The Star in my Eye - 4. Chapter 4

The following Wednesday, on a cool morning with a bright, pearly-white sky, an anxious Sami stood in the street just outside their courtyard, neatly turned out in a white shirt and a pair of plain trousers under his warm winter coat. He wore a rucksack on one shoulder, packed with a few essentials to last the day.

Gianni and Angelo fussed over him, making sure he had everything he needed for his first day at school. It was just a taster day; he was due to start full-time in the New Year.

“Big day, son,” Gianni said. “Are you nervous?”

Quietly, Sami nodded.

“Don’t worry, sport,” Angelo said, “it’ll be home time before you know it. I expect you’ll be having so much fun making new friends that you’ll forget all about us.”

“I don’t want to forget,” Sami protested.

Angelo chuckled. “All right, then. Spare a little spot for us at the back of your mind, if it’ll make you happy.”

Gianni, who was already dressed in the shirt and waistcoat he wore for his job at the hotel, gave his partner a questioning glance. “Are you sure you don’t mind taking him?”

Angelo shook his head. “It’s fine, it’s on my way. I want to speak to a few people in town about putting up some advertisements – it’s time I started earning some money again, now our own big project is finished.”

Gianni smiled. “All right. Thanks.” He turned to Sami, lifting his small face gently with a finger under his chin. “I’ll pick you up later and you can tell me all about your first day.”

Sami nodded again. “Okay.”

“Come on, then,” Angelo said, “let’s take you to meet your new friends.”

He set off slowly up the street. Sami shuffled along uncertainly at his side, pausing only to give Gianni a shy parting wave. Gianni raised his own hand in response, offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and then watched them go until they disappeared beneath the archway above the belvedere.

With Sami at school, Gianni wondered, what would it mean for him and Angelo? Would they be able to spend a bit more time together as a couple? He hoped so; Angelo seemed to crave it, and he had to admit that he wouldn’t mind a bit of respite himself.

I’ve heard it said that, when you become a parent, you risk losing sight of who you were before. I understand what that means, now.

Gianni was just thinking of heading back inside for a little while before work, when there was a clatter from the doors of the ceramics shop opposite and Elena Agnello emerged, pushing a clumsy-looking hand cart before her.

“Buongiorno, Elena,” he said. “What’s this all about?”

Elena gave him a wan smile. “I have a delivery to pick up. For some reason, they’re never willing to come up any higher than Piazza Fontana.”

“You have to push a load of minerals all the way back up the hill in that?” Gianni asked, gesturing at the hand cart.

Elena inclined her head in a resigned sort of way, as if to say, what can you do?

Gianni shook his head. “I’m heading that way myself. Why don’t you let me help you load up, at least?”

“Well, that’d be… very kind,” Elena replied, “if you really don’t mind.”

Companionably, they set off up the street together. Gianni wheeled the hand cart; it rumbled over the crazy paving, sending a subtle juddering sensation up his arms.

“How often do you have to do this?” he asked.

“Every couple of weeks,” Elena replied indifferently. “I’m used to it.”

“Giacomo can’t help you?”

Elena shrugged. “He has to get ready for school.”

Gianni nodded. “I suppose he does.”

They arrived in the little square next to the church. From there, a flight of steep steps descended to the lower end of Via Roma, the narrow alleyway that housed most of Ravello’s shops. By now, Angelo and Sami were probably halfway down the stairway, approaching the hidden, modern school building where Sami would be spending most of the day.

Encumbered with the hand cart, Gianni and Elena took the left fork, following the cobbled road that led gently down to Piazza Fontana, a small, tree-lined square at the narrowest point of the ridge on which Ravello stood. As such, it was a place where several routes converged, including the road down to the Valle del Dragone and Scala and the narrow alleyway that led onwards along the ridge to the hillside neighbourhood of San Martino on the slopes of Monte Brusara.

Just off the far corner of the square was the valley-view apartment where, until recently, Gianni and Angelo had lived – and which, it now seemed, Reza and Tiziana were planning to move into. Gianni scratched his head for a moment, still confounded by the coincidence.

Small world…

At the centre of the square, an ancient Morescan fountain filled its sturdy stone basin with streams of water that poured from the mouths of two imperious-looking carved stone beasts. They framed a view out over the terraced valley to Scala; dull and dormant for the moment, in the spring it would be festooned with fresh blankets of green. Opposite stood the arched, whitewashed façade of the hotel where Gianni worked.

