Page 31 of A Place in the Sun
‘I didn’t know you were back! I saw the windows open! You could have messaged! No word from you at all!’ Beside her is a rucksack.
I take a deep breath. Is this some kind of imaginary figure, like I’ve been seeing Marco in the kitchen? Has it gone too far? Are my anxiety meds not working? Or perhaps I’m heading into perimenopause and my mind is playing tricks on me.
Suddenly she looks straight at me, with dark, laughing eyes. ‘Who are you?’ she says, in full combat mode, narrowing her eyes.
Feeling on the back foot, I match it. ‘Well, who are you?’
She says nothing and steps forward to the door. To my surprise, she crosses the threshold. She looks around the room. ‘Where’s Marco?’ She is searching the room with her eyes, but obviously Marco is nowhere to be seen.
‘How do you know him?’
‘Marco!’ she shouts again, taking another step into the house.
‘Who are you?’ I ask again.
She stops and looks straight at me. ‘You first.’ She juts her chin at me.
‘I’m his wife,’ I say slowly.
She stares straight at me, then up and down, as if she’s putting me in check mate. ‘I’m … a friend.’
And I feel as if I’m in a vortex, swirling, spinning, like heat stroke.
‘Where is he?’ she insists.
My vision goes blurry, my head swims. What does she mean, she’s a friend? What kind of friendship?
I reach out to the door handle and take hold of it.
‘Marco!’ she calls again, and I feel as if my heart is being ripped out of my chest.
‘Please just go!’ I say, my breath shortening. She turns to me and is right in my face.
‘I’m looking for Marco. Where is he? He didn’t tell me he was coming! He hasn’t been here for so long! He’s told you about me?’
‘I know nothing about you, or who you are.’ My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
‘Well, call Marco. He said he was going to tell you, so maybe now is a good time.’
My head is really light. I need to sit down before I fall. ‘It’s not a good time.’
‘Why not? Where is he?’ She throws her head back, laughing hollowly. ‘It appears it hasn’t been a good time for a while.’ And I can picture Marco standing in the kitchen laughing too. The noise fills my head until it can’t take any more. I put my hands over my ears.
‘Marco … is … dead,’ I say.
Suddenly she stops laughing. ‘Scusi?’
I drop my hands from my ears, then say slowly, ‘Marco, my husband, is dead. Now, please, leave me alone.’
She glares at me. I have no idea who she is, or what kind of joke is being played on me, but it’s cruel. Then she spins around, steps outside, grabs the rucksack and runs off up the hill.
‘Wait!’ I step out into the road. What was I supposed to say? What am I supposed to think? Is it true? Is it a joke? ‘What’s your name?’ I call after her, questions bouncing around my aching head. ‘What kind of friend? How did you know him?’
But she’s gone, into the sunshine, as bright as it was before the storm.
I grab the door frame and support myself, stepping back into the cool of the house. Marco is nowhere to be seen. ‘Damn you, Marco!’ I shout. ‘Haven’t I been through enough?’
With that I take hold of the door and slam it as hard as I can, leaning against it and shutting my eyes.
