The Summer of the Selfless - 5. Chapter 5

The following morning, Daniele received a text from Marco.

‘Can I see you?’

Stretched out on his bed, Daniele put down the book he had been reading and frowned at the four short words on his screen. He wondered what his friend wanted. Was Marco about to grill him about what he had seen yesterday? If so, what could he even tell him?

Daniele chewed his lip nervously.

‘I can be in the square in twenty,’ he replied.

‘Cool.’

Daniele set out right away, treading the familiar route up the old stairways into town. The day had got off to a fresher start than usual, thanks to a light sea breeze that ruffled his orange tie-dye t-shirt slightly as he crossed the zig-zagging road, but the bright blue sky still promised a hot day in prospect.

The cathedral square was busy with the late breakfast crowd; Daniele saw several couples or groups of friends at the bars, sipping coffees or nibbling on pastries. Despite the early hour, the sun was already shining down brightly over the terracotta-tiled roof of the cathedral, bathing the eight tall umbrella pines in light; the cicadas within them were greeting the morning in their usual ebullient style. The trees were rustling gently in the breeze, sending the occasional pair of pine needles pirouetting gracefully down onto the paving stones.

Marco was sitting on one of the stone benches underneath the trees, where the shade of their high green canopies had yet to fall. The mousy-haired boy greeted him with a wave. With a wary glance into Marco’s cool grey eyes to see what he could read there, Daniele slid onto the bench beside him. In the heat of the sun, the black stone was already warm to the touch, and he could feel it heating the backs of his knees.

“Ciao, Dani,” Marco said.

He didn’t seem angry or upset.

“Ciao Marco,” Daniele replied. “Come va?”

Marco shrugged. “Good, thanks.”

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

Marco took a deep breath. “It’s my birthday on Thursday,” he said.

Daniele blinked. It was a far cry from the subject he had expected.

He nodded. “I… guess it is. Are you going to have a party?”

Marco shook his head in reflexive horror. “No! I… I’ve never had one before, and I don’t think I’m about to start now.”

“But fourteen is a big age,” Daniele said. Feebly attempting one of Giacomo’s jokes, he added, “I mean… you’ll be legal.”

Marco gave him a withering look. “Come on, Dani.”

Daniele snickered in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“Anyway…” Marco went on. “Gianni and Angelo said I could have someone round for the presents and for lunch, and… I’d really like it to be you.”

Daniele smiled. “Sure… I’d love to come.”

“That is…” Marco mumbled, “if Giaco can spare you.”

“Of course he can,” Daniele insisted.

Marco looked pleased. “Cool.”

“What about Emilia and Luca?” Daniele asked.

Marco shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m seeing them in the evening. I’ll get a whole day of it that way.”

Daniele scratched his head. “I’d better go and find you a present.”

“Aww… no, Dani…” Marco said, placing a restraining hand on his arm. “Don’t bother.”

“Are you kidding?” Daniele said, gently shoulder-barging the other boy. “You’re getting a present, whether you like it or not.”

Marco laughed slightly. “Thanks,” he replied, daring to nudge Daniele back.

“You’re welcome,” Daniele said, barging him a little harder.

Marco was beginning to giggle. “Quit it.”

“I’ll quit it when it stops making you laugh.”

“I’m not laughing!”

“Are too!”

* * *

A little later, Daniele returned to his bedroom alone. Marco hadn’t been able to stay for long, and he hadn’t heard from Giacomo yet.

His phone buzzed just as he was lying down to pick up his book again. It turned out to be a text from Emilia.

‘Ciao. What r u getting Marco for his birthday?’

‘No clue yet,’ Daniele replied.

‘Me neither. Wanna look for something together tomorrow?’

Daniele found himself nodding, even though there was nobody there to see it. ‘Good idea. Amalfi?’

‘Yeah. Meet me by the bus stop at ten. Don’t forget yr ticket.’

‘Okay.’

‘Cool. See ya. x’

Daniele set his phone down and was just trying to find his place in his book again when his phone began to ring more insistently.

“Dio…” he muttered.

He discarded the book for a third time and consulted his phone screen.

Video call – Giacomo Agnello, it read.

Surprised, he pressed the green ‘accept’ button. There was the usual second of flare and stutter as the connection settled down, and then Daniele swallowed hard.

“Ah… Giaco,” he said, “why aren’t you wearing anything?”

The other boy’s head, shoulders and bare chest had appeared in the frame, his dark hair still slightly mussed. He seemed to be reclining in his bed. He glanced down at himself and grinned sheepishly.

“I guess I forgot to get dressed this morning,” he said. He offered Daniele a playful smile. “What are you wearing?”

“What do you think?” Daniele replied, inclining his phone a little to reveal his tie-dye t-shirt.

“I should have guessed,” Giacomo said. Glancing down at himself once again, he put on a pretence of a thoughtful frown. “Say… what’s down here?”

He began to tilt his phone downwards until his face slid out of view.

“Ah, c’mon, Giaco,” Daniele mumbled, as the image panned down past Giacomo’s flat belly, settling – to his intense relief – at the waistband of a pair of designer underpants.

“Wait a minute,” Giacomo said. “There’s something in my way…”

A hand appeared on the screen, slipping a thumb under the waistband.

Daniele felt heat rush to his face at once. “No! No! No!” he cried, covering his eyes with his free hand.

There was a giggle from the other end of the line. Daniele dared to peek through his fingers and was relieved to see Giacomo’s dark eyes dancing back at him; it looked like he had been fooled, yet again.

“The look on your face!” Giacomo snickered.

“You’re a… a…” Daniele protested, breathing hard.