A small pickup truck was parked next to the boundary wall overlooking the valley. The driver, a middle-aged man in a flat cap, had already unloaded several heavy-looking bags of minerals and a couple of small crates of glazing materials. Elena paid him, thanked him and sent him on his way, and soon they were left in peace to load the hand cart. Taking it in turns to heft the heavy plastic bags into the clumsy vessel, they chatted about recent events.

“How are you feeling today, Gianni?” Elena asked after a while. “Last time I saw you, you seemed a bit emotional.”

“Better, thanks,” Gianni replied. “I mean, Sami’s a great kid, really… it’s only occasionally that the distance between us gets me down.” He offered her a self-effacing smile. “In the harsh light of day, I usually find myself wondering what I got so upset about.”

“Where is he today?”

“Angelo’s taking him for his first taste of school.”

“Oh, goodness!” Elena replied, placing a hand to her mouth. “That’s a big step for the bambino. Well, I hope he has a lovely time.”

“How did Giacomo’s sleepover with Dani go?” Gianni asked.

Elena laughed. “Oh, they were very lively,” she replied.

Gianni grinned. “I noticed.”

“After I sent them both to Giacomo’s room,” Elena went on, “they were laughing and messing about for ages. I was just thinking I should ask them to settle down when they suddenly went very quiet.”

Gianni raised an eyebrow. “Sounds suspicious.”

Elena nodded, pursing her lips in a humorous sort of way. “Absolutely! I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried… but then I heard a few hushed voices again, so I figured nothing too serious had happened and I left them to it.”

“How is it really between them?” Gianni asked. “I mean…” but then he stopped himself.

How much does she really know?

Giacomo had dabbled briefly with a girlfriend in the summer but, as far as Gianni knew, that hadn’t ended too well. Daniele had been delighted, of course, to have his friend back, but what terms had he been forced to accept? Was Elena even aware of the feelings that Daniele harboured for her son, and what did Giacomo really feel?

“Oh, I think they’re back on track,” Elena replied. “That business with Laura was certainly a distraction for a while, but I think Giacomo’s loyalty to Daniele won out in the end.”

With that, she crouched down to heft up another bag of minerals, leaving Gianni none the wiser.

Gianni was just about to follow suit when there was a sudden commotion from a few metres up the alleyway beyond the fountain. There was a loud ‘crash’ as a door was thrown open, then a young figure came tumbling out into the street. He was on his feet at once, and began to charge blindly towards the square, chest hitching, one hand rubbing fiercely at his eyes. Gianni was dimly aware of an adult following a short distance behind, and then the young figure blundered straight into his and Elena’s unsuspecting arms.

Gianni gaped for a second, momentarily stunned by the sudden onslaught of mousy hair and teardrops.

“Marco…?” he gasped after a moment.

The young teenager looked up, his cool grey eyes shining with the tears that were still coursing down his face.

“Please…” he cried hoarsely.

Gianni and Elena exchanged a shocked glance and held the boy, who seemed quite inconsolable.

“Let go of my son,” growled another voice.

Gianni looked up and saw Marco’s father, who was standing a few metres away with a couple of scraps of paper in one hand. A lean, deprived-looking man, he wore a tired polo shirt and worn-looking work trousers. His cheeks and chin bristled with stubble and his grey eyes, which usually looked so tired, burned out furiously from beneath his mop of wavy, mid-brown hair.

“Lorenzo…!” Elena exclaimed quietly. “What’s this all about?”

Marco’s mother, Gemma, had also arrived on the scene. A head shorter than her husband, she hung back at the edge of the square, looking on with her gentle but somehow ineffectual brown eyes, wringing her hands anxiously.

“I’ll tell you what it’s about,” Lorenzo bristled. “It’s about my son here having some kind of sissy relationship with his little friend Daniele Ferrero.”

“You told them?” Gianni asked Marco quietly.

Sobbing, Marco shook his head and gestured vaguely in the direction of the scraps of paper his father was holding.

“Yes, that’s right,” Lorenzo said, brandishing the papers at Gianni and Elena. “I found these, didn’t I? Fell out of little Marco’s coat pocket, didn’t they?”

“What are they, signore?” Gianni asked. “What makes you so sure that…?”

Lorenzo cleared his throat and held one of the papers up into the light as he read it aloud.

