him.
Geoff exclaimed, ‘Hey, I’m not copping out, don’t think that! I really believe it’s better that I’m out of the way. He’s still in love with you, take my word for it, and once you’re there, he’ll become calm.’
‘Isn’t he calm?’ I asked anxiously, envisioning a rampant Zac, angry and upset, the way he’d been when we’d broken up eleven months ago. ‘Is he agitated? Excited? What state is he in?’
‘None of those you’ve mentioned. He’s … well, sort of nervous, moves around a lot, doesn’t seem able to sit still for long. Goes from one room to the next. But he’s not yelling and shouting, nothing like that. I told you, he doesn’t speak much. He’s very closed in. Remote, very distant, as if he’s in another world.’
Oh God, I thought, perhaps he’s in catatonic shock. Some kind of shock, anyway. Why wasn’t he talking to Geoff? They’d been through a lot together, they were war buddies, veterans of battle on the front line. Which is why Harry sent him to get Zac out. What was I going to do for him? How could I bring him back? Get him to be more normal? And how would I get him to eat and sleep?
Geoff must have read something in my expression, and he reached out, put his hand on my knee, and said in a low, reassuring voice, ‘You’ll be fine, honey, stop chewing it over. Zac needs
you
, and you’ll succeed where nobody else could.’
‘I hope so,’ I sighed, shaking my head. ‘I’ll give it a try.’
‘Your very best bloody try,’ Geoff asserted and squeezed my hand.
The water taxi dropped us off at the jetty near the Piazza San Marco, and we walked across the piazza slowly and in silence.
We were both lost in our own thoughts. I was recalling the times I had come here in the past, such happy times with my family, or with Zac, the two of us alone. Often I had been here in the height of the summer when the piazza was jammed with tourists from all over the world. But this was not the tourist season and it was less crowded on this chilly morning.
There were some people moving ahead of us, heading for the shops on the Frezzeria or Florian and Quadri cafés. Other tourists were sitting at the small tables in the square, watching the passers-by and the pigeons fluttering around or gazing at the magnificent Basilica di San Marco, marvelling at its beauty and whiling away the morning until lunchtime.
Geoff and I headed for a far corner of the piazza and the narrow cobbled street where the bolthole was located. Unexpectedly, Geoff came to a standstill and turned to me, taking hold of my arm. ‘Listen,’ he exclaimed, ‘I forgot to tell you one thing. I must warn—’
‘About what?’ I asked, cutting across him.
‘Zac and television. He has all the sets on at the same time on different networks. And he’s watching them constantly.’ He grimaced. ‘He’s watching one or the other, night and day, and he gets furious if you try to turn one off. So don’t do it. Humour him, okay?’
I nodded. ‘What’s he watching?’ I asked, and knew the answer before Geoff spoke.
‘War coverage, of course. General news. But mostly war coverage. He’s addicted to war, Serena.’
‘I know that,’ I said. My voice was a whisper.
We reached the building and went up to the third floor in the small, rather narrow elevator. When we got to the door of the bolthole I stood staring at it. Geoff was staring at me. Waiting.
Finally I said, ‘Okay.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m okay. Let’s go in.’
T EN
N oise from the various television sets bounced off the walls of the apartment, but when Zac saw me standing in the doorway he immediately turned off the one in the living room and got up out of the chair. The other TVs in the bedrooms continued to drone on, but they were at least muted to a certain degree, creating only background noise.
I put my handbag on the table, shrugged out of my pea jacket, draped it around a chair back, walked towards Zac. He had remained
Geoff exclaimed, ‘Hey, I’m not copping out, don’t think that! I really believe it’s better that I’m out of the way. He’s still in love with you, take my word for it, and once you’re there, he’ll become calm.’
‘Isn’t he calm?’ I asked anxiously, envisioning a rampant Zac, angry and upset, the way he’d been when we’d broken up eleven months ago. ‘Is he agitated? Excited? What state is he in?’
‘None of those you’ve mentioned. He’s … well, sort of nervous, moves around a lot, doesn’t seem able to sit still for long. Goes from one room to the next. But he’s not yelling and shouting, nothing like that. I told you, he doesn’t speak much. He’s very closed in. Remote, very distant, as if he’s in another world.’
Oh God, I thought, perhaps he’s in catatonic shock. Some kind of shock, anyway. Why wasn’t he talking to Geoff? They’d been through a lot together, they were war buddies, veterans of battle on the front line. Which is why Harry sent him to get Zac out. What was I going to do for him? How could I bring him back? Get him to be more normal? And how would I get him to eat and sleep?
Geoff must have read something in my expression, and he reached out, put his hand on my knee, and said in a low, reassuring voice, ‘You’ll be fine, honey, stop chewing it over. Zac needs
you
, and you’ll succeed where nobody else could.’
‘I hope so,’ I sighed, shaking my head. ‘I’ll give it a try.’
‘Your very best bloody try,’ Geoff asserted and squeezed my hand.
The water taxi dropped us off at the jetty near the Piazza San Marco, and we walked across the piazza slowly and in silence.
We were both lost in our own thoughts. I was recalling the times I had come here in the past, such happy times with my family, or with Zac, the two of us alone. Often I had been here in the height of the summer when the piazza was jammed with tourists from all over the world. But this was not the tourist season and it was less crowded on this chilly morning.
There were some people moving ahead of us, heading for the shops on the Frezzeria or Florian and Quadri cafés. Other tourists were sitting at the small tables in the square, watching the passers-by and the pigeons fluttering around or gazing at the magnificent Basilica di San Marco, marvelling at its beauty and whiling away the morning until lunchtime.
Geoff and I headed for a far corner of the piazza and the narrow cobbled street where the bolthole was located. Unexpectedly, Geoff came to a standstill and turned to me, taking hold of my arm. ‘Listen,’ he exclaimed, ‘I forgot to tell you one thing. I must warn—’
‘About what?’ I asked, cutting across him.
‘Zac and television. He has all the sets on at the same time on different networks. And he’s watching them constantly.’ He grimaced. ‘He’s watching one or the other, night and day, and he gets furious if you try to turn one off. So don’t do it. Humour him, okay?’
I nodded. ‘What’s he watching?’ I asked, and knew the answer before Geoff spoke.
‘War coverage, of course. General news. But mostly war coverage. He’s addicted to war, Serena.’
‘I know that,’ I said. My voice was a whisper.
We reached the building and went up to the third floor in the small, rather narrow elevator. When we got to the door of the bolthole I stood staring at it. Geoff was staring at me. Waiting.
Finally I said, ‘Okay.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I’m okay. Let’s go in.’
T EN
N oise from the various television sets bounced off the walls of the apartment, but when Zac saw me standing in the doorway he immediately turned off the one in the living room and got up out of the chair. The other TVs in the bedrooms continued to drone on, but they were at least muted to a certain degree, creating only background noise.
I put my handbag on the table, shrugged out of my pea jacket, draped it around a chair back, walked towards Zac. He had remained
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