“A what?” Giacomo teased. “Say it.”

Daniele gave up the fight and slumped back down onto his blankets. “Never mind,” he grumbled. “I thought we were supposed to be friends?”

“We are,” Giacomo said with a smile. “I wouldn’t pretend to take my pants off for just anyone.”

Daniele sighed.

That’s not what I meant, and you know it.

“Anyway,” Giacomo went on, “what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Oh –” Daniele paused, thrown by the sudden change of subject. “I’m busy, I guess. Emilia and I have to find a birthday present for Marco.” He hesitated. “I’m guessing… he hasn’t invited you?”

Giacomo shook his head. “Nah, but it’s cool. I can see why he wouldn’t.”

That brought Daniele up short. Sometimes, just sometimes, the dark-eyed boy would say something that betrayed more emotional insight than he was usually prepared to let on. It made his own feelings so much harder to handle.

“So…” Giacomo said, “if you’re busy tomorrow, and on Thursday, then I won’t get to see you until, what… Friday?”

He pouted slightly, and Daniele couldn’t completely suppress a laugh.

“I guess,” he replied.

Giacomo shook his head solemnly. “No deal. I think you’ll have to come up here today.” He grinned. “I’ll fix you some lunch.”

Daniele twisted his mouth thoughtfully. “All right,” he said. “But will you put some clothes on, first?”

Giacomo snickered. “I’ll think about it.”

* * *

Daniele returned home that evening feeling exhausted, unnerved and excited all at the same time.

The nervous energy had returned with a vengeance. He had tried to fight it, but the distance between them seemed to be shrinking all the time. Giacomo had sat so close; their arms and hands had brushed together so many times. It was maddening.

He wondered when, exactly, the other boy had begun to see him differently. Or had Giacomo always harboured feelings for him, buried deep beneath the surface? Either way, there seemed to be no going back to the way they were before. A door had opened between them that seemingly couldn’t be closed, no matter how hard they tried to just be friends.

Daniele’s parents were both out working, so he threw together a basic penne al pomodoro for his dinner. Distractedly chopping the onions, garlic and fresh tomatoes with a sharp kitchen knife, he just about avoided doing himself an injury. About half an hour later, he was eating a bowl of steaming pasta on the sofa, topped with a sprinkling of melting parmesan cheese.

He tried to imagine how things would be in a couple of weeks’ time, with Giacomo hanging out with him at home, eating with him, sleeping with him…

He flushed. It was all too weird.

He collapsed into bed that night certain he would suffer from fevered dreams, but his sleep was deep and, when he eventually awoke, he remembered nothing about it.

* * *

At just before ten o’clock the next morning, Daniele turned up at the main bus stop at the end of the Naples road with a couple of tickets in his pocket. It was a busy spot, lively with visitors waiting for the bus, climbing into taxis or admiring the view down over Minori and Maiori. The weather had stayed breezy, and it gently rustled the leaves of the plane trees by the railings. It also ruffled Daniele’s hair, offering a welcome relief from the strong morning sun.

Emilia arrived a few minutes later, dressed comfortably and practically in a short denim skirt and a white summer blouse, with her mid-length brown hair pulled back to keep it out of her eyes. She was carrying a light cotton shopping bag over one shoulder.

“Ciao, Dani,” she smiled, tugging gently at the sleeve of his lavender tie-dye t-shirt. “You never change.”

“I haven’t changed at all?” Daniele asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and poking out his bottom lip.

“Well, maybe things have progressed a little,” she admitted. “Look, I’m sorry about Luca the other day. He was out of line.”

Daniele smirked. “Trouble in paradise?”

She smacked him gently on the arm. “Don’t you start,” she chastised him. “I think you’ve spent way too much time with Giacomo.”

Daniele grinned. “Are you kidding? Luca takes the mickey way more than either of us.”

“Yes,” Emilia sighed, “but he is cute.”

Daniele snickered. “Way ahead of you.”

“Hey!” Emilia protested, gripping him firmly by the shoulders. “No boyfriend stealing! I’m warning you…”

They began to giggle, but at that moment the bus arrived, turning around in the wide, cobbled area outside the tunnel leading out from the square, and they fought to compose themselves.

Fighting their way to the front of the unruly crowd surrounding the front doors of the bus, they got on board and validated their tickets. The bus to Amalfi was always packed in the summer and, more often than not, they would have to stand. Daniele was used to being wedged into close quarters with Giacomo or Marco; he was less used to being propped up by Emilia who, at fourteen and a half, had a rather more adult figure than she had when he had first got to know her. Fortunately, as luck would have it, they managed to grab one of the last pairs of seats, and no embarrassing standing arrangements were required.

Fully loaded, the bus trundled along the Naples road for a while, passing terraced gardens and a handful of shops, then they swept through the main road tunnel beneath the centre of town, heading for the valley road. They cruised round the hairpin bend at the head of the valley, under the watchful gaze of the tree-crowned peak of Monte Brusara, and soon they were descending towards the coast with Ravello receding to one side and Scala rising to the other, silvery olive groves flickering past them. The trees whispered past the open windows, bearing fleeting snatches of cicada song.

“Luca wasn’t wrong, though, was he?” Emilia asked after a while. “About you and Giacomo.”

Daniele glanced at her. “I guess not.”

“So, what’s really going on?” Emilia pressed.

“Honestly?” Daniele replied. “I don’t know.”

Emilia frowned. “I could have sworn… after, you know, that business with Laura last year… that Giacomo was into girls.”

Daniele shrugged awkwardly. “He is, I think, but… he says I’m special.”

Emilia smiled slightly. “I’ll bet he does.”

There was an awkward pause, as if Emilia was weighing up whether to spit something out.

“She’s, ah… coming back, by the way,” she mumbled.

Daniele gave her a tense look. “Laura…?” he repeated. “When?”

“This Sunday. But…” she squeezed his hand sympathetically, “don’t look so worried! After the way Giacomo dropped her last year, I don’t think either of them will be interested in going there again.”

Daniele relaxed a little. “I guess,” he replied, smiling slightly.

“You could say it’ll be a good test,” she went on thoughtfully.

Daniele frowned. “Huh?”

Emilia smiled. “It might help to prove just how much Giacomo is really into you.”

Daniele flushed. “Ah, c’mon, ‘milia…”

“Bless him, he’s embarrassed…” Emilia sighed to herself. She nudged him teasingly with her elbow. “Don’t you think it’s time you got what you wanted for a change, Dani?”

* * *

A while later, they disembarked at the busy waterfront square in Amalfi. The centrepiece of the coast, the whitewashed buildings of the old town crowded around the foot of a rocky valley, guarded from either side by the ruins of two ancient watchtowers high on the cliffs. The beach was crowded with ranks of colourful parasols. A little further along, beyond a pair of stone breakwaters, gleaming white pleasure boats bobbed about on the turquoise waters of the marina.

Despite the breeze, the heat from the sun was already radiating back up from the dark paving stones in suffocating waves. People and cars bustled about in every direction, creating a confusing din of noise and activity. Seeking refuge from both, Daniele and Emilia crossed the congested coast road and dived in among the buildings to reach the shadier confines of the town’s cathedral square.

The contrast with Ravello’s own tree-lined, light and airy cathedral square could not have been more pronounced. Crowds heaved up and down the main central street. The square was lined with close-packed shops and bars, and the landscaping was hard, without a tree or shrub in sight. To one side, the ornate, black and white façade of the town’s towering cathedral loomed over them from the top of a massive flight of stone steps. Cut off from the breeze by the tall buildings around them, there was no relief from the heat, but at least they were free of the traffic.

“So, where do we look?” Daniele asked, glancing around at the sea of gift shops with their displays of lemon sweets, lemon soap, lemon liqueur and lemon-themed ceramics. “Marco won’t have much use for tourist souvenirs.”

“What about art stuff?” Emilia asked.

Daniele shook his head. “I think Gianni and Angelo will have taken care of that. Anyway, you’d need to go to Salerno for art things, wouldn’t you?”

“Clothes, then. Or…” she frowned dubiously, “jewellery?”

Daniele blinked. “Jewellery?” he repeated.

Emilia shrugged. “I think Marco could carry it off.”

Daniele sighed. “I wish we’d had more time. We could have gone online and got him something really cool.”

Emilia nodded. “I guess so. Although, what do you give to the boy who’s spent his life with nothing?”

“Love, I guess,” Daniele murmured.

Emilia laughed. “That’s cute, although… I don’t think we could gift-wrap it.” She began to lead the way up towards the main street. “I guess we’ll have to make do with whatever else we can find.”

* * *

A while later, they flopped down on a bench under a row of pine trees on the seafront, shopping bags in one hand and some much-needed ice creams in the other.

Daniele had bought a short-sleeved shirt with a yellow and black check pattern, which reminded him of the faded old one that had once been Marco’s best shirt when he still lived with his birth parents. After weighing up Emilia’s suggestion for a while, he had also bought Marco an inexpensive ring, plain and unfussy but with narrow bands of red and green that evoked the Italian flag.

“You don’t think he’ll take this the wrong way?” he asked, holding it up so that the coloured bands glinted in the light.

Emilia shook her head. “Marco knows where he stands with you, doesn’t he?”

Daniele dropped it back into his shopping bag and took a lick of his black cherry gelato. “I guess so. What made you go for the photo album?”

Emilia shrugged. “I thought he’d like to start building some good memories, now, you know?”

“That’s a great idea,” Daniele said, then he grinned. “What about the rude pasta shapes…?”

Emilia snickered. “I just want to see the look on his face.”

They were silent for a moment, and Daniele allowed his mind to wander. With their main mission accomplished, he found his thoughts drifting inexorably back to the subject that troubled him the most.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

Emilia glanced up from her phone. “Huh?”

“About Giaco…”

Emilia frowned. “You like him, don’t you? I mean… you’ve liked him for years. What’s stopping you?”

“I’m… worried he’s not serious.”

“Oh, well…” she hesitated. “I mean, does everything have to be serious? It can’t just be… fun?”

Daniele gave her a dubious look. “You think I should go along with it, even if he’s not…?” He shook his head. “I don’t think I could deal with that.”

Emilia’s brown eyes gave him a closer look. “It matters to you that much?” She frowned. “Wow, you must really… although I’m not sure what he’s done to deserve it.”

Daniele shrugged. “I can’t help how I feel.”

Emilia nodded. “Yeah… I remember what that was like.”

* * *

The next morning, Daniele made the climb up to town for a fourth time. He was carrying Marco’s presents in his rucksack and had dressed for the occasion in the brightest tie-dye t-shirt he owned, a rainbow spiral one that Gianni and Angelo had given him for his thirteenth birthday.

Gianni, Angelo and Marco lived in the Toro, a prestigious part of town above the cathedral where a few more ordinary houses mingled with grand old palazzi and five-star hotels. Their small family home had been passed down by Gianni’s grandmother, who had inherited it, in turn, from her own parents; in this way, the humble dwelling had been in the family for generations.