“His eyes are as blue as the deepest sea,
His hair is like white gold,
I wonder how good we could truly be,
when I’m alone in the winter cold.”

His humiliation now utterly complete, Marco drew a deep, shuddering breath and turned to face his father.

“I hate you!” he cried, then he spun back round and buried his face in Gianni’s chest.

“Lorenzo…” Gemma ventured timidly from the corner of the alleyway, but Lorenzo flicked a hand at her, silencing her with an impatient noise. He held up the second piece of paper, which looked like it had been torn in two at some point and carefully pieced back together with sticky tape. It looked like a naïve, but recognisable, pencil sketch of Daniele’s face.

“Poetry, drawings, little notes…” Lorenzo went on furiously. Quoting from a third piece of paper, he read, “Marco, I’m sorry for what happened, and I miss you. Please be my friend again. Love, Dani.”

He placed a horrible emphasis on the world love.

Now, Gianni could feel a cold fury beginning to rise within himself. He knew how this felt.

“Signore,” he said warningly, “you need to stop this. Can’t you see how much you’re hurting him?”

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “Ah, yes,” he said, “signor Fortuna. You encouraged this, didn’t you? I should have known, with all the time my son has spent hanging around with you and that other queer boy Angelo Rossi.”

“Shut up!” Marco shouted at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I did nothing of the sort,” Gianni replied. “Marco’s feelings for Dani are his own business.”

Elena stepped forwards. “Lorenzo, please,” she said gently, “your son’s in pain. He can’t help how he feels!”

“So, he sneaks around, carrying on behind our backs?” Lorenzo spat. “That strikes me as the behaviour of a boy who knows what he’s doing is wrong.”

“Or, maybe,” Gianni countered, “he was afraid to tell you because he knew you’d react exactly this way?”

Lorenzo glared at him. “I think I’ve heard enough from you, signor Fortuna. You’ve done enough damage already. To think that you were allowed to foster a son…”

“Gianni didn’t do anything!” Marco muttered. “I’ve known for years.”

For the first time, Lorenzo faltered. He looked at his son in fresh horror.

“You mean… Daniele wasn’t the first?”

Marco gave Elena a pained look with his cool grey eyes. She looked back at him in confusion for a moment, and then her own eyes widened slightly.

“Oh… Giacomo?” she murmured, putting a hand to her mouth in shock. “I had no idea.”

“It wasn’t… him,” Marco managed. “Just… me.”

“See, signore?” Gianni said to Marco’s father. “Marco knows his own mind. I think you need to go home and calm down.”

“Please, Lorenzo,” Marco’s mother repeated, stepping forward from the edge of the square. She tugged gently at her husband’s arm.

With a visible effort, Lorenzo calmed himself a little. “All right,” he said. “We’ll discuss this later, Marco. Go to school.”

Wordlessly, Gemma produced Marco’s school bag and handed it to her son, and the two of them turned for home.

Once his parents had gone, Marco seemed to fold in on himself again. Concerned, Gianni and Elena led him to a stone bench built into the boundary wall, where they sat down to either side of him. There was quiet for a moment, save for Marco’s breathy sobs and the steady trickle of the fountain.

“You were right,” Marco panted after a while. “I knew it would be like this.”

Elena’s brow creased in a concerned frown. “Your parents love you, Marco. I’m sure they’ll remember that when they’ve calmed down a little.”

“Do they, though?” Marco asked her. “The only time they bother to notice me is when I’ve done something wrong.”

“Well…” Elena replied awkwardly. “They both work so hard. It can’t be easy.”

“Yeah…” Marco replied sullenly. “Whatever.”

Gianni chewed his lip uncomfortably. The whole display had brought up some unpleasant memories, and he shuddered inwardly.

“Keep the faith, Marco,” he said. “I’ve been where you are right now, and it does get better.”

Marco gave him an uncertain look. “You swear?”

Gianni nodded. “And don’t forget, you’re not alone. You’ve got us, and your friends, and Dani’s parents too. They’ll all understand.”

Marco looked miserably down at his feet. “Thanks.”

They were interrupted, then, by lighter voices. Two more young figures were strolling into the square, hand in hand, apparently completely unaware of the drama that had just unfolded. On spotting the unusual group of people huddled by the wall, they halted in surprise.

