Oliver laughed through his tears.
Teresa smiled back.
After the call, Daniel spent several hours confirming her condition, arranging additional help, and reconsidering their options. He discussed everything with Claire.
They agreed that continuing was acceptable only if Teresa’s care was secure, the health situation allowed it, and Oliver remained physically and emotionally able to manage the remaining journey.
They also agreed to reassess immediately if circumstances changed.
For the first time, Oliver was invited into the final discussion rather than merely told the result.
Daniel explained the alternatives.
They could stop entirely.
They could use transport and reach Palermo sooner.
Or they could continue on a revised, less demanding schedule while maintaining regular contact and remaining prepared to change plans.
Oliver listened.
Then he asked, “What would you do if I wasn’t here?”
Daniel considered the question.
“I’d probably take the fastest practical route to see her.”
“Because she’s your mum.”
“Yes.”
Oliver looked down at the photograph he had taken from his bag.
Teresa sat on the kitchen floor, laughing with flour on her hands.
He had carried that picture across several countries.
At last he said, “I think we should keep going. But if she needs us, we stop and go straight there.”
Daniel nodded.
“That’s what I think, too.”
Oliver looked at his father.
“Are you sure?”
“Not about everything.”
The boy waited.
“But I’m sure we shouldn’t pretend that finishing this journey matters more than the people we’re doing it for.”
Oliver nodded.
They resumed travelling after allowing themselves time to recover from the upheaval.
The remaining kilometres acquired a different meaning.
Oliver stopped treating every delay as an enemy.
Daniel stopped measuring success primarily by distance.
And when they spoke to Teresa each evening, they asked less often whether she was all right and more often what she had actually done that day.
The weeks continued, and with them came the repetitive labour of moving south.
There were days when Oliver rode easily and days when his legs felt heavy from the first kilometre. Sometimes a road opened ahead of them through a landscape of olive trees and low stone walls. Sometimes it led into a town where they spent an hour negotiating traffic, finding food, and looking for the correct exit.
They passed fields where grapes hung in neat rows and villages where elderly men sat outside cafés watching the street.
They saw discarded masks caught in fences, empty tourist accommodation, and restaurants operating under restrictions that made even ordinary conversations feel cautious.
The pandemic had not ended simply because they had begun travelling.
At each stage, Daniel continued checking the applicable guidance. They sometimes had to alter accommodation, delay travel, or choose a different route.
Oliver became accustomed to these adjustments.
He also became accustomed to speaking with strangers.
His Italian improved rapidly. At first, he relied on phrases learned from Teresa and the occasional translation from his father. Later, he began ordering food, asking simple directions, and explaining where they were going.
People reacted in different ways.
Some were delighted. Others were sceptical.
An older shopkeeper in a small town listened to their explanation, then shook his head.
“From England? On bicycles?”
Oliver nodded.
The man turned to Daniel.
“You are the father?”
“Yes.”
“And you allowed this?”
Daniel smiled.
“After a great deal of discussion.”
The shopkeeper looked at Oliver again.
“For your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
He folded his arms.
“My grandmother would have told me to stay home and do my homework.”
Oliver laughed.
The man gave them two bottles of water and refused payment.
In another town, a woman warned them that the road ahead was unsuitable for cycling and directed them toward a safer alternative.
They followed her advice.
Not everyone they met was interested in their story, and Daniel appreciated those who simply gave directions or served lunch without asking questions.
He had begun to feel uncomfortable with the attention that occasionally surrounded Oliver.
Claire had shared a few photographs with relatives, and word of the journey had spread among family friends. Some people wanted updates. Others offered encouragement or described Oliver as extraordinary.
Oliver enjoyed the praise at first.
One evening, however, Daniel found him staring at a message on his phone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel sat beside him.
“Something bothering you?”
Oliver showed him the screen.
A family acquaintance had written that Oliver was a wonderful example to children everywhere and that his grandmother must be the luckiest woman in the world.
Daniel read the message.
“That was kind.”
“I know.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Oliver looked uncomfortable.
“What if I don’t finish?”
Daniel returned the phone.
“Then you won’t finish.”
“But everyone thinks I will.”
“That’s their expectation.”
Oliver frowned.
“Won’t they be disappointed?”
“Some might.”
“Would you?”
Daniel thought carefully.
“I’d be disappointed if you stopped telling me when something was wrong because you thought you had to impress people.”
Oliver looked at him.
“Really?”
“Really.”
His father leaned back.
“There’s a difference between doing something difficult because it matters to you and doing it because you can’t bear to let strangers down.”
