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The red gerberas were beautiful, but the second she looked at them she saw only the geraniums that had grown rampant at Matteo’s villa, and she couldn’t bear to have a substitute for the flower.
‘Miss?’
She nodded and reached for a thick collection of gladioli, choosing them at random.
But, as she walked home and held them in the palm of her hands, she had to acknowledge that their long, spiked stems somewhat matched her current mood. They were still barely budding. Just a streak of colour along the length indicated that, one day soon, they would be bright and glorious. For the moment, they were simply a beginning.
She moved through the streets of Fulham, weaving through people, breathing in as she past her favourite dim sum house, enjoying the intoxicating combination of soy sauce and spices that permeated the air.
It was a nice day, given that autumn was now upon them, and the local pub had people spilling out onto the footpath. Their noise was loud. She kept her head averted, refusing to look at the flower pots that had, yes, geraniums, but also pansies and stocks. But in twisting her face away, she looked across the street and saw...
Her heart thumped. She froze.
Matteo?
His back was to her, but he wore the navy suit she loved and his dark hair was brushing against its collar. Her tongue felt heavy in her mouth. Sweat beaded across her upper lip and she held her breath.
A woman emerged from the bakery, her smile wide. God, she was pregnant, her stomach rounded as though she were due to have the baby any moment. Skye’s gut twisted. The man turned to embrace her and Skye saw his pale skin and slightly tipped nose.
It was not Matteo. She pushed her head down and hurried onwards, turning off the main road after a block and moving down the little side street on which her townhouse stood.
‘Hi!’ One of the little boys from the house next door called to her, his public school uniform in a state of disarray that Skye suspected would earn him a talking to when his mother and father got home. His tie was wonky and his shirt pocket was almost completely torn loose.
‘Rugby,’ he explained with a shrug, and she nodded, turning away and moving quickly towards her gate. She unclipped it and pushed up the stairs, unlocking her door and heaving it open as though it weighed a ton.
Simple tasks such as opening a door had become onerous since leaving Italy, but she knew that wouldn’t last. One day she would feel like herself again.
Flowers would help.
Her house was dark and cold, despite the mildness of the day. She frowned as she moved deeper into it, stepping over the mail on the floor, resolving to tend to it later, as she had done for the last week or so.
She arranged the gladioli in a slender vase and turned the television on, raising the volume until noise and conversation filled much of the downstairs of her home. She liked the company.
She liked that the television expected nothing of her.
The afternoon dragged.
She made a cup of tea at some point around dark.
And then a piece of toast nearer to n
ine.
And, finally, she decided she’d done enough. She’d made it through the day. She could sleep, and start all over again in the morning.
Her expression was grim, her skin pale like moonlight as she moved back through the house. Her eyes caught the stack of mail on the floor as she turned to move up the stairs.
With a resigned sigh, she changed course, crouching down and scooping it up.
It would make for bedtime reading at least, she thought, wishing she’d thought to pick up some new books while she’d been out. Maybe other people’s lives would provide the distraction she needed.
She tossed it unceremoniously on the bed and began to undress for the shower.
The water was warm. She luxuriated beneath it, wiping her mind clean, refusing to think about Italy, about Matteo and about their baby. She refused to think about the things he’d said to her on her last afternoon in Venice.
But none the less, his words rolled through her, spinning around her and making her gasp.
‘You are my everything. You are like a universe that lives in my chest.’
