The Girls Are Good by Ilaria Bernardini

Author:Ilaria Bernardini [Bernardini, Ilaria]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2022-06-01T12:00:00+00:00

SATURDAY

They are both spitting out of the window, so I know things are better. And I know Angelika is down there running. Nadia is hugging Carla who seems to be back to her usual self. Their saliva is hanging down from their chins – like slugs’ trails, shiny and white – and that counts as being back to their usual selves too. The sun is huge, phosphorescent yellow, and my heart weighs at least 100 kilos.

‘Do you know what the only name more stupid than Angelika Ladeci is?’ says Carla. ‘Actually, it’s so stupid I can’t think of anything worse.’

‘It’s an old woman’s name. And it’s got a K in it, careful!’

‘Right, that letter is dead. Why the fuck did I use it?’

I don’t dare say Angelika Ladeci sounds like the name of a gymnast that will resound through the centuries. A name that’s been around forever and will last forever. Angelika Ladeci. Ladeci, Angelika: I can imagine her Wikipedia page with the list of the trophies she has won. Then all of the movements invented by her. I repeat her name and surname in my head until they lose meaning.

I get dressed and find a text from Dad. Mum and I are counting the hours till the All Around! To your competition and to your return. We are good here in the Mousy Mouse Land. I picture the sun in our suburb, also called the Mousy Mouse Land, hidden behind a static yellow mist. I picture them lost in that yellow mist, all mice and rats and litter around them. I try to hug them but even if it’s an invented hug, I can’t get myself to hold tight and I have to look up at the imaginary sky instead.

Before I started travelling, I used to think the sky was naturally faded blue, the sun always far away, just like at home. But then on our travels I began to see the sun for what it was and for what it could be, and my world back home became bleaker. Even here, in freezing Romania, the sun comes up cleaner, and larger, and it’s so big it feels as if it’s about to fall on you. It’s so colossal it’s easy to understand how much heat it can generate, and why it keeps us alive. Or sort of alive.

I brush my hair and it’s so red it hurts. It’s a fire and I can feel the heat. I zip up twice, down twice, drink two sips of water and try to forget about my hair and the heat on my skull and my forever untidy bun. I put on a smile and turn towards them.

‘Shall we go and have our breakfast?’

‘You’re so common, Martina,’ says Carla. ‘Sophisticated people say petit dejeuner. That’s what they’d call it at Anna’s house.’

‘Not that Anna would invite you,’ says Nadia. ‘Or us. Carla, could you give me a quick neck massage?’

When we were younger, we used to be invited to Anna’s house a lot.

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