‘Casa dolce casa,’ said Elena, pulling up outside the villa. ‘Home sweet home.’
She switched off the engine then turned to Lucy, her eyes brimming with kindness and concern.
That look was all it took. ‘I’m so sorry,’ Lucy said through gasping sobs.
‘Now listen to me, Lucy Anderson. What happened is not your fault. Did you set the place on fire? Of course you didn’t.’
‘But the teashop was my idea, the ceilidh, the documentary, they all drew unwanted attention and put everyone in danger. And now, thanks to me, Dario—’
‘Silenzio!’ Elena said firmly, looking into Lucy’s red-rimmed eyes and tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Sì,these were your ideas,wonderfulideas, and we will all work together to reopen the teashop, and it will be even better than before. As for Dario,he is strong and determined. He will pull through. They will not win. We will not live in fear.’
‘What’s wrong with me, Jamie?’ Lucy sobbed, the light from her phone illuminating the tracks of her tears. ‘I owe this guy my life. Thanks to me, he’s lying in hospital with potentially life-changing injuries and yet I can’t bring myself to visit him. What’s that all about?’
Having survived his tour of Afghanistan, while many of his comrades had not, Lucy’s brother understood perfectly how she was feeling.
‘According to my therapist, it’s called “survivors’ guilt”,’ he told her. ‘Even though deep down you know the situation was out of your control, you still ask yourself, “Why not me?” and “Could I have done something to prevent this?”’
‘Does the feeling ever go away?’
‘You’ll find your own way through this, Sis. Give it time. But please don’t bottle up your feelings, like I did. Talk to someone. Elena is kind and empathetic, and she’s been going through her own trauma, so she’ll understand. But never forget, your wee brother is only a phone call away.’
‘Thanks, Jamie.’
‘Try putting your feelings down in a letter to Dario – even if you don’t send it, it might help you to rationalise things in your mind. And oh, just one final piece of advice…’
‘Uh huh?’
‘Don’t you dare tell Mum the whole story.’
Lucy had briefly considered telling her mother the truth about the fire – but only briefly. As far as Mum knew, there had been aminor incident, nothing to worry about, and oh, if it was at all possible, please could she send more tablecloths as unfortunately they – ahem – had been ruined in the wash.
It took just two weeks for the forensics team to complete their investigations, though it was agreed that tours should be temporarily postponed, with the teashop considered unsafe and a no-go area. Thankfully the fire service had brought the blaze under control before it reached the factory area, so mozzarella production was able to continue as normal.
Word had spread quickly about the arson attack. Local tradespeople got in touch, offering to donate their time, skills, building materials and unwanted furniture to help restore the teashop as soon as any structural damage had been assessed and repaired.
Having not had a minute to herself for so many weeks, Lucy now had too much time on her hands, with teaching suspended until after the long summer break.
She dreaded night-time like a torture chamber. Would Dario ever fully recover? Mentally as well as physically? Would the skin grafts heal? Would he be scarred for life? In pain? Would his shoulder injury prevent him from lifting weights at the gym? Would his leg fracture prevent him from playing football again? What effect was this having on his work, his family, on Stefano?
Elena had suggested a yoga class to calm Lucy’s overactive mind, but it was being among the buffalo that was the most effective therapy.
After feeding time, they would lie down and be very still and quiet.
When she’d first noticed some of the stable hands cuddling upto them, she thought it a bit weird, until they explained that a buffalo’s heart rate is lower than a human’s, so when our bodies are in contact with theirs, our heart rate slows down too.
With nothing to lose, she decided to give it a whirl. Forget meditation classes and drugs, Lucy found half an hour’s relaxation in the company of those hefty yet gentle creatures was the best medicine for her anxiety.
Finally, in the second week of September, the assessors gave the green light for renovation work to begin.
With Stefano happily ensconced back at school and teaching and tours temporarily on hold, Elena and Lucy rolled up their sleeves, donned hard hats and helped the army of volunteers by holding ladders, mixing cement, sanding, drilling, painting, plastering, making endless cups of tea and supplying bowls of pasta and enough cakes to feed the whole of Naples – including the Carabinieri, who would swing by every afternoon to offer reassurance in exchange for a cream tea.
Keeping busy quashed the noise in Lucy’s head and the feelings of her heart, giving her something productive to focus on.
‘Buongiorno!Delivery!’
Elena jumped off the ladder and unlatched the door. ‘Attenzione,Giuseppe! Wet paint!’
‘Ciao,Elena.Ciao,Lucy.’
