The Vine (22 page)

Two weeks later, I wake up from yet another terrible night’s sleep, and the pain in my chest is still there—just as it always is—and my heart is as heavy as ever. I still don’t know what I’m going to do with my life; I certainly don’t have the energy to get involved in a career. I just want to have an easy, quiet life from here on, where I can plod along being invisible and ignored, which is pretty much what I’ve been doing over the last couple of weeks. As I walk through reception, I see a man in a suit. I only glimpse him from the side, and he looks familiar, but before I can think any more about him, he quickly turns away from me.
I’m in Italy
, I think to myself.
Whom would I know here anyway?

I walk away to the quieter back streets of Verona; I only pop into the piazza now and again, preferring the quietness and anonymity of the lesser-known streets. I have also found a little café that I like to sit in, and over the last couple of weeks, I’ve gotten quite friendly with the owner, Isabella.

I have noticed that nearly every Italian speaks English, and what with the bit of Italian I know, I’m getting along fine. And every day I’m learning more Italian too, which is helpful. Isabella and I share polite, friendly conversation; I tell her bits about myself without revealing too much. Isabella tells me about her life, which mainly consists of running the café. She told me she had lost her
husband a couple of years ago to cancer, and he used to help her run the café.

Financially, she doesn’t have to work, but the café is her life, and it had gotten her through the last couple of years. Isabella thinks it’s due to the routine of always having to be here, the busyness of the café and her wonderful, loyal customers, all of whom have helped her get through the toughest time of her life. Isabella tells me all about her two daughters, who she is clearly extremely proud of. Her eldest is called Sienna; she’s twenty-two and is away a lot because she is a model. Her other daughter, Nella, is nineteen, and she is at a university in London studying fashion, as she wants to be a fashion designer. Isabella explains she has lots of other family here, but nothing compares to when the girls come home when they can.

As I enter today though, poor Isabella is up to her eyeballs; the café is packed solid, and as she catches my eye, I know she’s sinking. I instantly walk over to her, asking what I can do to help. Isabella throws some instructions at me and I get to work. When the rush eventually dies down, we both flop into a chair with a coffee.

“Seems like the summer season has started early.” Isabella laughs.

“Isabella,” I cry, “if that’s what you have to put up with all summer on your own, you’ll put yourself in an early grave.”

She laughs, saying, “I have help in the summer; in fact, I better get advertising, unless…” She stops, looking at me, her eyebrows practically rising to the ceiling.

“What, you want me to work here?” I ask, amazed.

“Yes, Ella, why not?” But before I can answer Isabella continues, “You would be perfect! We get along well, and you’re always here anyway. Now, I know there’s a lot more to your story than you’re telling me—I can tell by the look that haunts your eyes—but if you’re here and staying for a bit, you may as well earn yourself some money.”

I think for a moment; I could stay for the summer, and I’d like to help Isabella out—after all, she has been so kind to me.

“Okay, I’ll do it!” I agree, smiling at her.

“Excellent,” Isabella says, clapping her hands together excitedly.

So for the next few weeks, I work at Bella’s, and it is the best thing for me I’ve found since leaving London. I still like my alone time, locked in with my thoughts, but at least it’s a healthy amount of time now, and not all day like it had been. Meeting Isabella and starting my little job at the cafè was a positive step for me. The other day I even walked over to Romeo and Juliet’s balcony, and although it made me think of Luke a lot, for once I didn’t feel sad; in fact, it made me smile. I finally realise it’s important I find happiness in mine and Luke’s love and memories, and not just sadness and tears. The love we shared is worth more than that.

I often think of Luke’s funeral, which would have been done and gone by now. I hope Jett had contacted Katy, and any arrangements that had been made would have done my beautiful man justice. I also wonder, as I get stronger, if I will ever be able to go back someday. I always dismiss the idea; I think my decision was made when I left, even though it was a decision made while I was in a desperate, grief-stricken mess. I would love to one day go and visit Luke’s grave, but Luke’s family, Katy and George would never forgive me for running away. They must really hate me. For now, I will work the summer here, as it helps me not to think about the future for a little while. All I know is whatever future I end up with, it will not be a future I ever wanted or intended to have.

