yellow when heâd left Florence months ago; heâd hate to think what they looked like now. He had no idea when heâd last brushed them.
â Buongiorno .â She smiled as he approached.
â Buongiorno. Ho una strana richiesta, sai di un vecchio orfanotrofio abbandonato qui da qualche parte ?â Nox didnât need to enter into small talk; he just hoped the woman wasnât too young to remember the old orphanage that he prayed was near here.
She frowned at him and shook her head. â Non mi dispiace .â
âIt was a big old building that was built right on the edge of the cliff. Around here somewhere.â
âOn a cliff? Well from here towards the direction of Pisa there are mainly sandy beaches, so maybe heading south is the best thing to do. If you drive along the Stada Statale One you may find it.â She smiled.
Nox smiled too, and when the woman eased back from the counter he quickly clammed his lips over his teeth again.
He left the information booth and as he walked towards the casual restaurant, a party of four people started rising from the table. Nox did a quick assessment of the restaurant and decided no staff were watching.
The foursome was no sooner off their seats than Nox was at their table, forcing as much of the leftover food as he could into his mouth. As he chomped down on the crispy bacon, he shoved a half-eaten bread roll into his pocket, along with two foil packets of butter. He was nearly through a leftover egg when one of the waiters came storming towards him.
Nox put his hands up in a âcalm downâ gesture and backed away from the table. He snatched a half-empty water bottle off another table as he raced out of the restaurant. They wouldnât follow him ⦠of that he was certain. Heâd stolen food in this fashion from restaurants on many occasions, and not once had the staff ever chased him. They probably felt sorry for him. Or disgusted. Either way, it was an ideal way to get a quick, free feed.
By the time he reached the car, heâd finished the bread roll and two small slabs of butter. Nox slipped in behind the wheel and started the engine. He didnât bother to look over the boats again. He would try again once heâd located the old orphanage.
Nox navigated his way out of Livorno, and his plan was to keep the ocean on his right. That way he could navigate his way to the road the closest to the ocean.
Within half an hour, he was on the Stada Statale One. It was a picturesque drive, with vast blue ocean stretching as far as he could see and meeting with the equally blue sky. It seemed every stretch of road had been developed with hotel after hotel, all built to maximise their exposure to the view. Occasionally the road took him inland, but before long it would swing back towards the sea again.
Twenty minutes later, the buildings became less frequent. When Nox saw train tracks that ran parallel to the road, he was certain he was headed in the right direction. He had a vivid memory of seeing a train from the overcrowded bus all those years ago. It had been the first time heâd ever seen a train, despite hearing them on many occasions as heâd lain in bed at night.
It was a strange thing to be going back to the building where he had first learnt fear. The hairs on his neck bristled at the reflection.
A train suddenly appeared out of nowhere and shot past him with a fierce clickety-clack. Nox slowed down and counted the carriages as they whizzed by. Twelve. The train heâd seen last time heâd been on this strip of road had just six carriages. An increase of two carriages for every decade that had transpired.
Since heâd hit this road, it seemed his was the only car that skirted along the edge of the cliff. There was no barrier that would save a wayward driver from plummeting straight into the ocean some thirty or so metres below. Nox wound down his window and smelt the crisp ocean air. He
â Buongiorno .â She smiled as he approached.
â Buongiorno. Ho una strana richiesta, sai di un vecchio orfanotrofio abbandonato qui da qualche parte ?â Nox didnât need to enter into small talk; he just hoped the woman wasnât too young to remember the old orphanage that he prayed was near here.
She frowned at him and shook her head. â Non mi dispiace .â
âIt was a big old building that was built right on the edge of the cliff. Around here somewhere.â
âOn a cliff? Well from here towards the direction of Pisa there are mainly sandy beaches, so maybe heading south is the best thing to do. If you drive along the Stada Statale One you may find it.â She smiled.
Nox smiled too, and when the woman eased back from the counter he quickly clammed his lips over his teeth again.
He left the information booth and as he walked towards the casual restaurant, a party of four people started rising from the table. Nox did a quick assessment of the restaurant and decided no staff were watching.
The foursome was no sooner off their seats than Nox was at their table, forcing as much of the leftover food as he could into his mouth. As he chomped down on the crispy bacon, he shoved a half-eaten bread roll into his pocket, along with two foil packets of butter. He was nearly through a leftover egg when one of the waiters came storming towards him.
Nox put his hands up in a âcalm downâ gesture and backed away from the table. He snatched a half-empty water bottle off another table as he raced out of the restaurant. They wouldnât follow him ⦠of that he was certain. Heâd stolen food in this fashion from restaurants on many occasions, and not once had the staff ever chased him. They probably felt sorry for him. Or disgusted. Either way, it was an ideal way to get a quick, free feed.
By the time he reached the car, heâd finished the bread roll and two small slabs of butter. Nox slipped in behind the wheel and started the engine. He didnât bother to look over the boats again. He would try again once heâd located the old orphanage.
Nox navigated his way out of Livorno, and his plan was to keep the ocean on his right. That way he could navigate his way to the road the closest to the ocean.
Within half an hour, he was on the Stada Statale One. It was a picturesque drive, with vast blue ocean stretching as far as he could see and meeting with the equally blue sky. It seemed every stretch of road had been developed with hotel after hotel, all built to maximise their exposure to the view. Occasionally the road took him inland, but before long it would swing back towards the sea again.
Twenty minutes later, the buildings became less frequent. When Nox saw train tracks that ran parallel to the road, he was certain he was headed in the right direction. He had a vivid memory of seeing a train from the overcrowded bus all those years ago. It had been the first time heâd ever seen a train, despite hearing them on many occasions as heâd lain in bed at night.
It was a strange thing to be going back to the building where he had first learnt fear. The hairs on his neck bristled at the reflection.
A train suddenly appeared out of nowhere and shot past him with a fierce clickety-clack. Nox slowed down and counted the carriages as they whizzed by. Twelve. The train heâd seen last time heâd been on this strip of road had just six carriages. An increase of two carriages for every decade that had transpired.
Since heâd hit this road, it seemed his was the only car that skirted along the edge of the cliff. There was no barrier that would save a wayward driver from plummeting straight into the ocean some thirty or so metres below. Nox wound down his window and smelt the crisp ocean air. He
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