Lanterns in the Dark - 7. Chapter 7

When word reached them about what had happened, Daniele’s parents hurried home from work at once. Apparently, they had taken the news that their only son had been caught up in a house fire somewhat amiss.

To Daniele’s intense embarrassment, Patrizia insisted on bathing him personally until all traces of soot and smoke had been washed out of his hair. Then, over a simple dinner of penne al pomodoro thrown together in haste by Paolo, they scolded him for not having told them about what he had been up to in Sambuco for the past couple of weeks.

“Honestly, Daniele…” Patrizia challenged him. “After what happened in the spring, I thought we’d agreed that you were going to talk to us about what you get up to when you’re away from home?”

Daniele glanced shamefacedly down at his bowl of tomato pasta. Scattered with a grating parmesan cheese, it steamed gently, offering up a rich and savoury scent.

“I wanted to,” he said, “but…”

He did his best to explain why he’d been afraid to talk to an adult about Sami.

“You see, I was trying to do the right thing by talking to Toto,” he said, “but then…”

He tailed off miserably. His parents looked back at him with grudging sympathy.

“Claudia’s right,” Patrizia said. “Toto will probably be fine.”

“What about Sami? What’s going to happen to him?”

Patrizia and Paolo exchanged an awkward glance.

“That’s harder to answer,” Paolo said. “After all, he was here illegally…”

Daniele inspected his fingernails gloomily. In spite of everything, Sami’s situation seemed utterly hopeless. “So, it was all for nothing, then…”

“I wouldn’t say that, caro,” Patrizia replied, making a valiant attempt to cheer him up. “The three of you did save his life… again!”

* * *

That night, Michele knocked on the door to invite Daniele to breakfast in the square. A few of Toto’s closest friends and family members had decided to get together for mutual support. He said that they would all be glad to see him there.

Daniele had his doubts. Despite the assurances that Michele and Claudia had given him after the fire, part of him still felt responsible for putting Toto in danger. But he trusted his friends, so he had agreed to go.

In the morning, Daniele got up after he heard his parents moving around in the kitchen. He stretched and cracked open the shutters over one of his bedroom windows, squinting out at the dazzling view down the terraced hillside to the sea below.

It was another sunny morning, the sea below a deep cobalt blue and the sky above unbroken by clouds; they met at the distant horizon in a hazy confusion of tones. Through the open window, he could already hear the cicadas scraping away among the olive groves below.

Daniele’s lower ground floor bedroom was cool and modern, floored with ceramic tiles and rugs and dominated by his favourite feature, which was the large double bed at its centre. A row of fitted cupboards lined one wall, finished with clean white wooden doors. He opened the wardrobe section and stood there in his underwear, staring critically at his collection of tie-dye t-shirts, which he had arranged carefully in a rainbow fashion.

He glanced critically into the mirror mounted to the wardrobe door. A skinny thirteen-year-old looked back at him, his blond hair still stubbornly soft, with shoulders that had begun to broaden slightly but little definition to his arms and chest. He wondered if he would ever look athletic like Toto and Michele: it would be wrong to say that he crushed on them, but he did envy them. Neither of them was bulky or overtly muscular, but they both carried themselves with a certain easy strength and grace that he had long admired.

Despite his friends’ assurances, Daniele didn’t feel like the hero of the hour right now, either.

Does it really count as helping to save a life, if I failed to do something earlier that could have prevented the whole business?

He wanted to talk to Marco, but he had no way of contacting him. The other boy would want to know what had happened to Sami. He decided that he would look for him as soon as he could.

Daniele sighed and plunged a hand into the rack of t-shirts. Discounting the brighter colours, he pulled out the lavender one. Today didn’t feel like a day for celebration.

A short while later, freshly showered and dressed with a quick squirt of deodorant, he slipped into the kitchen to say good morning to his parents and tell them that he was ready to go.

“Are you sure you’re up to this, caro?” Patrizia asked, her blue eyes looking him up and down intently for signs of injury or weakness.

“I feel fine, Mamma,” he assured her, “and I’d really like to see my friends.”

“What are you going to do after that, champ?” Paolo asked.

“I’m going to look for Marco.”

“That’s the other boy you mentioned who was helping take care of Sami?” Patrizia replied, watching him with curious interest. “Are you friends, then?”

Daniele shook his head. “Not exactly… but I need to tell him what happened.”

Patrizia nodded. “All right, caro. We’ll see you this evening.”

