Lanterns in the Dark - 9. Chapter 9

Daniele met up with Marco several more times over the next few days.

Now that they were friends, their old enmity was quickly forgotten. Daniele found it harder and harder to remember why they hadn’t got on in the first place.

Daniele had learned that Marco was sensitive about his background. Anything that drew attention to how poor the family was, or that exposed his troubled attitude towards himself, tended to upset him. At the same time, the smaller boy thrived on Daniele’s attention and, in a reversal of his earlier combative stance to praise, he seemed to have become hungry for compliments.

Sensing this, Daniele set out to be the best, most loyal friend he could be. So far, it seemed to be working. As the days went by, Marco smiled more and more and, although his eyes remained restless and avoidant, his air of grey despondency began to fade away. Daniele could almost see the colour returning to his cheeks, like a drowned man who has been given the kiss of life. Marco wore happiness well, and Daniele began to understand, for the first time, what Giacomo and Emilia must have seen in him that had sustained their friendship when they were younger.

Saturday morning found the two of them hanging out in Marco’s attic bedroom. The room was small and unadorned, but it had a comfortable bed, an old pine wardrobe and a table with a single wooden chair. The small window, which was open against the heat of the morning, peeked out under the eaves, overlooking the tiny rear courtyard with its tall stone retaining wall, above which a rustic chestnut pergola draped with vines marked the boundary with a larger property further up the hill.

They were both perched on the edge of the bed. Marco had brushed his hair and was wearing his nicest shirt, which had a breezy yellow and black check pattern and still held much of its original shape and colour. He wore it open over a plain grey t-shirt that hugged his skinny figure, and he was leafing through a pile of some of his drawings, looking for more examples to show Daniele.

Daniele had chosen his teal tie dye t-shirt today, along with a pair of denim shorts that Giacomo had given him. While he waited, he allowed his eyes to wander out to the sunny courtyard. As he watched, a house sparrow fluttered down onto the windowsill and peered beadily in through the open window. Daniele nudged the other boy on the arm.

“Check this out, Marco,” he whispered.

Marco glanced up from his papers for a moment and regarded the sparrow without surprise. “Oh, that’s Federico,” he said. “I feed him little bits of bread sometimes.”

“You named him Federico?” Daniele asked, smiling slightly.

Marco nodded. “After Fellini, the filmmaker.”

“Do you watch a lot of old movies?”

Marco shook his head. “We don’t even have a DVD player, but we watch them on late night TV sometimes.”

“So, the real reason you named a sparrow after Federico Fellini is…”

“…no reason at all,” Marco replied, and they both giggled.

Federico, evidently realising that there was no food on offer today, took off in disgust.

“He’ll be back,” Marco said casually.

During the course of the morning, Daniele had been shown several of Marco’s artworks, many of which featured his favourite types of Pokémon. There were no portraits – perhaps Marco doubted his ability to do it, or maybe they simply didn’t interest him – but there were a few landscapes, including an impressionist take on the view out through Marco’s own bedroom window. The pergola of vines strode crookedly across the top of the stone of the courtyard wall, framed convincingly by the flanks of the neighbouring buildings.

Now, Marco handed him one last drawing. Daniele realised it was a sketch of Federico on the windowsill. Daniele could see real intelligence and depth in the sparrow’s beady black eye, in which Marco had left a small white star to suggest reflected light.

“This is great,” Daniele said.

Marco shrugged doubtfully. “I dunno. The beak’s too long and thin, and there’s not enough shadow.”

Daniele shook his head. “Only a proper artist would notice those things. I think it’s brilliant.”

“Keep it, if you like it,” Marco said earnestly. “I’ve been meaning to redo it anyway.”

“Are you sure?”

Marco nodded. “Yeah.”

“Thanks…”

Daniele carefully folded the page into quarters, trapping the pencilwork on the inside to avoid smudging it, and placed it in his pocket next to his wallet.

“I’m going to put it on my bedroom wall,” he declared.

Marco flushed a little and replaced the pile of papers on his desk. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Daniele insisted.

Marco’s grey eyes flicked up to him briefly. “Want something to eat?”

Daniele glanced at his watch and saw that it was, indeed, nearly lunchtime.

“I could take a snack,” he admitted.

“Come downstairs, then.”

They wandered down the staircase, which was narrow, with cracked terracotta floor tiles, and stepped back into the living room. Marco headed straight for the kitchen area.

