Page 66 of Isle of Pain

“Bullet wound. Irina stitched me up,” I answer and Andrea glances at her with a deep frown before refocusing on me again. I’m heaving, ready to end Barychev with a slow, painful death, succumbing to my meltdown, but my brother’s words stop me.

“Marie’s not good,fratellino. You need to get your shit together and come back to West Hill. Now.”

Like a magic word, I snap out of whatever trance I was in. Barychev’s imploring eyes connect with mine. He mouths “please” and I nod, walking away. My brother’s gun echoes around us but I’m halfway out of there, pawing at the plasticsuit desperately. I drive back to my home, my brother hot on my heels. I hope I’m on time.

36

MARIE

IL SANGUE NON È ACQUA

My phone rings with an incoming call as soon as I arrive home after my afternoon of socialising with Giulia and Catalina. As much as I love them both, sometimes I wish I knew how to drive so I could make my escape sooner. I took up crochet and like a little old lady, I’m excited to come back to what I’ve been knitting, occupying my hands as I wait for Nico.

I almost groan at the image it creates in my head. I’m twenty-years-old and all I’m dreaming about is curling under a blanket, knitting while I wait for my boyfriend to be home. Feminist icons must die a little all over the world but that’s what makes me warm and fuzzy. It’s either that or the BDSM mastery guide book I’m reading on my phone like a thief in the night. After our night at Absolution, the book was left on the side table and I sneaked a picture while Nico wasn’t looking. I suspect Damian left it there for me. I shouldn’t feel secretive about it, Nico wouldn’t judge me, but I like that it’s something I’m doing for him as a sort of surprise.

The part of my brain that hates me reminds me that I will be useless when Nico finally realises what a burden I am and kicks me out. He might even take Ember from me. He’s very attached to her and wants what’s best for her. We both know it isn’t me.

With that gloomy frame of mind, I pick up the call, greeted by my mother’s gentle voice. “Happy birthday,picculina,” she says and I swear there’s tears forming at the corner of her crinkled eyes even though I can’t see her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Shit, how did time escape me so much that I didn’t realise today’s October 23rd? It’s gonna be my first birthday by myself. My first birthday without her. My full-of-life, too-naughty-for-her-own-good sister.

With the haven of peace that Nico offers, I’ve pushed thoughts of my family and of my grief in the deep recesses of my mind. But now, they rear up their ugly heads like monsters under my bed, ready to tear me to shreds. Every time, my mother’s sweet voice, my father’s kind eyes or my sisters’ advice—most of the time unsolicited—came to mind, shame and the intense need to drive myself into a state of total oblivion took over. So I’ve stopped completely. My coping mechanism isn’t healthy by any means but I don’t know how else to stop myself from drinking.

Just thinking about drinking makes me want to raid Giulia and Andrea’s cellar. Especially today. Unfortunately I can’t text the only person who can help me because my phone is currently occupied.

“I haven’t been avoiding you, Mama,” I lie, putting her on speaker and propping the phone up so I can switch on the camera and take the winter jacket off of Ember. She’s been so fussy lately, whining every time I pick her up, crying at night while she used to be so quiet. I sometimes wonder if now that she feels more secure with the people surrounding her, she’s using that little voice of hers to finally have her needs met.

“You have,picculina, but that’s okay. Giulia told me you’re doing fine.”

“You called Giulia?” I ask with outrage.

She didn’t mention it. Once again, my own flesh and blood thought I was better not knowing things that concern me. I fist the little jacket and clench my teeth before I release an annoyed breath and try to shake the distrust building through my veins. It’s always the same bullshit with the Morettis. I’m too young, too naive, too soft. Whatever they say about me that makes them decide for me like I’m not my own person, capable of making my own decisions and choosing for myself. Nico would never do that to me. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. Thank you for the wishes but I gotta go.”

“I miss you, Marie. I miss Ember. It’s your birthday and Lisa isn’t here. And you’re not here. I was wondering when you’re coming back.”

Her voice breaks and I freeze for a second before I place Ember on the rug in front of me with her toys and pick up the phone in my hand again. Settling with my legs underneath me on the couch, I look at my daughter, the weight of failing at being a good mother and a good daughter weighing me down until I’m crushed under all the expectations.

“I’m sorry, Mama, but I don’t know. I like it here.”

“Picculina... Ember needs family around her.”

I don’t tell her that she does. Sheissurrounded by family. Nico acts like a father to her, Andrea is smitten with her, Catalina is as good a grand-mother as I know my mother would love to be, and Giulia might not like children in general, but she likes Ember enough to ask to be the one holding her whenever we’re together. She showers her with little attentions, and hugs and gifts. But my mother is right as well. Ember needs stability and community. Can the Capaldi provide as well as my family did?

“I don’t know,” I repeat, my head dropping down. I’m thrown back to being a lost teenage girl who doesn’t know what to do.

“Come back before Christmas,picculina.Mammonaisn’t getting any younger and she deserves to know Ember.”

My chin wobbles and I nod. I know she doesn’t mean it as a ploy to get me there. She isn’t manipulating me into doing her bidding, but it still feels wrong to leave.

After that tense exchange, we barely talk. My mother asks asinine questions about what I’ve been doing and I don’t have a good enough answer for her. “Rest” doesn’t seem like a good reason to stay away from my family for months. It reminds me that I’m nowhere near understanding what I want to do with my life. Despite contemplating being a stay-at-home mum, it’s unreasonable. Lana wouldn’t approve. My parents wouldn’t approve.

I don’t know what Lisa would think about that. Since all she wanted was to become a mother, maybe she’d be the only one encouraging me. Fresh tears blur my vision and Ember immediately wails from her place on the rug, sensitive to my emotions and throwing a little coloured block she was just playing with. She’s better at expressing herself than I am. I pick her up and rock her body against mine, shushing her and caressing her little head. It makes her bawl even harder, a mirror to my grief. Can she feel the void Lisa left behind as acutely as I can?

Am I making her cry by projecting my own pain? I sober at the thought that I might be giving my innocent little daughter all the hurt I contain in my own broken heart. I read an article about generational trauma the other day and I know for a fact, I’m fucked up and not setting her up for the perfect life I want for her. Swallowing my tears and burrowing the shame deeper into my entrails, I calm her down but not without difficulty, and hang up with my mother.

When she’s bathed, changed and sleeping in her cot, I finally text Nico.

ME

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