It was Emilia, looking neat and tidy in a winter coat, white blouse and jeans, and with her…

It was the first sight Gianni had had of Emilia’s new boyfriend. Luca was of a similar height and age, with mid-length, wavy brown hair and a fine bone structure. He looked on curiously with an unusual pair of vivid green eyes.

“Marco?” Emilia asked. “What’s wrong?”

Marco looked up at her wretchedly, looking for all the world like he wished he could disappear into the ground there and then.

“Marco’s just had a fight with his father,” Elena explained tactfully. “He’s quite upset.”

“What did you fight about?” Emilia asked.

Marco shrugged. “Just… stuff,” he mumbled. “You know, growing up stuff.”

Emilia offered Marco a concerned, but slightly puzzled frown. “Oh…”

“That sounds pretty crappy, Marco,” Luca interjected. “Want to talk about it?”

Marco shrugged again. “No… I dunno.”

“Marco needs to get to school, guys,” Gianni said. “Could you…?”

Emilia nodded at once. “Sure,” she said, stepping forwards without hesitation. “We’ll take it from here.”

She tugged gently at Marco’s hand. Wearily, the mousy-haired boy stood up, gathering up his school bag, and the three of them turned to leave.

“Thanks,” Marco mumbled quietly over his shoulder, and then they were on their way. Silently, Gianni and Elena watched them go.

* * *

Gianni arrived for work that morning feeling decidedly on edge, with a nagging feeling that someone or something was following him, always just out of sight. As he helped to clear up after the breakfast shift, he puzzled over it, trying to figure out the nature of the presence at the back of his mind.

Marco’s mother appeared shortly after he did. He watched her slightly accusingly as she slunk into the hotel kitchen to begin her shift at the washing up, studiously avoiding his eyes. They had seldom spoken at work, and Gianni would never have said they were friends but, all the same, he was disappointed in her.

Your husband was tearing strips off your own son in public, saying all sorts of things he’s bound to regret. Where were you?

Gianni’s colleagues were quick to notice that something was amiss.

“Forgive me,” said Sergio, the head waiter, scratching his grizzled moustache curiously after Gianni had met his conversational overtures with a non-committal grunt for the fourth time in a row, “but you don’t seem to be quite your usual sparkling self today. Is something the matter?”

Gianni gave the older man an appraising look. He admired and respected Sergio, but he had always viewed him as a supportive boss rather than a confidant. The fact that he was Anna’s father, and Gianni’s uncle by marriage, further complicated matters.

“I’m sorry, Sergio,” he replied. “I’m fine, really.”

Sergio looked a little disappointed. “As you say,” he murmured. “Well, you know I’m always here if you need to talk.”

Sergio returned to his work, leaving Gianni feeling just a little bit worse.

Great. Now I’ve slightly upset one of the nicest men I know.

Daniele’s mother, Patrizia, was stacking clean cutlery nearby.

“It’s all right, Sergio,” she said gently. “I think this one is more my department. Do you mind if we step outside for a minute?”

Sergio gave them the briefest of nods. “Of course. Whatever will help.”

“Thanks, Sergio,” Gianni said, imbuing the two simple words with as much meaning as he could manage.

Sergio waved this away without looking up, and Gianni thought he was probably forgiven.

The dining room, which was vaulted and rustic in the older part of the building, gave way to cleaner lines as it led to a large picture window overlooking the coast. Giant pot plants and tall wine racks broke up the space. Gianni followed Patrizia’s petite, blond-haired figure as she threaded her way between the round tables, making for a door that led out onto a small sun terrace.

They stepped outside, and Gianni took a welcome breath of the cool morning air. The daylight was still the same pale grey, and for a moment Gianni found himself craving the bright hues of summer. Down the mountain, far below, a few dull waves could just be seen lapping at the seafront at Minori.

“So…” Patrizia said seriously. “I’ve just had a most unusual chat with Gemma in the kitchens. She said there was some kind of showdown out front this morning between Marco and his father?”

Gianni nodded. “Showdown is right enough.”

“And you were there?” Patrizia asked, regarding him with a pair of inquisitive blue eyes so very much like her son’s.

“Lorenzo tore him to pieces, Patrizia,” Gianni burst out, “in public, right in front of Elena and me, just because he… just because Marco…”

He halted, suddenly realising he didn’t know how much Patrizia already knew.

“…has feelings for my Daniele?” Patrizia suggested.

“Yeah,” Gianni replied, sighing with relief. “I should have known you guys would be more open with each other.”

