One Summer in Rome

by Samantha Tonge

  ‘It’s okay. You didn’t let anything happen. We both wanted it. I mean … I made the first move.’

  Silence fell. Dante tilted his head. ‘Mary? We just got carried away after an … emotional day, right?’ Hopefully, his mouth upturned. ‘As if you could ever put up with a man like me.’

  She sat up straight and for a second covered her face with her hands. Tightly she closed her lips, to swallow a gulp of agony rising up her throat.

  ‘Mary?’

  She peeled her shaking hands away. Closed her eyes tightly. Swallowed hard. ‘Sorry,’ she managed and forced a chuckle. ‘Just dying of embarrassment here, seeing as I started it all. Talk about humiliation.’

  ‘Never say that! It was a mutual decision,’ he said, ‘and very … nice.’

  He’d used that word. Perhaps he’d only enjoyed it physically and, unlike her, wasn’t really moved.

  ‘Of course you are right. I … felt knocked off balance today, too. It’s not every day you get mugged. And sorry for going on about my past.’ She forced a laugh. ‘I really pick my moments.’

  ‘Don’t apologise for that,’ he said gruffly. ‘It sounds like you had a difficult time.’

  Mary’s face puckered. ‘It’s no problem. Honestly. All of that happened a long time ago.’

  Dante’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Great. I mean … don’t get me wrong … what happened it was …’ He bit his top lip.

  ‘As you said – nice. In fact, let’s not get carried away – it was passable,’ she said, somehow managing to keep her tone light. ‘I guess Cheyenne’s right about kissing – how to do it isn’t something people forget.’ She pretended to yawn. ‘Gosh. Is that the time? I don’t mean to be rude, Dante, but I could really do with some sleep. You’d better head off to your own bed. And well done again – for today, sorting out Silvestro.’

  His brow knotted briefly. ‘So … we’re okay?’

  A silent tear trickled down her face. How embarrassing. She should have stuck with her first instincts. He was as indifferent to her as she’d originally thought. What a fool. She’d ended up losing the roll of the dice.

  ‘Of course. Honestly. Look at us, behaving like a couple of teenagers. Buona notte, Dante. See you in the morning. Now I must just nip to the bathroom.’ Mary jumped up, pulled on her dressing gown, and opened the door, banging into it as she headed into the hallway.

  ‘It’ll be okay. Chin up. You’ll get through this,’ she whispered to herself.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next morning Mary sat drinking her coffee, in silence, halfway through her morning shift. She kicked her feet under the table and stared vacantly into space, after reading a text from Jill. News that Dave was doing well had brightened life for a few seconds before her mood again sunk low.

  She hardly noticed Rocco join her. Didn’t care. Do your worst, she thought. Her insides felt heavier than Dante’s pizza dough, before he swirled it between his hands. Not even Lucia had been able to make her smile with a crayoned picture of Mary dancing in a bright yellow gown.

  ‘Maria?’ Rocco removed his glasses and sipped his espresso. ‘Enzo asks if you’ll bake a batch of biscuits today. Apparently you were going to get up early but didn’t show. We’ve almost run out of your latest coffee and walnut ones.’

  ‘Yep,’ she replied, in a flat voice, without making eye contact. ‘My shift finishes at two. I’ll make them then.’ She’d lain awake all night, fighting the temptation to wallow in a pool of poor me. Instead she’d escaped into her bakery of a brain. Chocolate was good for affairs of the heart. She would bake a batch of Rocky Road cookies, filled with juicy cherries, raisins, and marshmallows. And Mary would have to research where she could buy gluten-free flour.

  ‘Fine.’ He sipped his drink once more and stared at her. ‘And, per favore, try to cheer up. Tourists are here to be happy.’

  At least he said please. She looked at the holidaymakers, drinking coffees and soft drinks and eating her biscuits. Rocco was right. She had to keep her dejection off the menu. Mary was a professional. Not at waitressing, but at hiding her feelings. All those years where the parents of other children attended sports days and drama evenings. She became used to fixing a bright smile on her face and weathering the sympathetic glances of other pupils’ relatives if her foster parents arrived last-minute or were too busy.