After work today, I have an appointment with Stefano to have my hair cut again. I’ve realised my new shorter hairstyle needs a lot more maintenance than my longer ever did.

As I enter his hair boutique, I am again ushered through to his special room at the back. As soon as the door closes behind me, he flies out from behind his red velvet curtains and grabs me in a bear hug, and then releases me to kiss me on both cheeks. “Come on, pickle, sit down and relax,” he says. I smile then, and I mean I
really
smile, not plaster on a faux one as I do so often. Stefano’s cockney accent amazes me after hearing his camp, over-the-top Italian one.

After my hair has been washed, my scalp has been massaged and my locks have been cut and dried, I not only look glamorous, but
Italian
glamorous. For the first time in a long time, I really look at myself.

I have lost a lot of weight—weight that I couldn’t really afford to lose, but I am dumbfounded by the magic Stefano has worked on my hair again. Instead of my cheeks looking hollow, my eyes looking empty and my face looking pale and gaunt, he has, in fact, framed my cheekbones so they look high, and they also have a rosy glow to them from the heat in the boutique. As I am staring at my reflection, Stefano instructs me to put my gloss on, so I do. I pop it back into my bag, and as I look up, Stefano is staring at me.

“Girl, you look amazing! You are a stunning, fabulous specimen of a female; that’s for sure. And if I wasn’t into geezers, there would be hope for you and me.” I laugh, and as I catch my reflection in the mirror, my eyes sparkle, and for a short moment, I see the face I had before all the tragedy, sadness and heartache. I quickly look away as the guilt kicks in that I am laughing. This isn’t a life I am meant to be enjoying; I certainly don’t deserve to after what I have done.

I stand, hug Stefano and say, “It’s the miracles you create with those fingers that make me look like I should be on the cover of Vogue—nothing to do with me.”

“Unfortunately, baby girl, you’ll never know the magic and miracles that can occur with these fingers,” Stefano smirks.

I burst into a fit of laughter, squealing, “What are you like? You naughty boy”

“Hey! I know, treasure! Why don’t you come out with me tonight? We’re going to a great bar; it has delicious food, and you could certainly do with some of that,” he smiles at my fake-angry face, and then carries on, “along with great music and dancing. Come on. It’ll be fab-u-lous.”

“No, I can’t,” I say, wrinkling my nose while shaking my head.

“Why, are you busy?” he enquires.

I laugh, “No, I’m just going home, as usual.”

“No way, not looking like that you’re not. You can go home, but only to change into something sexy, and then you’re coming out with me.” Stefano’s hands are on his hips and he’s staring me down, so I take him seriously; by his demeanour, he’s just daring me to turn him down.

“Okay, okay, I give in. I’ll come out with you, but only for a couple of hours.”

“Why, does your transport turn into a pumpkin at midnight, Cinderella?” he jokes. “Oohh! You might meet Prince Charming,” Stefano continues.

I just laugh, but inside I want to cry,
No! I already found my Prince Charming, but now he’s gone and there won’t be another; I don’t want another.

Stefano interrupts my thoughts. “I’ll pick you up from your hotel at 8pm.”

I nod and make my way out of the boutique, wondering what on earth I’ve just gotten myself into. I buy myself a couple new outfits on my way back. Luckily, it’s not hard in Italy, as everything is gorgeous, which is great since I’m not in the shopping and trying-on mood, but I also don’t want to wear anything I’d brought with me for evenings out. I’d meant to wear them out with Luke, so it doesn’t seem right. When I finally get back to my room, I try to relax in preparation for my night out, but I’m nervous as hell.

At seven o’clock, I have a bath; I apply a small amount of makeup, and end up choosing a black, shorts playsuit to wear with some black heels. At 7:45pm, reception calls to inform me Stefano is here and wants to come up. I smile and tell them to send him up. As I hear the knock on my door, I swiftly open it and Stefano bounces in. I instantly smile at him, as that’s what this bubbly, adorable, gay man does to me.

“Don’t worry, treasure; I’m here and I’m armed with dry wax,” he states as he strides toward me. Stefano starts spraying, tweaking
and perfecting my hair. Eventually, he stands back to admire his work, and then his eyes travel down, taking in my overall look. I look at him nervously, awaiting his approval. “Ella, sweetie, you look absolutely fabulous, darling,” he enthuses.