“Drink?” he asked, rummaging in the fridge.

“Please,” Daniele replied.

“Catch.”

Marco popped up behind the counter and tossed a can of lemon Fanta to Daniele, who was so surprised he fumbled and almost dropped it.

“Is this going to explode on me, now?” Daniele said, eyeing the can dubiously.

Marco gave him a mildly amused sort of look. “Not if you’re careful.”

While Daniele popped the seal on the can, taking care to allow the excess gas to escape before he opened it properly, Marco dug out a bag of grated pizza cheese. He washed his hands, fired up the grill, and then cut a few slices off a ciabatta loaf that stood on the worktop. Daniele watched as he sprinkled the grated cheese deftly onto the slices of bread; Not a single piece missed its target. Daniele glanced dubiously at his own fingers, which suddenly seemed slow and ordinary. He doubted they could ever be persuaded to work so efficiently.

“Nicely done,” Daniele said. Marco looked up at him, smiled slightly, and then hurriedly turned his attention back to the bread slices, which he was arranging carefully on a grill pan.

Soon, the room was filled with the appetising scent of melting cheese. The two boys adjourned to the living room, Marco clutching a glass of water. Daniele’s attention was caught by a framed photograph that stood on the television table. It was one of the only decorative items in the room. Curiously, Daniele picked it up and examined it as they sat down on one of the old sofas together.

The photo looked like it was a year or two old. It showed Marco standing outside the house with a couple whom Daniele took to be his parents. Marco’s father was man of average height but slight build. He wore a polo shirt and a shapeless pair of trousers, and there was a fuzz of stubble around his face. His wife was shorter; she was wearing worn-looking work clothes, and looked exhausted, but she was smiling.

“These are your parents, right?” Daniele asked. “What are their names?”

Marco nodded. “Lorenzo and Gemma.”

“I guess they’re not around a lot.”

Marco shook his head. “Especially Papà. He works at a parking garage near Amalfi. Every day, he goes down there on the bus, and we don’t see him again until dinner time. They… don’t pay him much, and he’s always tired.”

Daniele frowned. “Doesn’t he get any time off?”

“Yeah, he gets a single day off once or twice a week. It moves around a bit.”

Daniele set the photo down carefully on the coffee table.

“Do they know, about… you know?” Daniele asked, thinking of the other boy’s heartfelt attachment to Giacomo.

Marco paled slightly. “No,” he said. “Please don’t say anything to them…”

“They won’t hear it from me, I swear,” Daniele assured him. “But… would it really be so bad?”

“I don’t think they’d like it.” Marco hesitated. “I dunno… I guess I’ll tell them when I’m ready.”

Daniele shrugged. “Mine seemed to know before I did,” he said, hoping it would give the other boy some comfort.

“And they were okay with it?” Marco asked hopefully.

Daniele nodded. “They were fine.”

“You were lucky,” Marco replied, running an anxious hand through his mousy hair. He got to his feet, taking a sip of water. “I reckon the lunch should be ready by now.”

* * *

After they had polished off the salty, savoury snack, the two boys set out in search of a shady spot for a change of scene.

Daniele suggested the Municipio gardens. Marco had no better ideas, so they wandered across the square with the fountain, heading for the Toro. The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly, sending up a faint heat shimmer off the dusty paving stones. As they passed the ancient stone basin, Daniele dipped his fingers in the water and splashed a few drops onto his brow to cool himself down.

They climbed a cobbled street that led up the hill, hugging the scant shade of the small street trees that grew beside it, glancing across the valley from time to time at the sun-drenched expanse of the mountainside at Scala. Another group of swifts flew overhead, calling shrilly.

“Uffa, it’s hot today,” Daniele murmured.

The climb deposited them in a tiny, crazy-paved square at the top of the Toro. They drifted slowly down through the main street, passing Giacomo’s apartment, although neither of them remarked upon it. They passed the deserted belvedere, and then Marina’s old courtyard home. Daniele wondered how Gianni and Angelo were getting on, and whether they had decided to keep it.

The shady Municipio gardens were lined with lime trees and one tall umbrella pine, which took the edge off the fierce afternoon heat. They flopped gratefully down on the grass opposite the cream and salmon-coloured palazzi of the prestigious street.

Marco picked up two twigs and tossed one to Daniele.