* * *

Daniele set out on his journey up into town at a gentle pace, enjoying the freshness of the morning. In the shade, it was still pleasantly mild. As he crossed the zig-zagging road for the second time, a light sea breeze caressed his brow, helping to drive away the memory of the waves of heat that had emanated from the burning house. Pausing on flat section of path just above the road, he turned back into the breeze and leant on the railings, closing his eyes and soaking up the cool, clean air for a while.

When he was ready, he resumed his climb up into the older part of town. His trainers crunched on the uneven stone paving, echoing off the old villas and high stone walls that lined the ancient footpath.

The owners of the gift shops were still setting up their colourful outdoor displays as Daniele swung into the square. It was Sunday morning, and the cathedral was open for Mass. The smartly-dressed congregation, many of them on the older side, filed in through the big bronze doors for the morning service. Each of them was greeted in turn by Father Stefano, who stood on the threshold dressed in his full priest’s robes.

Elsewhere, the tourists and the more secular locals were making the best of the morning cool. The bars were doing a good trade in coffee and the atmosphere was relaxed. A few early cicadas were scraping in the pine trees, and the pigeons scavenged for crumbs. A couple of stray kittens lurked in the shade of the pine trees, hoping for scraps. On the far side of the Valle del Dragone, Scala shimmered in the morning haze. A few columns of smoke, white and benign this time, rose gently from bonfires amongst the terraced slopes.

Daniele spotted his friends at one of the bars on the far side of the square. They had pulled two tables together at the corner where Salvatore had often met Toto for lunch.

Salvatore was there now, Daniele realised. He was accompanied by Marta Rossi, mother to Claudia, Angelo and their elder brother Pietro. The matriarch of the Rossi family was looking as elegant as ever in one of her favourite dark green dresses, her dark hair streaked with grey. She was sitting next to Toto’s father, clutching one of his hands on the tabletop in a supportive sort of way.

They had also rustled up Gianni and Angelo from somewhere: the two young men sat facing Salvatore and Marta, chatting sympathetically with them but not without humour. Their little white dog, Alfredo, sat nearby, lapping at a bowl of water that had been provided for him.

Claudia and Michele sat at the second table. Claudia, who had looked so desperately exhausted the previous evening, seemed much more her normal self this morning. She caught sight of Daniele and beckoned him over.

Daniele slid into one of the spare seats next to Angelo, acutely aware of the empty eighth chair, which rightfully should have belonged to Toto.

“Ciao, Dani,” Claudia said with a smile. The greeting was repeated around the group.

Daniele glanced up and down the table. In the centre sat a plate of fresh pastries. Otherwise, it looked like cappuccini all round, apart from a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice that had been placed carefully in front of his seat. He supposed someone must have ordered it for him before he arrived, and he sipped at it gratefully.

“Buongiorno, signore,”, Daniele said, directing the greeting at Salvatore. “I’m sorry about Toto. I…”

Salvatore raised his free hand gently to silence him. “Before you go any further, Daniele, I want you to know that I don’t hold you responsible for what happened yesterday.” He glanced at the two teens who sat beside him. “Michele and Claudia were just telling me how, despite your bravery, you seemed inclined to blame yourself for the incident.”

Daniele gave him a conflicted look, caught somewhere between guilt and hope. “It’s just… if I’d said something sooner…”

Salvatore shook his head. “You didn’t tell that little boy to hide in that dangerous old house, and nor did you force Toto to rush into a burning building to save him. If anything, I should be grateful to you and Claudia for getting them both out so quickly.”

“How is Toto?” Daniele asked desperately.

“He’s being treated for smoke inhalation,” Salvatore replied. “They want to keep him in the hospital for a couple of days, but he’s going to be fine. He… rather insisted that I bring myself home instead of waiting by his bedside, so I came back by taxi last night.”

Relief washed over Daniele like a wave, and for a moment he felt his head swim.

“And Sami?” he asked once he had recovered his wits, taking another sip of his juice.

“I’m sorry,” Salvatore replied, “I don’t know.”

Daniele nodded quietly and helped himself to a lemon croissant from the plate in the centre of the table. Angelo patted him on the shoulder.

“See, Dani?” he said with a smile. “You’re still a superhero.”

Daniele smiled back and took a bite of the sweet, crumbly pastry.

“It must have been very frightening for you, Salvatore,” Marta said.

Salvatore looked uncomfortable. Daniele knew he was not a man who talked about his feelings very readily.

“Well, naturally, I… he’s the only family I have left. What other legacy have I left to the world, really? To think it could all have been snatched away through one reckless, heroic act…”

Daniele frowned slightly. “Are you angry with him, signore?” he asked.