Patrizia smiled slightly. “It hasn’t always been that way.”

“Still…” Gianni insisted, “Dani should have known he could trust you.”

Patrizia raised an eyebrow. “Are you telling me you never withheld anything from your family when you were growing up?”

Gianni spread his arms helplessly. “Before I came here, I didn’t have anything to withhold! I guess you could say I was…” he paused, remembering how Angelo had once described it, “…a bit slow on the uptake.”

Patrizia smiled again. “Point taken.”

“And then,” Gianni went on, “before I even really knew what was going on myself, I was being ejected from Pietro and Anna’s wedding in this very building for having the nerve to want to dance with the boy I liked!”

Patrizia nodded. “It obviously still bothers you.”

Gianni shook his head. “That’s just the thing! It hasn’t done for ages. I thought I’d accepted my part in what happened, forgiven everyone involved and moved on. Angelo and I have been happy here for years. But this…”

Suddenly, he realised the nature of the presence at the back of his mind.

“…it’s like it’s brought it all back to life.”

“I’m not surprised,” Patrizia said. “It sounds like a horrible scene. How was poor Marco afterwards?”

Gianni shook his head. “In pieces. Emilia and Luca came along and scraped him up off the floor. But, I can’t help wondering… what will he be going home to tonight?”

Patrizia pursed her lips thoughtfully. “What did you say to him afterwards?”

“I told him he’s not alone…” Gianni replied, “that he’s got Angelo and me, Elena, you and Paolo, and his friends of course.”

“There you are, then,” Patrizia said, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. “You’ve done what you can. Marco knows he has people he can talk to if he can’t be around his parents, and he won’t be facing what you faced when you were younger.”

Gianni took a steadying breath. “I guess so. Thanks, Patrizia.”

Patrizia smiled. “Ready to come back inside, then? Sergio will be sending out a search party.”

Gianni gave her a weary laugh. “Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

* * *

That afternoon, shortly after the lunch service at the hotel was finished, Gianni stood on the worn paving stones of Via Roma, opposite the high stone retaining wall of the combined junior and lower high school, waiting for Sami to appear.

From the public street, all Gianni could see was the wide, shallow staircase that led up into the site and a single pine tree that sheltered part of the playground and picnic terrace. However, behind the old-world façade, there was a modern school complex where most of the children of the town spent the early years of their education. Even Daniele, Marco, Giacomo and Emilia, who would be moving on to senior schools down in Amalfi in the autumn, still had a few months to complete in the same discrete, carefully concealed facility.

The junior children were generally released first, and it wasn’t long before they started to appear, streaming down the steps in twos and threes, the youngest ones into the arms of their parents who were also waiting in the street, while the older ones headed off on their own, trusted, it would seem, to walk home or to wherever else they gathered under the watchful eye of the rest of the town. It was an aspect of life in Ravello that Gianni had always admired: the collective care that was taken of the town’s children, not just by their parents but by the community at large. He supposed it was one of the benefits of living in such a small, sociable place.

In picturing this moment, Gianni had imagined Sami emerging from school with a broad grin on his face, talking excitably about all the new friends he had made, so he was concerned to see the little boy emerge on his own, his brown eyes downcast, coat undone and rucksack dangling listlessly from one hand.

Sami glanced over the fence, spotted Gianni, then hurried down the broad staircase to join him. Lip trembling slightly, he threw his arms around Gianni in a desperate hug, burying his face in his stomach. The school bag tumbled, abandoned, to the paving stones.

“What’s up, son?” Gianni asked, rubbing a hand through Sami’s soft black hair, slightly thrown by the little boy’s sudden display of need and affection. “Didn’t the other children make you feel welcome?”

Sami mumbled something but, muffled by a mouthful of Gianni’s waistcoat, it was unintelligible.

“Say again, Sami?” Gianni asked gently.

The little boy looked up, tears welling up in his soft brown eyes. “Some of them were okay,” he said, “but some of them tol’ me to go back where I came from.”

Gianni’s heart sank slightly. He sighed and dropped to one knee, so he could talk to Sami on his own level. He reached up and placed his hands on the little boy’s small shoulders.

“You don’t need to listen to those guys,” he said. “They’re just silly kids who’ve been taught badly by their parents. Did the teacher say anything to them?”

Sami shook his head. “I don’t wanna tell tales.”