“En garde!” he said in French, brandishing his twig like a sword.

Daniele readied himself for a fight. “Sir,” he declared grandly, “you are a man without honour!”

“How dare you, sir?” Marco retorted. “I shall make you pay for that.”

A furious sword fight ensued, all in miniature. Just as Daniele felt beads of perspiration begin to break out on his brow, Marco rolled away and scooped up a small pinecone.

“Grenade!” he called, lobbing it at Daniele. It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, but Daniele mimed being blown up all the same, before springing back up and chucking his twig at the other boy like a dart.

The twig caught Marco squarely in the middle of his chest, and the smaller boy clutched both hands to the imaginary wound, acting for all the world as if he had just been stabbed to death.

“Why?” he wailed, then he sank slowly to the ground with an exaggerated death rattle.

Daniele began to giggle, and that set the other boy off too. They both sank down onto the grass again, propping themselves up on their elbows, and it was then that they realised they were being watched.

Giacomo and Laura had been walking down the street together, but they must have been distracted by the noise Daniele and Marco were making. They had stopped, still holding hands, and were both looking at them.

Laura raised a hand and offered Daniele a smile. He waved back, but it was Giacomo who really had his attention. The dark-eyed boy was glancing from Daniele to Marco, and he looked a little hurt.

You haven’t been around, Giaco. What did you expect?

Laura tugged on Giacomo’s hand, and they moved on; Giacomo offered Daniele a half-hearted little wave as they left. Daniele watched him go, his good mood punctured for a moment.

Daniele and the smaller boy exchanged a glance.

“That was weirdly awkward,” Marco said.

“Forget them,” Daniele said, although, in reality, he could do no such thing. “This is our afternoon.”

Marco seemed happy with that. He picked up another small pinecone and bounced it in one hand, his cool grey eyes offering Daniele a playful challenge.

Daniele slumped down onto the grass and rolled onto his back. “No more,” he panted, flashing the other boy a smile. “You win.”

* * *

When the two boys had spent enough time out in the heat of the afternoon, Daniele invited Marco to come back to his house for a while. He did so with some trepidation, wondering how the smaller boy would react to the size of his home and all the possessions he had in his bedroom, not least his laptop computer… but the air had taken on an oppressive, humid quality, and the cool shade of home held a powerful appeal.

Marco accepted Daniele’s invitation eagerly. Following Daniele’s lead, they took the back way down from the Toro: bypassing the cathedral square, they descended through trees, and then passed through the dark, echoing pedestrian tunnel beneath the Villa Rufolo. From there, they cut across to Daniele’s usual stairway and made their way down towards the hillside community where he lived.

“Don’t you ever get tired of going up and down these steps?” Marco asked.

Daniele shrugged. “I’m used to it.”

“You must be pretty fit,” the smaller boy observed.

Daniele smiled. “Aren’t you? Anyway, I’m not old enough for a Vespa.”

They had reached the first arm of the zig-zagging hillside road that served Daniele’s neighbourhood. As they crossed the road, there was a clatter of wings from overhead as something flew from the balcony roof of the house behind them, and suddenly Daniele felt a warm, wet sensation on the back of his right shoulder. He cringed in disgust, knowing exactly what it meant.

There was a faint giggle from behind him. “Uh-oh,” Marco said. “Pigeon got you.”

“Bleurgh…!” Daniele glanced over his shoulder, trying to see the damage, but it was just out of sight. “It feels like it’s dribbling. Is it dribbling?”

Marco shook his head. “No… you’re okay.” He squinted slightly. “If you do this, it almost looks like it’s part of your tie dye pattern.”

“Thanks a lot,” Daniele replied, rolling his eyes in an unconscious imitation of one of his new friend’s favourite gestures. “Good thing we’re nearly home,” he muttered.

They descended the last few flights of steps to reach the lower arm of the road and turned down it for the last few metres.

“Nice place,” Marco remarked as they stepped through onto Daniele’s small sun terrace.

“Thanks,” Daniele said warily, as he led the other boy down to the entrance.

Daniele used his key to open the door and then ushered the other boy through into the small hallway, where they both shrugged off their shoes. Judging by the music drifting through from the kitchen diner, Daniele’s mother was still home, so he led the other boy inside to say hello.

Patrizia had been nursing a coffee over a newspaper at the dining table. She looked up in surprise when the two boys entered.