“For saving a life?” Salvatore queried. “How could I ever be angry with him for that?” He sighed. “But if he could just try to avoid losing his own in the process, I’d be grateful…”

“Try talking Toto out of anything…” Michele muttered.

Salvatore nodded, with the faintest trace of a smile. “Quite so.”

“First Dani, then Claudia and now Toto,” Gianni said. “What is it about this place that keeps breeding heroes?” He gave Angelo a sideways glance. “You’ve done your share, too, I suppose.”

Angelo grinned. “Must be something in the water.”

“I see it slightly differently,” Claudia said casually. “What is it about this place that keeps breeding people who need rescuing?”

Marta chuckled. “Claudia has a point. Salvatore, I feel you and I have lived very boring lives in comparison.”

“I don’t know, Marta,” Salvatore murmured. “There was a time a few years ago when it could be said that you rescued me.”

Marta looked a little embarrassed. “I just saw a friend in need, that’s all.”

“I’m sure nobody who had to raise Angelo could be described as having a boring life,” Gianni chipped in.

Marta chucked, while Angelo elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “Are you trying to start something, Gianni?”

Gianni smirked. “You know I can take you.”

“You’ll have to forgive him,” Angelo told the rest of the table. “He’s had parenthood on the brain lately.”

Gianni nodded. “I guess I have.”

“What do you mean, Gianni?” Marta asked curiously.

Gianni set down his coffee cup carefully. “Reading my mother’s diaries has made me think a lot about the relationship she had – and then didn’t have – with Nonna, and how important family was to both my grandparents.” He took Angelo’s hand. “We’ve been together for ten years now, and I don’t regret a moment of it, but sometimes I wonder… what happens next?”

Marta gave him a thoughtful look. “You mean, normal… sorry, I mean heterosexual… couples would have had children by now?”

Gianni nodded. “Or, at least, they might be thinking about it.”

“I see… but that path will always be closed to you.”

Gianni shrugged. “In Britain, it’s not so unusual for same-sex couples, or even single people, to adopt children, but… I understand that’s not usually allowed here.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Angelo added. “Gay couples have been known to foster children, but that’s about it.”

Marta turned her questioning gaze on her middle son. “How do you feel about all this, Angelo?”

“I’d never even thought about it until Gianni brought it up,” he admitted, “not consciously, anyway. But I think, on some level, that desire for a family probably exists within all of us.” He paused to scratch Alfredo between the ears; the beardy little dog looked up at him adoringly with his beetle-black eyes. “So, I guess, although I’m not quite as invested in the idea as Gianni is just yet … I sort of get where he’s coming from.”

“Toto would say you’d be great parents,” Michele said. “He’s felt that way ever since you took him in for a few days after… you know…” he tailed off, giving Salvatore an awkward glance.

“It’s all right, Michele,” Salvatore said gently. “I don’t pretend to have done everything perfectly.”

Gianni and Angelo’s words had given Daniele a strange, anxious feeling in his chest. “You wouldn’t go away, would you?” he asked them. “To adopt, I mean.”

Gianni shook his head. “No, Dani, don’t worry. Ravello is our home.” He glanced around at their beautiful surroundings. “Once this place gets a hold of you, it never lets you go.”

Claudia cleared her throat discretely. “Um, hello?” she said. “Off to university in a few weeks…”

Gianni chuckled. “True,” he said, “but you’ll be back. Maybe not to live here forever, but… it will always be home.”

Claudia sighed. “I can’t argue with that, I guess.”

Michele smiled slightly. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. Look me up when you’re ninety, will you, Claudia? I might have traded my Vespa for a mobility scooter by then, but you’ll probably still find me propping up a bar somewhere, rambling about my glory days.”

“What about Toto?” Daniele asked.

Michele shrugged. “We’ll have to see, I guess. Once he’s got his degree and gone off to have a glittering career in the city, will I still matter to him?”

“Oh, he’ll always come back to you in the end,” Claudia said. “You’re, like, his centre of gravity.”

“Or maybe he’ll drag you along with him,” Angelo suggested. He winked. “You could be his house-husband.”

“Thanks a lot, Angelo,” Michele retorted. “No, I reckon this is the place for me.”

“Well, before I go,” Claudia said, “I’m going to have a serious party.” She glanced around the table. “You’re all invited.”

* * *

In the end, it wasn’t until after lunch that Daniele set out in search of Marco. Instead, he spent the morning with Claudia and Michele. Nominally, Claudia was Toto’s friend more than she was Michele’s but, since they had arranged to head down to Amalfi in the afternoon to meet up with Isabella, they seemed to see little point in splitting up.

