The pain was not as great as I feared. But it was still there. Pain and deep, desperate longing. I looked beyond the popolani, hoping to catch a glimpse of Zia Gaia or any of the Macelleria family in the futile way that those who need reassurance or wish to assuage a long-held guilt do. I wanted some kind of signal they were all right. I’d tossed them aside with my old self. While I knew it was something I had to do for their sake as much as mine, returning to this place made me wonder, for just a brief moment, if I’d done the right thing.
I became aware I was chewing my lip and my hands were strangling each other in my lap. I took a deep breath and forced them still.
I was not prepared for the effect seeing my old home would have on me. There it was. So ordinary. So neglected. The windows were empty eyes that looked at me dolefully, but without accusation. I stared up at it as we glided by.
‘Wait!’ I said as we neared the Ponticello di Mille Pietre – a place I’d never wanted to see again but realised now, that like its name, it was the rock upon which I needed to ground myself. ‘Can we stop? Please, Baroque. I would like to walk.’
Baroque stared at me. ‘Certo.’ He gave the order to the gondolier who, with practised ease, brought us level with the water-stairs at the base of the bridge. He tied the gondola to the paline.
‘Here,’ said Baroque, reaching in his purse and handing over a ducat. ‘Find us some breakfast. We won’t be long.’
The gondolier tipped his hat and, after assisting us from the craft, strolled down the fondamenta, away from us. He stopped for directions from a young child. I recognised little Sophie, the cobbler Enzo’s daughter. Because of me, she’d survived the Morto Assiderato. She pointed down a nearby ramo. The gondolier bowed and followed her finger. She giggled and skipped towards us. I froze. What if she recognised me?
She took one glance at us and skidded to a halt. She dropped a clumsy curtsy. ‘Signor, Signorina,’ she said, her mouth falling open as she gazed up and down at us. I had removed my cape during the trip and my gown, while dark and faded, was sewn with jewels and had slashed, full sleeves.
Both Baroque and I bowed our heads. My throat was tight with tension; my eyes mere slits behind my mask.
Sophie broke into a huge smile and raced off. ‘Mamma, mamma!’ she cried. ‘I’ve seen a princess!’
I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing.
‘Well, that’s a sound I haven’t heard for a long, long time,’ said Baroque. He smiled at me kindly.
I thought for a moment. ‘Vero. It’s been a while.’ I took his proffered arm, looping it through mine and, turning our backs on the bridge, we strolled along the fondamenta.
I was aware of eyes upon us. From the windows, from the darkened shelter of doorways. One or two nodded to us. I knew them all: Carlita, Enzo’s wife and Sophie’s mother, who stepped out of her shop and also curtsied. There was Fabrizio, another candlemaker; Guiseppi, the fruiterer; and Francesca’s husband came past us, dragging a cart. He tipped his hat and muttered, ‘Buon giorno.’ I felt him looking over his shoulder, not because he recognised me, but because strangers in the quartiere were always noted. They were the subject of conversations for days afterwards. I knew that Baroque and I would entertain many a group in the taverna, many a family tonight.
Finally, we paused outside Quinn’s shop and Pillar’s workshop. It was only when Baroque placed his hand over mine that I realised I was trembling.
‘He’s really gone, hasn’t he?’ I said, looking around, resisting the urge to touch, to draw, to learn, to feel.
Baroque nodded. ‘From here. Sì.’ He cleared his throat.
I took in the peeling paint, the cobwebs that festooned the entrance. Debris had blown onto the doorstep and gathered in the corner. Quinn would have had me sweeping that away, scrubbing the wood until it gleamed.
‘Do you want to go in?’
‘Inside?’ Panic flared in my chest. ‘We can’t –’
Baroque glanced around. Apart from a young boy scaling a fish, the fondamenta was relatively quiet. He reached over and did something with the lock. The door swung open, the creak it made echoing around the empty room. I hesitated for only a second and then stepped inside.