“Ciao, caro,” she smiled, looking at the new arrival with interest. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ciao, Mamma,” Daniele replied. “This is Marco.”

“Buongiorno, signora Ferrero,” Marco said dutifully.

“Ah, of course,” Patrizia said delightedly. “Piacere. Daniele tells me you were very kind to that poor little boy in Sambuco.”

“Thanks, signora,” Marco replied, giving Daniele a searching little glance.

“Ah… something happened, Mamma,” Daniele said. He turned around briefly so she could see the mess on the back of his t-shirt.

Patrizia put a hand to her mouth. “Oh, my goodness,” she chuckled. “You’d better give that to me, caro. I’ll put it straight in the washing machine.

Daniele offered her a shamefaced smile, then grabbed the t-shirt by the collar and pulled it over his head, shrugging it inside-out as he lowered it over his bare arms so she wouldn’t have to handle it by the messy side. Next to him, Marco blinked and averted his eyes for a moment, shoving his hands into his pockets in an embarrassed sort of way.

“I have to work tonight,” Patrizia told Daniele as she stuffed the befouled t-shirt into the washing machine. “I’ve left you everything you need to cook an arrabbiata or a puttanesca, if that’s all right.” She washed her hands and poured two tall glasses of cold water from a jug in the fridge, which Daniele took gratefully from her outstretched hands.

“Thanks, Mamma,” he said. He passed one glass to the other boy, who looked up reluctantly to face him. “Come on.”

Marco nodded and followed Daniele back through the hallway to his lower ground floor bedroom. Daniele showed Marco inside, then shut the door behind them, taking a sip of the deliciously cool water as the smaller boy assessed his domain.

“Wow,” Marco said, with an air of slight awe. “You have a lot here… and that bed looks amazing.”

His eyes fell on the laptop computer on Daniele’s desk, which was folded shut but still instantly recognisable as such. Feeling embarrassed himself, Daniele walked over to it and shoved it hastily into a drawer.

“It’s for my writing,” he explained, turning back to the other boy with an awkward look.

“It’s okay,” Marco replied, taking a sip of his own water. “I don’t mind.”

Despite his words, he still seemed to be having some trouble meeting Daniele’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Daniele asked.

Marco flushed slightly. “Nothing,” he said, with a valiant attempt at a smile. “It’s just… could you put a top on? This is… kinda weird.”

Daniele glanced down at his own bare chest. “Oh, right…” he giggled. “Sorry, I forgot.”

He crossed the room and set his glass of water down on the bedside table. Opening his wardrobe, he grabbed his pink tie-dye t-shirt and pulled it on. While he did so, Marco stared out of one of the windows. Glancing out through the other window, Daniele noticed that a few clouds had formed over the sea. On land, the sun still beat down mercilessly, and he could still hear the cicadas scraping away in the olive groves below the sun terrace.

Once he’d dressed, the other boy seemed to relax a little. Daniele sat down, reclining back on the side of the bed, and Marco plopped himself down next to him.

“I’m just not used to boys undressing in front of me, I guess,” Marco said.

Daniele smiled. “That’s okay.”

Now, Marco seemed fascinated by something just above Daniele’s head. He reached out curiously. “Can I…?”

Daniele wasn’t sure what the other boy meant, but he gave him a puzzled nod.

In an unexpectedly intimate gesture, Marco twined his fingers through a handful of Daniele’s light blond hair. Caught by surprise, Daniele stared at the other boy, whose cool grey eyes had taken on a faraway, contemplative look for a moment.

When he registered Daniele’s startled expression, the other boy let go.

“Sorry,” he said, with an embarrassed smile. “I just… wanted to know what it felt like, that’s all. I’ve been wondering for a while.”

“And…?” Daniele asked.

“It’s soft,” Marco said. “Softer than Italian hair.”

Daniele laughed. “I am Italian,” he reminded him.

Marco flushed. “Yeah, I know, but… you know what I mean. You’re different from the other boys.”

Daniele frowned slightly. Marco’s comment had triggered a memory.

“That’s what Emilia said,” he murmured.

“Is it?” Marco said. He shuffled away awkwardly and became very interested in his fingernails.

Puzzle pieces began to fall into place in Daniele’s mind. Suddenly, the afternoon seemed to have taken a turn that he wasn’t at all prepared for.