They spent quite a lot of time hanging out in the shade of the Municipio gardens – it was already too hot to do much else – but they did pitch chips of gravel for a while on the quiet, shady stairway behind the cathedral, and then they spent a bit of time browsing the stores in Via Roma. In one of the gift shops, Claudia bought a simple, inexpensive bracelet that she thought Isabella would like. When Michele gave her a questioning, slightly teasing glance, she punched him on the arm and told him to grow up.

Lunch was ice cream in the square. Daniele didn’t think his parents would be too impressed to hear this, but Michele had offered to pay, and he wasn’t the sort of boy to say no to a sweet treat when it was offered.

Once Claudia and Michele had set off together, Daniele was left to his own devices. He wandered across to the railings once again, trying to put himself in Marco’s shoes.

Would Marco have had time to discover the burnt-out ruins of the house in Sambuco by now? If he had, he would be wanting to know what had happened, wouldn’t he? Where would he go?

Daniele already knew where Marco lived: Giacomo had let that information slip one night when Daniele had accompanied him on one of his secret missions for Ettore. As Daniele recalled, Marco had followed them that night, so he might have heard Giacomo talking. Would that be enough of a reason for Marco to wait at home and hope that Daniele would stop by?

It seemed unlikely, but Marco’s house wasn’t far away, and it seemed as good a place as any to start.

Daniele set off down Via Roma, weaving between passers-by and the outdoor displays of the various shops. After a while, he passed his school, which was mercifully gated and locked for the summer, and then he broke out onto a sunny footpath that opened onto the Valle del Dragone. The windowless rear wall of Scala’s ancient cathedral glowered back at him from the far side of the valley.

The quiet and uneven path, which was lined with colourful oleanders, backed onto a low cliff of yellowish stone that Daniele knew to be a popular basking spot for lizards. Sure enough, he disturbed several of the cautious little creatures as he walked. They skittered away into cracks in the rock, each one a speckly brown blur with a flash of green or blue on its flank.

Before long, Daniele had arrived in a small square centred around an ancient stone fountain. To one side, the square was open to the valley. Opposite, the square was dominated by the arched white façade of the hotel where his mother and Gianni worked.

Marco’s home was halfway up the narrow street beyond the square, a gloomy little lane that led up through a crowded knot of buildings towards San Martino. The house itself was a small two-storey property with scruffy off-white render and just two windows on the front. The dark green paintwork of the old wooden door was blistered and peeling in several places.

Daniele knew that Marco’s parents both worked hard for little pay, and they would probably both be out at this time of the day. All the same, gave the door a wary little knock, doubting that he would really be lucky enough to find the other boy so easily.

After a minute or so, during which Daniele knocked twice more, he concluded that nobody was coming. He turned away and headed back towards town, pondering his options.

Would Marco wait for him at the wreck of Ettore’s house? That didn’t seem likely, and in any event, Daniele never wanted to see the place again. He supposed there was their secret clearing in the valley, but Marco would probably no longer feel at home there. The square seemed too obvious, and the mousy-haired boy was seldom seen there these days anyway.

Daniele racked his brains and came up with one last option. The only other place that the two of them had in common, or at least the only place of any importance, was the abandoned terrace at the Villa Cimbrone where they had fought their brief, one-sided battle. He decided that it was worth a go. If he got there and found no sign of Marco, maybe he would wait there himself for a while. There was shade to be had under the pine tree that grew there, so there could be worse places to spend the afternoon.

Daniele returned to the square and crossed the quietly bustling space, scanning the area with his eyes just in case, and then carried on past the row of gift shops to the winding stairway that led up the hill.

As always, climbing the secluded footpath amidst the soporific heat of the afternoon gave Daniele the sense that he had escaped into another, quieter world. As he passed the convent of San Francesco, his footsteps echoed under the vaulted ceiling of its cavernous porch. Then he passed beneath a stand of trees that rang with the scraping of cicadas, eventually emerging by a little café opposite a tiny park where several stray cats dozed, stretched out in the shade under the benches.

Soon, he passed a vegetable garden that stepped down towards the lower reaches of the Valle del Dragone. On the far side of the valley, the ancient village of Pontone guarded the rocky ridge between the twin coves of Amalfi and Atrani. He paused for a moment, remembering the adventures he had had there, both good and bad.

The Villa Cimbrone, which had once been one of the town’s most important residences, occupied a commanding position atop a tall crag that jutted out towards the sea. These days, its fine old gardens were open to members of the public, for a price. Walking up a quiet approach next to a high stone wall festooned with fragrant creepers, Daniele stepped through the great wooden doors and entered the courtyard of the weathered old villa itself.

