Page 7 of Nanny to the Mafia

My body screamed from exhaustion. Every day it felt like a massive rock had lodged itself in my heart, leaving the rest of my body lifeless and drained of energy. There were worse situations to be in. There must be people with bigger problems. But today, and every other day before it, felt like the weight of the entire world was crushing down on my shoulders, dragging me down.

A sigh spilt out of me as I let myself out of the bus and lugged my groceries along. Big bags of nothing filled to keep me alive. That was what food was to me these days. The bags were too heavy. But it wasn’t like there was anyone around to help me out. Just when I thought Adam could be that person, he ended up showing his real colours, and they turned out to be the dark sort.

Standing still for a moment, I tried to take a deep breath, trying to get rid of that ever-present emptiness inside me, something that had permanently anchored into me since losing my parents. I hated this feeling. It felt as if someone had rammed a hand inside my chest and jerked my heart out. Try as I might, I couldn’t take that deep breath. Things of the past, those deep breaths, just like my parents now.

I put my bags down on the wet footpath and fixed the strand of brown hair that had escaped. I loved my long hair. I always thought it had just the right amount of natural waves in the end. But today, just like everything else, it was annoying the hell out of me.

I picked up my bags again and trudged up the hill leading to my rundown apartment building.

It was over a year since they passed away. But I can remember the late afternoon call on that dreadful day like it was yesterday. I knew the moment I heard Mrs Smith’s voice that something was off. My parents’ neighbour was lovely, but I had never called her before. Or she me.

Something terrible has happened, sweetie … your mama and papa have met with an accident… you should come home…. She didn’t tell me then that they were already dead, that they actually died on impact. But I had already known that. I wish my sixth sense had shown up when I called the day before they died. I wish it had nudged me to tell them I loved them. Throughout that seven-hour flight to London, I knew they were already gone, well before I fell into the arms of my friends and Mrs Smith.

A year had passed, and I still couldn’t sidestep my pain to remember the good things. Would I ever be able to do that? Remember them fondly and not miss them every single day. Would I be able to get up one morning and not have that gawking emptiness inside me? Maybe it would have been easier with a brother or a sister. Only a sibling could share this pain. The rest, no matter how close they had been to them, had moved on.

On Tuesday, when I dumped Adam, I called my mum. I hadn’t disconnected their lines, and I had put all my anger and pain into that voice message. Pathetic, I knew that. But somehow comforting.

Tuesday was just a day with too much heartbreak. My universe tilted on the edge when my parents died on a Tuesday, and now bloody Adam had to show his true colours on another Tuesday. I was swearing off Tuesdays.

I had forgiven him when he had refused to fly back with me to England. I had somehow even forgiven him when he didn’t turn up for the funeral. I hadn’t understood why, nor had I cared. My head had been full trying to arrange the most beautiful funeral I could for two people so diverse in character and culture. When I got back, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. He couldn’t handle all those emotions, all that crying. I got that. If I could, I would rather bury my head in the sand and still believe Mum and Dad were alive, waiting for my next visit or planning to visit themselves.

But on Tuesday, when I was finally ready to get along with my life, ready to make the payment for my enrolment to the university … everything just exploded.

Anger still pooled inside my stomach. I was furious. Furious at Adam for gambling away all of my inheritance. The only thing that was left of my parents so I could do what they had dreamed I would. But more than the fury at Adam, I was livid at myself. How had I not seen this addiction of his? How had I not paid attention to my dwindling bank account? Most importantly, what a stupid dimwit I was to have put that money in a joint account. My parents had brought me up better, and this was the way I repaid them. By putting foolishness before thought.

Secretly, I admitted to myself as I tried to find the keys to my apartment in my bag that I was furious with him for too many reasons to even name. If it hadn’t been for his stupid job offer, I wouldn’t have moved so far away from my mum and dad. I would have been back home in London or Milan like I had originally planned. I would have been with them, maybe on that horrible stormy night. I could have prevented that accident. Or I could have just died with them. At least then, I wouldn’t have this gaping hole where my heart was meant to be.

I fumbled with the key in the lock. I knew the trick. Everyone had told me this. I had to pull the door hard towards me and turn, but it wouldn’t budge.

“You have to pull and turn.”

I turned around to see my downstairs neighbour hovering next to me.

“I know that.” I tried again. I did not desire his odious character today. He hadn’t really done anything wrong, but just the way he looked at me gave me the creeps, like his eyes could see through my clothes.

“Here, let me help.” He put his hand on top of mine, not waiting for me to move away, pulled the door towards us and turned the key.

He opened the door, of course.

“Thanks,” I took a step back, pulling my hands from his.

I could feel his eyes on me, or rather, his eyes on my breasts. A chill ran through my veins.

“Where’s that man of yours?”

“Out. He’ll be back any moment.” I knew why I lied. I didn’t like how his glazed eyes were gliding on my body.

“You need any help with that?” He eyed the two bags standing next to me. There had been a special promotion in Aldi, and I had wanted to save up and ended up buying too much. Now I had enough for the next month or two, at least.

“No, it’s okay. I can—”

“Never mind. I can help you with this. It’s a piece of cake for me.” The expression sounded off in his East European accent, but before I could protest, he was off with my bags. He carried them as if they were filled with air and sprinted up the stairs.

I followed at a much slower pace. I was actually happy. It saved two flights of heavy lugging up the stairs, thanks to him.

He was waiting by the door when I arrived. He was quite good-looking if you liked the type. He had a typical body of a bodybuilder and blonde hair with blue eyes. Still, I couldn’t shake the predatory aura that seemed to surround him.

“Thanks,” I mumbled while opening my door.

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