From that, Gianni surmised that the children concerned had made sure there were no adults in sight before picking on Sami. He felt a stab of anger. He had expected better… but then, hadn’t he also encountered a few prejudices when he was younger? If Marco’s father was anything to go by, maybe things hadn’t moved on as far as he’d thought.

“You’ll have to go back in January,” Gianni said. “You know that, right? Is there anything we can do to help? Should we talk to someone?”

Sami shrugged. “I’ll be okay.”

It was a brave statement to make, Gianni thought, but the fact that he felt the need to say it at the age of seven was slightly heartbreaking.

Sami shivered, and some of the resolve seemed to leave him. “I’m cold,” he said, sniffling slightly.

Gianni reached forward and carefully zipped up the little boy’s winter coat. “Then let’s get you warmed up.” He thought for a moment. “How about a hot chocolate?”

Sami gave him a yearning sort of look. “For real?” he asked.

Gianni smiled. “My treat.”

Sami nodded vigorously. “Coo’!”

* * *

The short walk up Via Roma to the cathedral square led Gianni and Sami through the heart of the town.

In a tiny square next to an ancient church, they passed Da Rossi, the restaurant belonging to Anna and her husband, Angelo’s older brother Pietro. In the winter, there was no lunch service, but the lights were on inside, so Gianni imagined Anna and Pietro were already getting ready for the evening shift.

Beyond the restaurant, the little street became very narrow, passing between and even beneath the crowded mass of old buildings at the heart of the town. The alleyway was lined with shops. Some, which catered mainly to the summer tourist trade, were shut for their winter break, but others, which had a more local appeal, clung on. The Tabacchi, which kept local people supplied with cigarettes, bus tickets, postage stamps and other useful things, was still open. A short distance further down the lane, they passed the grocery store run by Salvatore Friuli, the father of another teenager whom Gianni and Angelo had had cause to help a few years ago. Of Toto himself, there was no sign. Gianni supposed that he and his boyfriend Michele were still on the way back from another day’s hard study at school in Amalfi.

Salvatore himself was alone at the counter; he tipped Gianni and Sami a courteous wave as they walked past.

Maybe there’s still hope. If Salvatore, of all people, can come to accept that his only son likes boys, maybe the kids at school can come round to the fact that Sami looks different than they do.

A few moments later, they emerged into the cathedral square where, in the grey light of the afternoon, the town had sputtered into a pale imitation of its usual life. A few schoolchildren were playing football at the centre of the space, while their parents looked on from the stone benches under the pine trees or huddled together over cups of coffee at the one remaining bar. A couple of hardy-looking British tourists in walking gear stood at the railings, admiring the valley view; it looked like they had hiked in over one of the mountain trails. Gianni wondered if he would find himself serving dinner to them tomorrow.

As luck would have it, their usual corner table at the bar was free. Gianni ordered a Sprite, earning a funny look from the waiter, who clearly thought he was mad to order a chilled soft drink on a cold afternoon in December. He looked much more satisfied when Gianni ordered a hot chocolate for Sami.

The first time Gianni had experienced Italian hot chocolate, as a teenager, he had been shocked by how thick and velvety it was compared to the thin cocoa drink he had been used to in London. Sami, however, was already well versed in the dish, and he set at it with a will. Gianni could almost see the warmth returning to the little boy’s cheeks, and he urged him to slow down, to make it last.

“Okay,” Sami grumbled but, to his credit, he complied.

Gianni sipped at his drink and watched the other children for a while. That had been him and Angelo once, he reflected, back when they had just been two friends getting to know one another. It had taken time for the deeper connection between them to form, and even then, they had not been immediately aware of what it meant.

As he reminisced, he found himself wondering about Daniele, Marco and Giacomo again, and the strange dynamics between them. For Gianni, there had only ever been Angelo. He couldn’t imagine feeling so torn between two friends.

“Why do people want me to go away?” Sami asked suddenly, snapping Gianni back to the present.

“Oh, I…” Gianni replied, floundering slightly. “Some people are just afraid of anyone who’s different.”

Sami frowned. “They afraid of me?”

Gianni shook his head. “Not exactly. But they worry about…”

Immigrants? How can I say that?

“…people coming here to take their food and their jobs, I suppose… or that new people might bring crime.”

“I don’t wanna take anything,” Sami said, staring miserably into his cup of chocolate. He glanced up at Gianni, making a silent appeal of some sort with his large brown eyes. “Do you want me to go away?”

