Me and You by Niccolò Ammaniti Read Free Book Online

dragged it into the middle of the room.
    Olivia sat down and crossed her legs. She peeled the tape off and began pulling out books, CDs, clothes and make-up, throwing them on the floor. ‘Here it is.’
    It was a white book with a worn-out cover. The Notebook , The Proof , The Third Lie: Three Novels .
    She began flipping through it, looking for something and talking to herself. ‘Fuck, it was here. I can’t believe it. That bastard Antonio must have found it.’ She got up
quickly. Her eyes had gone shiny. She put her hands on her hips, looked up at the ceiling and began kicking the box in a rage. ‘Fucking hell! Fucking hell! I hate you. You even took that. And
now what the fuck am I supposed to do?’
    I stared at her terrified, but I couldn’t stop myself. ‘What was in there?’
    I thought she was going to burst into tears.
    She looked at me. ‘Have you got any money?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Money. I need money.’
    ‘No, I’m sorry.’ Actually I did have a bit. Dad had given me some spending money for the mountain, but I wanted to save it to buy a stereo.
    ‘Tell me the truth.’
    I shook my head and opened my arms wide. ‘I swear. I don’t have any.’
    She studied me, trying to work out whether I was lying to her. ‘Do me a favour. Put all this stuff back in the box and close it up.’ She opened the cellar door. ‘See
you.’
    I said, ‘Listen.’
    She stopped. ‘What is it?’
    ‘Please, don’t tell anyone I’m here. Not even Nihal. If you tell them I’m dead.’
    Olivia looked at me without seeing me. She was thinking about something else, something that worried her. Then she blinked as if to waken herself. ‘All right. I won’t tell
anyone.’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘By the way, your face is orange. You overdid the fake tan.’ And she closed the door.
    Operation Bunker was falling apart. Mum wanted to speak to Alessia’s mother. Olivia had found me. And I had a fluorescent face.
    I kept looking at myself in the mirror and rereading the tanning instructions. It didn’t say anything about how long it took to go away.
    I found an old bottle of Jif Lemon, smeared it all over my face, and then lay down on the bed.
    The only thing I was sure of was that Olivia wouldn’t say anything. She didn’t seem like the sort of person who would tell on me.
    After ten minutes I washed my face but it was just as orange as before.
    I rummaged through my sister’s big box. Everything had just been chucked in, mostly clothes and shoes. An old laptop. A manual camera without a lens. A statue of Buddha made of smelly
wood. Sheets of paper with stuff written on it in big round handwriting. The majority were lists. People to invite to a party. Shopping lists. In a light blue folder I found some photographs of
Olivia when she was still in good shape. In one of them she was lying on a red velvet settee, wearing just a man’s shirt, part of her boob was visible. In another shot she was sitting on a
chair, a cigarette in her mouth, putting on her stockings. The one I liked the most was one of her taken from behind with her head turned towards the camera. With one hand she covered her boob. And
her legs looked like they were never-ending.
    I shouldn’t even think about her. Olivia was fifty per cent my sister.
    Among the photos there was a small one, in black and white. My father, with long hair, wearing jeans and a leather jacket, sitting on the bollard of a jetty with a little girl, probably Olivia,
who was sitting on his knee and eating an ice cream.
    I burst out laughing. I would never have imagined that when he was young my father would have dressed so badly. I’d always known him with greying hair cut short and a grey suit with a tie
and the shoes with holes in them. But here, with his hair like an old-fashioned tennis player’s, he looked happy.
    There was even a letter that Olivia had written to Dad.
    Dear Dad,
    I’m writing to thank you for the money. Each time you get me out of trouble using your