The House by the Sea. Louise Douglas
it, I thought. I was too old to be self-conscious about my body, too dirty to make a fuss, and even if Joe had been looking, which he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have cared what I looked like or what I was wearing.
I pulled my dress over my head and dropped it onto the decking. I went to the ladder, turned around and climbed down the steps, one by one, the water rising up my legs, deliciously cold, then my hips, and it had reached my waist before I ran out of steps and let myself fall back.
At first, the sea was shockingly cold, but in a few moments I was used to it and joy ran through me. I ducked my head beneath the surface, and when I came up again, gasping and refreshed, I swam, not towards Joe but parallel with him, enjoying the feeling, the water, the freedom, the sun on my face.
Almost six year old Daniel would have loved it here! He’d have been doggy paddling between us, his armbands keeping him afloat, his head held artificially high above the water, that wide grin on his face, those missing teeth; he’d have called to Joe and then me, asking us to play with him, to chase him, to pretend he was a shark, clinging onto our shoulders, wrapping his skinny legs around our waists. Teenage Daniel probably would be heading off alone, swimming out to the floating dock anchored off the beach – that must be the same dock that Valentina once jumped off, pretending to drown. And Joe and I, we’d watch him go and we wouldn’t know whether to be happy that our son was so independent and confident, or sad that he was already growing away from us.
I thought of those two versions of Daniel, and all the other Daniels in between. Every one of those lost boys would have loved this place and I grieved the loss of every single one of them and every loss was because of Anna DeLuca. My endless grief was because of her.
After the swim, reunited on the decking, awkwardness returned to Joe and me. We dressed with our backs to one another, pulling dry clothes over wet underwear, not talking. We returned to the villa with embarrassing damp patches forming on our clothes and went into the cool of the villa’s cavernous kitchen, where we’d left the food. I unwrapped the bread and was slicing it when we heard voices outside. Joe went to investigate and returned with two Italian men, one stocky and muscular, the other taller and thin with spectacles and receding hair, the three of them conversing in a friendly way, bumping into one another and patting one another on the shoulders.
‘Ciao!’ the men called when they saw me.
‘Ciao!’ I replied, conscious of my wet hair, the dark, wet patches showing exactly the shape of my underwear beneath my dress.
‘Edie, these are my friends Liuni and Fredi,’ Joe said.
The men each gave a small bow as he introduced them.
‘Valentina told us you were here,’ said the tall one. He spoke good English. ‘We had to come and see our old pal, Joey DeLuca, again! We’ve missed him!’
‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ I said. ‘Would you like a sandwich?’
The men declined, but Liuni had brought some beer in his backpack. He offered a bottle to me, but I shook my head. The men took a bottle each and went outside to drink, talking Italian to one another, laughing, catching up on decades of news.
I sliced a tomato and some cheese, put my lunch on a plate and went the other way, through the house and out of the front door. I wandered a little way into the garden and found an old metal bench where I could sit and eat in the dappled sunlight. I could hear the men’s laughter, distantly: Joe and his friends.
Me, I was alone, but I was all right. I thought about Daniel and it seemed to me that he was somewhere close. I sat there, quietly, thinking of my son and it was peaceful. It was good.
15
The swim must have tired me because I fell asleep on the bench and when I woke, I was stiff, my hands prickled with pins and needles. The temperature had cooled and the airplane vapour trails that criss-crossed the sky were tinged gold.
I picked up my plate and went back into the villa. Half a dozen empty beer bottles were lined up alongside the wall at the back of the kitchen. I could no longer hear voices but followed the sound of chopping into the garden and found Joe hacking away at the oversized creepers with a long handled axe. I said, ‘Hi.’
He put the head of the axe on the floor and leaned on the end of the handle.
‘I found the axe in the log shed,’ he said. ‘It’s not great, but it’ll do for now. The guys are going to lend me some power tools.’
‘That’s great,’ I said.
‘Yeah.’ Joe wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘I’m going for another swim.’
He headed off towards the decking without inviting me to join him, which was fine, I hadn’t wanted to go anyway. I went in the other direction and fetched my suitcase from the car. I dragged it across the gardens and into the hallway, up the stairs.
From the landing window, I could see Joe crawling through the sea across the bay towards the floating dock. He was a long way away and it was unnerving to be in the villa with no other living being nearby. All around me, I sensed movement, whispers as if the shadows of the people who’d inhabited the villa were there with me; generations of DeLucas.
The child Anna used to play marbles here, on this landing. She’d told me she liked to come up here, out of sight of the adults downstairs who were always encouraging her to play the piano for them, or sit with them, which she found boring. She preferred to be alone. She’d sit on the landing, beside this very bookcase, and line up her collection of marbles according to her favourites, as if they had personalities. I’d played similar games with inanimate objects as a child. Had Anna imagined her dead brother and sisters here with her when she played?
As this exact question troubled me, I heard a gentle rumble, unmistakably the sound of a small glass ball rolling over the floorboards. I stepped back, against the wall, afraid that I’d inadvertently summoned the spirits of Anna’s lost siblings. I didn’t want to tread on a marble or step on the outstretched hand of an imaginary child.
Feeling light-headed, conscious that it was my overwrought state that was seeding these psychic fantasies, I hefted the awkward suitcase into the nearest bedroom and changed into a pair of shorts and a jumper. Then I ran back downstairs and out into the garden.
The sunset was lighting up one side of the villa, turning it red as if it was on fire. The kitchen was at the back of the villa and immediately beyond was a paved courtyard and behind that was the overgrown lawn and the derelict swimming pool. Wooden trellising supported an ancient vine with a trunk as thick as my thigh, a vine that had been trained to climb up and over the courtyard, giving it shade from the sun and some protection from the rain. Beneath the vine was a sturdy wooden table, covered with fallen leaves, desiccated grapes and bird droppings. Joe and his friends had moved three of the chairs earlier so they could drink their beers in the sunshine.
Joe and I could eat out here, this evening, I thought. We would have to eat together because the alternative, being in separate rooms inside the old villa was untenable to me. I couldn’t be alone in this place, in the dark. The very thought made the hairs on my body prickle, brought the whispers of the villa’s ghosts closer. I was so uneasy that I contemplated going back to the decking to find Joe, but I was afraid I might lose my way in the gloaming and accidentally wander into the graveyard of the still-born.
Instead, while I waited for him to return, I kept myself busy, moving the chairs back to the table and dusting the seats. If I prepared the table for our evening meal, then it would be difficult for Joe to walk away.
In the kitchen, I found glass jars containing candles, each jar covered by a dusty saucer that had kept the candle clean beneath. We’d bought matches, and although the candles had been left for so long, they lit easily. I set the jars on the table outside and some along the ledge of the window in the kitchen, where they flickered cheerfully.
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