  ‘Why are your eyes so red? Hay fever?’ he asked. ‘Make sure you have tissues and don’t sneeze over diners.’

  She didn’t respond. All night she’d sobbed. How could she have been so stupid? Hadn’t her childhood taught her anything? And poor Dante, having Mary launch herself upon him, like a champagne bottle itching to uncork itself as it swung against a particularly impressive ship.

  At least, this morning, he acted as if nothing had happened. Whistling. Grooming Oro. Correcting her Italian. And she’d used a super bright voice. Discussed the weather. She closed her eyes for a moment. Deep breaths. Her chin wobbled and she felt like going straight back to bed, curling up under the duvet, and shutting the world out.

  But no. She had to keep on keeping on. Like she always had. Like she always would. And there were still two resolutions to fulfil and failing one just made Mary more determined. It was time to really tackle the resolution about standing up for herself at work.

  Because it mattered. She’d moved to Italy. She loved the place. The ancient buildings felt reassuring – proof that life was hard but you’d survive if strong. And as for the sunsets across the Tiber’s rippling waves and the night-time lit Coliseum … Then there were the picturesque ornamental parks and abundant pedestrianised areas that made Rome seem more like one large village instead of a city.

  Still feeling raw from last night, she opened her eyes and blurted out, ‘Can I ask you a question?’ Be brave, Mary, she thought, pulse racing. Be bold. Stand up to Rocco. Don’t allow him to become another Brenda.

  He consulted his watch. ‘Si. But be quick. I can’t afford to take much of a break. Although you let me speak first …’ He fiddled with his watchstrap. ‘Whatever is upsetting you, you mustn’t let it affect your job.’ Rocco cleared his throat. ‘Any problems … well, I’m your senior. Discuss them with me if you must.’

  Mary’s jaw dropped. Was he showing concern? About her? Nah. She must have misunderstood. However, he stared at her expectantly and finally threw his hands in the air. Then he winced and rubbed his arm. Perhaps the dance class had proven too energetic for him.

  ‘Dio Mio, Maria! Look okay, I can tell that you have no hay fever. What is wrong? Shall I ask Natale to come over and talk to you?’

  Mary opened and closed her mouth. Opened it again. ‘You do care, don’t you?’ she eventually whispered.

  He wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘I just want the restaurant to run efficiently. I care about the Rossi family.’ He fiddled with his watch again. ‘Anyway, what did you want to ask? But sbrigati I must get back to work.’

  She stared at him. Hurry? Okay, she would, before changing her mind.

  ‘My question is …’ Feeling sick now. ‘How can I improve? I feel that you and me … we got off to a bad start.’ Hurriedly, she took out her notebook and pen. ‘Tell me what to do.’

  Rocco leant back in his chair. At least he hadn’t shouted at her. Told her she was a useless case.

  ‘I want to learn, Rocco. You’ve made it clear that I’m no good. Give me some tips. I’m in awe of your experience. Please, pass some of it on to me.’

  His eyebrows knitted together.

  ‘Look. Cards on the table …’ she mumbled.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I mean … let’s be honest with each other. I don’t know why but you’ve taken a dislike to me. You’ve accused me of things that aren’t my fault. I do admire you. Please. Tell me what the problem is. Why you think I don’t fit in well here. Surely we can sort this out?’

  He shuffled in his seat for a moment. Swallowed. Fiddled with his watch. ‘Okay. It is Sarah. She made it clear she was after my position. S
he thought she was better than me. But this job is my life. It’s … all I have.’

  Did his voice just crack? Why was that?

  ‘And I’ll do everything to stay here and protect … no that is the wrong word but … to look after the Rossi family. They’ve had a tough two years.’ His fist curled and thumped the gingham tablecloth. ‘I won’t let some English signorina think she can push me out of the way.’

  ‘But Rocco – that was never Sarah’s intention. Nor mine.’ With a mixture of Italian and English, she explained about Sarah’s perfectionist streak and breakdown. His narrow lips became less pursed. ‘And as for me,’ she continued, ‘I told you. I have no … no underhand intentions against Dante – or you and the Rossi family.’

  Slowly, Rocco shook his head. ‘I had no idea about Sarah, but now it all makes sense. I wish I’d known. Maybe I could have helped.’