The courtyard was blessedly shady, guarded by a great tall umbrella pine. From the far side, a long gravel avenue draped with wisteria and grape vines scythed straight out through the gardens, ending at the cliff edge on the so-called Terrace of Infinity, which was widely held to offer one of the best views on the whole Amalfi coast.

Daniele paused at the ticket kiosk to hand over a few Euros for entry. The bespectacled, Bohemian-looking woman at the desk offered him a friendly wink as she handed over his ticket. Her name was Viola Rossi, and she was one of Claudia and Angelo’s many cousins. Daniele had crossed paths with her several times before.

Daniele ignored the main avenue and the panoramic view that it promised. Instead, he headed off onto a quiet side path, winding between hydrangea bushes and then descending through several quiet, pine-scented terraces until he reached the lowest cultivated level of the gardens.

The abandoned terrace where he had encountered Marco before was in a part of the gardens that wasn’t normally open to the public, and it was cordoned off by a rustic chestnut fence. Once he had made sure that there was nobody else around, Daniele hopped over the fence and stepped down into a shabby area of dry grass and baked, hard-packed earth.

Daniele was surprised to find that his instincts had been right. Marco was sitting under the lone pine tree, waiting for him.

* * *

Marco sprang to his feet as soon as he saw Daniele. His cool grey eyes peered out anxiously from under his mop of mousy hair. For once, his accustomed aura of hostility had been stripped away, replaced by unvarnished concern for the welfare of the little boy in Sambuco.

Despite his obvious impatience, Marco waited in the shade of the pine tree for Daniele to join him. He straightened his faded old blue check shirt, which he was wearing open over a plain white t-shirt, and spoke up as soon as Daniele got close enough, getting straight to the point without the slightest ceremony.

“What happened to Sami, Daniele? Do you know?” he asked. “I went to the house in Sambuco this morning, and…”

Daniele nodded. “Yes. There was a fire.”

“No kidding,” Marco replied, spreading his hands impatiently. “There’s hardly anything left of the place. But what about Sami, Daniele?”

“He was taken to hospital,” Daniele replied. “I guess he’s probably going to be okay, but… he’s gone, Marco. I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again.”

Marco relaxed a little but, despite his visible relief, there was a sadness evident in the sudden slump of his shoulders. He cast his eyes down for a moment, but then they flicked back up to Daniele with an interrogative air. “How do you know all this, anyway?”

Daniele shrugged evasively. “Because I was there.”

Marco blinked. “You were?”

Daniele took a deep breath as he prepared to relive the previous afternoon for a second time. “I went with Toto and Claudia to visit Sami, and we found the place in flames. The fire had already spread through the whole house.” He paused, mopping his brow at the memory of it. “Toto went in first. They made it as far as the hallway before they were overcome by the smoke. I got Sami out, but…” he tailed off.

Marco stared at him. “You went in after Sami, too?”

Daniele nodded. “In the end.”

Marco chewed his lip uncertainly for a moment, a faint frown creasing his clear brow. “Were… are you okay?” he asked.

Daniele nodded unhappily. “I’m fine, I guess. Toto’s also in hospital, though. Claudia dragged him out after I grabbed Sami. They say he’s going to be all right, but… you know.”

“Then I guess it’s true, what they say about you,” Marco said.

“What’s that?” Daniele asked.

“That you’re… some kind of hero or something,” Marco added reluctantly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned away again. “I’ve never done anything like that.”

“You’ve probably just never had the chance,” Daniele suggested.

Marco shrugged. “Whatever,” he muttered. “Anyway, thanks for telling me what happened, and for helping to get Sami out.” He paused, kicking miserably at the hard-packed earth with one faded trainer. “I guess there’s no need for us to hang around together anymore.”

“So… what are you going to do?” Daniele asked.

“Tomorrow? I dunno. Right now, I guess I’m going to go for a walk.”

He turned to leave, but Daniele started after him.

“Can I… walk with you?” he asked.

The smaller boy paused, casting a suspicious glance back over his shoulder. “If you want,” he replied.

They climbed back up through the gardens together in a silence that, while not exactly companionable, was, at least, tolerant.

“Leaving us so soon?” Viola asked Daniele as they passed the kiosk.

Daniele nodded. “Yes, thanks. I found what I came for.”

She smiled. “Well, if you’re sure. Come and see me next time you visit – I’ll give you a discount.”

Daniele thanked her, and the two boys moved on.

“You really came here for me?” Marco asked as they stepped out through the gates.

Daniele nodded. “I’ve been looking for you. I knew you’d want to know what happened.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Marco mumbled.

