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They duly ordered more food, sharing plates of penne with tomato and vodka sauce covered liberally with Parmesan, followed by short, sharp espressos and a shot of limoncello on the house for each of them.
They reluctantly left the restaurant and started walking slowly back towards the hotel, passing through another small square on the way. On the corner, above an enormous arched doorway, Lucy spotted a plaque. ‘Look!’ she cried, pointing up at it. ‘This is where Elizabeth Barrett Browning lived!’
‘How on earth did you spot that?’ Sarah laughed.
‘I just looked up and there it was. I love her poetry. I used to read it endlessly when I was younger.’ Lucy sighed.
‘So you did, I remember,’ said Stella.
‘When did she live here?’ Bridget squinted up at the plaque, trying to make out what it said.
Lucy read the words. ‘Weird, they’ve spelt her name wrong. It’s double “t”. Anyway, she lived in Florence with her husband for years, absolutely loved it here. What was her famous quote, something about Florence being like a chimney?’
‘Florence is my chimney corner, where I can sulk and be happy.’ Stella’s voice was quiet, but the words were crystal clear.
‘How did you remember that?’ Lucy turned, her eyes wide with admiration.
‘I’d love to say I remember you reading it to me, but there’s a framed print of it in our hotel. I spotted it on the wall when Ginevra showed us round.’ Stella shrugged her shoulders, a whisper of a smile on her lips.
Sarah put her arm around Stella’s shoulders and Bridget hugged her from the other side. They stood for a moment looking up at the poet’s old windows onto the city before walking on, arms looped together.
12
Stella woke to the sound of birds, so loud she thought they might be in the room. Creeping out of bed, she walked to the window, not wanting to disturb Lucy, who was still fast asleep on the other side of the bed. Her cousin wore a black eye mask with the words ‘FUCK OFF’ embroidered on it in white stitching. It had made Stella laugh the night before and was the last thing she could remember before falling asleep.
But it wasn’t long until the familiar dreams, or rather nightmares, had taken up residence in Stella’s head. Walls had closed in on her as she threw clothes into a suitcase, trying desperately to get everything packed before she ran out of time and space. As ever, she’d woken up from the nightmare just as everything went dark, her breathing shallow, her chest soaked in sweat. Her heart was beating so fast, it felt like it might just burst out of her chest.
Stella opened the window overlooking the garden so she could put her face to the still cool air outside. The sun was yet to throw its light over the city. She glanced back at the clock beside the bed; it was half past five in the morning. Knowing sleep wasn’t going to come back to her now, she pulled off the T-shirt she’d slept in and threw a clean dress over her head. She quickly splashed water on her face and cleaned her teeth as quietly as she could before grabbing her cardigan and her bag, slipping her feet into her trainers.
She went downstairs, the young man behind the reception desk greeting her with slight surprise before nodding and opening the front door for her. She assured him everything was all right, telling him she just wanted to go for an early-morning walk.
‘In that case, can I suggest you head up to the Duomo? It gets so crowded during the day, but at this time, you’ll be able to walk around the whole of the building, the outside I mean, and there will be no one there.’ He smiled at her.
‘Thank you, great tip.’ Stella smiled back and stepped out of the hotel, turning right and heading to the end of the street, before turning left towards the river. The streets were empty, bar the odd scooter zipping past.
Within a few moments, Stella reached a bridge and saw the Arno, its gentle waters reflecting the pale blue of the cloudless sky and the colours of the buildings on either side. The morning light had started its creep across the city from the east, lighting up the ochre walls one after the other as it went.
Stella stopped halfway across the bridge and looked along the river at the Ponte Vecchio with its matchbox houses stuck along the sides. Above the arches, the large windows of the Vasari Corridor at the top of the bridge hinted at the hidden treasures Florence held within the walls of the buildings around her.
Walking over the bridge, Stella headed north across a deserted square and on past the imposing rough stone walls of the Strozzi Palace and the shuttered shopfronts of Gucci, Armani and other famous Italian designer names. Turning a corner, the buildings seemed to get older, the streets narrower, the shops giving way to cafes and restaurants, all still closed at this early hour. A street cleaner stood by his truck smoking a cigarette, an old man walked past with a small dog on a lead, nodding a silent hello as she passed him.
Stella walked on for a few moments and then, up ahead, glimpsed the pink, white and green stone of the Duomo. The orange domed roof and bell tower to its right loomed into view, the sheer size and scale taking her breath away. It was a sight she’d seen so many times in films, but it looked almost too beautiful to be real, even though it was right in front of her eyes.
She walked around the octagonal basilica first, its green horizontal stripes making it look like confectionery. Then she walked the perimeter of the cathedral, with just a few passing Florentines and a young American couple getting their Duomo-at-sunrise Instagram money shot for company.
The peace of it all, alongside the sheer magnificence of the building, made Stella feel small but present as she took in her surroundings. The benches that sat along the sides of the cathedral were still empty and so she sat alone, marvelling at all the shapes and patterns of the building. For months, her world had shrunk to one of pain, of getting through each day without crying in front of the children, of answering work queries and pretending to care. But here, for a moment, she felt still and calm.
Slowly, more people started appearing around her as if they’d been given their stage call. Stella took out her phone and tapped out a message to Caroline, asking if everything was all right and asking her to kiss the girls for her. She looked at the screen showing her list of favourite contacts, the names all so familiar. Bridget. Caroline. Dad. Lucy. Sarah. Simon. Seeing the last name still made her stomach lurch. She hovered over the phone, wanting to delete it, erase all trace of him. Having spent months desperately trying not to let herself text him again, knowing there’d be no reply, in that moment she wanted to remove him altogether. Her finger trembled over the screen, willing it to hit DELETE.
But she knew she couldn’t just erase him, for the children’s sakes. They still loved him. And if she was honest with herself, she still loved him. That’s why it hurt so much, this physical pain that seemed to pull on her heart. An ache that just wouldn’t go away.
Stella shook her head gently and raised her eyes from the screen in her hand up to the building and the sky beyond. She stood and looked around, deciding it was time to find some coffee and maybe something to eat. It was still early, not yet seven.
She stretched her legs out and reached her arms up before standing and heading back towards the river down a long pedestrian street. She wasn’t surprised to see the shops still shut but walked on in the hope that one of the cafes might be open. She soon found herself on the edge of Piazza del Signoria with the enormous hulk of the Palazzo Vecchio and its clock tower to one side. There were statues everywhere: a fountain with a statue in the middle to one side, David on the other (she knew it was a copy; Lucy had told them the night before and insisted they must go and see the real thing while they were in Florence) and underneath the arches yet more statues. Two stone lions sat either side of the entrance leading up to the open hall and seeing there were still no cafes open, Stella walked over and perched on the steps, looking back across the square. She glanced at her watch. Now she’d started thinking about something to eat, she realised she was quite hungry. There were still relatively few people about, but the tourists were starting to arrive in the square. Surely, they’d be thinking about breakfast too.
‘It’s weird, right?’
Stella turned to see a young woman sitting a few steps further up. She had long dark hair and bright red lipstick on. She spoke with an English accent.