He saw me as a threat from the moment Giaco and I started talking, didn’t he? And then, there was the way I could upset him just by being nice… the way he can never seem to look at me for more than a few seconds at a time…

He stared at the other boy, troubled by a truth that now seemed like it should have been obvious from the start.

He likes me.

He should have noticed, shouldn’t he? But he had been too busy trying to help Marco feel better about himself… and the other boy had responded. He wondered how much it had cost the other boy to let down his defences like that.

What have I done…?

He thought quickly, searching for a way to change the subject.

“Want to read one of my stories?” he asked.

* * *

As the afternoon turned into evening, Daniele and Marco were still hanging around the house. Patrizia had long since gone off to work. Daniele had been sure the other boy would head home of his own accord soon after that, but Marco seemed in no hurry to leave.

If he were honest, Daniele was glad of the company; he had never relished the long, lonely evenings on his own at home, except when he was writing… but Marco had already read through several of his stories, and Daniele was running out of ways to keep him occupied. He was anxious about what might happen if they ran out of other things to do.

What sort of impression have I given him? Is he waiting for me to say or do something more, or is he going to make the next move?

To make matters worse, Daniele’s sudden realisation about the other boy had left him utterly confused himself. With Giacomo, although he had always hoped that the other boy might come to like him one day, he had never really believed it would happen. There had been a certain comfort and safety in that knowledge.

With Marco, though… he was certain the other boy liked him, and the idea was powerfully flattering. It got to him in a way that Emilia’s overt crush never had. He found himself preoccupied with the possibilities, watching Marco as he lay on the bed poring over the last of Daniele’s stories, wondering what it would be like to experiment a little.

Marco shifted on the bed as he finished the tale. He folded it shut and handed it back to Daniele.

“That was the best one,” he said with a smile. “I liked the way Foul Filippo got dropped in the sea at the end.”

“Thanks,” Daniele replied, taking the copy of Foul Filippo and the Swifts from his outstretched hand.

“You like superheroes, don’t you?” Marco said.

“I did,” Daniele admitted. “I still do, I guess, but after what happened in the spring, some of the stuff I’d been writing before that seemed a bit dumb.”

“There were some real people in that story, weren’t there?” Marco asked perceptively. “The boy who needed to be rescued reminded me of…”

“Giaco,” Daniele said awkwardly, feeling exposed. “But that was before I had to rescue him for real.”

Marco frowned slightly. “What was Antonio going to do to him?” he asked.

Daniele shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

But the wince in the other boy’s eyes told him that he could guess. Now that he really saw those cool grey eyes, Daniele found himself strangely fascinated by them.

“Maybe I’ll get rid of the knife,” Marco murmured. “I’m not sure I want it as a keepsake anymore.”

He slid off the bed and wandered over to the window, where the sun had dipped a little lower in the sky, turning the light a warmer colour. It picked out the gathering clouds in a golden halo.

Marco turned excitably back to Daniele, as if he had been struck by a sudden inspiration. “Do you want to go for a firefly hunt tonight?” he asked.

“Fireflies?” Daniele repeated in surprise. “Isn’t it a bit late in the year?”

Marco shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

Now that it was mid-August, it would be getting dark a little earlier in the evening. With or without fireflies, Daniele had to admit that an adventure by twilight had a certain appeal.

“As long as your parents won’t mind if you’re back late,” he said.

Marco shook his head. “It’s Saturday, so Papà will probably go for drinks with his friends after he gets home. I’ll still be back before him. Mamma won’t worry either – she gets back so late after her shift in the hotel kitchens, she’ll probably just think I’ve gone to bed already.”

“It’ll be a surprise for her when you do turn up,” Daniele said.

Marco smiled slightly. “She’ll just be glad I was out with a friend.”

Daniele was persuaded. “Okay,” he smiled. “Can you help me with the dinner?”

Marco nodded. “Sure. I can do that.”

“Let’s get started on it, then.”

They moved back through to the kitchen, where they agreed to cook spaghetti alla puttanesca. Daniele had cooked the dish many times before. He handed Marco a couple of tasks, and the smaller boy made expectedly dextrous work of slicing the black olives, chopping the onion and finely dicing the garlic. As he chopped the onions, Daniele caught sight of him wiping his eyes on one arm.

“Don’t cry, Marco,” Daniele teased him. Marco rolled his eyes and carried on with his work.