Daniele sensed that the smaller boy’s armour was weakening. Maybe this was his chance to get under his skin.

“Look…” Daniele ventured, “I’m sorry for what happened in the spring. I should have done more to persuade Giaco and Emilia to make up with you. I guess… I was just too excited to have some new friends myself.”

Marco gave him the slightest of glares, but said nothing. As they exited the villa gardens, he turned off past a couple of isolated houses and led the way down a steep flight of steps. Soon, they were winding their way down the steep, wooded side of the Valle del Dragone. The canopies of the broadleaved trees sheltered them from the worst of the afternoon sun.

At the foot of the steps, they turned right onto an uneven, little-used path that traversed the side of the valley. Daniele had been this way a couple of times before, usually with Giacomo, and knew that it headed back towards the cliffs below town where they kept their secret clearing. Completely alone, they meandered between olive trees, wild chestnut trees and natural scrub, passing through land that had only been partly cultivated. The surroundings whispered with cicadas and crickets.

“Giaco showed you our place down here, I guess?” Marco asked after a while, as if he had read Daniele’s mind.

Daniele nodded. “Yes, we’ve been there a few times.”

“Figures,” Marco muttered.

“It’s still just as you left it,” Daniele said. “I mean… there’s room for four.”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah. We’re all going to be spending time there as one big, happy group of friends.” He shook his head. “As if Giaco and Emilia would want me along after everything that’s happened.”

Daniele shrugged. “You’re not the only one who’s messed up.”

Marco glanced at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

As briefly as he could, Daniele gave the other boy an account of his disastrous date with Emilia and the way he had hurt her feelings. By the time he had finished, Marco’s grey eyes were confused.

“But… I thought you crushed on Giaco?” he said.

“I do,” Daniele admitted. “I thought maybe I could make it work with Emilia, but… I guess I was wrong.”

“Wow, Daniele,” Marco remarked. “That was some really smooth work.”

By now, they could hear the main valley road approaching from the left. Instead of following the actual path down to the road, they struck out through the scrub, climbing up to their hidden clearing at the foot of the cliffs. They paused at the edge of the secluded little space, looking down at the two sturdy logs that had been set up as benches, and the ring of stones surrounded by bare earth that they used as a fire pit. There did, indeed, appear to be room for four.

For a moment, the fight seemed to go out of Marco as he contemplated the scene of the friendships he had lost. He sagged a little, raising a hand to wipe at his eyes. Daniele wanted comfort him, but he held back, knowing that it wouldn’t be welcome.

“See, Marco?” he said quietly. “We’re not so different.”

Marco looked up at him, and suddenly his grey eyes blazed furiously with all their old hostility. This time, Daniele could see the deep pain that lay behind it.

“Just stop it, Daniele!” he cried. “I’ve told you before. I don’t know you, I don’t like you, and… why can’t you just leave me alone?”

With a great sob, the smaller boy turned and fled on through the scrub, following the informal woodland path that they had used for years to come and go from the place. Unthinkingly, Daniele gave chase.

“Marco, wait! I’m sorry!” Daniele cried, charging through the trees after the receding figure, whose faded shirt tails flew out behind him as he ran. “What can I do? I…”

His foot caught in a tree root, and suddenly he was flying forward, completely out of control. He sprawled in the dirt and cried out as his right leg landed hard against a protruding rock. The pain was instant and searing; it felt as if he had scraped all the skin off one knee.

Daniele floundered in the dirt, sobbing, trying to get up, but the wounded knee kept letting him down. It hurt too much to bend it. He could already feel his grazed skin beginning to bleed.

There was the crunch of returning footsteps, and Daniele looked up to see Marco standing before him, tears drying on his own cheeks.

“Can’t you get up?” he asked.

“I’m trying,” Daniele replied.

Marco stuck out a reluctant hand. Daniele took it and, with the smaller boy’s help, he heaved himself up using his good leg. Marco released him for a moment, and Daniele stood there, swaying slightly. He attempted a step forward, winced in pain, and almost fell over again.

Wearily, Marco slid himself under Daniele’s arm, pulling it down over his own chest and taking the weight off Daniele’s injured knee. He placed his free hand on Daniele’s other shoulder to stabilise them.

“Come with me,” he sighed. “I’ll patch you up.”

* * *

It was slow, painful going on the rough path through the scrub. They struggled through the narrow gap between trees until, at last, they hopped down with difficulty onto the concrete path that would eventually take them back up towards Marco’s house.

