there.’
‘Yeah, but my phone’s ancient. Another one ofyour hand-me-downs, remember?’
‘I saved up for my new one,’ she snaps. ‘It’s not my fault you spend everything you earn on nib replacements for your stylus.’
Sigh. Here we go. ‘How would you know? Been snooping in my things?’
‘Something to hide?’ Griselda counters.
