‘Huh?’ I twist in the direction he’s pointing. I’ve seen Banksy’s stuff online, but never in real life. This one’s a tiny kid in a life jacket, arm raised, a smoking flare in one hand. By the looks of it, it won’t be here much longer. It’s barely above the waterline, the colours already slipping away.
‘I can show you some local pieces if you like—’
‘Can you stop wasting time, Jacopo? We’re supposed to be taking her to Ca’ Rezzonico, remember?’
The boat rocks as Leo steps towards the stern. ‘Here, let me steer for a bit.’
I instinctively shift my weight the other way, and then—
It all happens fast. The bow pitches and suddenly I’m tipping over, arms flailing for balance. ‘Guys—?’ I start.
Then cold water slams into me, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. I hang, suspended, for long moments before I resurface, coughing, sky and canal swapping places.
I’m vaguely aware of Jacopo calling my name as the boat slides in and out of focus. Then Leo’s there, reaching down and hauling me back on board with a grunt. Water sloshes everywhere as I collapse on to the seat, dripping and shivering.
‘Am … am I g-going to catch something? Whwhat’s the sewage system like?’ I chatter.
Leo yanks off his hoodie and shoves it at me. ‘Here. Put this on.’
A shiver rattles through me. ‘N-no. It’s yours.’
He presses it into my hands, then adds the puffa he’d left on the seat. ‘This too. Just take them … Nessie.’ His tone is light, teasing – but his eyes move over my face, checking every inch to make sure I’m really OK. And that, more than the proper down-stuffed jacket – the kind worth more than my whole outfit – is what warms me most.
‘I prefer kelpie, actually. I’ll take you with me next time.’
‘Kelpie?’
For once, my pronunciation is better than his.
‘Scottish water spirit,’ I explain, teeth still chattering. ‘Pretends it’s a horse to lure people into lochs and drown them.’
Leo’s gaze slips towards the water like he’s trying to imagine it.
From thefondamenta, a girl in a bobble hat and scarf waves at us. ‘Tutto bene?’
Jacopo replies, too accented for me to catch, but whatever it was sends her marching off at a quick pace.
‘What just happened?’ I ask Leo.
‘He told her you’re fine, but he’ll use any excuse to chat to a pretty girl.’
I groan into my hands. ‘My God. He couldn’t even see her face.’
Being soaked through rules out Ca’ Rezzonico, so we row straight back to the palazzo. Jacopo’s mum barely lets me shower before parking me at the kitchen table with a steaming bowl of pasta in chicken broth. It revives me enough to go out with the boys again – on the condition there’s no water or culture involved.
I don’t know if this is normal Saturday stuff or the build-up to Carnevale, but there’s so much happening– musicians in the streets, pockets of improvised theatre, busy markets in everycampo.
By bedtime, I’m so wiped out from my dip in the canal and city overload that I can barely keep my eyes open. I can’t sleep without messaging Rebel though, so I pull Leo’s hoodie over my pyjamas, breathing in his faint paint-and-soap smell, and grab my phone.
@TotallySketchy: Sorry I’ve been quiet today. Things have been mad.
I wait, hoping he’ll come online, but I’m struggling to stay awake.
My kelpie girl watches from the screen: wild hair, dripping mane. And now I’m thinking of Leo and the quiet care I didn’t expect from him. It feels wrong, like I’ve let him into somewhere he shouldn’t be. Rebel’s and my space.
So I try to hold on to Rebel instead.
@TotallySketchy:
