Page 97 of I'll Look for You, Everywhere
51
THEO
My suitcase stands in the corner of my bedroom, packed and ready to go. Magdalen wasn’t here when I got back, every trace of her gone so efficiently I had to check the garden to see if her scarf was still there. I play with the frayed edges and check the clock for the fourth time in the past ten minutes to see if it’s still too early to go and knock on her door again. It was locked the first time. I tapped gently to see if maybe she was still awake, maybe she was changing and wanted to make sure no one was going to barge in – either way, I got no response. I try not to overthink it but between the silent getaway and the locked door, my nerves grow taut.
It’s fine. I jump up from where I am sitting and fumble for a loose cigarette at the bottom of one of Dante’s shopping bags. Everything’s fine. Putting it in my mouth, I yank the handle of my luggage out the door and start to rush downstairs. My body betrays me, though, my luggage abandoned in front of my room as I stand inches away from Magdalen’s bedroom. I press my fingers to the knob, twisting slightly. But it doesn’t budge. The sun is up, Magdalen. You’re always up when the sun is.
Lucia and Maio leave before everyone else. She nods at me when they get into their car and I think I give a small wave.
‘You have to tell her,’ Lucia had said last night. ‘She’ll be devastated, mortified, and she’ll either start crying or stop talking altogether. But if she finds out another way then it’ll be the end. You’ll never stand a chance.’
Dante comes down next, luggage and a halfway-deflated beach ball under his arm.
‘You ready?’ he asks when he sees our trunk open and my luggage already inside.
‘Are the girls up yet?’
‘Say what you really mean.’ Dante rolls his eyes and throws his belongings inside. ‘I fucking punch you and you still don’t get it?’
‘Jesus Christ, alright. Is Magdalen up?’
Dante slams the trunk closed and points at me accusingly, snickering, ‘Ha! Pussy! My punch made you my literal bitch.’
‘Get that finger out of my face, Dante,’ I growl, and stand up off the car, taking a step towards him.
Dante flinches and slinks to the passenger side of the car. ‘Right, sorry. All in good fun, all in good fun.’
We look at each other over the roof and, though I want to smile, happy to see we’re back to normal, the anxiety of what I have to tell Magdalen weighs my muscles down.
Dante shrugs. ‘Her door was closed when I walked past.’ Seeing I’m not satisfied, he adds, ‘Everything alright between you two?’ And, for the first time, he doesn’t ask critically. Almost, concerned. It feels like I’ve been kicked in the stomach, when the one fucking time I want to tell him everything, I spit out a lie.
‘Yeah, just wanted to say goodbye is all.’
‘Cool.’ He opens the door and shouts from inside, easily accepting my answer, ‘We’ll see them in a few hours, anyway. Let’s go before the traffic.’
‘We have to put gas in the car before we get back,’ I mumble as I get in, starting the engine.
52
MAGDALEN
‘Papa?’ I knock on the office door at the museum. ‘You here?’
I hear scuffling and an inarticulate noise that I know to be my father when he’s eating something he shouldn’t be. I push the door open to see him, thinning grey hair and gold-rimmed glasses, furiously wiping crumbs off his sweater vest.
‘Cara mia!’ He stands up and more crumbs fall down his torso. ‘My baby is back!’
He hops from one foot to the other while I walk around the desk; I can’t help but laugh at his childish excitement to see me after only two days away.
‘You’re eating suspiciously.’ I narrow my eyes at the trail of crumbs from his desk to his vest. He ignores me, waving the question away before squeezing me to his chest. I close my eyes, wrapped in the smell of faint cologne and firewood that stays on his clothes even in the hottest month of the year. Burying my face in the itchy fabric of his sweater, I swallow the growing lump in my throat when I think about how much I love him and feel ashamed for accepting anything less than this.
‘How was the trip?’ he asks as he releases me.
I pretend to look around his desk, playing with the embossed leather handle of a letter opener he got on a trip in Madagascar. I cast my eyes down, knowing that if I look at him, the tears will follow instantly.
‘Good, good,’ I say to the desk. ‘Lucia...’ I see the broken wine bottle underneath her legs. His stupid hand. I grip the handle of the letter opener tight, feeling the hard edges of where the leather is sewn together press into my skin. ‘Lucia and Maio looked very happy.’
‘That’s wonderful.’ My father sits back down at his desk and opens the drawer in front of him to reveal the half-eaten cornetto resting on a napkin. We look at each other and I raise my pinkie to him, and he follows, wrapping his pinkie around mine. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