Daniele, meanwhile, had peeled some ripe, red tomatoes, plunging them into boiling water first to loosen the skins, applying the time-honoured technique that Italian cooks had been using for centuries. Once he had done that, he chopped them roughly, sliced a fresh red chilli and chopped up a few anchovies.

Once everything had been prepared, Daniele went to wash his hands. As he dried them, he turned to find Marco standing behind him, threatening him with his outstretched fingers.

“Sticky garlic hands,” the other boy said with a grin.

“No!” Daniele shrieked, darting out of the way just in time. Marco giggled and washed his hands at the sink.

Before too much longer, the sauce was simmering on the cooker and the pasta water was coming to a boil next to it. The two boys lounged on the sofa in the living area, each clutching a cold drink, gazing out through the large windows at the golden evening.

“This is such a nice house,” Marco said wistfully. “I wish…” he added, tailing off vaguely.

“I like yours, too,” Daniele said. “It’s cosy, and it’s right in town.”

Marco gave him a surprised look. “Thanks.”

“Gianni’s grandmother’s old house is kinda similar.”

While he cooked the pasta, Daniele explained about Gianni and Angelo, and the story – as far as he knew it – of how their relationship had caused so much talk around the town at first, but how it had also laid a trail for Toto and Michele to follow. Marco listened with round-eyed interest, and seemed to take heart from it.

“I didn’t know most of that,” the smaller boy said when he finished. “My parents… they’ve never really talked with me about that stuff.”

“Toto also had it tough at first,” Daniele said. “Things went badly with his dad.” Briefly, he recalled a day when he was ten years old, when the fourteen-year-old Toto, distraught and on the run, had barrelled into him on the tree-lined street below the square. “But the really important thing is that Gianni, Angelo and Claudia didn’t let him fall… and Toto and Salvatore get on really well now.”

Daniele tasted the pasta and found that it was ready. He drained it, then set aside a portion of the sauce for his father, who would be arriving back, hungry and tired from another long day’s driving, a little while later. He delivered two steaming bowls to the table, and they sat down companionably to eat.

* * *

Once they’d eaten and washed up, the sky was beginning to darken. Daniele scribbled a note to his parents explaining his whereabouts, then he grabbed a pocket torch from a drawer in his bedroom and they set out together.

The traditional lanterns that lit the street sputtered into life as they shut the gate behind them. Even though the sun had gone down, the weather was still and sultry. The bank of clouds that they had seen earlier now covered the sky, adding to the gathering gloom. There was a feeling of intense expectation upon the air.

The two boys had agreed that the best place to look for fireflies was a footpath Daniele knew that traversed the hillside further down the mountain. The path ran through olive groves and lemon plantations, and Daniele recalled that it was mostly unlit.

Not far along the road, a steep footpath plunged straight down the hillside, an endless staircase leading down towards the coast. The two boys turned down it, descending between small, scattered villas and stone walls overhung by plump yellow lemons and ripening olives.

Daniele had thought they might hear strains of classical music drifting down the hill from the Villa Rufolo, but everything seemed strangely quiet. There was nobody else about. Even the cicadas had stopped scraping for the day, and the lizards had retreated to their hidden dens.

“This is so cool,” Marco said in hushed tones. He stuck close to Daniele’s elbow, so their arms were almost touching.

Daniele had seen no sign of fireflies yet, but the concrete stairway they were walking down was still fairly neat and tidy. He thought they would have a better chance further down the hill.

“See anything?” he asked all the same, treading carefully in the gathering darkness.

Marco shook his head. “Not yet. Give it time.”

At last, they reached the point where the steps touched down on a dirt path that followed the hillside, curving inland through a steeply sloping, densely terraced valley of sorts. Daniele tugged Marco’s arm and steered him to the left. The smaller boy jumped slightly at his touch, but followed him without question.

Soon, they had largely left civilisation behind them, and they walked alone through the terraced plantations, disturbed only by the occasional short, sharp rustle from among the darkened olive groves. Suspended from dense frameworks of chestnut poles, the thick, glossy foliage of the lemon plantations created enticing, mysterious caves of darkness to either side.

Their feet scrunched quietly on the earthen surface as they walked. Occasionally, they passed a gate or staircase leading up and down into the terraces, but there was no other sign of human life. They peered closely at the stone walls that lined the path and into the open ground among the olive trees, searching for the tell-tale green glow of a female firefly signalling for a mate, but there was nothing.

