Mafia Girl

Chapter 11 Early Morning Texts

~Clara~

It is Dad's birthday today.

But here I am, in a different country, hundreds of miles away from him and with no way to contact him just to say that I love him, miss him, and wish for him to have the very best birthday he can.

I sit in the living room, the tiny old fashioned lamp in the corner emitting a gentle dusty amber glow to the room. In my hands I hold the letter from him that Nona gave me on my first day here and a framed picture that Nona keeps on her bookshelf behind me. A tiny frame about the size of a small matchbox, pretty much hidden to the eye amongst the books, ornaments and other photos she keeps up there.

The photo is slightly faded due to the age of the photo and the camera quality. Dad stands with his hand in his pocket, a miniature smile on his lips as he rests against the wall of some sort of church. He looks to be at a wedding of some sort?

He looks so young here. Almost shy. This was way before he was the Don, probably his grandad was still the boss as he looks to be not that older than me here.

He's celebrating his birthday without me, without Milo, without Nona. His whole world has been torn apart over the last few years but I still can't remember a day where he didn't smile at least once. Even when Mum left.

I miss him so much. So so much.

I can't tell Milo and Nona this though. They'll only worry, I guess I'll have to keep it bottled up and get used to not having him around.

Unless...

My teary eyes spot my phone, left alone on the bottom shelf of the book case, untouched and lifeless. I lean back in my chair; still staring across the room at it, drumming my fingers against the arm rests of the dusty pink arm chair.

This is where Nona sits to knit, or write to dad, or let the cat sit on her lap whilst she watches television. But most importantly, this is where she sits to think, sometimes with the radio on in the background, drinking a cup of tea or staring out the window. Sometimes she'll multitask and think whilst she knits, or she'll let her mind wonder when we watch a programme.

I tilt my head, resting my chin in my hand that has its elbow on the arm of the arm chair. I debate wether to actually do it or not, surely it's too late?

I'm here if you need anything. Just give me a buzz.

He probably won't give a flying fuck about my problems, but what choice do I have? It's not like I can just ask Nona to call the bloody Mafia up, that's not really possible unless in certain situations or times. I need to talk to someone.

You know what? I'm going to take him up on his words.

My limbs click as I get up from sitting down for so long, putting the photo and letter onto the coffee table and then I get up and creep over to the book case.

I grab my phone hastily, when I hear a creak on the floor boards upstairs. Stuffing it into the pocket of my grey joggers, I freeze to the spot, listening hard for anything.

Must've been the heating or something, maybe Ruby crossing the landing.

When in the kitchen, I rub at my sore and tired eyes, keeping one eye trained on my hand gripping the glass filling with icy water between each firm rub.