As it happened, Giacomo also lived across the street, in a simple apartment above the ceramics shop run by his mother Elena.

From the cathedral square, Daniele made straight for the corner of Via Roma, where an avenue lined with carefully trained oleander bushes climbed gently up past the cathedral gardens until it reached the grand main street of the Toro. It was now mid-June, and the oleander bushes were at their absolute best, festooned with sprays of white, pink and magenta flowers amongst clusters of deep green, blade-like leaves.

Although grand by Ravello standards, the main street was still too narrow to be used by cars. Following the ridge, the crazy-paved street curved gently up to the highest part of the centre of town, passing fine old buildings in shades of cream and salmon pink from which traditional square lanterns hung. About halfway up, an arched stone wall fronted onto a landscaped belvedere overlooking the coast. Opposite, lights were burning behind the slightly tired frontage of Elena Agnello’s shop; fleetingly, Daniele cast his eyes up to the windows of the upstairs apartment, wondering what Giacomo was up to.

Gianni and Angelo’s home was in a small, gated courtyard next to the belvedere. It didn’t look like much from the outside: an old wooden door, approached by a flight of stone steps, and just a single, small upstairs window peeping out through the creeper-covered wall next to it. However, Daniele knew that inside it was warm and welcoming, with views of the coast. Flexing the best of his carpentry skills, Angelo had renovated it extensively himself less than a year ago.

Daniele climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, prompting excitable barking from somewhere inside. The door swung open, and Alfredo the dog came trotting outside, straight into Daniele’s waiting arms. Alfredo’s beardy white face greeted him with a slobbery canine kiss.

Daniele giggled. “Ciao, Alfredo.” He looked up into Angelo’s amused dark eyes as he wiped his face dry. “He’s lively today.”

Angelo chuckled. “Marco gave him an extra special breakfast this morning. I think it woke him up a little too much. Come on in, Dani.”

Angelo coaxed Alfredo back into the house while Daniele stepped into their farmhouse style kitchen diner. It was a long, cosily gloomy room with a low ceiling and terracotta tiles on the floor. At the far end, beyond the breakfast bar, was an old wooden table surrounded by an eclectic assortment of chairs. An old brass lantern hung over the table, glinting in the sunlight that shone through the two small windows in the back wall. Daniele could just about make out the blue sea, sparkling away in the distance.

Gianni was perched on one of the chairs, sipping at a cappuccino, contemplating the small pile of presents that had been laid out invitingly on the dining table. On an old church pew that had been placed beneath the windows, amidst a sea of comfy-looking scatter cushions, sat their plump tabby cat Ennio, who was washing his face in a contented sort of way. Daniele suspected Alfredo wasn’t the only pet to have been given a special treat for the occasion.

“Ciao, Dani,” Gianni smiled. “Are you still free to help out with the art wagon tonight? I’d welcome some company for the grand unveiling.”

Daniele nodded. “Yeah, sure,” he said neutrally.

“Thanks…” Gianni shrugged. “It won’t exactly be the time of day for pastries, so we thought we’d save those for next week, but there might be a few cakes, I guess.”

“Can I have one?” Daniele asked, offering the young man his best winning smile.

Gianni chuckled. “Of course.”

Daniele glanced up as he heard the distant ‘clunk’ of a door opening upstairs, followed by the soft thud of rapidly approaching feet. Moments later, Marco appeared on the wooden staircase, neatly turned out in a green, blue and white checked shirt tucked into the waistband of a pair of dark blue shorts. He paused at the foot of the steps, greeting Daniele with a nervous smile.

“Ciao, Dani,” he said.

Daniele grinned. “Auguri, Marco,” he replied.

“Marco had to take himself off to his room about an hour ago,” Angelo remarked. “I don’t think he could bear to be around this pile of unopened presents any longer.”

Daniele unshouldered his rucksack and added his gifts to the pile.

“Two?” Marco mouthed as Daniele turned back to hand him his birthday card.

“You’re worth it,” Daniele replied with a smile.

Flushing slightly, Marco ripped the envelope open. He smiled as he drew out Daniele’s handmade card.

“Blastoise in a party hat…?” he ventured.

Daniele laughed. “Yeah. Sorry, I’m terrible at drawing.”

“I love it,” Marco said earnestly.

“Andiamo, guys,” Angelo said. “Grab a cold drink, and let’s get all this junk off our nice dining table.”

He fished two Lemon Sodas out of the fridge and offered one each to Daniele and Marco, then they gathered round the pile of presents.

The first parcel Marco unwrapped turned out to be a pair of smart beige chinos. He held them up against his legs, contemplating how they hung.

“Thanks, guys,” he said, offering a shy smile to Gianni and Angelo.

“Perfect for evening meals out,” Gianni said. “You might find them useful, soon.”

Marco nodded and turned to the first of Daniele’s parcels. Warily, he began to unwrap it – Daniele wondered if he was remembering his first, unsuccessful suggestion at the clothes shop in Salerno – but then he smiled again as the check shirt slid out onto the table.

“Cool,” he said. “Thanks, Dani.”

Curiously, he held it up with the chinos to see how they looked together.

Angelo shook his head. “Too similar. I’d wear it with black jeans if I were you,” he suggested.

Marco nodded. “Yeah…”

Gianni chuckled. “Tips from the Rossi school of fashion. Watch out, world.”

Angelo elbowed him playfully in the ribs. “You can talk, Gianni.”

Marco laughed slightly, his cool grey eyes flicking from one foster father to the other. Daniele looked on, heartened to see the ease between the three of them. He wondered if the other boy had ever felt so safe with his birth parents.

