I have exiled Olivia to her room, as I know I won’t be able to do this with her watching. I might not be able to do this anyway.
‘Okay,’ says Em, sitting on the opposite side of the table to me and nodding reassuringly. ‘Are you ready to go? You look like you’re really excited about this. In the same way I’d be excited about a long weekend at Guantanamo Bay.’
I let out a strained laugh. ‘No. I’m fine, honest.’
She nods, and begins. It is strange, I think, that I have now watched so many video clips of this exact same scenario – interviewee sitting in camera shot, Em’s voice floating in questions from the ether. Now it is my turn, and I feel like a sacrificial lamb.
‘So, Elena,’ begins Em, her voice subtly different, more rhythmic, than usual. ‘Tell us about that night. From your perspective.’
‘Well,’ I reply, my eyes darting nervously to hers – even though I was expecting the question, I still feel startled. ‘I was enjoying myself. We all were, I suppose. It was beautiful. The weather, the village. I was tired but I was fine.’
I was tired, it makes me remember. Tired in a way that I explained away to myself as being because of an action-packed tour, and the stress about ending things with Harry. Tired because, I know now, I was pregnant.
‘What did you do, when you got there? Different people did different things, didn’t they? Some just had a stroll, or a drink. What about you, and Harry?’
‘Well, we walked around. We looked at some stalls. I bought a bracelet for Olivia … How funny, I’ve only just remembered that. I never got to give her the bracelet. I lost my bag and the bracelet was in it. I suppose we lost the sombrero as well, but that’s not really a loss … I’m sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?’
‘Not at all,’ she replies, her voice soothing and calm. ‘Take it slow, it’s fine. You haven’t talked about this night for a long time. You’re just rusty.’
I take a breath, look at Em, remind myself that I am talking to someone who understands. Someone who lived through it.
‘Rusty. Yes. That’s exactly it – to be honest I think I’ve tried to avoid even thinking about it, never mind putting it all into words. Anyway. I liked the people-watching, on the trip. The different couples and families and groups, you know? The Aussie girls. That older couple … well, I liked that. And the village itself was magical. I love that stuff though – old buildings, history, culture. Harry not so much. He found it pretty boring, I think.’
As I say it, it feels like a small betrayal – but it is true. And at least I didn’t mention his obsession with Imodium.
‘He went and got us a drink and I went to the church and then he went off to do some shopping,’ I continue, replaying scenes in my mind that I’ve left buried for years now.
‘To get a ring for you?’
‘Yes, though I didn’t know that then. I went to the church on my own first, to look around. There was a lady in there … gosh, I wonder what happened to her? It doesn’t seem fair, does it, to die inside a church while you’re praying? At least I was outside, in the open air. And … well, I also didn’t die. Obviously.’
I peter out, and look Em straight in the eyes. ‘You can edit this so I don’t sound like a complete idiot, can’t you?’
‘You don’t, but yes – don’t worry. I have no interest in making you or anyone else look like an idiot. I’m just interested in the truth of what happened that night.’
‘Don’t you think,’ I say, ‘that there might be lots of different truths about what happened? Memories distorted by time and distance? I know I’m feeling weird right now, remembering little details that I’d forgotten.’
‘Like what?’ she asks.
‘Like the hummingbird. There was a hummingbird. We were sitting by the side of the restaurant, drinking wine, and there was a hummingbird. It was so beautiful, so exotic. Tiny but perfect – I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite so pretty. He managed to get some photos of it, but the phone didn’t live to tell the tale.’
‘Who? Harry?’
‘Oh! No … Alex. I was with Alex. I’d seen him too, in the church. He was always very mysterious, wasn’t he, on that trip? The Man in Black. Always so polite, but always on his own. So I saw him in the church and I’d lit a candle for my dad, and I suppose that made me feel a bit melancholy, along with some … other stuff, life stuff … and maybe I didn’t want to be alone. So I asked him to sit with me, and have a glass of wine. He almost said no. I could see he did – he was turning away, like he wanted to make a run for it.
‘But for some reason he didn’t. He sat down. He drank the wine. We talked … it was easy to talk to him. He told me about Anna, his wife.’
For the first time since I’ve met her, Em actually looks surprised.
‘His wife?’ she echoes, and I realise that I am unintentionally trampling on Alex’s privacy.
‘That’s his story to tell,’ I say firmly. ‘Hopefully you can ask him yourself.’
‘I will – I’ve had an email from him, funnily enough, just this afternoon. So weird that we were talking about him yesterday in the café – it’s like he heard!’
She takes one look at my face and gestures for Ollie to stop filming.
‘I’ve been emailing various Alex Anderssons for some time now,’ she continues, ‘and I finally found the right one. He’s going to think about it, whether he’s happy to be interviewed or not, and … are you all right?’
