The colour of the light grew even more intense; scarlet and gold bled across the sky; one last hurrah before the sun died and the villa’s façade glowed red. When the sun set, the garden would be plunged into darkness and then we wouldn’t be able to see anything, we might not be able to find our way out, we would be at the mercy of whatever, or whoever, haunted the villa and its garden.

I shivered.

‘Let’s go now,’ I said to Joe.

He didn’t say a word, but turned and led the way back to the car.

10

While Joe locked the gates, I gazed at the sun sitting on the horizon and the darkness creeping over the bay. Mosquitoes murmured about my face. Across the water, lights were coming on in Porta Sarina, street lights and lamps in the windows of the houses clustered above the beach. A string of coloured bulbs was reflected beneath the harbour wall. Outside the Villa della Madonna del Mare, the water made soft, slapping noises against the rocks.

Joe moved from the gates, took out his phone and stared at it, his face illuminated by the screen. In that strange light, I caught a glimpse of Daniel. I hadn’t seen Joe in such a long time that I’d forgotten how it was sometimes that I’d look at him in a certain way and see fragments of our son.

‘There’s no reception here,’ Joe said. ‘We’ll have to drive over to Porta Sarina and hope the hotel has room for us.’

‘You said they definitely would have room.’

‘Yes, and I’m sure they will.’

‘What if they don’t?’

‘You can have the car; I’ll sleep on the beach.’

‘Joe!’

‘It’ll be fine!’ he said. That was obviously his favoured response to any potentially difficult question.

I wrapped my arms around myself, annoyed with Joe and also with myself for not sorting the accommodation earlier. Fitz had suggested I organise a room ‘somewhere convenient’ when I was booking the flight, but I didn’t know the geography of the region so didn’t know where ‘convenient’ would be and I couldn’t bring myself to ask Joe. Deep down, I’d been hoping I’d be able to return to the UK the same day. Now that obviously wasn’t the case, I desperately wanted the opportunity to be by myself, in a room of my own.

My emotions were knotted. I needed unravelling, stretching out. I needed a bath and a comfortable bed; soft pillows, space. I did not want to sleep in the car. Why couldn’t Joe have sorted out accommodation before we arrived, if he knew we’d need it? Why didn’t he ever think of these things? Why hadn’t I behaved like an adult and addressed the issue with him before I left home?