Gianni stared at him, taken aback. “Of course not!” he replied. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“You said you didn’t feel,” Sami mumbled.

Gianni frowned, trying to understand what the little boy meant, but he drew a blank. Tentatively, he reached for one of Sami’s small hands and took it in his own. The little boy didn’t pull away.

“Of course I don’t want you to go away,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”

“Ciao, Gianni,” came a new voice. Gianni and Sami both looked up, startled.

It was Reza, fresh from another hard day’s work on his construction site by the look of his dusty overalls. He looked tired. Gianni smiled at him and gestured at the empty chair next to Sami.

“Ciao, Reza. Won’t you join us?”

Reza nodded and slid into the empty seat. “Just for a few minutes, thanks. Tiziana banished me, with orders to go and get some fresh air.”

Gianni summoned the waiter. To his surprise, Reza ordered a small beer.

“I thought…” Gianni ventured.

“…that I wouldn’t be drinking?” Reza replied with a smile. “I thought it would be clear by now… I’m not exactly a man of faith. I haven’t practiced for a long time.”

“Sorry,” Gianni replied. “My mistake.”

Reza shrugged. “It’s cool.” He glanced at Sami, who was looking back up at him with open curiosity. “Hot chocolate on a Wednesday afternoon, though? It must be serious.”

Sami looked like speech was the furthest thing from his mind, so Gianni filled in for him.

“Sami’s had a tough first day at school,” he explained. “Let’s just say that… not all the kids there have been brought up with an inclusive worldview.”

Reza sighed. “I get that,” he said, still addressing Sami. “I remember what it was like to be the only brown kid in class.”

He extended a fist towards the little boy. Sami looked at it in confusion for a moment, then smiled slightly and boxed it with his own.

“You’re doing a great thing, Gianni,” Reza said. “Sami may not get it now, but he’ll thank you for it when he’s older.”

“You and Tiziana have never considered fostering… adoption…?” Gianni asked.

Reza shook his head. “Not really. We’ve always wanted to have our own. It shouldn’t matter, should it…? I know. But, while there’s still a chance…” He tailed off, shrugged and took a gulp of his beer. “Hope springs eternal, I guess.”

* * *

It was Angelo’s turn to give Sami his bath that night. When the splashing from the bathroom ceased and Gianni heard footsteps on the floor above the kitchen diner, Gianni adjourned to Sami’s room to put him to bed. It was dark outside, so he switched on the antiquated desk lamp, hoping to make the room seem warm and welcoming.

There was the sound of a hairdryer for a while, and then the two of them appeared in the doorway. Clad in his pyjamas, with his black hair dried extra soft and ready for bed, Sami gave Angelo a good night hug and then clambered under his blankets.

“I’ll be in the den,” Angelo said to Gianni. He smiled. “Don’t keep me waiting for too long, or I might doze off myself.”

Normally, at this point, Gianni would have read Sami a short bedtime story, but the little boy seemed to have other things on his mind.

“Why’s it so cold?” Sami asked, fixing Gianni plaintively with his large brown eyes.

“In here?” Gianni asked, looking around in confusion. The heat from the wood burner had been rising through the house throughout the day and, to him, the temperature felt quite comfortable.

Sami shook his head. “Outside.”

Gianni chuckled slightly. “Oh, Sami,” he said. “If you think this is cold, you should see London in December.”

Sami frowned. “But why?”

“It’s because it’s the winter,” Gianni said. “As the days get shorter, so they get colder. It’ll turn round soon enough, and you’ll be baking in the summer sun before you know it.”

“The summer…” Sami mused, his eyes clouding over thoughtfully.

“You remember the summer, don’t you?” Gianni said. Surely the little boy already understood about the seasons…? What kind of upbringing had he had without that?

“Kinda,” Sami replied, his expression troubled.

Gianni took one of the little boy’s small hands in his own. “Close your eyes,” he suggested.

Sami complied. As his delicate eyelashes closed over one another, Gianni was struck by how perfect he looked.

“Now, think back,” Gianni said. “Remember… playing in the dry grass, the lemons ripening in the trees? The swifts flying across the sky… skree, skree, skree!”

Sami nodded. “I ’member.”

“And then there are the cicadas, singing in the silvery olive groves. Chakka, chakka, chakka…”

“Chakka, chakka, chakka,” Sami echoed sleepily.