“Thanks,” I reply, not believing a word of it. I grab my clutch, link my arm through Stefano’s and we leave. Outwardly, as Ella, I look confident; inwardly, as Lizzy, I am nervous, freaking out and feeling terribly guilty for even smiling, let alone for going out.

Stefano looks at me. “Come on, Ella, I don’t know what shit you’ve been through, but what I do know is there’s a lot more to you than you’re letting on, and I can see sadness in your eyes. But for one night, no matter how hard it is, I want you to try and put it to the back of your mind and attempt to enjoy yourself.”

I nod and Stefano smirks and saying, “I was going to tell you to let your hair down.” We both look at each other and crack up, and once again, this amazing bundle of fun and joy, all wrapped up in a good-hearted, flamboyant man puts me at ease.

We arrive at our destination—a very posh looking bar called “The Pink Lounge”. The bar is as amazing as Stefano promised me it would be, and as one would expect, it is very pink. The waiters and waitresses are all young and absolutely gorgeous, with the most impeccable manners. Stefano seems to know everyone, and as I watch him schmoozing, I know if he has his way, he’ll make sure I have the most wonderful evening…that way I’ll never turn him down for a night out.

I wake up the next morning with a headache from hell. I think back to the evening before—I ate the most amazing food, drank gorgeous cocktails, knocked back shots and danced like I had never danced before. I was on the table at one point, dancing with one of Stefano’s transsexual friends, who had the most amazing legs and ten times more makeup on than me.

Stefano introduced me to everyone, and I laughed with him and his crazy friends until my cheeks and sides hurt. It was amazing;
especially considering I’d sometimes wonder if I would eventually forget
how
to laugh. When Stefano dropped me off, he told me all his friends were in love with me. I was flattered by that, and also relieved they were all gay, so there would be no expectations of me.

I decide I will phone Stefano later and thank him for the wonderful evening I had. As well as a headache, I’m feeling the immense guilt again. I elect in that moment I probably shouldn’t go out too often; the alcohol involved was great, as it did help me to forget, but I really didn’t want to go down that road, using alcohol to erase my demons. No, I would continue my quiet life of working in the café, quiet coffees at quiet bars and then home. I close my eyes again; I need some more sleep, and before I can think anymore, I drift off again.

A couple of weeks pass before I am finally allowed to go home. It has been driving me nuts being in this place, and not being able to go and find my girl. I’m constantly like a bear with a sore head, barking orders at people and acting like my miserable old self—the old self before Lizzy came into my life like a breath of fresh air, and turned me upside-down in the best way possible. The only thing keeping me sane is Katy; she is as desperate as I am to find Lizzy, so while I have been stuck in here being looked after, eyed up and propositioned by some not-very-professional nurses, Katy has being making calls and visits to any family or friends Lizzy may have made contact with during her disappearance. Unfortunately, they have all been dead-ends so far. George hasn’t heard anything since he got his parting note from Lizzy, and he’s beside himself with worry. I guess he was right all those months ago, not wanting her to get involved with me; I’d hurt her in the end, just as he’d predicted.

Lizzy’s phone, which had just kept going to voicemail, was now a monotonous dead-line tone. This I unfortunately know because for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been ringing it over and over again whenever I get any time on my own. At first, I used to leave messages begging and pleading with her to come back to me, but after a while, I came to terms that my efforts were fruitless, and
she clearly wasn’t getting the messages. So instead, I would ring and listen to her beautifully shy, happy voice on the greeting—
Hey, you’ve reached Lizzy. After the beep, you know what to do
, and then a small giggle just before the beep kicked in. I’d listen to it again and again, until the pain it caused in my chest got to be too much or I was interrupted, whichever came first, and now I don’t even have that small pleasure to torture myself with.

I am dressed and waiting to leave; Mum, Dad and Cole have all been arguing over who gets to pick me up and take me home, but I soon put a stop to all that, telling them Katy is coming to pick me up and drop me off. Having Mum and Dad here is just too emotional, and I can really do without Cole’s sarcastic wit this morning, especially if he makes any comments about Lizzy. He has really been pushing his luck recently, and to be honest, I am very close to putting one on his chin.