Marco seemed to be deliberately saving Daniele’s second, smaller parcel until last. Daniele watched as he worked his way through a light summer jacket, a set of wireless earphones for his phone and a couple of books and movies he had apparently wanted.

The final gift he opened from Gianni and Angelo turned out to be a pad of thick art paper and a tin of quality art pencils, covering the full range from the hardest to the softest blends available.

“This is awesome,” Marco breathed, eyeing the pencils hungrily.

“I can’t wait to see what you cook up with those,” Gianni said.

Finally, Marco turned to Daniele’s smallest parcel.

“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes flicking to Daniele’s for a moment. Working quickly with his deft fingers, he peeled back the sticky tape and then blinked in surprise as the ring fell out into his hand.

“It was Emilia’s idea,” Daniele said quickly, before the other boy could have time to over-think his gift, “but I think you’ll rock it.”

“Wow,” Marco said, turning the ring over and over in one of the beams of sunlight shining in through the windows. “I mean, I’ve never even thought of…” he smiled and slid the ring onto one slender finger. “Ah, whatever. Thanks, Dani.”

Marco glanced down at the empty tabletop in slight disappointment, seeming to register for the first time that he had really finished with his presents.

“All gone…?” Gianni smiled.

“I guess,” Marco sighed.

“Not quite,” Angelo remarked.

Gianni reached behind the church pew and pulled out a large, flat, rectangular package, which he set down on the tabletop with a ‘thump’.

“What…?” Marco seemed a little speechless, and threw Daniele a quick, baffled look. Daniele smiled back; he had his suspicions.

Marco shrugged and began to tear off the wrapping paper. When he realised what the present was, he froze, and his grey eyes grew large and round.

“I… huh?”

Sitting before him, in a crisp cardboard box, was a basic but fully featured laptop computer.

“I…” Marco said again. Suddenly, his eyes looked unusually bright, and he was blinking harder than normal, as if he was working hard to hold back tears.

“It was sort of my idea,” Gianni said. “And it’s not just a toy. When Patrizia told me she’d bought one of these for Dani last year, it made me think… you’ll be off to high school in the autumn. Now there’ll be no excuse to be late with your homework.”

Marco backed shakily away from the table and hurried round to the other side, where he pulled his two foster fathers into a hug, mumbling something indistinct into Gianni’s chest.

Daniele laughed slightly, a little embarrassed to be intruding on the moment. Glaring at him with one watery eye, Marco beckoned for him to come over.

“Really?” Daniele mouthed.

Marco nodded determinedly. Uncertainly, Daniele walked around the table, and the smaller boy pulled him in until all four of them were wrapped up together.

* * *

For lunch, Gianni and Angelo took Marco and Daniele to a pizza terrace just off the avenue of oleanders. In the quiet surrounds of a pretty garden lined with shrubs, they sat in the shade of a wooden canopy draped with creepers. Daniele sunk his teeth into a quattro stagioni pizza with Parma ham, artichokes, olives and mushrooms, while Marco tackled a pizza Napoli loaded with salty anchovies.

Marco chatted cheerfully enough over his meal but, when the conversation left him behind, there were moments when he seemed quieter, as if lost in thought. Daniele wondered if he was thinking about his birth parents. It was his first birthday without them, after all; not that, Daniele supposed, they had ever done much to celebrate his birthday before.

After lunch, the group separated for a while, and Daniele and Marco retreated to the Municipio gardens at the top of the avenue of oleanders. Part formal garden and part casual lawn arranged around a tall pine tree and a ring of limes, it offered a quiet, shady sanctuary from the afternoon sun. They flopped down on the lawn together, reclining in the warmth of the afternoon.

“This has been the best day,” Marco sighed.

“And it’s not over yet,” Daniele observed. “You’ve still got Emilia and Luca to come.”

Marco nodded. “There’s more, though. Gianni and Angelo are taking me away for a few days. We’re going to Rome!”

The smaller boy’s grey eyes shone with excitement as he said this, and it occurred to Daniele that it might be the first chance he had ever had to leave the coast.

“You’ve never…?” Daniele asked.

Marco shook his head. “We’re going to ride the Metro and see the Colosseum, the Forum, the Vatican City… it’s going to be epic.”

Daniele smiled. “It’s going to be busy. Like, seriously busy.”

“I don’t even care. I just want to see somewhere new, you know? Somewhere totally different.”

“We’ll miss you while you’re gone,” Daniele offered.

Marco smiled slightly. “Thanks, but I won’t be gone for long… and you’ll have Giaco to keep you busy.”

Daniele sighed. “Yeah, about that…” He fiddled with a small pinecone that was lying among the grass, reluctant to puncture the other boy’s rare giddy mood. “I’m trying to be smart, but… things feel like they’re different now, you know?”

Marco stilled for a moment, seeming to weigh his words, but then he shook his head as if it was all too much trouble to contemplate.

“I know I should be more upset about that,” he said, “but right now, I just feel too happy.”

With that, he flopped down onto his back, spreading his arms out like a star and closing his eyes blissfully. Daniele couldn’t help laughing.

“I hope you have a great time,” he said. “Bring me back a souvenir.”

“Sure,” Marco replied. “Hey, I’ll bring you two.”

* * *

That evening, Daniele joined Gianni at his designated pitch under the shade of the umbrella pines, it the corner of the cathedral square closest to the car park steps and the tree-lined street that led down to the valley road. With Patrizia working an evening shift at the hotel and Marco off with Emilia and Luca celebrating the second part of his birthday, they had been left to launch the art wagon on their own.

