‘God, it’s been so long since you’ve had anything to eat. Was the storm awful? There were floods and landslides, the worst in years. You should eat now – please. Or do you want to change first?’ Consolata brought out the wrapped food and the water, then put the clothes near to him. ‘It was on the radio. I’ve been listening to it ever since I dropped you. They said it was an accident but I didn’t believe that.’
Jago thought she was desperate to please – she was talking too much. All the time he had been burrowed under the two boulders he hadn’t spoken. He remembered how she had been on the beach at Scilla, under the moonlight, it shimmering on her skin. She had been quiet then. And in the car, when they had systematically stolen from washing lines and had talked of concealment, she had been factual and economic. She would have thought a lunatic had wandered across her path, been captivated, and set on a course of action that she had dictated – she might or might not come back with food, water, clean clothes. He started to unbutton his shirt.
‘I had the radio on all night – I hardly slept. It was on the earliest news broadcast. Just the first report, but he was dead – confirmed. I had it on in the car and that’s when they said about a shotgun. I can’t believe it was an accident. You did it. You struck a real blow against the family. I’m proud to have helped. I’ve done more than I’ve achieved in years. And we’re a team.’
Jago slipped off the shirt and the vest under it. He ignored the food and the water. It was good to get his clothes off. They were drier, but still clung to him. He would have liked to eat, but not yet. The Arena was across the river from Canning Town, one stop on the train, and he’d been there with his sister, when a big boy-band was playing. He’d seen the adoration on her face and those of the other kids, in awe – like the nuns when the Holy Father went walk-about from St Peter’s. They’d shown it on TV when he was at the Catholic school. He wouldn’t have said her gaze was reaching adoration or awe, but saw admiration and astonishment that he had done what she gave him credit for. She had been aloof and distant on the beach.
‘You’ve really damaged them. It’s what a few of us were screaming for. The best I could offer my group was to stand outside the principal home of a Pesche or a di Stefano, give out leaflets and probably get beaten. What you did is incredible. Find a wasps’ nest and poke a stick into it, destroy their home and infuriate them. That’s direct action. We had urban guerrillas in Italy forty years ago, the Brigate Rosse. They killed people for direct action, and I understand now, for the first time, the value . . .’
He untied his laces and pushed off his trainers and socks. Then he took off his trousers and pants. He felt the sun on him. He saw Marcantonio’s face – what had remained of it. He thought of the wolf and where it had spent the long night before its death, and the boy who had kept vigil, as he had. The boy, Jago and the wolf had been together for hours before the first hint of dawn. It was not her business.
‘I brought what I thought you might like. It’s not as fresh as if I’d bought it today, but I couldn’t make it yesterday and started too early today. I’m sorry.’
Jago could have slept in the sun. She wore an anorak, jeans, boots and a couple of T-shirts. She was a few feet from him and was unwrapping the food, then opened a bottle. She was turning herself into a café waitress. He didn’t know her. She passed him a sandwich and he saw her face screw up because the bread had curled at the edges. He took it and their fingers touched momentarily. He ate the sandwich, which tasted good but he didn’t thank her. Then she held up a water bottle. He took it, tilted it and drank. He screwed the top back on and let the bottle drop onto the grass. She told him what time the plane was.
‘Just after six this evening. Out of Lamezia to Milan. There’s a connection about nine for Berlin. When I heard the radio I checked the flights. It’ll be late but you’ll be back in your own bed tonight. It’s incredible, what you’ve done. I’ve never managed anything like it. None of the people in my group have. We all talk about it but don’t do it. You hurt them, Jago.’
He thought her unsure. It had been easy enough for her to strip when they were on the beach at Scilla, the lights of the town behind them, the waves rippling on the sand, the moon high and heat of the day ebbing off them. Now she started with her anorak, then the outer T-shirt. She moved closer to him so that he could help or take over.
‘I’ve enough to buy a ticket . . . Are you understanding me, Jago? I can buy a ticket at Lamezia. I’ve my passport with me. There’s nothing for me here. You’ve done what you came for. I don’t have to stay. Can I be with you?’
Her shoes and socks were off, and her fingers went to her belt, unclasped it, then lowered the zip on her jeans. She reached forward and touched his arms, perhaps to guide them to the waist of her jeans or under the second T-shirt. He pushed her hands back so that they dropped down onto her thighs.