Daniele looked dubiously at the long flight of steps leading up through the chestnut trees. They stretched off into the distance, bleached white by the merciless glare of the sun. They weren’t that steep, and normally Daniele would have taken them in his stride, but it suddenly seemed an awful long way to climb.

Daniele realised he was going to have to bend his knee a great many times to get up all those steps, but there was nothing for it. Aided by Marco, he gritted his teeth and set to work.

As they climbed slowly out of the valley, the land became more cultivated, with silvery olive trees appearing more and more often among the deeper green of the wild woodland. Lizards scattered as they went, and once they even glimpsed a snake, which shot off into the undergrowth as soon as it caught sight of them.

Marco continued to support Daniele’s shoulder with stubborn determination until Daniele began to feel like they were running the world’s slowest three-legged race.

“How is it,” the smaller boy grunted after a while, “that you can fight a grown man to help Giaco, and you can save Sami’s life twice, but I get stuck with the job of carrying you all the way up this freaking hill?”

Daniele gave him a puzzled glance. “How’d you know about the fight with Antonio?”

“He told me, stupid, before you came on your heroic mission to ‘reason’ with Ettore… He was utterly pathetic about it.”

“Have you still got that knife?”

Marco nodded. “Call it a souvenir.”

They reached a point where the steps steepened as they approached the road that led up into town. Marco halted, looking up at the winding stairway dubiously.

“I don’t know if…” he began.

“Let me go for a while,” Daniele said. “I think walking has loosened my knee up a bit. I’ll pull myself up by the wall.”

It was almost true: he was, at least, able to flex his knee a little. Marco slid out from under his shoulder, and Daniele began to drag himself up the steps. The repeated flexing forced a bit more blood out through Daniele’s graze, and he grunted in pain, but he kept going, knowing that every step brought him a little closer to a much-needed rest.

Marco helped him across the sun-drenched road, and then they were on a final, steep stairway made of stone. Daniele wasn’t sure how much more he could take, but they were nearly there. Passing the small apartment block where Gianni and Angelo lived, they staggered out into the lower corner of the square with the fountain.

Marco led them up the alleyway beyond the square until they reached his front door. The smaller boy gave him an ashamed sort of look, and then unlocked it and ushered Daniele inside.

Daniele remembered Emilia telling him, once, that Marco was embarrassed by his home because his family was so poor. His first impression, though, was that it wasn’t so different from any of the other older houses around the town he had visited, including the one that Gianni’s grandmother Marina had once lived in.

The hallway was a little shabby, perhaps: the rough plaster needed a fresh coat of whitewash, and some of the terracotta floor tiles were cracked, but the place seemed clean and wholesome. At the far end of the hallway was a staircase that presumably led up to the bedrooms.

Marco led Daniele into a small living area just off the hallway. It was furnished with a small television set, a battered coffee table and couple of patched and frayed sofas. Opposite the single, barred window that looked out onto the street, the room opened onto a spacious but old-fashioned kitchen area at the back of the house. The kitchen was dominated by a huge old pine dining table. At the back of the room was a glass door leading to a small, enclosed courtyard that the afternoon sun just managed to penetrate, flooding the whitewashed room with reflected light.

“Sit,” Marco said, gesturing at one of the patched sofas, then he disappeared back into the hallway. Daniele heard him clopping up the steps, presumably headed for the bathroom or wherever the family kept their first aid supplies.

Daniele sank gratefully down onto the sofa, wincing at the pain in his knee. He kicked off his shoes and shoved them to one side. Noticing that the blood from his wounded right knee had trickled all the way down his leg, staining the cuff of one of his white socks an ugly red, he prised them off too, shoving them into the tops of his discarded trainers.

Marco reappeared a minute or so later, with a damp flannel in one hand and a small first aid kit in the other. He paused on the threshold, staring at Daniele’s bare feet in confusion. Daniele offered him a slightly shamefaced smile, eliciting the faintest of puzzled shrugs from the other boy, and then Marco knelt down in front of him to examine the wound.

First, Marco used the damp flannel to clean up the wound. It stung horribly, and Daniele winced again, but the smaller boy’s touch was surprisingly gentle. After a few of seconds, fresh blood beaded into the wound, but no more ran down his leg.

“Wow, you really did a number on yourself,” Marco said, almost respectfully. “I think this is the deepest graze I’ve ever seen.”

“Tell me about it,” Daniele concurred.

Almost as an afterthought, Marco ran the damp flannel gently down Daniele’s leg to clean off the rest of the dried blood. It was oddly ticklish, and Daniele had to fight the urge to cringe back from the sensation, but then the other boy was finished. He dabbed at the graze one more time, then popped the blood-stained flannel down on the coffee table.

