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As I passed in front of the Frati house where Sandro and Enzo lived, the front door opened and Sandro’s sister Lucia called out to me. She was a pleasant young woman of about eighteen, tall and fair, and we all envied her looks. ‘Stella! You can’t go home like that. Quick, come in and I’ll find you something to wear.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I’d forgotten about the bloodstains. ‘Oh, yes. Thank you.’
‘Davide said you were a tremendous help,’ Lucia said as she ushered me inside and up the stairs. ‘Just tremendous. I wouldn’t have had the guts to manage like you did. I’m so glad you were there with him.’
‘It was my pleasure,’ I said. It was a ridiculous thing to say, but it was the best I could come up with.
‘He says you’ll be a real asset to the revolution. Come on, in here. I share this room with my little sister – she’s away staying with our auntie. I’m sure she won’t mind me lending you something.’ She was looking through the wardrobe as she spoke. ‘How about this?’
I looked at the dress she was holding up. It was pale blue cotton and could easily pass for one of mine. ‘That looks perfect. If you really don’t mind…’
‘Of course not! It’s the least I can do after all your work. Now, take this and I shall fetch you some hot water so you can get cleaned up. And leave your own dress here, all right? I’ll wash it and get it back to you.’ She was really very kind, Lucia. I feel bad to this day for what Davide and I put her through.
Once I was alone, I washed and put on the blue dress, leaving my own one folded over the back of a chair. I picked up the white kerchief to put away in my satchel – I’d taken quite enough of a risk wearing it around town already – and only then realised that I didn’t have the satchel with me. In all the confusion, I must have left it at the church. I thought about running back to fetch it, but decided that it would be fine to leave it there overnight. It was more important to get home to my parents before dark. I folded the kerchief and put it in my pocket before I went downstairs.
Lucia was stirring a big pot of something in the kitchen. It must have been as poor and simple as our family’s soup, but it smelled rather better. She smiled at me. ‘Do you want a bite to eat before you go? You must be starving.’
‘No, thanks. I really should get back.’
‘All right,’ she said. ‘Well, go safely. No doubt I shall see you often now Enzo’s back from Santa Marta. You must come and have dinner with all of us some evening soon.’
I thanked her again and went out into the warm evening air. Just as I reached the next corner, a strong hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun round, ready to fight, and saw my father looking down at me. In his other hand was my school satchel.
‘Papà—’
‘Not here,’ he said. He took my arm and all but pulled me along the street towards home. I had to hurry to keep up with him. When we got back to the house, the kitchen door was closed and I could hear laughter and happy voices – Achille, Enzo, my mother – coming from within. Papà hustled me along the corridor into the back room and shut the door behind us, flinging my satchel onto the floor.
I had seen my father angry, but not like this. ‘I went to look for you at the church,’ he said in a terrible quiet voice. ‘I was worried about you. The fighting was over and you hadn’t come home, so I went to the church because you told your mother you’d gone to the shelter there. And what did I find? Not a shelter but a morgue, and a strange young man who tells me you’re ever such a help to the cause.’
‘Papà, I—’
‘I told you not to get involved. I told you to stay away, and you lied to me and your mother and got up to God knows what instead. I should lock you up for the rest of your life.’ He went on and on like that: how I’d brought shame to the family and put everyone in danger; how I’d abused every freedom he and my mother had given me; how my mother would suffer when she knew what I’d done; how there could be no question now of school or friends, and as for books, I could forget it. And all the time he was towering over me, and I knew that I was supposed to be afraid.
But I was beyond being afraid. I’d had enough intimidation from the Germans and the Fascists – I wasn’t about to be threatened by my own father. So I waited until he paused for breath, and I told him that he could perfectly well lock me up and stop me going to school, but then I’d be here all the time and he’d have to look at me and know that I’d lied, not once, but every day for almost a year. ‘And Mamma will know too,’ I said, ‘because I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her every detail because I won’t have anything to lose. How do you think she’ll suffer then?’
There was a long silence. My father looked at me with a coldness I’d never seen in him before – a coldness very close to hatred. ‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Do what you want.’ He turned his back on me and went out.
25
Tori
I look at the piece of paper on my desk, next to my laptop. ‘Can I just check I’ve noted this down right?’
‘Of course,’ Ambra says. She takes a sip from her mug and sits back, watching me. I drain the rest of my tea and clear my throat.
‘Right. So, since Duncan and I will be divorcing under Scots law, then I can petition on the grounds of, let’s see… unreasonable behaviour. One year’s separation, if I can get him to agree to the divorce in the first place. Two years’ separation, if I can’t. Adultery, if I find out he’s slept with someone else. Wait, does it count if I have?’
‘Only if Duncan’s willing to be the petitioner.’
‘Damn,’ I say. ‘Because honestly, that sounds pretty straightforward.’
Ambra shrugs. ‘It could be, if you’re amicable. Some couples in England actually wait until one of them finds a new partner, then the other one applies for the divorce. But here you only have to wait one year with consent, so there’s no need.’
‘But Duncan probably won’t consent. So that leaves two years’ separation, or unreasonable behaviour.’ Both options worry me. Ambra has already explained to me that if I choose unreasonable behaviour, Duncan will actually receive a copy of the writ containing a list of the things he did to make the marriage intolerable for me. No matter how carefully we phrase that list, I can’t imagine him reacting well. But then the idea of waiting two years, of letting this nerve-racking limbo go on and on without doing something about it… that’s just as bad. Maybe even a bit worse.
‘You don’t have to make any choices now.’ Ambra breaks into my thoughts. ‘There’s no custody issue, the two of you don’t have to see each other, and you’re financially secure – right?’
I force myself to come back to the present, trying to shake off that clammy, sick feeling I always get when I think about Duncan. ‘Right,’ I say. ‘I mean… yes, for now, anyway.’