  Mary hadn’t been expecting that.

  ‘Talk about me making assumptions,’ he continued. ‘I just thought—’

  ‘And I can understand why,’ said Mary. ‘From what I gather, she was good at wearing a mask. And as for Alfonso, Natale, Dante … even if she’d really been out to take your position, they would never replace you. They talk as if you are family. As much a part of Pizzeria Dolce Vita as … as tomato sauce is part of a pizza.’

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ said Rocco, gruffly, although his eyes shone.

  ‘Of course they do. You should know that.’ Mary felt a lump in her throat. ‘I’d do anything to fit somewhere, that well.’

  ‘It is hard, feeling that you don’t fit …’ Rocco mumbled. He shot her a curious look. ‘Do you miss your family?’

  ‘Not really … it … it’s not as close as the Rossis.’ She leant forward. ‘Tell me, Rocco – what happened exactly, two years ago? Why won’t anyone talk about it? How exactly did Dante lose his sight?’

  Rocco drained his cup. ‘It’s not for me to say.’

  Mary sighed.

  ‘Look, I get it, Maria. After the dance class. Perhaps you are good for him.’

  She almost snorted. He wouldn’t think that if he’d seen Dante push her away last night.

  ‘I haven’t seen him look so happy for a long time,’ Rocco continued. ‘The way he laughed with you, after your pirouette went wrong. Those tears running down his face. Dante used to laugh a lot, in the restaurant – with the customers or police colleagues who came in. But not once since he went blind has he bellowed quite like that.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘That’s when I knew. Maybe … maybe I’d been a little unfair. You and him – it is buono. Perhaps there is no agenda.’

  ‘There is no me and him,’ she said and her chest squeezed oh so tight. ‘We are just friends.’

  Rocco stared at her face and spoke with the gentlest tone. ‘I understand. It is not easy – relationship stuff. As I know,’ he said in heartfelt tones and a muscle flinched in his cheek.

  But he didn’t have a girlfriend. Perhaps his heart was broken, years ago.

  Without warning a tear trickled down her cheek. Sympathy from her nemesis? That broke her and she let out a sob. Hurriedly Rocco passed her a table napkin and she blew her nose.

  ‘Damn hay fever,’ she said and cautiously met his gaze.

  Rocco stared back. No sarcastic comment. ‘You’ll be okay,’ he said. ‘Dante … it is still difficult for him to let someone close.’

  ‘Natale says the same. But why? And why won’t anyone explain?’

  Rocco pushed away his cup. ‘What happened … it hurt him, irrevocabilmente. Perhaps two years is not long enough to heal the wound. And it is his place to tell you the detail – not mine.’ He stood up. ‘So … best you keep busy, si? A busy heart has less time to hurt.’

  She got to her feet.

  ‘Okay, so you and me … we start again?’ He put on his glasses.

  ‘That sounds good,’ she said, in a choked voice.

  ‘How about, whilst you make biscuits, this afternoon, I give you some tips on how the restaurant really works – how you can improve?’

  ‘Grazie mille,’ she said and managed a smile. ‘Although shouldn’t you get around to Paola’s, after your shift? She seemed very keen, last night. She might want to practise the waltz.’

  ‘Si,’ he said. ‘She is determined to be chosen as the best couple and win those free lessons.’ Rocco grimaced. ‘I have little enough time as it is. And Angelo – my housemate – well, he does his best to understand, but …’

  Mary had shared a flat once. ‘You have to be there to do your share of the housework, right?’

  ‘Something like that,’ he muttered. ‘But, if Paola is happy, me happy too. Little sisters …’ He gave a wry smile. ‘They never grow out of being demanding.’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t got any siblings. Clearly she adores you. I’d love a relationship like that. Or like Natale and Dante’s.’ It was hard for her to even imagine looking at someone who shared her genes. That was one thing ordinary families took for granted – seeing themselves in another person. Would a sibling of hers have had the same shaped nose? Did she look like her mum?

  ‘I don’t know what I would do without Paola, if I am honest. I am lucky.’

  Mary stared at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m just seeing another side to you.’

  ‘You have to understand, Maria, I am very defensive of this family – especially Dante. But I thought the worst of you. Misjudged. And for that I am sorry. Genuinely.’

