Lucy Gordon: A Family For Keeps

'What's the matter?' Piero asked, handing him a cup of coffee.

'Nothing. It's just that for a moment I felt I'd seen her before. But where-?' He sighed. 'I must be imagining it.'

He drank his coffee and turned to go. At the door he stopped and handed Piero some money.

'Look after her,' he said quietly.

When Vincenzo had gone Piero wrapped himself in a blanket and lay down on the other sofa. After a while he slept.

Doors clanged again and again. It was a dreadful, hollow sound, and it soon became agonising.

She flung herself against one of those iron doors, pounding and shrieking that she should not be here. But there was no response, no help. Only stony, cold indifference.

There were bars at the windows. She pulled herself up to them, looking through at the world from which she was shut out.

She could see a wedding. It did not seem strange to find such a scene in this dreary place, for she knew instinctively that they were connected.

There was the groom, young and handsome, smiling on his day of triumph. Was there something about his smile that wasn't quite right, as though he was far from being the man his bride thought?

She knew nothing of that. The poor little fool thought he loved her. She was young, innocent, and stupid.

Here she came, glowing with love triumphant. Julia gripped the bars in horror as that naive girl threw back her veil, revealing the face beneath-

Her own face.

'Don't,' she said hoarsely. 'Don't do it. Don't marry him, for pity's sake don't marry him.'

The last words were a scream, and suddenly she was sitting up, tortured into wakefulness, tears streaming down her face, and Piero kneeling beside her, his arms about her, trying vainly to offer comfort for a wrong that could never be put right.

For breakfast next morning Piero laid on a feast.

'Where did these come from?' Julia asked, looking at the rolls stuffed with meat.

'From my friend from the restaurant who dropped in last night, the one I told you about.'

'He sounds like a really good friend. Is he one of us?'

'In what sense?'

'You know-stranded.'

'Well, he's got a roof over his head, but you might call him stranded in other ways. He's lost everyone he ever loved.'

Over breakfast she produced some money. 'It's only a little but it might help. You'll know where the bargains are.'

'Splendid. We'll go out together.'

She wrapped up thickly and followed him out into the day. He led her through a labyrinth of tiny calles , until her head was swimming. How could anyone find their way around this place?

Suddenly they were in the open, and the Rialto Bridge reared up over them, straight ahead. She'd been here the night before and gone to frozen sleep at one end, where the shore railings curved towards the water.

She'd come to this place searching for someone…

Now she looked around, but all the faces seemed to converge, making her giddy. And perhaps he had never been here after all.

Venice was bustling with life. Barges made their way through the canals, stopping to seize the bags of rubbish that had been dumped by the water's edge. More barges, filled with supplies, arrived at the open air market at the base of the Rialto.

Piero stocked up with fiendish efficiency, buying more produce with less money than she would have thought possible.

'That's a good morning's work,' he said. 'Now we- you're shivering. I guess you took a chill from those stones last night. Let's get you into the warm.'

She tried to smile but she was feeling worse by the minute, and was glad to turn back.

When they reached home Piero tended her like a mother, building up the stove and making her some hot coffee.

'You've got a nasty cold there,' he said when she started to cough.

'Yes,' she snuffled miserably.

'I've got to go out for a while. Stay close to the stove while I'm gone.'

He left quickly, and she was alone in the rapidly darkening building. There was something blessed in the silence.

She went to the window overlooking the Grand Canal. Just outside was a tiny garden, bordered by tall wrought iron railings, right next to the water.

By craning her neck she could make out the Rialto Bridge, and the bank lined with outdoor tables on the far side of the canal. The cafes were filled with people, determined not to be put off by the time of year.

She wandered back to the stove and sat on the floor, beside it, dozing on and off.

Then something made her eyes open sharply. The last of the light had gone, and she could hear footsteps in the corridor. It didn't sound like Piero, but somebody younger.

The sound drew close and halted. Then the door handle turned. It was enough to make her leap up and hurry into the shadows where the intruder could not see her. Inwardly she was screaming, Go away! Leave me alone!

She stood still, her heart thumping wildly, as the door opened and a man came in. He set the bag he was carrying on the floor, and looked around as though expecting to see somebody.

She told herself not to be foolish. This was probably Piero's friend. But still she couldn't make herself move. Nobody was a friend to her.

The man came into a shaft of light from a large window. It was soft, almost gloomy light, but she could make out that he was tall, with a rangy build and a lean face that suggested a man in his thirties.

Suddenly he grew alert, as though realising that he was not alone. 'Who is it?' he called, looking around.

She tried to force herself to speak, but a frozen hand seemed to be grasping her throat.

'I know you're somewhere,' he said. 'There's no need to hide from me.'

Then he moved quickly, pulling back one of the long curtains that hung beside the window, revealing her, pressed against the wall, eyes wide with dread and hostility.

'Dio Mio!' he exclaimed. 'A ghost.'

He put out his hand and would have laid it on her shoulder, but she flinched away.

'Don't touch me,' she said hoarsely in English.

His hand fell at once.

'I'm sorry,' he replied, also in English. 'Don't be afraid of me. Why are you hiding?'

'I'm-not-hiding,' she said with an effort, knowing she sounded crazy. 'I just-didn't know who you were.'

'My name is Vincenzo, a friend of Piero's. I was here last night but you were asleep.'

'He told me about you,' she said jerkily, 'but I wasn't sure-'

'I'm sorry if I startled you.'

He was talking gently, soothing her as he would have done a wild animal, and gradually she felt her irrational fear subside.

'I heard you coming,' she said, 'and-' A fit of coughing drowned the rest.

'Come into the warm,' Vincenzo said, beckoning her to the stove.

When she still hesitated he took hold of her hands. His own hands were warm and powerful, and they drew her forward irresistibly.

He eased her down onto the sofa, but instead of releasing her he slid his hands up her arms and grasped her, not roughly but with a strength that felt like protection.

'Piero says your name is Julia.'

She hesitated for a split second. 'Yes, that's right. Julia.'

'Why are you trembling?' he asked. 'It can't be that bad.'

Something in those words broke her control and she shuddered violently.

'It is that bad,' she said, in a hoarse voice. 'Everything is that bad. It always will be. It's like a maze. I keep thinking that there must be a way out, but there isn't. Not after all this time. It's too late, I know it's too late, and if I had any sense I'd go away and forget, but I can't forget.'

'Julia.' He gave her a little shake. 'Julia.'

She didn't hear him. She was beyond anything he could say or do to reach her. Words poured out of her unstoppably, while tears slid down her face.

'You can't get rid of ghosts,' she wept, 'just by telling them to go, because they're everywhere, before you and behind you and most of all inside you.'