Daniel looked up.
“I remember that.”
“Good. Perhaps you’ve learned something since.”
Oliver grinned.
Teresa continued.
“I remember you falling asleep while I read to you. I remember you refusing to eat tomatoes for an entire summer. I remember you asking me why old people have spots on their hands.”
Oliver laughed.
“Did I?”
“You did. And when I told you they came from the sun, you asked why I hadn’t worn sunscreen for ninety years.”
Daniel burst out laughing.
Oliver covered his face.
“Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes.”
Teresa leaned closer.
“And I remember the last time you left.”
He lowered his hands.
She looked at him kindly.
“You didn’t want to kiss me goodbye.”
Oliver stared at the table.
“I know.”
“I wasn’t upset.”
He glanced up.
“Really?”
“A little disappointed, perhaps. But I understood.”
He swallowed.
“I’m sorry.”
Teresa shook her head.
“You don’t have to apologise for growing up.”
“But I should’ve kissed you.”
She considered this.
“Perhaps.”
Oliver looked at her.
She smiled.
“But you’ve made up for it rather thoroughly.”
He laughed.
Then, without asking, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
Teresa put a hand against his face.
“There,” she said. “Much easier than crossing Europe.”
They stayed in Palermo long enough for the first excitement of the reunion to settle into ordinary family life.
Daniel helped arrange more reliable assistance for his mother, discussed practical changes that might make the apartment safer, and made plans with Claire for future visits.
He learned that Teresa preferred certain kinds of help and resented others. She was willing to accept someone carrying heavy groceries upstairs but disliked having cupboards rearranged without her permission.
They argued about these things.
Sometimes Daniel was right.
Sometimes Teresa was.
On one occasion, Oliver watched his father attempt to move a rarely used kitchen appliance from a high shelf.
Teresa objected immediately.
“It’s been there for twenty years.”
“That’s why it should be lower.”
“I know where everything is.”
“You shouldn’t be reaching up so high.”
“I won’t reach for it.”
“Then why keep it there?”
“Because it belongs there.”
Oliver sat at the table eating an orange.
His father looked toward him.
“What do you think?”
Oliver considered the matter.
“I think you should ask Nonna where she wants it.”
Teresa smiled triumphantly.
Daniel sighed.
“Wonderful. I’ve raised a negotiator.”
They eventually agreed on a lower cupboard chosen by Teresa herself.
Oliver regarded this as a victory for common sense.
He also began helping his grandmother with small tasks: carrying groceries, setting the table, and bringing things down from shelves when she asked.
At first he was too eager.
If she stood, he stood.
If she reached for something, he offered to fetch it.
If she walked toward the kitchen, he asked whether she needed help.
By the third day, Teresa had become thoroughly irritated.
“Oliver, darling, sit down.”
“I’m just helping.”
“I know. But I have been walking around this apartment since before your father was born.”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I don’t want you to fall again.”
Her expression softened.
“I don’t want to fall either.”
“Then let me do things.”
“Some things, yes. But I still want to make my own breakfast.”
Oliver considered this.
“Could I make lunch?”
Teresa smiled.
“That would be lovely.”
The arrangement suited them both.
One afternoon, she taught him how to prepare a simple pasta sauce while sitting at the kitchen table and offering instructions.
He chopped garlic too thickly, added the tomatoes before the pan was ready, and nearly forgot the salt.
Teresa corrected him without mercy.
By the time they finished, the sauce was acceptable, though not nearly as good as hers.
Oliver tasted it.
“It’s all right.”
Teresa tasted it too.
“A little too much garlic.”
“You told me to put in three cloves.”
“Three small cloves.”
“You didn’t say small.”
“Some things should be obvious.”
Oliver laughed.
She ate a second helping.
That evening, after Daniel had gone out to collect something from the pharmacy, Oliver and Teresa sat on the balcony.
The air was warm.
Below them, neighbours spoke across the street. A man pushed a bicycle past the entrance, and somewhere nearby a radio played quietly through an open window.
Teresa rested her hands on the arms of her chair.
Oliver looked toward the rooftops.
“Nonna?”
“Yes, darling?”
“Are you still lonely?”
She considered the question.
“Not today.”
“What about when we go home?”
“Some days, probably.”
He looked at her.
“I don’t want you to be.”
“I know.”
“Maybe you could come and live with us.”
She smiled.
“Your father suggested the same thing.”
“Would you?”
“Perhaps for visits.”
Oliver nodded.
She studied him.
“Do you know what I would like?”
“What?”
“More telephone calls when you’re home. Not just when something is wrong.”
“I can do that.”
“And sometimes you could tell me about your day instead of asking whether I’ve taken my medicine.”
He laughed.
“I don’t ask that.”
“Your father does.”
“All the time.”
Teresa shook her head.