The wagon was a handsome handcart made of varnished chestnut wood, sourced, apparently, from the woodlands above Santa Caterina, one of the highest hamlets of Scala. Angelo had worked hard to give it a smooth and graceful finish, finishing it off with a set of sturdy wheelbarrow wheels. At the back of the display area was a vertical board with a grid of brass pins, which allowed Gianni to suspend prints of his art in any configuration he liked using bulldog clips. He had also printed a range of postcards and greeting cards, which were weighed down in neat piles with colourful ceramic paperweights decorated with local motifs of lemons, olives and grapes; Daniele thought he recognised Elena Agnello’s handiwork. Finally, at one end of the cart stood a small stack of Patrizia’s cakes to help lure in potential buyers. Daniele thought it was a clever idea, although the comune allowed such limited trading hours in any given week that he didn’t think it could ever become their main livelihood.

Once they had the display set up to Gianni’s satisfaction, Daniele was allowed to pinch a slice of Patrizia’s rich torta al cioccolato, which she had baked to perfection and dusted artistically with icing sugar. He ate it out of a paper napkin while Gianni put his hands in his pockets and stood a little awkwardly, waiting to see if anyone would take an interest in his wares.

“Maybe you should try a chant?” Daniele suggested. “Step right up for your own beautiful piece of Ravello to take home! Memories of landscape that will haunt your dreams and imagination!”

Gianni chuckled. “Thanks, Dani, but… if what I’ve got to sell is really any good, it’ll generate its own interest.” He twisted his mouth ironically. “I wish we’d brought a couple of stools down with us, though. This could be a long evening.”

“It’s only a couple of hours,” Daniele said encouragingly.

“Tell me that again at ten to nine when your feet feel like they’re about to drop off.”

Daniele finished his cake and cleaned his fingers using a hand wipe from Gianni’s first aid kit, which was hidden on a cleverly concealed lower shelf, then joined the artist behind the front end of the wagon. They cast their eyes around the square, which was already busy with the early evening crowd, watching hopefully for potential customers.

“Hello!” said a voice, seemingly from out of nowhere.

Daniele and Gianni started in surprise and looked down to see a pair of dark brown eyes peeping up at them from the far side of the wagon.

“Oh… ciao, Sami,” Daniele grinned.

Gianni folded his arms on the edge of the wagon to get a better eyeline with the little boy.

“Buonasera, Sami,” he said with a tentative smile. “How are things with Reza and Tiziana – are they good?”

“Yes!” Sami replied.

“I bet you’d like a cake, wouldn’t you?” Gianni went on.

“Yes!” the little boy repeated, nodding fervently.

There was a flicker of movement from the corner of Daniele’s eye, and Reza emerged from the building at the nearest corner of the square. The young couple had been working to refurbish it for several months; following their sustained efforts, the terracotta roof had been repaired and the crumbling cement render replaced. Compared to the wreck they had started with, the building looked trim and neat, and the upstairs balcony, which faced the view out over the valley, looked safe enough to stand on for the first time in Daniele’s memory.

Reza must only have stopped by in passing on his way to an evening out, because he was looking stylish in a peach shirt and a pair of slim-fit black jeans, a far cry from his usual work overalls. He wore an expensive watch on one of his tanned arms.

“I see the little man has found the sweet treats already,” he remarked wryly as he approached. Sami’s eyes were still fixed beadily on the chocolate cake.

“What do you reckon, Reza?” Gianni asked. “Can he have one?”

Reza nodded. “All right.” He bent down, whispering conspiratorially to his adopted son, “just don’t tell Mamma.”

Sami giggled and nodded. Daniele wrapped a large slice of cake in a second paper napkin and handed it to the little boy. Reza fished out his wallet to pay, but Gianni waved it away.

“The building looks great,” Gianni said.

Reza glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, we’re nearly finished. We’ll have it for out rent in no time.”

“For rent?” Gianni asked.

Reza nodded. “Yeah, we reckon it’s the perfect holiday apartment. A business use on the ground floor, perhaps. Maybe we’ll even take the ground floor as our own office.”

“I’m impressed,” Gianni said. “Although, won’t you need to sell it to buy the next one?”

Reza shrugged. “We have some capital left. There are options. Anyway, we’d like to take a little break – to focus on Sami for a while, you know?”

Gianni tracked the little boy with his eyes. He had wandered off to the railings, and was working on his cake, staring vaguely out at the view. “How’s he doing?”

“I think he’s doing great,” Reza replied. “I know things ended badly between you, but… you guys got him off to a terrific start.”

“Papà!” Sami called excitably from the railings, pointing at something he had spotted in the sky. “Helicopter!”

Reza shrugged. “Duty calls,” he said affably, and off he went.

Gianni watched him go, shaking his head reflectively.

Daniele gave the young man a questioning look. “Do you ever miss looking after Sami?”

Gianni shrugged. “Sometimes. I mean, he has a great energy, doesn’t he…? But raising him was so different from what I’d expected, I… think I’d lost perspective.” He smiled as he watched father and son giving each other an affectionate squeeze as they tracked the aircraft together. “Sami’s happy now. That’s what really matters.”

“…and you guys have Marco,” Daniele added.

Gianni nodded. “Yes, we do. Marco, I get. He’s doing brilliantly.”

As the evening wore on and the sun dipped behind the mountains above Scala, plunging Ravello into its customary long and early dusk, decorative streetlights flickered into life around the square. Under their bright, welcoming glow, a few more visitors came to browse Gianni’s art. The breeze whispered through the pines, helping to dispel the heat of the day in favour of a pleasant balminess.