“And it’s so hot in the afternoons that all you can do is lie down in the shade and rest.” He stretched, making a pantomime performance of a satisfied sigh.

“Hot…” Sami repeated. He shifted uncomfortably. “Hot…” With a gasp of fright, his eyes flew open. “Fire! I remember fire!”

Gianni gaped in horror as Sami sat up and burst into floods of tears.

“I don’t wanna remember fire!” the little boy cried. In an instant, his manner had changed completely, from tired and mellow to primal fear.

Gianni sprang forward at once and pulled Sami into a comforting embrace. Even through the fabric of the little boy’s pyjamas, he could feel the heart galloping madly in his narrow chest.

“Hey, Sami…” he said, rubbing the little boy’s back to soothe him. “You don’t have to think of that. Toto, Claudia and Dani saved you from the fire, remember?”

“The sky was fallin’,” Sami sobbed. “I thought I was gonna die.”

Now Gianni could feel his own chest pounding, although whether in sympathy or for some other reason, he wasn’t sure.

“We… all have bad memories,” he managed. “They never leave us completely. But… as life goes on, you can learn to live with them.” He took a steadying breath. “We’re here now, we’re healthy and happy, and that’s what really matters.”

“I don’t wanna die,” Sami mumbled.

“You won’t,” Gianni assured him. “At least, not until you’re very, very old and have led a long and happy life. By then, you’ll be ready.”

Sami took a shuddering breath and buried his face in Gianni’s shoulder. Gianni continued to soothe him as best he could and, as his own erratic heartbeat began to slow, gradually the little boy began to relax.

Before too much longer, Sami’s eyelids were drooping again.

“I sleep now,” he whispered, settling down onto his pillow.

“You’re sure?” Gianni asked him, running a hand gently through his soft black hair.

Silently, the little boy nodded.

Gianni leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. “All right, then. Buonanotte, Sami.”

Once he was sure Sami was settled, Gianni switched the lamp off and stepped out onto the landing, pulling the bedroom door to until it was just ajar.

Gianni crept quietly down the hallway. He felt a little unsteady on his feet and, as he descended the wooden stairway to the dining area, he clutched the bannister rail for support.

His heart rate had quickened again, and… why did it suddenly feel so stuffy in the warm little room?

Gianni hadn’t been present for the fire that had almost cost Sami his life. He had never even been to the old, abandoned farmhouse where it had taken place. But, all of a sudden, he could picture it as if he was there; he could see the flames licking hungrily over the old wood and plaster, feel the blistering heat… and then it wasn’t even a fire any more: it was a car, flipping over the central reservation of a Motorway… his parents, jogging away into a bright light… Pietro in his wedding suit, shouting at him as a teenage Gianni pulled his hand away from Angelo’s as if burned… lightning, striking the distant sea by night, as he stood on the balustrade of the Terrace of Infinity, high above the coast, arms spread wide…

Somehow, he had made it most of the way down the basement stairs, but now he realised that he couldn’t breathe, and he stumbled. For a moment, he was weightless, but then the terracotta floor tiles seemed to spiral up towards him. Surely, he was going to crash…

But then Angelo was there. He caught him by the chest and Gianni fell to his knees, unharmed, but still struggling for oxygen.

“Gianni!” Angelo cried urgently, his dark eyes wide and fearful; his voice seemed to come from far away, echoing indistinctly around the cosy little room. “What’s wrong?”

Gianni tried to answer, but he couldn’t find enough air. Then a realisation of some kind seemed to pass through Angelo, and he sprang forward and pulled Gianni into a tight hug.

“It’s all right,” Angelo whispered into his ear. “Let it out. Lay it all on me.”

Gianni wanted to scream, but all he could make was a harsh sort of gasping. Angelo clutched him tighter still, and Gianni hugged him back. Slowly, gradually, he regained the ability to breathe. He released his partner, sagging down to sit on the cool floor tiles, recovered, but with fading lights still dancing before his eyes.

Angelo, too, sat down, with a sigh of relief, although his dark eyes were still concerned.

“Gianni…” he ventured. “Did you just have a panic attack?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never… but…” Gianni nodded, “yeah. I guess I must have.”

Angelo rose shakily to his feet and helped Gianni to do the same. He ushered him over to the sofa and sat him down.

“Let me get you a glass of water, and then… tell me all about it.”