“He has become a terrible nuisance.”
Oliver smiled.
Then he grew serious.
“Nonna, were you scared when we were coming?”
“Sometimes.”
“Of us getting hurt?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I trusted your parents to make sensible decisions, and because being worried doesn’t always mean something is wrong.”
Oliver thought about this.
“I was scared you wouldn’t be here.”
Teresa looked at him.
He kept his gaze fixed on the rooftops.
“I thought maybe we’d get all the way to Italy and something would happen before we arrived.”
She reached for his hand.
He gave it to her.
“Oliver, sweetheart, I am very old.”
“I know.”
“There are things I can still do and things I can’t do anymore. And there will be changes neither of us can prevent.”
He looked down.
She waited until he was ready to meet her eyes.
“But you mustn’t spend your childhood worrying about when I won’t be here.”
His mouth tightened.
“I don’t know how to stop.”
Teresa squeezed his fingers.
“Neither do I, sometimes.”
They sat together quietly.
Then she continued.
“When your grandfather was alive, I used to worry whenever he was late getting home. If it rained, I worried about the roads. If he coughed, I worried that he was getting sick. After he was gone, I wished I had spent less time imagining what might happen and more time enjoying the ordinary evenings when he came home perfectly well.”
Oliver listened.
“I cannot tell you not to worry. But I can tell you that today we are together, and I would much rather hear about your friends than have you spend the afternoon counting my birthdays.”
He smiled a little.
“Ethan got a new dog.”
“Really?”
“His name’s Biscuit.”
“A ridiculous name.”
“He’s a ridiculous dog.”
Teresa laughed.
Oliver told her about Biscuit, his friends, the football matches he missed, and the difficulty of studying at home.
She listened, occasionally asking questions.
When Daniel returned, he found them still on the balcony.
Neither noticed him at first.
He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching his mother laugh at something Oliver had said.
Then he went into the kitchen to put away the medicine.
The return to London did not take ninety-three days.
After the appropriate arrangements had been made and the applicable travel requirements checked, Daniel and Oliver returned by ordinary transport.
Oliver found the speed almost offensive.
Landscapes that had taken days of effort to cross now passed beyond windows while he sat in a comfortable seat.
When he complained, Daniel laughed.
“That’s generally considered the advantage of modern transport.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Oliver looked out at the passing countryside.
“It feels weird.”
Daniel nodded.
“I know what you mean.”
They arrived home tired but well.
Claire met them at the door.
Oliver dropped his bag and ran toward her.
She held him tightly, then stepped back to inspect him.
“You’ve grown.”
Oliver laughed.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
She touched his face.
“You’re brown as a nut.”
“Dad says Nonna thinks we’re too thin.”
“Your grandmother would say that if you arrived carrying an entire bakery.”
Daniel entered behind him.
Claire looked at her husband.
He set down the luggage.
“Hello.”
She crossed the hallway and embraced him.
For several seconds they remained standing together.
Then she drew back.
“You’re never planning another three-month bicycle trip without me knowing every detail, are you?”
Daniel smiled.
“Not this week.”
She shook her head.
Oliver laughed.
Life gradually resumed its usual arrangements.
There was schoolwork, laundry, shopping, and the ordinary inconvenience of trying to fit family meals around different schedules.
Oliver’s bicycle stood in the shed.
For nearly two weeks, he refused to ride it.
When Ethan asked whether he wanted to go cycling, Oliver suggested walking instead.
His friend stared.
“You cycled across Europe, and now you want to walk?”
“Exactly.”
They walked to the park.
Ethan asked a series of questions about the journey, including whether Oliver had seen wolves in the mountains, whether Italian pizza was better than British pizza, and whether he had really travelled for more than three months.
Oliver answered as well as he could.
Then Ethan asked, “Was it amazing?”
Oliver thought about the question.
“Some of it.”
“Just some?”
“Some days were horrible.”
Ethan looked disappointed.
“Really?”
“Yeah. It rained. My feet hurt. Dad got lost. We argued.”
“But you got to your grandma.”
Oliver smiled.
“Yeah.”
“Was she surprised?”
“Very.”
Ethan kicked a stone along the path.
“That’s cool.”
They continued walking.
A few minutes later, Ethan began talking about a football match Oliver had missed.
Oliver listened with interest.
He was pleased to discover that his friends had not spent the entire summer thinking about his journey.
They had their own lives, arguments, and concerns.
He liked being part of those things again.
By Christmas, the photographs from the journey had been printed and arranged into an album.
Claire chose a sturdy book with a blue cloth cover. Oliver helped select the pictures and insisted that they include the less flattering ones: Daniel struggling with a puncture, their wet shoes drying beneath a radiator, a crooked photograph of a mountain road, and a terrible meal they had eaten when no better options were available.
