Page 91 of Never Tear Us Apart

When I finish talking at last, Sal simply sits opposite me in silence.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask, tentatively.

‘I am,’ he says at length. ‘You made it. You went through and you went back to exactly where you left . . . All these years I have been here, and I could have . . . sung my way back?’ he asks me, aghast.

‘Perhaps,’ I acknowledge. ‘We can never know, Sal. But you said you had been waiting for me. Maybe I had to arrive for this to happen. And it’s not too late for you, if you don’t want it to be.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sal asks me.

‘Sal, you’re still alive in 2025,’ I tell him, reaching for his hand. ‘You are in a . . . well, in a coma. Your family – your wife and son – take care of you in a private hospital. You have three grandchildren: two boys and a little girl. They visit you every day. They love you very much, Sal.’

Sal’s eyes don’t leave mine. I watch the expressions on his face cycle through joy, grief and despair.

‘So many years,’ he says. Taking his spectacles off, he sets them on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose. His eyes squeeze shut. ‘So many lost years. My dear Elena, my son. His name?’

‘Salvatore, of course,’ I tell him. ’One of your grandsons, too.’

‘Oh, Maia, Maia.’ He drops his head, his shoulders wracked with sobs.

Getting up, I move towards him, putting my arms around him and holding him close as he weeps.

‘My son – I have never seen his face,’ he whispers. ‘My dear wife. All those years she spent without me. I never found my way back to her. I never had a chance to decide. My fate was chosen for me. All those years alone, and she never forsook me. So much lost, Maia. So much lost.’

Minutes pass, the clock in the hallway ticks each second past with a heavy clank. David and Eugenie slumber on, the little girl pressing her teddy tighter to her chest.

‘Sal,’ I say carefully. ‘Listen, I made a choice, and I am here now, in this time, in this universe. I don’t think it’s too late for you to make the same choice.’

Sal looks up at me, shaking his head. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I think you could go back to Elena and your family.’

‘I can’t,’ he says. ‘I am not worthy of them.’

‘Look, you did a stupid, terrible, dangerous thing,’ I say. ‘But you were lucky, and the actions you took on the night of the crash . . . maybe they weren’t honourable, and they were nothing to be proud of. But making that call for help made a difference.’

‘How can I ever know that?’ Sal asks, his mouth open slightly.

‘Because I looked it up,’ I tell him. ‘It was the last thing I did in my old life.’ I show him the piece of paper, and Nicco’s translation:

Grazie a una chiamata anonima, i soccorsi sono arrivati rapidamente sulla scena e tutte le vittime si riprenderanno completamente

Thanks to an anonymous call, help arrivedquickly on the scene and all victims will make a full recovery.

Sal looks up at me. ‘They were all right?’

‘Yes – the driver and the children,’ I say. ‘Look, I don’t know the man you were then, but I know the man you are now. And I know how much you miss your wife and the life you never had. Sal, you have atoned. You’ve seen so many through this war. If there is a chance to go back, and you want to take it, then you should.’

‘You really think it is possible?’

‘I think so, Sal. I think you could go home.’

Chapter Sixty-Six

Later that afternoon, Sal sits at the table while I wash my face and brush my hair, finally I slip into my lilac tea dress, straightening and smoothing it over my head. When I look in the small mirror over the mantel, I see a tanned face framed in brown curls. Not really glamorous, but it’s the best I can do with what I’ve got.

Eugenie woke up a few minutes ago and is sitting on Sal’s lap, playing energetically with his glasses. David sleeps on. I wonder where he goes in his dreams.

‘Will you come to the dance after Stella fetches the children?’ I ask.