At one point, they were confronted by a family of enthusiastic American tourists with loud voices. Gianni, who had been born in London and had been brought up speaking English, had no trouble engaging with them, but Daniele found himself struggling with their extraordinary accents.

“Aww, Hank, ain’t they just the darlingest little pictures?” the mother said, poking about among the prints.

“They sure are, honey, but I’m sorta more interested in the cakes,” replied the father, who was a large gentleman in a polo shirt with an expensive camera perched on his belly.

“The prints are thirty Euros, if you’d like one,” Gianni said, tackling them in their own language.

“Oh, you’re English?” the mother cooed. “Ain’t that just the darndest thing!”

“Could y’all cut us a deal?” the father asked, gesturing at the cakes with a pudgy thumb.

Gianni smiled slightly. “All right. If you buy a print, I’ll throw in a cake for free.”

The father grinned. “Now we’re talking.”

While they continued to negotiate, Daniele turned his attention to their daughter, a pretty, brown-haired girl who looked to be about eleven years old. She was admiring a pile of postcards featuring one of Gianni’s drawings of the cathedral.

“Do you like them?” he asked her in his best English. She glanced up, took one look at him with her startled blue eyes, and dived behind her teenage brother, blushing scarlet. The boy, who looked to be about thirteen, looked up from his phone for just long enough to roll his eyes.

“Oh, Jeez,” he sighed, pulling his baseball cap lower over his eyes in weary teenage embarrassment.

Gianni appeared to be closing a deal with the parents, because the father was pulling cash out of his wallet.

“So, that’s one print and two postcards…” Gianni said, “…and a free cake, right? That’ll be thirty-five Euros, please.”

“Right!” the father replied, waving the cash at him.

“My assistant can help you,” Gianni replied, gesturing at Daniele as he demounted the print from the pin board. Daniele flashed him a grin and took the two twenties from the American man, placing them in the cash box and handing him a five in return. Having done that, he wrapped one of the last slices of cake in a napkin and passed it to him.

“Thank you, young man,” the father said, tipping an imaginary hat to him.

Daniele smiled. “Buonasera,” he replied.

The family moved away, with one last furtive glance in Daniele’s direction from the young daughter.

Gianni grinned. “Great sale, Dani,” he said, clapping a friendly hand on his shoulder. “And I think I’ll hire the eye-candy more often. It could be a great marketing tactic.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Daniele replied, flushing furiously.

Gianni chuckled. “Hey, the heart what it wants. Don’t knock it.”

* * *

By nine o’clock, it was almost fully dark, and Gianni had begun to take the unsold prints down from his pin board. Daniele tidied up the cash box, ensuring that the notes were ordered by value and neatly clipped in place.

There was a quiet cough. Daniele looked up, and his heart skipped a beat as he came face-to-face with Giacomo, who must have snuck up on them while he wasn’t looking. The dark-eyed boy was wearing another flattering slim-fit shirt and was standing with his hands shoved casually in the pockets of his jeans.

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said with a smile.

“Ah… ciao, Giaco,” Daniele said, trying to recover his composure.

“Are you nearly done, signore?” Giacomo asked Gianni, his attitude politely deferential. “Only, I wondered if Dani might be able to hang out for a while before he has to go home.”

The young man smiled slightly. “Of course, I’ll finish up here. Thanks for your time tonight, Dani. You’ve been great.”

He began to remove the ceramic paperweights, transferring the piles of postcards to a large cardboard box he had stored on the hidden lower shelf.

Daniele was just turning to leave with Giacomo when he heard the young man utter a quiet curse. He turned back around just in time to see a pile of Gianni’s postcards fluttering over the railings, caught by a sudden lick of breeze.

“Oh, no…” Gianni murmured, moving over to the railings to assess the damage. Joining him, Daniele saw that several of the postcards had come to rest on top of the vine-covered pergola that spanned the leafy staircase down to the public car park.

Daniele took in the lie of the land. It looked like he could clamber down fairly easily from the corner of the square and scramble down the top of the pergola, if he was careful.

“I can get them,” he suggested.

“Oh, don’t be daft…” Gianni protested. “It’s not worth it!”

But Daniele had already scrambled over the railings. He edged himself along the narrow lip of paving on the other side until he reached the corner, where the drop between the end of the paving and the top of the pergola was at its smallest.

“I can’t watch,” Gianni said, covering his eyes. “If you get hurt, your mamma’s going to kill me.”

Giacomo had joined the young man at the railings and was looking on with an expression that was caught somewhere between baffled and impressed.

“Way to go, Dani,” he murmured.

“I’ll be fine!” Daniele called back to Gianni, lowering himself carefully down onto the framework of rustic chestnut poles, which felt strong enough to take his weight.

Dropping to all fours, he picked his way carefully down the top of the pergola as if it were a climbing frame, spreading his weight, gathering up the fallen postcards as he went. He had just grabbed the last one, when –

CRACK!

One of the chestnut poles failed, and Daniele found himself falling, feet-first, into the void below, fingers scrabbling desperately for purchase on the elusive vines. The postcards tumbled down with him as he hit the ground, hard, falling to his knees with a grunt of pain and skinning them painfully on the rough concrete of the path below.

“Dani!” cried a voice from up above. It had sounded like Giacomo. Sure enough, moments later a pounding of feet heralded the arrival of his friend, sprinting down the steps in the more usual fashion.

“I… saved the postcards,” Daniele panted, gathering them up again.

“Who cares?” Giacomo replied. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so… not badly, anyway.”

