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Johnny stopped. ‘Flo, you know you must talk about Billy as much as you’d like to. The more, the better, in fact.’
‘Maybe, but I worry it makes people uncomfortable.’
‘Too bad. If it makes people uncomfortable, you’re with the wrong people.’
‘But, Johnny, I’m talking about my parents. I can’t avoid them forever.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise you meant them specifically. But I’m sure, with time, they will want to talk about Billy more. They’ll want to remember all the good times you had as a family.’
Flora sighed. ‘I hope so, but right now all Mum seems to want to talk about is how he died. It’s like I can’t find any common ground for us to talk about him.’
‘I know. But she’s hurting and that’s her way of dealing with the pain. You just have to give her a pass on that, for now at least.’
‘There’s something else I need to talk to you about, actually. About Mum. Well, about Dad, to be precise.’
‘Is he OK?’ Johnny looked worried.
‘He’s not ill or anything. But,’ Flora sighed, ‘can I tell you when we’re sitting down? I think I need a glass of wine for this one.’
‘Of course, come on. There’s a place just around the corner from here.’
They walked on ahead, rounding the point at the end, the wide stretch of water between where they stood and the island of Giudecca in front of them. The myriad of tiny streets behind them suddenly felt like a make-believe miniature world compared with the expanse of wide buildings and enormous domes dotting the skyline opposite them.
The crowds thinned as they walked away from the Basilica and the sun threw light onto their faces and across the pale stone of the pavement beneath their feet.
Johnny swiped at his phone. ‘It’s just up here.’
‘Won’t it be horribly expensive if it comes with these views?’
‘You could be right, but we can just skip starters. Come on, we never go out at home. We’re on holiday, even if we’ve only got half a day left.’
Up ahead, a restaurant terrace covered with a multitude of canopies seemed to be waiting just for them. Only a few of the tables were taken, books and cameras on the tables giving away the occupants’ tourist status. On the other side of the pavement sat the restaurant building itself, packed with tables of Italian families finishing, by the looks of it, very good, long lunches.
Flora and Johnny were quickly shown to a table at the front, nearest the water, and handed two menus by a smiling young waiter. ‘Is a good view, no?’ The waiter looked out across the water.
‘Amazing,’ they chorused.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Could we have a look at the wine list, please?’ said Flora.
‘Of course. We have a few specials today, seafood zuppa and spaghetti alle vongole. Also, we have some lobster today but,’ the waiter lowered his voice, ‘I wouldn’t bother, is very expensive. Go for the vongole.’
‘That’s exactly what I’d like, the vongole.’ Flora smiled at the waiter.
‘No starter for you?’
‘No, thanks, just the vongole.’
‘Of course. And for you, sir?’
Johnny looked at the menu, hoping to find a dish at a price that didn’t start with a three. ‘I think…’
‘I can recommend this one.’ The waiter pointed at the menu. ‘It’s very good.’
‘Yes, I’ll have that one.’ Johnny has no idea what it was but it was considerably cheaper than the other dishes on the menu.
‘Perfect. I’ll be back for your wine choice in a moment.’