Oliver considered this for a long time.
Then he deleted a draft message he had been preparing for his friends.
It had promised that they would finish no matter what.
Instead, he sent Claire a photograph of the dinner they had eaten and a message complaining that his father had stolen the last piece of bread.
She replied that this was precisely the sort of behaviour she had warned him about.
Daniel laughed when he saw it.
The first time Oliver saw the sea again after many days inland, he stopped riding without warning.
Daniel braked behind him.
“What is it?”
Oliver pointed.
Beyond the road, the coastline curved around a wide stretch of blue water. Sunlight moved across the surface, and white buildings stood against the hills.
“The sea.”
Daniel followed his gaze.
“Yes.”
Oliver smiled.
“We’re getting closer.”
They were still far from Palermo, but the Mediterranean gave the journey a different shape in his mind.
It was the sea beside his grandmother’s city.
He knew there were many stretches of coastline between them and Sicily, and that the island still had to be reached by ferry. Even so, the sight made the destination feel less imaginary.
They took a photograph, then continued.
As the days passed, the heat became more demanding.
They learned to begin early and rest during the hottest hours where necessary. Daniel kept a close watch on water supplies and weather forecasts.
Oliver developed an appreciation for shade that would have astonished his friends at home.
One afternoon, after a particularly tiring ride, they stopped beneath a tree beside a quiet road.
Oliver stretched out on the grass.
“I’m never riding a bicycle again.”
Daniel sat with his back against the trunk.
“You said that yesterday.”
“I meant it yesterday.”
“And yet here we are.”
“Tomorrow I’ll mean it even more.”
Daniel handed him a bottle of water.
Oliver drank, then stared through the branches.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Do you ever wish we’d just flown?”
Daniel smiled.
“Frequently.”
“Really?”
“Whenever my knees hurt.”
Oliver laughed.
“But do you wish we hadn’t done it?”
His father considered the question.
He thought of Claire standing at the gate, the weeks of uncertain arrangements, the mistakes, the arguments, the sore muscles, and the long conversations he would never have had with his son at home.
“No,” he said. “Not at the moment.”
Oliver nodded.
“Me neither.”
He watched a small bird move between the branches.
Then he asked, “What do you think Nonna will say when she sees us?”
“That we’re too thin.”
“Besides that.”
“That we should’ve called before arriving.”
“We will call.”
“Then she’ll ask whether we’ve eaten.”
Oliver smiled.
“What if she cries?”
Daniel looked out toward the road.
“She might.”
“Do old people cry a lot?”
“No more than anyone else.”
“Nonna doesn’t cry much.”
Daniel thought of his mother’s face at Antonio’s funeral.
She had stood beside the grave with her hands clasped, listening to the priest. Her expression had remained composed until the following evening, when Daniel found her in the kitchen holding one of his father’s shirts.
Even then, she had not cried in front of him.
“I’ve seen her cry,” he said.
“When?”
“When my father died.”
Oliver sat up.
“Was she very sad?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
Daniel considered the question.
“She’s probably still sad sometimes.”
“But it was years ago.”
“That doesn’t always make a difference.”
Oliver was quiet.
After a while, he said, “I think she must miss him when she’s alone.”
“She does.”
“Does she talk about him?”
“Sometimes.”
Oliver looked down at his hands.
“Maybe I should ask her more.”
Daniel smiled.
“She’d like that.”
They rested a little longer.
Then Oliver stood, brushed grass from his trousers, and lifted his bicycle.
“Come on.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow.
“I thought you were never riding again.”
Oliver fastened his helmet.
“I changed my mind.”
The final approach to Sicily involved another period of careful planning.
They needed to reach the ferry, confirm that the crossing was operating under the relevant travel arrangements, and organise the last stage of their route.
Daniel checked everything twice.
Oliver checked the weather.
Neither spoke much about how close they were.
It felt dangerous to assume that the last part of the journey would be simple merely because so many difficult days were behind them.
When they finally boarded the ferry across the Strait of Messina, Oliver stood where he could see the water.
He watched the Italian mainland begin to recede.
Ahead, Sicily rose from the sea in layers of pale buildings, dark green slopes, and mountains softened by distance.
He gripped the railing.
Daniel stood beside him.
“That’s it,” his father said.
Oliver nodded.
He had visited Sicily many times by plane. He knew its airports, the view from the car on the way into Palermo, the smell of hot pavement outside his grandmother’s building.
But he had never arrived like this.
For months, the island had been a point on a map.
Now it stood in front of him, large enough to fill the horizon.
