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‘Dante,’ the florist called out. ‘Would you like to come over? Stay for supper...?’ But then she shook her head, for he had already gone. ‘Like a black ghost,’ she muttered.
‘You tried,’ the grocer said, and shrugged. ‘What can you do?’
Not much, Alicia thought. Really, none of them had ever done much for him. All of them blaming him for hanging around, or daring to be hungry, or too smart with his mouth when he was told to move on...
‘Come and have a drink, Alicia,’ the florist said. ‘Cool down a little before you walk back.’
She gave a polite smile. ‘Thank you for asking, but I’m expected back...’
She wasn’t, particularly, but it was not an hour with the florist and her doe-eyed son that Alicia craved!
She retrieved her basket from the church vestibule and drank some water from the tap. A little hungry, she selected some fruit, but instead of heading back through the village she walked behind the church and opened the little latched gate.
It really was a gate to nowhere.
Well, it led to a meander in the river, but there wasn’t even a path behind it—that was how unused this route was. Dante was here, Alicia knew, for the rushes were freshly parted and trampled.
She was hot. It was by far too hot. And she was by far too heavily dressed to be walking through the rushes. She passed the empty stone hut where they had sometimes played, and then continued further on. The too-big shoes were designed for dancers rather than goats, she decided as she lost her footing a couple of times on the steep slope down the bank that led to their old place by the river.
And there she found him, sitting with his elbows on his knees and drinking wine. He didn’t even look over his shoulder as she approached.
‘Go back,’ he said. ‘You don’t want to be seen alone with her son.’
‘I don’t care for all that.’ Alicia sighed deeply and joined him. ‘Anyway, your mother deserves a wake. I baked...’
‘No need.’
‘Please...’ She pulled back the lid to reveal the food she had made but he shook his head and snubbed it.
Alicia rolled her eyes as she was reminded first-hand of just how difficult Dante could be at times. He was like the old wood stove in the kitchen at the convent, which was rarely lit and so slow to warm you almost didn’t notice it at first, but then...
‘I can hear you rolling your eyes,’ Dante said.
It was something Reverend Mother said, and they shared a little laugh sometimes when Alicia was inevitably told off.
‘I hoped you’d be here,’ Alicia said.
‘I thought the river would be dry,’ he said.
‘There was a big storm in the mountains last Friday...’ Her voice trailed off, for that was the day his mother had died. ‘How long have you been back?’ she asked.
‘A couple of days.’ He stared ahead.
‘When did you find out?’
He just shrugged, clearly in no mood to divulge specifics, so Alicia attempted to be practical. ‘Do you need help sorting out the house?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘All done. She just rented a room there, so she didn’t have much, and the other girls helped pack it. It’s all there.’ His head gestured towards the hut.
He was shivering, as if they sat there in the middle of winter, and yet he was sweating a little too.
‘I’m so sorry...’ Alicia said again, although it came straight from the heart this time. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘There’s nothing to say.’
‘It was a nice service.’
‘No,’ he refuted.