Daniele got up to his haunches, and they both inspected the damage in the light of a lantern that hung from an undamaged section of the pergola above. Both of his knees were badly scraped, and blood was trickling slowly down his leg from a deeper graze on the right.

Giacomo winced. “Ouch.”

“Is he okay?” called Gianni’s anxious voice from above.

“Wait here,” Giacomo told Daniele.

Daniele passed him the postcards, and the dark-eyed boy hurried back up the stairs to report back.

While he waited, Daniele turned round and draped himself over the low railings overlooking the dimly lit car park. He froze as he spotted a familiar, spideresque figure, dressed in black, making her way across the deserted space towards a set of metal gates in the lower corner.

“What’s she doing here?” he murmured to himself.

Footsteps, again, and Giacomo reappeared at his side, clutching a couple of antiseptic wipes and a large plaster from Gianni’s first-aid kit. He tugged at Daniele’s arm, but he shook himself free, gesturing distractedly down into the car park.

“Assunta,” he hissed. “Assunta Neri!”

“She can wait a minute,” Giacomo replied, tugging more insistently on Daniele’s arm. Daniele sighed and turned round again, allowing the other boy to minister to his injury.

Daniele was reminded of a time the year before, when Marco had had to do something similar. Giacomo was slightly less precise, but surprisingly gentle with it, cleaning out his cuts and grazes with the soothing wipes before applying the plaster. He shoved the rubbish into his pocket.

“Can you walk?” he asked.

With the other boy’s help, Daniele managed to stand, wincing a little, and took a few steps forward. He nodded.

“I’m fine!” he called up through the vines.

“All right,” Gianni’s voice floated back. “I’ll make my apologies to Patrizia.”

Daniele glanced out into the car park once again. Assunta had already vanished through the metal gates. He turned impatiently to his friend.

“Now can we investigate?” he whispered.

Giacomo couldn’t seem to help smiling a little.

“Just like old times,” he replied.

They stole down the steps, leaving the lively buzz of the square behind them, into the quiet of the car park, where the ranks of windscreens glinted dully in the low glow of the floodlighting.

Creeping along the perimeter, they followed the stairway down to the lowest level. The electric gates Assunta had disappeared through, which led onto a driveway of some kind, seemed modern and secure, offering them no way in; but, next to them, there was a broken down old gate opening onto a small patch of waste ground on a slightly higher level.

The two boys squeezed through the narrow gap next to the broken gate and crept along the low stone boundary wall, doing their best to stay out of sight of anyone on the driveway below. Reaching a vantage point where the wall was slightly collapsed and broken, they knelt down together in the gloom.

Pressed closely together to get the best view through the narrow crevice in the wall, they were distracted by each other for a moment. Daniele’s heartbeat quickened as they exchanged a glance and a slightly awkward smile, before forcing themselves to turn back to the view.

Further down the property, there was a small villa of some kind, perched on top of the cliff. If Daniele had his bearings right, it was roughly above their secret clearing in the valley. The windows were dark, and it appeared to be empty. Closer at hand, however, there was a small lockup building, and they looked towards it as they became aware of low voices.

Assunta Neri had come back out of the building, accompanied by a second shadowy figure. Daniele couldn’t see who the figure was, but he looked, and sounded, no more than about sixteen. It was hard to be sure in the gloom, but it looked like he was armed, carrying something in one hand that might have been a knife.

“I still don’t understand why we’re doing this,” the boy said sullenly.

“When Santino Neri tells you to do something, you do it,” Assunta hissed. “At least, you do if you know what’s good for you.”

“But it’s not fair – I’m all on my own here.” The boy turned away miserably. “What do I know about business? What am I supposed to do when your… friends… come knocking?”

“They’re no friends of mine,” Assunta snapped. “Anyway, you won’t need to worry about that for much longer. I have a new associate who’s going to act as our representative.”

“Does that mean…?” the boy began hopefully.

“No,” Assunta replied curtly. “You’ll still be here doing your guard duties.”

The boy sagged a little. “Fine,” he sighed.

From up the driveway, there was a metallic screech as the electric gates swung open once again. Daniele and Giacomo turned round and peeked over the top of the wall as a hulking figure began to slouch along the driveway.

Hurriedly, Daniele dived back down behind the wall and pulled Giacomo down with him. The dark-eyed boy landed on top of him with a stifled gasp of surprise.

“That’s Enzo!” Daniele whispered. “But what’s he doing working with Assunta? He fought against the Neri family before.”

Giacomo scrambled back towards the gap in the wall and gestured urgently for Daniele to follow. “Listen!”

The new arrival had joined the two figures outside the lockup.

“This is Enzo,” Assunta explained. “He’s an old friend of my son Filippo.”

“Right,” Enzo growled quietly. “An old friend.”

“Enzo Palmeri?” the boy asked, shaking his head in surprise. “I thought you helped to smash up Ettore’s lamebrained protection racket? What’s changed?”

Enzo shrugged. “Yeah, well, that cazzo Ettore was hurting my town, wasn’t he?” he muttered. “What does it matter to me if you hold a few goods here while the heat dies down in Naples?”

The boy snorted with laughter. “Yeah… goods,” he repeated. “Is that what you call a cache of hardcore…”

He cringed back as Assunta slapped him hard across the face.

“Mind your tongue,” she snapped. “You never know who might be listening.”

Instinctively, Daniele and Giacomo flattened themselves to the ground, staring at each other with wide eyes.

“This is suspicious as hell,” Giacomo whispered. “We have to tell the others!”

“And then what?” Daniele whispered back.

Giacomo shrugged, his eyes black and excited in the darkness. “I guess we’ll just have to see what happens next.”