After a while, they began to see streetlights in the distance as the path returned to civilisation amidst the scattered houses on the outskirts of the hamlet of Torello. Daniele glanced at his companion and offered him a sympathetic shrug.

“It looks like we’re out of luck,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marco said quietly. “I got what I came for, anyway.”

In the darkness, Daniele felt the smaller boy’s hand sneak into his own. At once, his heart began to skitter in his chest, and he stared at the other boy as if paralysed, wondering how he should react.

“Marco, I…” he began, but he was interrupted by a blinding flash of light from among the purple clouds overhead. Both boys stared skywards, jaws agape, as a colossal roar of thunder rent the quiet of the late summer night.

Soon, great, heavy raindrops were falling thick and fast, splashing off their faces and trickling down their arms. Daniele realised they needed to find shelter straight away, or they would be soaked to the skin.

Tugging the other boy by the hand, he led the way along the path at a trot. Soon, they had reached the streetlights, which were old-fashioned, early electric ones that cast pools of pale light over the little-used walkway. It was then that he caught sight of their potential salvation: an agricultural store, which stood just off the main path. It was little more than an open-sided shed with a corrugated iron roof, but it looked dry inside.

They scrambled up a few steps and made it to the safety of the little building just as the rain reached fever pitch. It hammered down on the metal roof with a tremendous force, pouring off the lean-to roof in great pale sheets, but the two boys inside were protected from the fury of the storm.

At the back of the shed there was an upturned water tank that was about the right size for them both to use as a bench. Already quite wet from their brief flight through the rain, the two boys huddled together for comfort. Daniele felt Marco shivering slightly beside him, and he helped the smaller boy rub some of the water off his arms.

“It’s a good thing it’s a warm night,” Daniele said at a loud whisper that was just audible over the roar of the rain. “We’ll dry out soon.”

A tiny sliver of light infiltrated the shed from one of the lamps down on the main path, casting a faint halo around Marco’s mousy hair in the darkness. He gazed at Daniele, his grey eyes shining in the gloom.

“We can wait out the storm here,” he replied softly. “I don’t mind.”

Daniele stared back at him, panic overtaking his thoughts.

What do I do now? What do I WANT to do?

He should be excited. Here he was, alone in the dark with a boy who had made clear that he liked him, and who wanted to take things further.

But it’s not the right boy… is it?

Giacomo was the boy who played on his mind the most. Giacomo was the one who had caught Daniele’s eye before he even knew what it meant. Marco, on the other hand, was neither… but he was here, and he wanted this. Wasn’t there a part of Daniele that wanted it, too?

He didn’t have time to answer the question. To his terror, he realised that Marco was leaning closer to him. He opened his mouth slightly to tell the other boy to wait, but it was too late. Their lips touched, and all rational thought ceased for a moment.

For a little while, Daniele went with the feeling, and something deep inside him responded… but the part of him that still yearned for Giacomo cried out in protest.

Marco pulled back. Even in the darkness, Daniele could see that he was smiling. His face looked transported, and strangely beautiful. But Daniele also knew that, for him, this moment had come way too soon.

“I’m sorry, Marco,” he said awkwardly. “I can’t do this. Not yet.”

Marco’s face fell. “What do you mean?” he whispered.

“I’m not ready,” Daniele confessed. “It’s…”

There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence, but then tears sprang to Marco’s eyes.

“It’s because of Giaco, isn’t it?” Marco replied, his voice cracking wretchedly. “Even now…”

Daniele nodded. “Yes, but…”

Marco didn’t want to hear it. He slid away from Daniele and staggered to his feet.

“I thought you liked me,” he croaked.

“I do,” Daniele insisted. “I just…”

But Marco must had already heard too much.

“Just leave it,” he sobbed. And before Daniele could reply, he had cut and run, charging out into the rain.

“Marco, wait!” Daniele cried. “The storm!”

Daniele followed the other boy, sliding down onto the main path and almost losing his footing. He tried to pursue him, but Marco’s pain and humiliation seemed to have lent wings to his feet. Daniele’s last sight of the other boy as he vanished into the rain was a glimpse of his bedraggled yellow shirt flitting through the pools of pale light cast by the streetlights in the dark.