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‘No.’ His voice hardened and he released her reluctantly, stepping towards the house. ‘I came back here for the first time three years ago. I had a diary of my mother’s and I traced some of the people who had known her.’ He stretched out his hand and rubbed his fingers along the fractured paintwork.
‘You came back after Johnny died?’
‘Yes.’ Silvio glanced up at the windows on the upper floors. ‘I didn’t want to be in London any more.’
‘Because of me.’ Jessie felt a stab of guilt. She’d sent him away. ‘I—I’m sorry.’
‘You have nothing to be sorry for. I played a huge part in Johnny’s death.’
‘That isn’t true—you did try and help, I see that now.’ Feeling hideously guilty, Jessie wrapped her arms round herself, shivering despite the sunshine. ‘I was wrong. I was wrong about so many things.’
His eyes on her face, Silvio drew her firmly into his arms. ‘You have forgiven me?’
‘When Johnny died I was devastated—I blamed you because it was easier than blaming myself.’ Jessie faced the truth for the first time. ‘I felt as though I’d let him down. I was angry. It seemed like such a waste. I kept thinking that if I hadn’t gone to work that day, if you hadn’t given him the money—’
‘You did everything that could have been done.’ He was cool, measured—sure—and she wished she had even a fraction of his self-belief.
‘Did I? I don’t know.’ Jessie leaned her head against his chest. ‘I loved him and that stopped me seeing him how he really was. He was weak. When we were taken into care, he was so bitter and angry—I was only five, but he was fifteen. He’d known another life and he resented the fact that he’d lost it.’
‘You’d lost it, too.’
‘I was so much younger. And maybe that isn’t an excuse. Should your childhood dictate who you become? Or is it a matter of personal choice?’
He stroked her hair gently, his touch both reassuring and soothing. ‘It’s probably not as straightforward as that.’
‘Isn’t it? Your background was worse than ours. Our mother was an alcoholic and she wouldn’t have won any awards as best parent, but I think she did her best. Your father was violent. You were brought up with violence. Most people would have carried on down that path. But you left it behind. You chose not to be that person any more. Why? How could you do that when Johnny couldn’t?’
‘Each person is different. And I agree that the past shouldn’t dictate the future. No matter what life you live, we all have choices.’
And he’d made the right choices.
Jessie lifted her head and looked at him. ‘Can you forgive me for blaming you?’
He kissed her gently. ‘There is nothing to forgive. It’s behind us, tesoro. I want you to forget it.’
Jessie wasn’t convinced, but she decided not to pursue it. They’d already spent too much of their relationship talking about Johnny. ‘It’s hard to believe you once lived here. How old were you when you left Sicily? Do you remember it?’
‘I was ten. And, yes, I remember it.’ He moved away from her then, looking up at the house that had been his home. Standing there, he looked every inch Sicilian. Despite the external trappings of wealth, no one would have questioned his origins. He belonged in this wild, beautiful country—his glossy black hair and bronzed skin affirming his Mediterranean heritage. ‘I remember how afraid my mother was as she smuggled me onto the ferry in the middle of the night. And I remember getting ready to defend her from my father if he followed us.’
Shocked, Jessie tried to imagine how it must have felt to be forced to protect your mother from your father. ‘And did he?’
‘I don’t know. My mother had planned an intricate escape route—I doubt he would have caught us even if he’d tried.’
‘You must have been very angry with him.’
‘Yes, although it turned out that living with him had taught me two very useful skills—how to fight and how to keep myself emotionally detached. Both came in very handy when I found myself in a foreign country unable to speak the language.’ Silvio took her hand and led her further up the street into a shaft of sunlight. Above them the sky was a pure, perfect blue without a cloud in sight. It was almost impossible to believe that such a beautiful place could hold such bad memories for him.
‘It must have been awful to leave a country that was your home and go somewhere strange.’
‘My mother picked London because she had a relative there, but there was no Sicilian community. We lived in a tiny flat on the border between two rival gangs. And there was I—ten years old, speaking no English, dark skin. You can imagine.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I was a perfect target.’
Jessie had a vision of how he must have been then—a small boy with olive skin, eyes the colour of black thunder and a temper to match. Angry with his father. Angry with the world. ‘I can imagine who came off worse. You must have surprised them.’
‘Yes, I think it came as a bit of a shock. I fought so fiercely that from then on everyone wanted to be on my side.’
‘I can’t imagine why,’ Jessie said dryly, watching as two stray cats approached them hopefully. They were thin and hungry looking and somehow they made her think of Silvio. He’d been on his own on the streets, fighting for survival. Thinking how far he’d come filled her with awe. ‘I don’t know how you got yourself out of that situation. How did you even imagine that there was a different life out there?’
‘My life acted as a catalyst.’ Still holding her hand, he strolled back down the street towards the car, walking in the ribbon of shade created by the houses. ‘I was fiercely determined to escape and create something different.’
