Tomorrow was a big day.
The biggest day of any big days.
“All right! All right, I’m letting you out,” I said to Mopsie after he’d shot me what could only be described as a menacing glare. I slid off my bed and stood on atrophied knees, pried the door open slowly just in case Gianluca was still hiding somewhere.
He wasn’t, and even Mopsie was a bit sad about that.
Il Mare was eerily quiet and I had half a mind to go up and ask if Taylor fancied some company, but he’d brought home a girl a few hours ago and I doubted they wanted me to join in their love fest. I was shite enough at managing one lover; I didn’t need to add two more.
Truthfully, I had a lot on my mind. Too much. Tomorrow was a big day. Had I mentioned that? Big. Decisions loomed heavy in the distance, and instead of focusing on them like a healthy adult, I cleaned my room. Top to bottom, every single floorboard, every nook and cranny.
I found a leftover lemon candy wrapper in the closet and teared up, even stuffed it into the tiny pocket on my pajama top for safekeeping. Who’s the hoarder now?
I did a load of laundry, and then another. I packed my bag for the next day, wanting to ensure I brought enough things to entertain me. I stuffed a paperback inside, and then thought better of it and put them all in there. No point in leaving any. The lemon candy wrapper went right up at the top. It was a poor substitute for Gianluca himself, but it was better than nothing.
I straightened up the common room, fluffed the pillows, and arranged a vase of flowers on the coffee table.
Everything was set.
At 8:15 AM the next morning, I’d catch a train out of Vernazza, and my whole life would change.
THE NEXT MORNING, I peeled my eyes open and blinked twice, trying to pinpoint where I was. I’d never made it up to my bedroom the night before. I was sprawled out on my couch with empty beer bottles littering the floor around me. I sat up, instantly regretted it, and then leaned my head back against the cushion, overtaken by the sharp ache of my hangover.
“Merde,” I moaned, pressing the heel of my hands against my temples, massaging gently. Nothing helped. I eventually forced my way into the kitchen, guzzled a glass of the water, and then filled it again. I downed a few painkillers and splashed water on my face. I needed a decent shower, maybe two. My face needed a good shave, but there was no time.
I needed to find Georgie.
I changed my clothes and dragged a hand through my hair. I shoved my keys into my pocket and ran for the bed and breakfast, fearing Georgie wouldn’t be there, and as I suspected, she wasn’t. The front door was locked. Her room was empty. Her bed was made and the rest of the place looked spotless, as if she’d spent the entire day before cleaning it from top to bottom. The stack of books she usually kept on her nightstand was gone, and I didn’t want to think about what that could mean.
I headed to Katerina’s shop, prepared to drag information out of her, but she wasn’t there when I arrived. I knocked on her door and held my hands up to the glass. The lights were off and a sign beside the door said the shop wouldn’t be open for another two hours.
Fuck.
I turned and caught sight of The Blue Marlin on the edge of my vision. I needed coffee to clear my head, and it would be a good place to wait. I’d be able to spot Georgie if she walked by and I’d catch Katerina before she made it into the shop.
Antonio looked up when I stepped inside and offered me a smile.
“Buongiorno.”
I nodded and asked for a double espresso and a croissant.
“That early bird of yours already stopped in for hers this morning,” he said with a soft chuckle.
I whipped my head up. “What? Georgie’s been by?”
He nodded and pointed up the path toward the train station. “Just a few minutes ago. She asked me to wrap a few things to-go, said she had a long day ahead of her.”
I cursed under my breath, turned on my heel, and ran as fast as I could to the train station in disbelief. The road was deserted that early and it only took me a few seconds to reach the stairs. I took them two at a time, surfaced at the top of the platform, and spun in a circle. There were a few hikers waiting for the next train, but no Georgie.
“Have you seen a girl with brown hair?” I asked them.
I held my hand up to my shoulder to show her height, but they shook their heads.
“Sorry, mate,” one man replied, shaking his head. “The platform was empty when we arrived.”
I tugged my hands through my hair, turned in circles, and then ran down the train platform to see if maybe she was sitting down somewhere. I checked the small tourist shop, but it was still locked up. The tracks were empty. Another train arrived, everyone loaded on, and then I was left by myself.
She was nowhere and I couldn’t breathe.
I hunched over and tried to suppress the vomit rising in my throat. My catastrophic thinking from the night before seemed to be coming true.
It made sense that she would leave Vernazza as suddenly as she had appeared.
“Man, are you okay?”
It was the guy from before, concerned. I was still hunched over, trying to catch my breath.
“Anything we can do to help?”
I shook my head.
How could anybody help?
Georgie was gone.
ON GEORGIE’S FIRST day in Vernazza, she had fainted. On what seemed to be her last, I was the one feeling lightheaded. I couldn’t believe she’d gone.
Even when I tried to be logical and assure myself that she was probably off shopping or clearing her head in a nearby village, the pessimist inside me would counter, arguing that even if she wasn’t leaving for good this time, eventually, she would. She was in Vernazza on holiday. It was absolutely mad to think she’d stay on forever. Unlike me, Georgie had a life back home in London. She had somewhere to go.