  We all make mistakes. And a heartfelt apology was hard to resist.

  ‘But I cannot apologise for looking out for this family. I would do it again. Dante is still recovering.’

  ‘But he’s so capable. Learnt Braille. Got a guide dog. Has a full social life. Does voluntary work. Makes pizza. Works full-time. He seems to have almost come to terms with losing his sight. More than that – he’s built himself another life. So I don’t understand the ongoing atmosphere of … tragedy. I mean, it’s obviously been awful but he makes such a point of having moved on.’

  Rocco sighed. ‘Perhaps you should consider that the physical consequences are not the worst part of what happened.’

  ‘I can’t imagine anything much grimmer than that, so what do you mean?’

  ‘Um, niente. Just ignore me, now let’s—’

  ‘Rocco! Don’t say nothing. Explain. What could be worse than going blind?’

  He clasped his hands together.

  ‘Rocco! Please!’

  ‘Okay, okay! How about killing your best friend?’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Friday loomed and Rocco had said not a single word more about the supposed murder. Mary didn’t press. She couldn’t jeopardise their newly formed truce. But ever since he’d mentioned the best friend, Mary’s mind had wandered into dark corners. Had Dante really killed someone? Was it self-defence? An accident? Why wasn’t he in jail?

  ‘Maria, Maria, bella, bella …’ squealed a high-pitched voice. Mary had just eaten the most delicious triangle of cold pizza, something she occasionally treated herself to, at breakfast. Wood-fire ovens gave the dough a crunchy, charcoaled texture that beautifully contrasted with the succulent mushrooms and ham on top. And being chilled in the fridge seemed to enhance the subtle flavours of herbs. Having washed the generous slice down with a glass of fresh orange juice, she was just about to pour herself a coffee.

  Black curls hurtled in her direction and before Mary knew it, Lucia was sitting on her lap. She gave a sideways glance and Mary chuckled to herself, already knowing the little girl well enough to realise this was an admission of guilt. Lucia curled her fist tightly and Mary tapped it with an index finger. What could she be hiding?

  Lucia grinned and released her fingers, which unfurled to reveal …

  ‘My rose quartz tumble stone!’

  ‘Bella, bella!’

  Yes. It was pretty with its delicate shades of pink.

  ‘What is it for?’ ask
ed Lucia.

  ‘It makes the heart better, if it is ill,’ said Mary, carefully articulating every Italian word.

  ‘Is your heart ill?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said in an ultra cheery voice.

  Lucia’s wide eyes examined every inch of Mary’s face. She wrapped her arms around Mary and squeezed tight. ‘It will be okay,’ she mumbled. ‘My hamster died when I was three. I cried for days. But now I just remember the good. Like his cute nose. And his fat cheeks when he stuffed them with food.’

  Mary squeezed tight and then, reluctantly, pushed her away.

  ‘Go on,’ she said, gently, still in Italian. ‘Put back my crystal and then clean your teeth. I’m taking you to school club today. Remember your mamma has gone out early to check out a new meat market.’

  An hour later, Mary returned from the school gates, humming, having enjoyed a stroll through the sun. She’d just stopped for a chat with Gabriel who once again begged to paint her. He was eating a croissant, in front of his easel, and drinking a flask of coffee. Buskers had already set up and several African street traders were already trying to sell selfie sticks and jewellery. On the way out, Gabriel had called Lucia over, winked at Mary, and passed the little girl a boiled sweet. It was hard to describe just what a thrill it gave Mary to walk, hand in hand with Lucia. What a privilege. A simple act that meant so much.

  She headed towards the kitchen hatch and noticed a dirty napkin on the floor. As she bent over, her sunglasses fell from the top of her head, onto the tiles.

  ‘Don’t forget today’s dance lesson!’ said Dante, in his adorable accent. ‘It is at half past five again. We should leave at half past four.’

  Mary straightened up. ‘I must stop wearing this lavender perfume. You track me as if I’m a dog.’ She looked shyly at him. Would he reciprocate her humour?

  A smile crossed his face. ‘That wouldn’t change anything. I’d still recognise your light steps and you just dropped something, right? Clumsy, clumsy.’