Daniele was about to thank him, but Marco had already produced a tube of antiseptic cream from somewhere. He popped the cap with one thumb and rubbed a quantity deftly into Daniele’s wound, causing him to squirm again.

“Keep still, you big baby,” Marco muttered.

Marco wiped his hands on a clean corner of the flannel, then dug into the first aid kit and produced a large square sticking plaster, which he stuck precisely over the middle of Daniele’s wound.

“What do you think?” he enquired, his grey eyes peeping out curiously from under the ends of his mousy brown fringe.

“Thanks,” Daniele replied. “You’re… really good with your hands.”

Marco looked a little embarrassed. “Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled.

He got up and busied himself about in the kitchen, disposing of the plaster wrappers, rinsing the flannel through and then washing his hands carefully with a bar of plain-looking soap next to the sink. Experimentally, Daniele flexed his knee. It stung a little, but the plaster stayed firmly attached and it didn’t feel like the wound was bleeding.

The quickness and deftness of Marco’s fingers suggested hands that were accustomed to precise work. It made Daniele realise just how little he knew about the other boy, aside from his attachment to Giacomo.

“What do you like doing, Marco?” Daniele asked. “I just… wondered if you might be an artist, or something.”

Marco set down the towel he had been using to dry his hands.

“Do you really want to know?” he asked uncertainly.

Daniele nodded. “Sure, I do.” He ventured another smile. “You’ve just rescued me, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Marco considered him dubiously for a moment. “Okay,” he said at length. “Wait there a minute.”

“Suits me fine,” Daniele replied, gesturing at his injured knee.

Marco paused for long enough to thrust a glass of drinking water into Daniele’s hands, and then disappeared upstairs again.

Daniele sipped at the wonderfully cool water and glanced around the room. With the lights all out, it was a little gloomy perhaps, but he couldn’t see what Marco really had to be so embarrassed about.

The smaller boy reappeared a few moments later and held out a sheet of paper hesitantly for Daniele to look at. Daniele set his glass of water down on the coffee table, wiped his fingers on his t-shirt to make sure they were dry, and then took the paper from him. Marco sat down next to him, watching him warily.

It was a drawing, outlined in fine black pen and shaded in with coloured pencil. It showed a cartoonish sort of creature, a giant turtle of some sort with twin water cannons mounted to its shoulders.

“This is a Pokémon, isn’t it?” Daniele asked, remembering the brief introduction Giacomo and Emilia had given him to the card game, way back in the spring, which now seemed a lifetime ago.

Marco nodded. “Blastoise,” he replied.

The name brought up a memory. “That’s your favourite one, right?” Daniele asked.

Marco drew back, startled for a moment. “How did you know that?”

Daniele gave him a quick shrug. “I listen,” he replied.

Marco seemed astonished that he had taken the time to notice. Daniele, meanwhile, turned his attention back to the picture. The drawing of the creature was perfectly fine, but what really caught his interest was the background. Marco had cut no corners in giving the scene a sense of place. The creature was perched on a pair of rounded rocks in the middle of a river. Behind it, a waterfall cascaded down over a jagged rockface from which strands of glossy plants hung down.

“This is… really good,” Daniele said, passing the drawing back. “The waterfall looks totally real.”

For a second, Marco stared back at him, confusion racking his cool grey eyes, but then he broke eye contact, placing the drawing hastily down on the coffee table.

“Nobody normally bothers to look,” he mumbled. He glanced back up at Daniele for a moment. “What about you?”

“I’m a writer,” Daniele replied. “Adventure stories, mostly.”

“Oh,” Marco said quietly, his eyes now firmly back on the tabletop. “Cool.”

Daniele glanced back down at his neatly plastered knee. “I should probably go,” he said.

“Why, more lives to save?” Marco asked distractedly.

Daniele shrugged. “No, but I think it might take me a while to get home today.” He glanced down at his bloodied footwear. “Do you have a clean pair of socks I could borrow for a day or two?”

“Sure,” Marco replied. “I’ll fetch you one.”

“Thanks. See you in a couple of days, then?”

Marco nodded, clutching tightly at the edge of the sofa cushions with his slender fingers. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Daniele extended a hand towards him. “Friends?” he asked.

Marco’s grey eyes flicked towards him for a moment, but he didn’t take the proffered hand. “Don’t count on it, wonder boy,” he replied.

“Wonder boy?” Daniele repeated incredulously, but Marco ignored him and set off upstairs again to fetch a clean pair of socks.

Was it his imagination, or had the other boy just cracked a joke?